It's crunch time …
oOo
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
The room was suddenly very quiet.
Everyone stilled.
"My dear?" the King called, but d'Artagnan stepped forward, putting himself between Louis and Milady.
"Your Majesty, I will escort you to your rooms," he said.
"What?" the King said, looking around the room and at the two bodies on the floor.
Suddenly appearing to be somewhat uncomfortable, he waved his hand;
"Yes, very well, very well. The fight is over. The Musketeers won."
Louis walked out into the corridor. He needed to lie down now. It had been a very trying day.
Giving Aramis and Porthos a knowing look, d'Artagnan stepped out to lead the King away. Whatever was about to happen in the Blue Room, the King should not see it.
"Ann?" Olivier said, softly, reaching up a bloodied hand to touch her face.
She smirked as she caught Aramis's horrified expression.
As she did, Olivier's hand stopped in mid air, as, suddenly, he pulled his hand back as if burned. His face changed. She realised that it was a look she had seen before, many years ago, before he turned his horse and rode off his land, leaving her to her fate.
"Should you not be comforting the King," he stated, coldly.
She faltered, looking into his eyes.
The Comte was gone. Olivier was gone.
She had lost her chance of connecting with him, however briefly.
Her face hardened and her mouth twisted.
"I was on my way," she said, stiffly.
She straightened but stubbornly, she did not move.
The Comte shook his head and dropped Porthos's blade, staggering back.
Aramis caught him and pushed him gently against the wall. He had never seen his friend so confused and vulnerable; his eyes wide and his mouth open as he tried to breathe. He looked wildly around as his emotions came crashing down.
Aramis felt his friend's legs beginning to buckle. Seeing Aramis struggling, Porthos stepped forward and took hold.
"Easy," Porthos was saying, his arm wrapped around Athos's waist.
Their brother's eyes were now awash, his arm clamped to his side.
"What is happening!" he roared, trying to push them away, seeking the woman in red.
They both hung on, as he struggled.
d'Artagnan ran back into the chaos, quickly seeing what was needed and adding his weight.
They had hoped Athos would simply get his memory back and everything would slot into place. But this was like a brutal storm they could hardly bear.
Past and present flooded him, emotions rained down on him. His fingers grasped at Aramis's jacket, his eyes finding each one of them – finally, landing on her.
Ann watched, her hand reaching up to the choker around her throat as she stepped back into the shadow of the passageway,
"Come back to us, Athos," Porthos murmured, as she watched.
Watched, as he almost went to his knees, despite being held by the three of them.
Watched his contorted face, his strangled cries, his anger and his pain.
Watched as they managed him, placing themselves between him and her, in an attempt to block her from his view.
Almost too much to bear, a resentful anger rose in her at the sight of their single-minded protection. She lifted her chin and defiantly stood her ground.
Athos lay his hand on Porthos's chest and staggered back once more. Aramis surged forward and caught him.
Athos stared at him and then at the others.
"What's happening?" he said again, quieter now, staring around him.
Aramis grabbed Athos's arm.
"Athos?"
Athos tore his eyes from the passageway and looked at Aramis.
"What is happening?" he repeated, his eyes wide.
"It's alright, brother," Aramis said, "Come with me," he urged.
Milady stepped forward, but Porthos took hold of her arm and held her back.
d'Artagnan eyes filled with tears and he tucked his hands under his arms, watching impotently as Aramis helped Athos from the room.
Milady shrugged Porthos off angrily.
"You knew all those men," d'Artagnan said, turning on her, angrily.
"And so did you," she sneered.
When she didn't respond further, he stared at her. "Your secret is safe, Milady," he said, flatly.
"And so is his!" she snapped.
"Then, we're all happy," Porthos growled.
"You had better go," she retorted, haughtily. "Rochefort is back. We had a little chat earlier."
She gave Porthos a knowing look before turning abruptly away and walking off, leaving them standing.
