A/N: Thank you Jmp, shewriteswords, and LadyWallace for your reviews!
Chapter 2
Porthos made his way over to the dragon dens that morning as Jean and Constance arrived with their breakfast. Even though it was their responsibility to feed the dragons, Porthos liked to sometimes help when it came to his own. D'Artagnan was there too, he and Constance still young and in that giddy stage of their newly married relationship. Porthos took a slab of meat off the cart and went to give it to Vrita, who immediately started to chow down contentedly.
Jean stopped at the edge of her den, brow furrowed. "She looks like she might need to lose some weight," he commented.
Vrita jerked her head up with an affronted growl.
"There's nothin' wrong wit' a little girth," Porthos defended her. He patted his own bulk. "Like me."
D'Artagnan and Constance attempted to cover small laughs at that. Jean just shook his head.
"Do not overfeed her," he warned. "She may be fine as is but it won't take much to push her over that."
Porthos huffed and turned back to his dragon to give her a fond pat. "Don' listen to him," he soothed.
She rumbled deep in her throat and bent her head to resume her breakfast.
Porthos spotted Athos coming through the archway across the garrison. The swordsman went straight up the stairs to the captain's office, but after a moment and an unanswered knock, he came back down, looked around the yard briefly, then headed toward the dens.
"Yer early today," Porthos remarked. Not that Athos was ever late; he was just more on time than was strictly required.
"Treville sent someone to bang on my door this morning," Athos replied blandly. "What is the urgency?"
Porthos frowned. "Don' know. He didn't say anythin' to me." He hadn't even seen the captain this morning.
Athos made a thoughtful hum that could have been part annoyance, part tiredness. His morning routine was a very specific one.
Porthos caught sight of the captain striding into the garrison then. "There he is."
Treville's eyes immediately found them and he stormed over.
"He don' look happy," Porthos murmured. "What'd you do?"
Athos shot him a dry look.
The captain, indeed, looked stressed as he approached them. "Aramis has been arrested for murder," he said without preamble.
Porthos blinked, not quite understanding what he'd heard. The others shared dumbfounded looks as well.
"Murder?" he repeated incredulously.
"Who did he kill?" Athos asked.
"A woman named Adele Bessette."
Porthos's jaw went slack in stupefaction at that. "No way," he blurted.
"There must be some mistake," Athos said more calmly than Porthos thought the situation warranted.
Treville's jaw was tight. "He was found in the woman's bed next to her body and his pistol was the murder weapon."
Porthos exchanged a gobsmacked look with Athos and d'Artagnan, unable to believe it.
"I know this woman was the Cardinal's mistress," Treville went on. He paused to narrow his gaze on them. "Was Aramis playing around with something he shouldn't have been?"
"Even if he was," Athos answered, "he would never commit cold-blooded murder of a woman."
Treville sighed. "The evidence is pretty damning. I'll give you permission to conduct your own investigation. But you'd better hurry and find solid proof of his innocence, because the Cardinal is intent on rushing the trial straight to execution."
Porthos's heart lurched at that.
"Where is Aramis?" Athos asked.
"The Chatelet."
With a nod, Athos immediately set off. Porthos and d'Artagnan quickly followed, leaving Constance and Jean looking after them worriedly. None of them could believe that Aramis was guilty of this crime. But if he'd been found in bed next to the body, and it was his pistol that'd been used…good Lord, what had he gotten himself into?
The three musketeers arrived at the Chatelet and asked the guards where Aramis was being held. They were given vague directions, the guards seeming less than motivated to be in any way helpful.
The Paris prison was a dark, cold, oppressive place with little light save from the flickering of torches. In some corners there were gaps in the outer stone wall to allow ventilation and illumination. Aramis, however, was in one of the deeper corridors where cries of misery echoed off the walls in a haunting cacophony.
He was in a cell by himself, sitting on the filthy ground with his knees drawn up and head in his hands. His coat was conspicuously missing.
