Life forced its way back into Porthos first, clawing at his throat like acid. He coughed hard into the air around him, before his eyes snapped open, looking for Aramis. He tried raising his arms to shield his eyes from the orange glare of a lantern somewhere to his right, but found his arms were bound tightly in front of him, tethered at the wrists.
'Aramis?' He muttered, pointedly ignoring the men, clad in dark clothes, that he could now see were sat either side of both him and Aramis, who was still slumped on to the eyes closed.
'Aramis?' He spoke again, leaning downwards to try and touch his shoulder, to check he was alright. 'Wake up, love.' He added, panic in his voice. 'Come back to me.'
'Shut it!' One of the guards next to Aramis growled, voice dark. 'Sit back and stop talking!'
'What are you going to do?' Porthos growled, eyes dark. 'Kill me?' The man scoffed, but said nothing as Porthos leaned down again.
'Aramis, come on, wake up…' He repeated, eyes wide as Aramis still didn't stir. Suddenly, mercifully, Aramis moved his shoulder, rolling them to get movement back in his muscles.
'I'm alright, I'm here. Wherever here is…' his voice was honey to Porthos' ears, who felt a rush of relief flood his body as he watched Aramis' eyes flick open, yet he still remained slumped.
'In a cart. They killed us both and dragged us here...are you alright?' He asked, voice laced with concern.
'I said shut it!' The man said, now standing up in the cramped space to bodily push Porthos back in his seat.
'I need to know if he's alright!' Porthos told him, imploring him to see.
The man scoffed. 'So touching- what is he then, your boyfriend?' He looked around, grinning, as a ripple of laughter answered his words from the men surrounding them.
Porthos looked up at him, head cocked to one side as he took in a breath. 'You're a child. An infant. Your mocking is thus infantile.' He looked over to Aramis, who had managed to sit up, his face still pinched with residual pain.
'He's not my boyfriend. This man is more to me than you can dream. He's the moon when I'm lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold, and his kiss still thrills me, even after a millennia.
His heart overflows with the kindness of which this world is not worthy of. I love this man beyond measure and reason. He's not my boyfriend. He's all and he's more.'
Silence followed his words, so much so that after a few seconds the only sound that could be heard was Aramis, snorting softly as he looked lovingly into Porthos' eyes.
'You're an incurable romantic,' He smiled, before both of them simultaneously leaned forwards, their lips meetings with a jolt as they kissed.
A rush of movement followed their embrace, but this time both Porthos and Aramis were ready for their captors. They grinned as they were pulled apart- time to show these men what real fighters were like….
Around twenty minutes later the horses carrying the cart slowed and they heard footsteps approaching the door.
Rochefort strode over to the back of the cart- taking a deep breath he nodded to one of the men accompanying him to cut the lock and pull open the doors.
He stepped back a pace, shocked, as a number of bodies fell out the back, crumpling to the dirt floor.
'I don't suppose someone can take these binds off us?' Aramis asked lightly from the back of the cart, holding out his wrists.
'Get them out. Bring them down to the rendezvous.' Rochefort muttered, before plastering a smile on his face.
'Gentlemen. I apologise for the treatment to which these men subjected you. It was not my intention to treat you like cattle.'
'Could have fooled us.' Porthos shot back as he was pulled roughly forwards and out of the cart, closely followed by Aramis.
'I assure you they will be dealt with appropriately.' Rochefort nodded as he watched them stand and stretch their muscles.
'No need. We already did that for you.' Aramis shrugged, cricking his neck.
'I can see that.' Rochefort agreed, before taking a deep breath. 'I do not intend to treat you harshly. I have heard of your…ability. Come with me, and we can talk.'
'It doesn't really look like we have a choice, does it?' Porthos said, rattling his chains.
'Quite. Come, we can get you sorted out at the chateau.'
'This doesn't sound ominous at all, does it Porthos?' Aramis rolled his eyes, before he and Porthos were forced into yet another cart. Aramis whistled appreciatively as he was pushed inside.
'Look Porthos, leather seats!'
'Ooh, fancy!' Porthos nodded, looking around. 'Any chance for some champagne for the ride?'
It was nearing midnight when the cart trundled to a stop, at the foot of what seemed like a small mountain.
'What is this place?' D'Artagnan asked as Marsac threw down the reigns and got off the cart, stretching.
'Abandoned mine, we found it years ago.' Athos replied, face pale in the moonlight. 'We'll be safe here while we find out where Porthos and Aramis are.'
They walked in silence through the empty mine. Just as the walls seemed to press in at all sides, making d'Artagnan feel very claustrophobic, the area opened up to show a vast area, filled with all sorts of materials.
'Is…is this gold?' D'Artagnan breathed, eyes wide as he looked down at a vast quantity of yellow bars in a barrel near a large rock, on which Athos had sat, sighing.
'Indeed it is. We need some way to finance our lives, no?' He replied. 'There's a barrel of diamonds over there if you want to have a look.'
'Seriously?' The younger man's face positively lit up as he turned to look.
'Marsac, make a fire, it's cold tonight.' He muttered to the other man, who nodded and walked away to find some firewood.
