He wondered if it was unintentional or was it simply that they hadn't seen him as much of a threat to properly tie him up. Either way d'Artagnan was happy to take the leeway that was afforded to him on this day that had become an unexpected gift from hell.
His chipped nails throbbed from the effort that had set his ankles free; if his hands had been tied behind his back he would have never been able to tug those bindings loose. His hands clenched into fists and twisting his wrists d'Artagnan tried again to wriggle and slacken the ropes around them. A slow grin pulled at his lips when the bindings gave way and he blinked to keep the sweat from his eyes.
The sweat burned and the grin pulled on tender skin, vanishing instantly.
His face hurt.
He glanced down beside him to look at his fiancé. He had untied her first and made sure that she was lying on her side with her legs slightly curled; 'recovery position' Aramis had told him once, 'shut up and let me move,' d'Artagnan had replied at the time.
Now he just wished that it was helping the woman he loved in some way. She had still to make a move towards awareness and d'Artagnan could admit to himself that her prolonged unconsciousness was making him queasy. He stumbled to his feet and squinted at their empty surroundings.
The heat wasn't helping his roiling stomach either.
D'Artagnan frowned at the long neat lines of olive trees around him and hissed at the pain it caused him.
He bent and heaved Constance up; slipping under her arm and pressing his lips close against the nausea that kicked up several notches at his movement. The dust creased cheek rested against his shoulder and d'Artagnan took heart at the feeling of Constance's steady breath at the side of his neck.
"I've got you and I'm not letting go," he told her, voice dry and scratchy, "we'll be back at the farmhouse in no time, you just focus on waking up alright?"
One step, then another, and then another step.
It was a slow going but d'Artagnan grit his teeth until his jaw hurt and used the pain to fuel his anger over the situation; the situation he would resolve, he would see them to the farmhouse, there was just no other option for him.
Neck straight, eyes ahead as he tried to ignore the sun beating down on them.
D'Artagnan traced a stumbling path over the dusty ground, trying his best to remain in the shade of the olive trees as he weaved through their line. Tripping over his own feet he threw out a hand and caught his balance against a tree trunk. The sour taste at the back of his throat returned with a vengeance and he leaned his forehead against the tree trunk as he tamped down the desire to throw up.
It was then that he heard it.
The clipity-clop of a horse.
His back stiffened.
D'Artagnan was sure his brothers wouldn't know the need to come after him and that only left the men from the hillside. He eased Constance down and stood before her, he would not go down without a fight. Fists clenched at his sides d'Artagnan turned around to meet the new threat.
His eyes winded at the sight of the lone horse that seemed to have been following them. It was the chestnut mare d'Artagnan had been riding earlier.
"Uh… hi?"
The horse stilled at his voice, turned its head and regarded him with big round eyes; its ears rotating and twitching.
"You'd have saved me a lot of trouble if you'd come a bit earlier," d'Artagnan chose to ignore that he was talking to a horse, it was better than the silence around him, "not that I'm complaining, because you can still help."
He slowly neared the animal that pawed the ground, edging a little closer and then back from the man in a wary sort of curiosity.
"Now don't bite me alright?" d'Artagnan carefully reached out a hand, "I like to think we're friends, you did come back for me after all."
D'Artagnan laid a hand on the horse's flank, the velvet softness still a surprise for him in the face of the power of the beast. He had always imagined horses as strength, stamina, speed, assuming a certain hardness concerning the animals; the gentler, soft playfulness he had witnessed between Athos and his horse had floored him.
"I'm sorry I don't remember your name," d'Artagnan told the horse, "so I'm going to call you Boots, 'cause you're the same shade as these really neat pair of boots Porthos has. He said I could borrow them but they wouldn't fit," he rambled on, his tone taking a rather dejected tone, "Porthos' feet are big. But I'd like a pair of boots like those. So you're it. You're Boots."
The horse whinnied and fidgeted.
D'Artagnan frowned; Athos had told him to respect the horses.
"Mr. Boots?" he tried.
The horse nudged him with a wet nose and d'Artagnan half froze in fear of having his ear about to be bitten off. But the animal didn't seem to have any such intent. With a steadying breath d'Artagnan began to check the saddle and secure the straps, silently going over the steps Athos had taught him.
"Now you be good Mr. Boots," he muttered as he looked over to his fiancé before glancing back at the horse.
