XVIII. Brother

"Aramis, there is absolutely no way this can work."

Athos was kneeling next to Aramis, their boots sunk in the sand-covered grass near the beach at Saint-Blanceau. Both of them were breathing hard and Athos could feel the sweat running down his forehead. He wasn't sure whether it was due to his exhaustion, or because of the warm temperatures.

"Confidence, Athos. Confidence," Aramis admonished, not diverting his gaze from the beach for one second.

Athos dug his fingers deep into Aramis' arm. "We'd both walk confidently into our own death. I can give you that kind of confidence, if you like," he remarked dryly.

Aramis gave him an irritated look. "Now you're exaggerating."

His friend just growled. "We both know I am not. Listen, you are making it more complicated than it is." He crouched forward on his knees and pulled some of the branches to the side to reveal their view on the beach.

Both of them had been driven by sheer determination alone, and that was probably the only reason they were still standing and still going through with whatever their plan was going to be. They had approached Saint-Blanceau from the west, and had made sure to stay out of eyesight of the guards facing their direction. The camp was big, but it was obviously not the main English camp. This was the Butcher's forward position, and Aramis and Athos had agreed that Buckingham himself most likely was camping closer to the citadel.

Aramis' keen and trained eyes had spotted the figures tied to the pillars near the water, and identified them as Porthos and Mathis, as well as another man they could not make out yet.

"Instead of trying to perform a play of pretend we can only lose," Athos continued now, "we should go in behind them. In and out before they even know we were there:"

"Yes, but aren't you forgetting something?" Aramis used his pistol to point at the two English soldiers standing guard, and facing right into their direction. "They'd shoot us before we could even form an inappropriate greeting."

Athos shrugged. "We take them out. From behind."

The marksman raised an eyebrow. "There's still the tricky question on how to get behind them, you know?"

"It's dark." Athos rolled his eyes. "We have the ocean right in front of our eyes. The lights on the ships do not reach this far, and if we concentrate on not making too much noise, we should be able to reach the beach and stay out of eyesight. We take the guards out, free Porthos and the others and get out of here before they notice something is off."

Now Aramis felt forced to face Athos directly. "The two of us? Going for a swim?" he repeated with obvious sarcasm in his voice. "The swordsman with the useless arm and the marksman who can't run if his life depends on it? Great idea."

"Do you want to save Porthos or not?" Athos shot back impatiently, growing more and more uneasy due to their hesitation.

Aramis' immediately relaxed and tucked his pistol in his belt. "Hell yes." He nodded towards a small path that led down to the water. "You're right. It's our best shot. Still, without a distraction, the chance that we leave unnoticed is close to zero."

Athos bit his lip, thinking and trying to recall the details of Aramis' plan from earlier, which had involved a loud explosion and a dangerous undercover play of pretend. Athos gritted his teeth and tilted his head towards where the English had lit a small campfire. Which was currently unguarded.

"You could try to set a fire," the swordsman eventually suggested. "And if the guards return, you can still grab the musket of one of the soldiers we'll take out and aim for the barrels of gunpowder stored in the tent on the end."

Aramis looked at him as if he questioned his sanity. "You call that a plan?"

Athos just rolled his eyes. "And Treville says you're always up for improvisation."

Mentioning their mentor's name apparently had the desired effect and he was able to elicit a cheeky grin out of his friend. Aramis made an exaggerated gesture towards the shore. "Lead the way."

Athos merely ignored the dramatic suggestion and put the weight back on his feet before he started crawling, making sure he stayed as hidden as was possible in the open area in front of him. As soon as he reached the open space, he started running until his feet met the shallow water. He could hear Aramis following closely behind him.

He waded knee-deep into the cold water and waited for Aramis to follow his lead. They were lucky it was summer, otherwise, the sea would have been even colder and even more dangerous. Equipped with swords and leather armor, both of them had a hard time moving through the water silently. Their armor was heavy, and by the time Athos and Aramis had reached the English camp both of them were drenched – not only due to the water but also due to the sweat, caused by exhaustion and pain.

The salty water burned itself deep into their unhealed wounds, and while it felt like hellfire for now, Athos knew that its cauterizing effect would ease the pain soon. He could hear how Aramis was trying his best to even his harsh breathing, but Athos doubted it could be heard over the sea breeze.