"Aramis," d'Artagnan breathed.
He snapped his head up, then surged to his feet at the sight of them. There were dark circles under his eyes that were accentuated by the shadows cast from the wavering torchlight.
"Are you all right?" Athos asked first in a low voice laced with concern.
Aramis shook his head. "No. This is a nightmare."
"What happened?"
Aramis pressed an agitated hand against his head. "I don't know. I can't remember anything after yesterday afternoon when we were sparring."
Porthos's brows rose incredulously. "We went to the tavern last night. You don' remember that?"
Aramis shook his head again, expression obviously distraught. "How- how much did I have to drink?"
Porthos frowned as he thought back to the evening prior. "Not enough to match Athos," he said. "At least not by the time I was carryin' him home."
"So I stayed?" Aramis checked hesitantly.
"Yeah. You were flirtin' with the barmaid. She was givin' you a lot of attention and you waved us off when we left."
Aramis squeezed his eyes shut as though struggling to picture it. "I don't remember that," he said after a moment.
"Could you have been drugged?" Athos asked.
Aramis raked his fingers through his tangled curls. "That's the only thing that makes sense. I don't remember going to Adele's. When I woke up this morning, she was- she was…" He choked off and turned his face away from them.
Porthos shared a look with the others again. They knew Aramis had loved Adele, despite the danger—and perhaps the allure of that—with their liaison.
"Drugged and framed for murder?" d'Artagnan spoke up. "Why?"
Athos's gaze narrowed on Aramis's back and Porthos held back a sigh because they all knew who could be behind something like that and why.
"I-" Aramis started. "I left one of my pistols behind when I was last there," he admitted.
Porthos's eyes widened and he cursed under his breath.
"The identical pair of the one you displayed in front of the Cardinal yesterday?" Athos asked, voice flinty with recrimination.
Aramis didn't say anything.
Porthos shook his head in mounting frustration and vexation.
"How are we going to prove Aramis's innocence, then?" d'Artagnan asked.
"We'll have a talk with the barmaid," Athos replied. "If Aramis was drugged, it likely happened there."
Aramis still didn't say anything. Porthos was reluctant to leave him alone like this, but the sooner they found out the truth of what happened, the sooner they could get him out of here.
"Hang in there," he said as he turned to leave with the others.
Aramis merely nodded and despondently watched them go.
.o.0.o.
With the departure of his friends, Aramis was alone again, and he felt the isolation keenly despite the chorus of cries that provided a constant backdrop to this dungeon. He shuffled back over to the wall, leaning back against it and sliding down to the floor to bury his face in his hands again. He couldn't believe this was happening.
Adele's empty gaze stared at him in his mind's eye no matter how hard he tried to shake free of it. His eyes burned and the tears started to fall. Had he brought this death upon her? Whether he had pulled that trigger or not, was she dead because of him? Because he couldn't stay away, couldn't leave well enough alone. She said she loved him but she never considered leaving the Cardinal for him. And her inability to choose Aramis hadn't discouraged him from continuing the affair. Was Athos right; had it all been a game? A twisted game driven more out of lust and desire to get a one-up on the Cardinal than real, genuine love?
Aramis squeezed his eyes shut as more hot tears spilled forth. Was he really that base? No, his grief was real, and therefore so were his feelings. But if he had been more careful, more cautious, more wise as Athos had repeatedly tried to drill into his head to no avail, maybe things wouldn't have fallen apart so drastically like this. Maybe Adele would still be alive.
He heard the soft swish of fabric that was a stark contrast to the metal clink any guard would make and looked up. Aramis stiffened as none other than the Cardinal appeared outside his cell. He hastened to his feet, turning his head to the shadows so he could swiftly wipe the tears from his eyes before facing the villain.
The Cardinal had a predatory, satisfied look as he regarded Aramis. The man didn't say anything though, and the scrutiny quickly began to grate on Aramis's nerves.
"What do you want?" he gritted out, breaking the stalemate first.