He had to get Constance onto the horse somehow.
He had to take her back.
And he had to help his brothers against the men who he was sure were by now at the farmhouse.
Fear threatened to overwhelm him as he straightened. The silence, the loneliness and the scale of the task before him swelled into a wave and he leaned against the horse, waiting for the sudden swinging of his vision to stop.
"D'Artagnan?"
He jerked away from his support with a squeak.
"D'Art?"
He looked to the animal, ridiculously relieved to find it not talking. It came to his mind a little belatedly that it was a woman's voice, his fiancé's voice to be precise. D'Artagnan wiped his head around so fast it left flashing spots in his vision; he was stumbling towards Constance before they had cleared.
"Constance? I'm here, it's alright," he dropped to his knees beside her side.
D'Artagnan steadied her when she swayed where she sat and Constance groaned as she raised a shaky hand to clutch at her head. Swallowing thickly she clenched her eyes shut and gripped his hand with surprising strength.
"Take it slow you were out for a while,"
"I'm alright," she murmured.
D'Artagnan could tell she wasn't but decided not to argue. He waited until she finally squinted up at him.
"You're hurt," her feather light touch hovered over the sore spot high on his cheek.
"Not badly," he grasped her fingers in his own and gave them a gentle squeeze, "and I'm way better now that you're up and coherent."
He glanced back towards the horse and wished he hadn't had to make the decision that came with it. It wasn't for his own churning stomach but the obvious nausea that Constance was trying to keep at bay.
"We'll have to ride back," he said.
Apology clear in his voice.
"I know," Constance tried to smile.
She waved a hand at him to help her up and together they moved slowly towards the horse. Getting into the saddle was a dizzy sickening affair and d'Artagnan was eternally grateful for the animal's patience. He forced himself to loosen the tight grip of his knees and was tempted to lean forward in an attempt to drape himself over the horse's neck.
He couldn't help a proud a smile at the ease with which Constance slid in the saddle before him despite the obvious dizziness still lingering in her eyes.
"They'll have reached the farmhouse by now," she said.
"I trust them to take care of it," d'Artagnan told her.
Because he suddenly realized that he really did. It was one thing to have faith in yourself but an entirely different feeling to have faith in another. It was something that was new to him and after the events of the past month it was a scary thought, but d'Artagnan realized that if there was a point where he knew something was out of his hand he would trust his brothers to handle it.
In the end they had called a truce; each heading for a shower before coming back to put the kitchen right.
Porthos picked his way through the sticky white patches and the drying smears that trailed broken eggshells. He collected the spatula from next to the wall and went to retrieve the bowls scattered between the stove and the kitchen island as the distant beat of horse hooves reached him. He had known d'Artagnan wouldn't last long in the noon heat.
"Guess the pup's coming to his senses," Porthos chuckled to himself as he straightened.
It was the crunch of eggshell underfoot, an unfamiliar foot fall behind him that had the big man swing around to slam the metal bowl in the hand wielding a gun. There was a second's lull as both men stared at the weapon skittering away before the intruder grabbed a knife from the island and slashed the air inches from where Porthos' throat had been.
Arching back Porthos scrabbled for the first object his fingers could lay purchase on and the ding echoed up to his shoulder as his makeshift weapon clanged with the knife.
It was a fork.
Porthos couldn't tell who was more surprised out of the two of them.
With a grin threatening to break over his face Porthos met each swing of the knife with the fork in his hand, effectively parrying the blows as he gained ground on the other man. He caught the blade between the prongs of his impromptu weapon and with twist of his wrist hinged the knife out of the man's grip, catching it in mid air before slamming a fist to his opponent's face.
He only had a second to catch his breath when another gun totting maniac appeared in the doorway and Porthos threw the knife before he could open fire. It buried hilt deep in the man's arm and stepping over the intruder unconscious at his feet Porthos reached the other one to knock him out cold.
"Shhh…" Porthos told the unconscious man as he eased him down and plucked the gun from his lax grip.
He had no idea who these men were, mercenaries most likely he decided as he took in the ragged appearance but wasted no time to search for identification. If they were in the farmhouse, intent to murder them, then the big man had only one priority and that was to get to his brothers.
Standing in the doorway of the kitchen Porthos scanned the empty corridor. With his enemy's weapon in hand Porthos quietly made his way towards the foyer and stopped in the slanted shadow that was cast over the wall of the hallway he was in.
