Morning came, and Aramis awoke to a very serious Athos seated on the side of his bed. From the expression on his face, Aramis deduced that his brother had something important that he had been waiting for him to awaken to discuss with him. With a sinking feeling, he knew exactly what it was, too.
Pushing himself up to a sitting position, he decided to take the bull by the horns, so to speak, and opened his mouth to speak, only for Athos to raise a hand for silence and spoke himself.
"Aramis, how do you feel?" he asked, throwing the marksman off at the unexpected words.
Recovering, he responded, "I've been worse."
"That is not exactly what I asked," Athos reminded him, but spoke this time in a gentle tone with a raised eyebrow as he waited again.
"My breathing is better. I am sure that you will find a rather large bruise on my lower back, though."
This gave Athos pause, the information volunteered surprised him, as they usually had to push much harder to get their brother to admit to injuries. They also had not known about the punch he had received in the alleyway.
Seeing Athos waiting expectantly, Aramis gave a long-suffering sigh and turned himself around, pulling up the back of his shirt. Sure enough, a large, purpling bruise was centered right in the middle of his lower back, close to his waistline. Athos, without a word, rose and retrieved an ointment from Aramis' much-used medic bag. Sitting back down, he began rubbing a small amount into the bruise, Aramis unable to hide a grimace as he did so.
"Aramis," Athos began once again as he continued his ministrations, "you do realize this was completely avoidable?"
Hesitating before answering, Aramis took a deep breath and said, "I just didn't want any harm to come to any of you because..."
Athos let him get that far before interrupting, speaking in a firm, no-nonsense tone but with a distinct underlying note of sadness,"Aramis do you not know that any harm to you would wound us, as well? We are brothers, mon ami, with everything that implies. When one is in danger or injured, we all hurt. When you too, off as you did, the pain of your possibly being waylaid and killed before we could get to you filled all of us. You would sacrifice yourself for us to protect us from harm, but if you had not survivied, something would have died inside of us." Reaching his hand out, Athos softly clasped it behind his brother's neck, pullling him forward until their foreheads rested together, letting his words soak in.
Aramis, in a quiet voice, said, "I'm sorry. I didn't think I was..."
Athos, before he could finish, said, "Aramis, you do have a tendency to rush in sometimes, and you do so from the heart with good intentkons. Your heart is very big. It is open to each of us, to anyone who is a victim, to the injured, the lost, the foresaken. But you need to have a care for yourself, as well. That is all I am asking of you, brother."
Athos seldom spoke for this length of time, which alone told Aramis how concerned his brother was. But the words. He rarely thought of himself in emergency situations, always have an eye out for his brothers, and for those in need. But as he thought about Athos' words now, he could see how he had to have affected them when he had taken off down that deserted street alone and unarmed-as he himself would have felt if one of the others had done so. But he also knw that he would sacrifice himself without a qualm if, in doing so, he could save their lives. He just had to be a little more careful to try to do both in the future, if possible.
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Porthos came and found Athos later. "Did you talk any sense into him?" he asked.
"I think he feels very bad about worrying us all," Athos replied. "But we know Aramis. In the heat of the moment, and if one of us is endangered, I believe he cannot help responding the way he does. He sincerely thought that the men who are after him might hurt or kill one of us in trying to achieve their objective. We need to watch him very carefully until these mysterious men are apprehended...or killed."
Porthos solemnly nodded his head in agreement.
Athos spoke up again, surprising Porthos in what he said this time. "Did you notifce that in the attack this time, no one was hooded. They wore no masks, either. Why? Something has changed in their strategy, and we need to be diligent in finding them before they try again."
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The two men met beneath the city, Paris having miles of a centuries-old sewer system that most people either didn't know existed or considered long-abandoned. It was perfect, if not exactly the cleanest of places to conduct business, if your business included violence, kidnapping and murder.
The prelate who had once again requested, or rather demanded the meeting, held his expensive robes and cloak high with one hand to avoid the likely possibility of them being soiled. The other held a fine lace handkerchief over his nose to block out the noxious odors permeating the sewers.
"This is taking entirely too long," he began. "I am not paying you good coin to drink and gamble your days and nights away."
"We will get your work done, Your Eminence. Never fear. We have just had a small change in tactics, which will be a little more costly but will work out better for us."
"The richly-clothed man started at this, exclaiming, "I am already paying you far more than enough for what I have told you to do. What else could you possibly need?"
"We are not in the countryside any longer. Men wearing hoods will draw too much unwanted attention and suspicion here in Paris. I have begun hiring different men for the lower ranks of our band, and keeping them for no longer than a week at a time. Constantly-changing faces are not easy to be found, making us more anonymous to any Musketeers who may be charged with seeking us out."
After a pause, the other man spoke, sounding reflective. "I must say, that is actually a very good idea. I approve. What else have you in mind?"