Now letting out the pained sigh he had been holding in since he left the safe house, Athos gingerly took off his jacket, letting it slip off with a heavy clump onto the dusty floor. Pulling his arm out of the various shirtsleeves took time and fiddly effort, but it wasn't until he got to his last shirt, sticky with blood, that he gasped in pain. Putting a hand carefully onto the knife wound he had sustained in the fight in the church, he pulled it back to reveal a red palm. Red with flesh blood-He was still bleeding.
Eyes wide, he looked round to make sure no one else was watching. The pain stung now, harsh and incessant. His stomach dropped as he dressed himself again, and his head swam. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not to him…
'Athos, you alright?' D'Artagnan called across from where he was admiring a clutch of paintings.
'Fine.' Athos nodded stoically. 'We need more food. I'm going to go and get some bread and meat- won't be long.'
He looked across to Marsac, who was walking back with an armful of wood. 'Make the fire, and then go out and talk to people. See if anyone knows who took Aramis and Porthos.'
'Yes, boss.' Marsac replied, trying not to avoid his eyes. He was due to meet Rochefort in the morning, but he couldn't believe that he had betrayed him like that. He had been so stupid…and yet, perhaps Rochefort could still help them. He had to believe there was a way out of this….
'Marsac?' Athos cut into his thoughts. 'Are you alright?'
'Hm? Fine. I'm fine.' Marsac nodded. 'I'll find them, don't worry.'
It was raining by the time Athos had ridden the old horse back down to the city streets. Each movement jolted his wound, and he could feel the blood in his shirts now, saturating them.
He spotted an apothecary down a side street and quickly dismounted. Pushing opening the door he looked around, at the array of materials on the shelves.
He sighed, narrowing his eyes. He needed bandages, of course, and some sort of balm, or lotion to apply to his skin. It had been centuries since he had last needed materials like this.
After a few more seconds of staring listlessly at the shelves, he ended up just swiping his arm along the bandages and bottles of balm into his other arm, and carried them to the wooden counter, where a man sullenly told him the cost and pushed his purchases into a sack and handed them to him.
Stepping back outside in the rain, he looked round to find somewhere he could sit to sort himself out. He didn't want to go back to the mine and do it- he didn't think d'Artagnan's already nervous sensibilities could take any more grave news, and Marsac would probably be next to useless in assisting him.
After a few minutes of awkwardly trying to reach around to apply to balm he very nearly ended up throwing it into a muddy puddle. Frustration gnawed at him, making him angry.
'Stupid little…' he growled, before looking up as a figure approached him, concern in her eyes as she shielded her face against the rain.
'Excuse me, are you alright?' She asked.
'Perfectly fine. Thank you.' Athos replied gruffly, not looking for company.
'Oh, well that's good. It just that, to me, it looks like you were about to throw those bandages right into the street just then!' The woman relied, quick as a whip.
Athos snorted, before shrugging. 'I…I'm not used to looking after my wounds, is all.'
'Do you normally have a woman to help, is that it?'
'Not quite.' Athos snorted again. 'I'm just…usually very careful.'
The woman laughed at her words, shaking her head. 'Do you need my help? I live across the street, I could bandage you up?'
'A pretty woman like you, surely you'd have a husband who would object to having me in his home with his love?'
'My husband is away.' The woman sucked in a breath. 'Unless you'd rather bleed to death out here in the rain?'
'Well, when you put it like that- please lead the way!' Athos stood up, trying to ignore the way his head swam. He held out a hand. 'Call me Athos,' he introduced himself.
The woman took it, her gloved hand warm in his. 'My name is Constance.' She smiled, before walking ahead, leading the way to her home.
The fire crackling in the hearth was very welcome, as was the bowl of soup Constance had kindly given him as she readied herself to clean out Athos' wound.
'Sutures would be better, but I am no seamstress for skin,' she muttered, frowning at the wound. 'Bandages will have to do.'
'Thank you,' Athos said, warming his hands by the fire. 'I am forever indebted to your kindness.'
'Don't be silly, I will always help a person who needs it.' Constance waved away the thanks, head bent close to Athos' shoulder to get a proper look.
Athos resisted an urge to look round. 'You haven't asked.' He observed, moving his head to motion his wound.
'It's not my business.' Constance replied as she washed the wound with tepid water. 'You needed help- what does it matter why? Tonight I will put this on your wound, and tomorrow you help someone else in need.' She sighed as she now gently applied a balm to the wound. 'We're not meant to be alone.' She added solemnly.
Athos let her words hang in the air. She was right. The warmness of the room made his eyes droop, yet he knew he could not sleep while Aramis and Porthos were out there, alone and captured.
He stood as soon as Constance has helped him put on his clothes.
'That's going to need cleaning again tomorrow.' She told him, before bundling up a loaf of bread and some cheese in a cloth and handing it to him. 'For the road.' She smiled as she handed it to him.
He took it gratefully, holding it close to him. 'You're a very special woman, Constance.' He told her, meaning very word. 'I do not think you even know how special.'
'You don't even know me…' Constance shot back, cheeks reddening slightly.
'Oh, I'm a very good judge of character.' Athos assured her with a nod, before walking to the door. 'You take care.' He called back.
'And you, Athos.' Constance replied as she joined him at the door. She watched him walk away, head bowed against the wind and rain, before closing the door with a thud.