As sad as his story was, Athos finally, on the second day of questions,.asked a different type of question. '"Laurent, we need to direct the questions differently now. We are becoming increasingly concerned at our brother's continued disappearance. Did your brother have places he liked to go-maybe out of the way places?"
Laurent seemed stumped by the question, his brows coming together as he tried to figure out how to answer it.
Athos prompted him, adding to his question. "Maybe places where not people would be?"
Laurent thought about it a bit. All three Musketeers souch wanted to hurry him, but knew they needed to give him the time to think. They waited as patiently as they could. It seemed to take forever, but then Laurent began speaking. "He loved old jails, old prisons. I can't tell you how many of them he dragged me off to, walking through them, telling me what happened inside of them."
The Musketeers collectively thought what a sick man Laurent had for a brother, dragging an impressionable little boy through cold, dark prisons, and what he more than likely shared of the men incarcerated there: locked up in small cells, brutalized by the guards, many, if not most of them, for the rest of their lives. Not a picture anyone should paint for their little brother.
It was Athos who first had the thought that maybe, just maybe they might be on to something.
"Could you make us a list of the places you used to visit, Laurent? Especially the prisons that are no longer used?" Porthos and d'Artagman's eyes turned abruptly off Laurent's face towards Athos as he said this, as comprehension and barely concealed hope began to blossom on their faces.
Laurent said, "It might take me a while. There were quite a few over the years. But yes, I will do it."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxt The man who so delighted in mocking Aramis in the prison stood in front of Richelieu, lisyening to him rant. "He is an impudent young man! How dare he even try to defy me when he is at my mercy! He shows no respect at all. None! You will continue with his punishment. Every day, once a day-and make clear to him that I deserve the respect and honor of my offices, both as First Minister and as a Cardinal. The man before him knew little about religion, but the little he did know was how much respect a Cardinal of the Church was given by his observances of people in the streets when one of them's carriages drove by. But the man was no fool, either. Cardinal Richelieu didn't behave as any other Cardinal or Bishop he had ever seen. Richelieu followed his own rules, not anyone else's, even God's.
But the man also didn't care a whit whether the man was devout or a scoundrel. Sll he was interested in was the gold promised to he and his mrn when the job was done. He would follow the man's orders to the letter. It wouldn't be the first time he had practiced brutality against someone, including his own brother, and it wouldn't be the last. Killing was something else he had no qualms about. If Richelieu changed his mind and ordered the Musketeer's death, he would do it without batting an eye. He and his conscience hadn't seen eye to eye in years. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Aramis consciousness filtered in and out for quite some time. The kick in his stomach had renewed the agony in his side, the boot having caught the edge of it. His hands linked by the chain to the ring in the wall forced him to have to face the wall when he was lying down, the chain not long enough to do it in the other direction. But his was a troubled sleep, troubled by nightmares and by his wound, it was the reason he was fading in and out.
He now knew without any doubt that unless his brothers were able to find him, he would die here in this black pit, alone and unable to even say goodbye to his friends, his brothers. He had always thought he would die in one of his brothers' arms, either on a battlefield, if they were at war, or on a mission. Anne. Her name he whispered aloud. He had thought, in the back of his mind, that he might never know love again after Isabelle. Now, he knew an even stronger love than Isabelle. But she was list to him now. His heart ached at the image in his head of Anne hearing the news of his death. He hoped the bearer of the news did not go into into detail about how it had happened. He wanted her to at least be spared that pain His child, boy or girl it mattered not. He would love the babe with all his heart either way. But now, it seemed,.he was never to know. He would never see his child He again had no conception of time. All he had were his thoughts and prayer. He turned again to the God he loved so much, finding some solace in his dark world of pain.
Laurent seemed stumped by the question, his brows coming together as he tried to figure out how to answer it.
Athos prompted him, adding to his question. "Maybe places where not people would be?"
Laurent thought about it a bit. All three Musketeers souch wanted to hurry him, but knew they needed to give him the time to think. They waited as patiently as they could. It seemed to take forever, but then Laurent began speaking. "He loved old jails, old prisons. I can't tell you how many of them he dragged me off to, walking through them, telling me what happened inside of them."
The Musketeers collectively thought what a sick man Laurent had for a brother, dragging an impressionable little boy through cold, dark prisons, and what he more than likely shared of the men incarcerated there: locked up in small cells, brutalized by the guards, many, if not most of them, for the rest of their lives. Not a picture anyone should paint for their little brother.
It was Athos who first had the thought that maybe, just maybe they might be on to something.
"Could you make us a list of the places you used to visit, Laurent? Especially the prisons that are no longer used?" Porthos and d'Artagman's eyes turned abruptly off Laurent's face towards Athos as he said this, as comprehension and barely concealed hope began to blossom on their faces.
Laurent said, "It might take me a while. There were quite a few over the years. But yes, I will do it."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxt The man who so delighted in mocking Aramis in the prison stood in front of Richelieu, lisyening to him rant. "He is an impudent young man! How dare he even try to defy me when he is at my mercy! He shows no respect at all. None! You will continue with his punishment. Every day, once a day-and make clear to him that I deserve the respect and honor of my offices, both as First Minister and as a Cardinal. The man before him knew little about religion, but the little he did know was how much respect a Cardinal of the Church was given by his observances of people in the streets when one of them's carriages drove by. But the man was no fool, either. Cardinal Richelieu didn't behave as any other Cardinal or Bishop he had ever seen. Richelieu followed his own rules, not anyone else's, even God's.
But the man also didn't care a whit whether the man was devout or a scoundrel. Sll he was interested in was the gold promised to he and his mrn when the job was done. He would follow the man's orders to the letter. It wouldn't be the first time he had practiced brutality against someone, including his own brother, and it wouldn't be the last. Killing was something else he had no qualms about. If Richelieu changed his mind and ordered the Musketeer's death, he would do it without batting an eye. He and his conscience hadn't seen eye to eye in years. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Aramis consciousness filtered in and out for quite some time. The kick in his stomach had renewed the agony in his side, the boot having caught the edge of it. His hands linked by the chain to the ring in the wall forced him to have to face the wall when he was lying down, the chain not long enough to do it in the other direction. But his was a troubled sleep, troubled by nightmares and by his wound, it was the reason he was fading in and out.
He now knew without any doubt that unless his brothers were able to find him, he would die here in this black pit, alone and unable to even say goodbye to his friends, his brothers. He had always thought he would die in one of his brothers' arms, either on a battlefield, if they were at war, or on a mission. Anne. Her name he whispered aloud. He had thought, in the back of his mind, that he might never know love again after Isabelle. Now, he knew an even stronger love than Isabelle. But she was list to him now. His heart ached at the image in his head of Anne hearing the news of his death. He hoped the bearer of the news did not go into into detail about how it had happened. He wanted her to at least be spared that pain His child, boy or girl it mattered not. He would love the babe with all his heart either way. But now, it seemed,.he was never to know. He would never see his child He again had no conception of time. All he had were his thoughts and prayer. He turned again to the God he loved so much, finding some solace in his dark world of pain.