"We talked among ourselves, and decided, with your approval of course, to use one of the Musketeer's friends to lure him in. The man will disappear for several days, probably causing panic when they don't know where he is. We have found that he has three men our quarry sees as brothers, and they care a great deal about each other, a liability for them but a great help to us. When we send a Musketeer a demand to come and meet us-alone- if he wishes to see the friend we hold alive again, I think it will be safe to say we will at last have him in our trap. Then, it is up to you if you wish him killed and in what way, or if you wish him brought somewhere."
"I have a specific place in mind for him. Before he dies a very prolonged death, he will have plenty of time to reflect upon the error of his ways. He will know before he finally dies that it was a grave error to cross my path," abruptly turning at his last words again, and walking away to be swallowed up in the murky darkness surrounding them. He left the hired man standing alone, profoundly grateful that he was not the focus of the man's evil plans.
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The Musketeers decided to celebrate that evening. Porthos had suggested dinner and drinks at his favorite tavern, The Cat and Hound. The others tried to convince him that he should pay for the evening too, but Porthos protested loudly enough that they relented, their laughter drawing the attention of the men sparring in the compound, who laughed with them.
It felt good to have a lighthearted moment again, and they began to banter among themselves as to how much Porthos would win at cards that evening.
None of them saw the two men who followed them to the tavern at a discreet distance, nor did they see anyone behind them on their way back to the garrison in the wee hours of the morning, laughing uproariously as they walked.
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Next morning at muster, Treville handed out their assignments. Aramis and Porthos had palace duty, with Porthos grumbling at the assignment being boring. Aramis was now seeing any type of palace duty in a new light, because Anne was back from an extended visit to her cousin's home. She had been gone for almost a month. It made all the difference in the world, as he didn't mind palace duty if there was a chance of seeing the woman he loved, and who was carrying their child in her womb.
Treville wanted Athos to stay behind to discuss a few matters with his lieutenant. D'Artagnan had requested the day, as Constance had asked if he could be permitted to question the people of her neighborhood about the amount of thievery going on there. Treville had granted the request, grateful that so far, it was only taking one man away from the garrison, and only for a short while at that. He was hoping that if d'Artagnan could come up with a clue or two, he wouldn't have to detail more men to go house to house.
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Aramis and Porthos left early, so had plenty of time to take a more leisurely pace to the palace. It was a beautiful spring day. They made a couple of stops on the way, including a purchase at the elderly apple-vendor's cart for Aramis, and a sweet treat for Porthos at the bakery.
Leaving the bakery, Porthos began to tease his friend. "Celeste only had eyes for one person. Not that you noticed, right?"
Aramis, who had his mind on Anne, responded, "Mmm."
Porthos, looking sideways at him and seeing him preoccupied, said, "Snow's coming down a mite harder now," and was puzzled when he heard "Um hmm."
"The King's cavorting in the street in his breeches and boots." When this got no reaction at all, Porthos reached over and lightly punched Aramis in the shoulder.
That finally got his brother's attention. "What was that for?" a mock-outraged Aramis demanded.
"Where were you?" Porthos asked him. "Your body is here, but where is the rest of you?"
"Just enjoying the day, my friend. Like you should be doing."
Porthos gave up. "You better be alert while we're on guard duty, mon ami. You know how the King is. Important things pass him by, but a small detail like a day-dreaming Musketeer will catch his attention. Stay alert!" the last comment spoken with a grin.
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Constance insisted upon coming with d'Artagnan as he visited some of the houses of her neighborhood. They enjoyed the time to spend together, something they didn't get nearly enough of. Constance, even while feeling guilty of going behind her husband's bafck, still was thrilled to be with the man she had grown to love for a little while. They didn't dare hold hands, or even steal a quick kiss. But just being with each other was a treat for both of them.
When they finished visiting the houses, they hadn't gleaned any information that might give them a clue as to who the thief was. No one seemed to have observed anything out of the ordinary. Constance insisted that d'Artagnan come in when he had escorted her back to her house. She had a meal of fresh-baked bread, cheese and fruit she wanted to serve to him before he headed back to the garrison.
Her husband was still not back when d'Artagnan finished, so he stole a short kiss on his way out.
Smiling in contentment, she waved goodbye as he started down the street back to the garrison. Closing the door behind her and leaning back against the wood, her eyes closed for a moment, recalling the day they had spent together.
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D'Artagnan headed home whistling, something he didn't do very often. The scent of Constance's hair still lingered, and he smiled to himself.
He was about halfway back on a quiet side street, when he was suddenly yanked into the alleyway by a pair of hands. Something hit him hard on the side of his head. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground. Arms reached out to grab hold of him again, and drag him further down the dark alleyway to a waiting cart.