Athos grabbed his main gauche and took it into his right hand, and he could see Aramis pulling out his dagger too. They both moved with the waves, to conceal the noises of their own boots in the now only ankle-deep water.

Athos caught Aramis' gaze and gestured his instructions, pointing at his friend and directing him to the right. The marksman understood immediately, and approached the guard on the right from behind, Athos followed, keeping his eyes on the guard on the left.

The two musketeers moved like one unit, Athos walking left, Aramis on the right, and without even sharing a look, they used their weapons to silence the two guards simultaneously. They kept their hands pressed against the Englishmen's mouths to silence the screams that never came.

Athos slowly released the breath he was holding and lowered the man to the ground as soon as he was no longer struggling, before he straightened up again and his eyes met Aramis'.

"I'll go and make some noise. You get them out," his friend suggested as he relieved one of the guards of his musket and shouldered it himself.

Athos lowered his head, knowing there was no use arguing with Aramis right now. "We'll meet you at the clearing we passed earlier." He gently laid a hand on Aramis' good shoulder. "Don't get yourself killed."

With that, Aramis nodded and turned on his heel, moving swiftly but quietly over the slick sand towards the English camp while Athos moved in a slightly different direction. As he got closer, he still made sure not to make too much noise, in order not to alert any guards and cause any unwanted attention. He narrowed his eyes when his gaze landed on the third prisoner, who was none other than Captain Méchant, who was leading most of Décart's troops.

The prisoners had noticed that something was going on by now, and as Athos strode over towards where Porthos was bound to a wooden stake, he was greeted with sour words.

"Touch me and I kill you," Porthos growled, not knowing who was approaching him, but sensing the presence at his back. Despite his shivering figure and his obvious status as a prisoner, he looked threatening.

Athos merely grabbed his dagger even tighter and started cutting through the thick rope.

"I think we would both agree it is better not to kill your rescuer," Athos merely countered dryly.

A moment of silence, and then a quiet laugh followed.

"What took you so long?" Porthos' greeting was about what he had expected, and still, hearing his friend's voice filled with relief and irony was the motivation boost he and Aramis so desperately needed.

"Please accept my humble and sincere apologies," Athos grumbled as he cut through the rope around Mathis' wrists.

"Your moody face is the best thing I've seen in a while, Athos," Porthos retorted as he wriggled his hands free and hastily got up on shaky feet. His eyes landed on a tower of smoke climbing up into the night sky on the other side of the English camp.

"I suspect that's Aramis' signature?" Porthos asked as he ran towards Méchant to cut him loose too.

Athos looked up to see about two or three tents on fire. The flames were almost the only light sources in the night, and the smoke was beginning to cloud the clear sky. He cleared his throat before he answered. "Yes. And it seems to be his signature of improvisation too."

He turned to look at Mathis and Méchant who got up on their feet as well. "Follow me!" he instructed briefly and pointed with his head towards the shelter of the trees where he and Aramis had hidden. Fortunately, none of them dared to argue with him, not even Méchant, and they ducked their heads and headed for the cover of the trees. To his right, Athos heard men shouting loudly, but there was no indication of a fight, which assured him Aramis had managed to stay hidden, at least for now.

Athos' bones and muscles were screaming at him to rest, and his soaked clothes put an even heavier weight on him, but nevertheless, he kept going, heading into the woods and watching the backs of the others. None of the voices back at the beach indicated that the missing prisoners had been discovered yet, and he prayed that Aramis' distraction was as successful as it appeared to be.

Athos stumbled when his foot caught in some thin scrub at the bottom of a tree and he caught himself mid-fall against a tree trunk, breathing heavily. He leaned against it with his good arm, trying to catch his breath and trying to get his spinning sight back to normal.

"Athos!" That was Porthos' voice, and despite his blurry sight, he felt his friend's steady presence at his side. Porthos' grabbed Athos shoulder and half-dragged, half-guided him further into the woods.

"Where to?" Porthos' dull words reached his ears, and Athos just gave in to Porthos' guidance and motioned forward.

"Clearing," he said. "Wait there."