"As France's spiritual leader, I have come to offer the King's man the chance to confess your sins before your execution, to unburden your soul before you face eternal judgement."
Aramis narrowed his gaze. "I'm to have a trial before I'm declared guilty."
Richelieu smirked. "By all means. But the evidence is irrefutable."
"I didn't murder Adele. I was framed. And I think we both know who is truly behind it," Aramis declared staunchly. He closed the distance to the edge of the bars, fury exploding inside him. "How could you kill her!"
Richelieu tutted. "I did no such thing."
"Maybe you didn't pull the trigger yourself, but I know you're behind this."
"Yet all the evidence points to you. If my services are not needed, then I will take my leave." Richelieu turned away, but then paused and looked back with a gleam in his eye. "There is a special circle of Hell reserved for those who commit the sin of betrayal. Perhaps you will see dear Adele again."
With that, he strode away.
Aramis's chest felt too tight to draw breath. That was as good as an admission in his eyes…not that it helped him. And it only confirmed that Adele was dead because of him. Because the Cardinal had discovered their affair and had seen fit to exact revenge.
Alone once more, Aramis staggered back to his corner to languish under the crushing weight of guilt and grief. He bowed his head to pray. He would confess his sins directly to God, not to a farce of a holy man, a devil parading in devout robes.
"Lord," he began with a shaky stutter. "Have mercy. I do not deserve it, but deliver me from this tribulation. Let me die for something I am truly guilty of."
But wasn't he guilty in part? If he had stayed away from Adele, none of this would have happened.
"Have mercy on Adele," he whispered. "Spare her soul. She had a good heart. She only led the life she did to survive. It was never out of malice. Absolve her sins in death, I pray you."
He reached under the collar of his shirt to pull out his rosary.
And absolve me of mine.
.o.0.o.
The tavern had a quieter crowd this early in the morning when the musketeers entered. Athos never paid attention to the women Aramis flirted with, so he had to rely on Porthos to point her out.
Porthos scanned the dimly lit bar, then pointed to a young wench in the back wiping down one of the tables. The musketeers approached her, fanning out slightly to present a slightly intimidating front. She jolted when she finally noticed them.
"Messieurs?"
"Do you remember us from last night?" Athos asked.
"We had a lot o' patrons last night," she replied, flicking a wary glance between the three of them.
"You seemed pretty cozy with our friend, Aramis," he went on blandly.
There was a flash of fear in her eyes, which she quickly tried to cover with a nervous laugh. "Everyone knows Aramis."
"What happened with him last night?" Athos pressed.
"Nothing happened," she replied, but there was a slight increase in her inflection and a shifty look in her eye.
"I don't believe you," Athos said. "He was drugged, likely through the wine at this establishment. And you were the one serving him."
"N-no. You're mistaken."
Porthos stepped closer with a growl. "Tell us what you did and maybe we won' throw you in the Chatelet."
"Nothing!" she bleated. This time her frightened gaze skittered past them as though searching for someone else to be watching their interaction. "I'm telling you, I don't know anything!"
"Porthos," Athos said quietly.
Porthos flicked a displeased look his way before backing up a step. The barmaid squeezed past him and darted away.
"She knows somethin'," Porthos barked.
"She's scared," d'Artagnan commented. "Of the Cardinal?"
"The Cardinal would never get his hands dirty himself," Athos replied. "He'd send his red guards."
"Then we go after her an' ask what red guards she's been in cahoots wit'," Porthos snapped.
"That will only send us on another chase," Athos countered. "We should speak to Adele Bessette's household staff. Aramis and Adele were deliberately placed there; someone must have seen something. We need an eyewitness account if we're to prove Aramis's innocence sooner rather than later."
Porthos still looked disgruntled but didn't argue further. They were in a hurry. With the Cardinal behind things, there was no telling just how quickly he might get a trial going, and from there whisk Aramis away to the executioner. The musketeers were in a race against time with the deck stacked against them.