"What do you think she meant by that?" d'Artagnan said, running a hand over his face as they watched her go.
"Who knows," Porthos growled, suddenly very tired. "That's Athos's treacherous wife we're talkin' about."
"Better cover the bodies," he said, looking at the young woman laid in the corner, and at Dubois, laid in an expanding pool of blood.
Walking across to the window, d'Artagnan reached up and took hold of one of the curtains, tearing it down in one swift movement.
"Not together," Porthos growled.
d'Artagnan saw his expression and understood. Handing him the curtain, he went back for the other one.
oOo
Walking away, Milady quickened her pace.
She still had her place in the palace but for a brief moment, she had been transported back to a time she had long buried under anger and a burning desire for vengeance. The chance to see, to talk to the younger Comte once more had been overwhelming.
Ahead, she saw Rochefort, and stopped, pressing her back to the wall of the corridor.
The man made her flesh crawl. She had been around enough devious, dangerous men to recognise that he must be avoided at all costs. He must never know of her past. Today, she had fooled him easily, but his power was growing and her hold on her position was tenuous. She turned and walked back the way she came. There was a passageway ahead that would take her closer to her apartments. She needed to divest herself of her weapons, wash the blood from her hands, change her clothes and then visit her lover, the King, to consolidate her position once more.
Olivier was gone. Athos be damned, along with all Musketeers.
oOo
Porthos and d'Artagnan quietly opened the door that Aramis had led Athos through and slipped inside.
In front of them, Aramis was kneeling in front of Athos, who was now slumped over in one of the ornate palace chairs, his head down.
"Athos?" Aramis said, quietly, looking across at them both nervously.
He reached up and pushed Athos's hair from his face.
"Look at me," he said gently. "Please."
Athos only folded further over, and Aramis reached for his hand.
"Thomas is dead," Athos said, hoarsely.
Aramis froze, still holding his hand.
"Yes," he said, softly. "He is."
Athos shuddered, dreadful images filling his mind. He pulled his hand away, raising the back of it to wipe his face and nose, his eyes closed, lashes wet. Blood smeared across his cheek from the gash on the back of his hand. Aramis reached out and took it once more.
"There was a body on the floor."
Aramis frowned, not sure where this was going, until he realised, Athos was possibly talking about one of the bodies of the first two victims. He remembered how the Comte had stared at the second one.
"There were two," Aramis replied, wanting to get Athos's mind away from the one he held in his mind. "And another two later."
"I saw her, in my dreams," he said then, pulling his hand away once more and grabbing his hair.
Aramis gently pulled his hand away and held it. He needed the connection, if Athos did not.
Athos winced, and stared down at the gash that was still sluggishly bleeding.
"Renard?" he suddenly said.
"In the past, Athos," Aramis gently countered. "All in the past."
Athos let out a shuddering sigh and leant forward, his forehead coming to rest on Aramis's shoulder.
Aramis raised his arm and gently pulled him close, as a strangled sob escaped his friend's lips and his shoulders shook.
Shaken, Porthos and d'Artagnan shared a look and quietly left the room, leaving Aramis alone with Athos.
"It's over," Aramis said quietly. "We're here. You're here."
Over the next half hour, Aramis stayed kneeling in front of Athos, his arm around him.
Slowly, he quietened.
"Athos?" Aramis was saying, his eyes on the cut in his friend eyebrow and the blood smears across his face. "You hit your head in the fight." He could not say the King had hit him. That would take some explaining.
Athos reached up to his head and his fingers came away sticky with blood.
"I believe I may need stitches," he murmured, holding out his fingers. "Where is the King?" he said, at least recognising their surroundings.
"He is in his rooms. There has been an incident. A break-in. But the brigands have all been despatched."
"Why am I dressed like this?" Athos asked, looking down and frowning.
"A little subterfuge on our part," Aramis smiled, patting his leg, glad that Athos seemed to be engaging.