A loud bang echoed from Saint-Blanceau, and Athos' head whirled around, casting frantic glances back. Flames and smoke climbed up into the sky, and he could only guess that this was the gunpowder storage they had spotted and talked about earlier. That was either part of Aramis' distraction or something had gone wrong.

As he turned his head back again, he noticed Porthos' slower pace, and together, Athos, Porthos, Mathis and Captain Méchant stumbled onto the small clearing, hidden behind larger trees and some rocks.

Athos came to a halt and took a few seconds to catch his breath, still surprised how his worn out body was refusing to cooperate.

"You have my thanks, Athos," Méchant informed him briefly, and bowed his head in gratitude. "None of my men would risk a rescue mission like this." Athos knew that by Méchant's standards, that was a pretty solid compliment. The Captain turned his head.

"I need to get back to the commander. Any messages I can deliver?"

Athos frowned. "Well, we are running out of supplies and have a group of civilians to care for. Also, the fortress we were sent to is barely more than a ruined wooden cage."

Méchant raised an eyebrow at Athos' remark, but he nodded. "I'll ask him to send you supplies." He turned to leave, but Athos' good arm reached forward and he clasped his hand around the Captain's arm.

"The citadel is surrounded by Buckingham, the siege is still going strong," Athos said, and suddenly remembered that he and Méchant were not equal in rank. "Sir, trying to find a way to the citadel resembles a suicide mission."

Méchant slowly grasped Athos' wrist and freed himself from the musketeer's hold. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. You should go back to your own regiment, musketeer."

With that, he once again bowed his head as a farewell gesture and headed off into the woods, in the direction of the citadel.

"To our own regiment." Porthos huffed as he repeated the words. "Well, at least you warned him." He shrugged.

"Shouldn't we go on to the fortress?" Mathis threw in nervously between his coughs. The days exposed to the harsh wind seemingly had left their mark on both Porthos and Mathis.

Athos shook his head.

"We wait for Aramis. He was supposed to meet us here."

"Maybe he had to take another…?" Mathis wasn't able to finish his thought before the missing marksman came running onto the clearing. He too had lost some of his elegance due to his leg-wound and the wet, soaked clothes, but all in all, he looked no worse than he had an hour ago. He came to a slithering halt in front of the small group.

"Were you followed?" Athos immediately asked. As concerned as he was for their well-being, he had to make sure first they were in no immediate danger. To his relief, the marksman shook his head.

"Bloody English muskets," Aramis complained in between frantic breaths. "Couldn't get it to work properly. If they all care for their weapons like that particular idiot, the three of us can take out the entire English army by ourselves." He caught Athos' questioning gaze. "I threw a stolen torch at their tents. Seriously, you should've seen the throw. It will probably never happen again."

"I'll let my imagination do the rest," Athos cut in, to which Aramis pulled a face.

"It certainly won't do it justice."

"Why did you shoot the barrels anyway?" Athos queried, solely out of curiosity. "The distraction worked just fine."

Aramis stared at him blankly. "Those were their gunpowder supplies. Now they will have to take the time to get more," he explained slowly as if he was thinking Athos could not follow. The swordsman merely raised an eyebrow, and Aramis shrugged. "Besides, I couldn't resist. Sorry."

Then, his gaze fell upon the rescued prisoners and for the first time in weeks, Athos could see a smile forming on his friend's face.

"I knew you weren't dead," he said, with a surprisingly serious tone in his voice, before he quickly walked up to Porthos and pulled him into a brief hug.

"Alright, give me a short version – what did we miss?" Porthos' eyes were glued to Athos' pale face, and the dark circles under Aramis' eyes. He knew that things had obviously gone downhill since he was captured, but Athos understood his need for answers.

"When you and the patrol where in Cévry, where you got separated from the rest, Gino was severely injured. Arthur and Daniel brought him back to camp. The English ambushed our fortress yesterday. I guess that sums it up." Athos' face was grim.

"Oh and don't forget we deny help to the helpless now," Aramis added with heavy sarcasm, clearly hinting at the incident with the boy and his father which Porthos could not know about.

"Any…" Porthos nervously cleared his throat, and tears glistered in his eyes as if he was afraid of the answer. "Any losses since I left?"

Aramis' face darkened. "Gino died about eight hours ago. We lost Pinteau and Duval a week ago. Due to some miracle, there aren't any losses among the civilians."

"…that we know of," Athos added, and his voice sounded distant to his own ears. "We rescued a boy and his father. The child was ill. Suard denied help. Their fate remains unknown."

Porthos exhaled slowly. "Good God." He hesitated for moment. "Anything else I should know?"

Aramis gritted his teeth. "Well, let's just say we are not exactly on the best terms with Suard at the moment, especially Athos and I. The men are scared, but loyal to the General. As are we, you might say, at least for the first part."

"He has the authority," Porthos concluded knowingly and nodded his head. "Whether we like it or not."

With that, the four of them continued walking towards the musketeer fortress, at a slower, but steady pace. They were all longing to get back behind the walls, even though those walls hadn't proved to be much protection recently.

The wooden gate now came into sight, and judging by the voices they heard behind it, their presence, or the absence of Athos and Aramis, hadn't gone unnoticed.

"One thing, my friend." Aramis grabbed Porthos by the arm and held him back before he could enter the camp, "If you want to do us a favor, say that you were able to escape on your own. Suard did not authorize a rescue mission. Athos and I would face the General's wrath, which I could not care less about, but also a very tiring and boring court-martial back in Paris, in the unlikely case we leave this cursed place alive."

Porthos chuckled. "The wrath I can deal with, but it's my job to protect you from the boredom." He winked at both Aramis and Athos. "No worries. Mathis and I will take care of it."

Mathis nodded in agreement. "You can count on us. Is the General as ignorant as Porthos said?"

Aramis shouldered his rapier. "Oh, you have no idea." Athos shot him a warning look. He did not like how openly Aramis showed his disregard for their commander. Not that he did not agree with his friend, but showing contempt so openly was dangerous. Suard technically was on their side, but just because the English posed the major threat at the moment, it didn't mean that Suard's doings were any less dangerous to any of them, and Athos feared the moment things would go astray.

Mathis eyed the other three for a moment, but he chose to not say anything else. "I'll go in first. Draw the attention, so you three can follow with a little less noise."

Athos shot him a grateful look and Mathis strode towards the gate, which was already being opened, leaving Porthos, Athos and Aramis alone near the tree line. For a moment, there was silence, with nothing but the waves of the sea and the wind brushing through the leaves could be heard. Until one of them broke the silence.

"Thank you," Porthos said sincerely, biting his lip nervously. To his surprise, it was Athos who approached him from the side and laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't think we would leave you here to die, did you?"

Aramis to his other side chuckled weakly. "And if that's the case, I expect you to go straight back into Buckingham's arms voluntarily, because I can't take that insult."

Porthos grinned before he reentered the fortress, flanked by Athos and Aramis.

"Nah. I didn't doubt you for one second."

It had been three days since Athos and Aramis had rescued Porthos, and it had been two days where, despite their numerous injuries and exhaustion, they all shared more moments of relief and joy than in the whole of the previous month.

Porthos had presented Suard with a truly breathtaking and only slightly exaggerated tale of his and Mathis' daring escape from Saint-Blanceau, which involved a treacherous English soldier and a risky game of hide and seek, until Mathis and Porthos had run off the beach and straight into Athos and Aramis, who had been on a 'patrol' that evening around the camp.

Suard at first clearly had his doubts about this story, and especially about Aramis and Athos' involvement. Suard might be a poor strategist, but he wasn't stupid. However, when Mathis had confirmed the story, and even Arthur had supported them saying he had suggested that Athos and Aramis patrol the area, the General had finally let it go and concentrated on any details about the English Porthos was able to provide them.

Unfortunately, the information was quite limited. Porthos had been kept at the outer borders of the English camp, and was only able to provide them with his assessment of Lord Eadmund's character as well as a few English logistics, such as their numbers or their supplies. But the information didn't really raise the musketeers' confidence. In addition to that, their problems continued to grow. Athos' arm refused to heal properly, Aramis couldn't find any rest and looked more like a ghost than a man these days and after Mathis, Porthos too had developed a cough which had already spread to three more musketeers. And if they didn't have enough problems already, Porthos had told Athos and Aramis in private that Eadmund seemed to have a list of the musketeer regiment, as well as some basic information about their characters. That not only had them at disadvantage, but it scared the three of them more than each of them was willing to admit. Porthos had told them that they are looking for the men who are the leading forces of the musketeer regiment, and Eadmund seemed to think that wasn't Suard.