Athos raised his eyes to meet his. Aramis smiled, and Athos seemed to accept the vague explanation.
"It will come back to you, my friend," Aramis attempted to assure him.
After the quiet assertiveness of the Comte, Athos was now the stranger but needed equally careful handling.
He did not ask any more questions.
Overall, his quietness was disturbing.
Aramis left it where it was. Hopefully, it would settle over the course of the day. They would not mention the Comte de la Fere again. For now at least, he was once more consigned to the past. Athos was back! Aramis felt lighter than he had in a long time.
He turned his attention to what needed to be done.
"Will you let me see?" he asked. "Then we can go back to the Garrison, and you must rest."
"The Garrison?"
Aramis nodded, searching his face. "Our home?"
Would he now remember? Aramis held his breath.
"The Garrison. Yes," Athos said, quietly and Aramis breathed a small sigh of relief.
Athos slowly sat back, pulling in a sharp breath as his shoulder screamed.
The clothes Constance had provided had not afforded Athos the protection his leathers would have. They would have to be discarded, unless Constance could salvage them. Cuts and slices were apparent in the doublet, although not all had penetrated through to skin, looking at the small amount of blood evident. Aramis would take a thorough inventory of his person later but from what he could see, his friend had escaped serious injury, though he was dusty, dishevelled and distraught. And thoroughly exhausted. There was a small cut to his jaw and the one in his eyebrow from which a narrow trickle of blood still flowed down the side of his face and into his beard. The back of his hand was sliced and bruised and the material of his breeches was slit above the knee, where an increasing red stain marred the material.
Aramis turned his head and saw d'Artagnan and Porthos waiting at the door, looking anxious. Porthos gave him a brief nod; the bodies had been removed to another room.
"Can you find me something to use as a bandage?" he called to them.
d'Artagnan looked around and hurriedly strode over to a small table by the window. An exquisite silk runner ran across it, and without compunction, he grabbed it and took it across to Aramis.
Athos sat with his head down, cradling his arm.
Aramis slipped the runner under his knee and tied it tightly in place.
"This will do for now," he said, looking up at Athos, whose hair hid his expression.
"We need to support this arm," Aramis chatted on, nervously in the face of Athos's silence. "What did you do with your sling?"
Athos raised his head and looked at him in confusion, as though he were talking another language. It seemed not everything had come back to him yet. Aramis looked around for something to use to replace the sling when Porthos's bandanna was pushed into his hands.
Aramis looked up and nodded gratefully at Porthos.
It was shorter than the original but did an admirable job of immobilising Athos's shoulder, holding it high across his chest, and a small sigh escaped his brother's lips as the pain eased in his shoulder.
Once the main injuries were tended to, Aramis reached out and took Athos's hand in his own, turning it over and tutting. There was nothing to hand to wrap it so it would have to wait until they got back to the Infirmary.
Athos's eyes were closed now, and his breathing was ragged.
Aramis looked across to d'Artagnan and Porthos, running a hand over his own face.
"Our brothers are waiting for us," he said, quietly, placing his hand on Athos's good shoulder.
"Then we should not keep them waiting," Athos murmured, attempting to push himself to his feet.
"We should find the Captain," Porthos said, as he moved quickly to help.
Of course, Treville would not know what had transpired. He would not know the good news.
"Yes," Aramis agreed. "We can all ride back to the Garrison together."
How wonderful those words sounded!
"And tomorrow, we are celebratin' in The Wren," Porthos grinned.
"What are we celebrating?" Athos murmured flatly as they left the room to find Treville.
"The King's good health," Aramis replied, quietly. "And our brotherhood."
Against all the odds, Athos was back.
To be continued …
oOo
Aww, good-bye Comte. It was very nice knowing you. I hope I did justice to Athos's return.
Athos needs some answers, there is care to be given and conversations to be had yet, and an epilogue. It will have to wait a few days, as I am away for the week-end. Thanks for reading!