Nevertheless, having Porthos back with them had filled Athos' and Aramis' hearts with a new resolve, and a new fighting spirit. Athos still did not talk too much, but he fell back into his old routine of commenting and listening to the banter between Porthos and Aramis. Aramis found himself able to smile openly again, and the weight on his shoulders due to his new medical responsibilities seemed a little lighter with Porthos back at their sides. Porthos had dived back into forming new plans to secure their survival, should it be attacks on the Butcher or ways to get through to the citadel, not without teasing the cadets and lightly complaining about the state of the fortress.

But the moments of lightness were short-lived, and Aramis once again felt hatred running through his veins as he fought hard to control his anger as he was facing the General together with his two brothers-in-arms. Suard had ordered them into the commander's tent this afternoon to lay out a plan on how to proceed with the supplies they had. As expected, there had been no word from the citadel yet.

And, to state it lightly, Aramis disliked the General's new plan. If 'plan' was even the correct name for it. It was lazy and showed poor planning, but he bit his tongue and let Athos do the talking for now.

"We could go back to Cévry, and see if there is anything left to save," Athos suggested now, hiding the panic in his own voice.

"The Butcher probably has done so weeks ago," Suard cut in brusquely. "No, I respect your efforts, but I stand by my word. What we have left stays with us soldiers. If the civilians want to eat, they'll have to care for themselves."

Athos concealed his unbelieving snort with a clearing of the throat. "Even if we can last for another few days, sooner or later, there will be nothing left."

"Not for the musketeers, not for the civilians," Porthos, standing on Aramis' other side, added grimly.

"I am aware." Suard's voice was ice-cold. "But one problem at a time."

Aramis once again bit his tongue, but it was Porthos who voiced Aramis' thoughts out loud.

"If we beg the authorities on the mainland for support, it could take days, maybe even a week until action is taken. What if Lord Eadmund decides to attack once again?"

Suard's attention wandered towards Porthos, and he straightened up in front of the musketeer, clearly in an attempt to intimidate him. Porthos wasn't so easily impressed and he just held the eye-contact, his hands folded behind his back.

"A little faith. That's all I ask of you. I have a plan, and unless I say otherwise, you'll do as I say." Suard rounded the table and rested his hands on the desk. "And I say, no I order, one last time: The rations will be provided for the soldiers. And for the soldiers only. It's time that the others take their fate into their own hands."

Aramis was no longer able to hold back, and he heard the words coming out between his own clenched teeth before he was able to prevent them.

"Sir, with all due respect, this is against everything we stand for."

"You musketeers need to learn to abandon your damn morals and do what is necessary for the sake of this island, for the sake of a victory!" Suard thundered and glared at Aramis full of hostility, but also with a tinge of fear. It had been Suard's attitude to the marksman ever since Aramis had informed him about Gino. The General did not know what else Gino might have told him, and he was clearly hesitant to find out.

Athos immediately grabbed Aramis by the arm to prevent the marksman from diving any deeper into trouble. He then just bowed in front of Suard. "We'll get to it, Sir."

Aramis swallowed hard, turned on his heel and left the tent as fast as he could. Athos and Porthos followed him closely.

"He can't seriously think that this is the solution to our problem!" Aramis raged as soon as they had brought enough distance between themselves and the commander's tent. His gaze wandered towards the corner where the civilians were assembled. All looking scared, all looking lost. Their eyes filled with anxiety and fear.

Athos dropped onto a tree-trunk and buried his face in his hands. "No. But he'll let these people die if we do nothing."

Porthos folded his arms in front of his chest. "Is that what we're going to do? Nothing?"

Athos scowled. "I said it once before: Suard's greatest weakness is his ignorance. He still doesn't know the men he is commanding."

Next chapter may take a little bit longer, but I'll try my best to not keep you waiting for too long. Also, thank you to Laureleaf for your kind review :-) We're slowly but surely heading towards the climax. Thanks for reading!