A muffled clatter reached his ears followed by a single gunshot and Porthos' heartbeat picked up; the racket had come from upstairs where Aramis was, alone and unawares.
Determined to reach him, Porthos risked moving out of from where he was pressed against the wall. He was halfway to the staircase when his eyes locked with the man on the other end of the spacious main hall. Porthos ducked behind the cover of the arched entrance as bullets sprayed in his wake.
It took him a second to realize that there had been an echo, shots had been fired somewhere on the second floor too and Porthos hoped fervently that Aramis was safe. The big man spared a glance towards the stairs. Aramis was up there alone but he had to trust his brother to be able to handle this.
Because despite all that Aramis had been through, Porthos still believed in his friend.
He sneaked a look around his cover, cursing as two bullets buried in the wall where his head had been. He dropped to his knee and returned fire and the man attacking him went down with a bloody leg.
Somewhere out of sight there was an uproar and Porthos could imagine the horrified flurry of the house staff as he made to straighten. He twisted abruptly, out of the way of the man who had charged at his back, but it was a second too late.
Fire blazed in his side as the knife carved through skin and flesh from his upper back down to his stomach. A grunt escaped him as he grasped the man by the wrist and slammed it into the nearest solid surface he could find. The impact with the wall sent the knife flying from the man's hand but his other hand twisted the gun out of Porthos' grip.
As his vision wavered a bit the big man realized it was the first intruder he had encountered that now held him at the point of his weapon. The bloody nosed mercenary grinned at him and said something in Spanish.
"Yeah, not helping," Porthos told him, "can't understand a word you're sayin'."
He glanced back at the sound of footfalls on the stairs and wasn't surprised to find three unknown men making their way down to them. The man before him grinned wider as he locked eyes with Porthos and steadied his weapon.
Two more gunshots rang out in the farmhouse.
He padded into his room, damp hair clinging to his neck and loosely curling up at his forehead as they dried. Hobbling slightly Aramis dropped at the edge of his bed and examined the scars at the bottom of his feet. They didn't seem worsened by his trek yesterday but were painfully protesting the miles he had covered on foot before tackling the hill.
With a shrug he pulled his shoes closer, stuck his feet in them and quickly tied the laces. Porthos was waiting for him in the kitchen and Aramis was not going to abandon him to cleanup duty. He planned to help sort the mess and then sit with his feet up while he watched Porthos bake. If that meant he could polish off at least half the first batch of cupcakes before his friend would be the wiser then Aramis could simply claim it a coincidence.
Congratulating himself on the masterful plan Aramis was about to open the door to his room but his hand stopped inches away from the wood. A warning coiled in his gut, like it did when his mark would spend too long a time in cover and away from the range of his scope, something was off although he couldn't decide what.
It was that momentary pause that allowed him to step back as the door swung open, and it was simply muscle memory that followed as he ducked under one armed hand pulling it forwards and down even as he rammed his elbow in the sternum of the man following behind. A loud grunt preceded the clatter of a weapon dropping and Aramis wasted no time to kick it away, catching the ankle of the first intruder as he did. The man fell on his knees and hoisting him up by his collar Aramis left him unconscious with a well placed punch.
His breath left him in a whoosh as a meaty fist connected with his side and Aramis staggered back into the room.
Bracing a hand on his bed he forced himself to stay upright as his opponent moved closer. The man was almost the same size as Porthos and built like a small mountain, so Aramis was not surprised that he had recovered quickly from an otherwise well aimed hit. And as he pressed an arm over his ribs he could understand now why the hit had hurt so much.
The second attacker snarled a series of choice expletives in Spanish alluding Aramis' parentage. It drew a snort from him as Aramis found his balance with one hand on the bedside table.
"You should be careful with your words mi amigo," he grinned as he grasped the lamp, "there are young ears in the house,"
He slammed the lamp across the man's face, light bulb and shade and all.
As the large man fell in a heap before him Aramis looked up to find another man standing in the doorway. Gun leveled at his chest as he spared a glance to his fallen comrade before depressing the trigger.
Even as Aramis dropped to escape the shot he realized that it had gone wide, because his attacker had suddenly crumpled where he stood.
In his place was a woman.
Dark hair caught back in a ponytail and green cat like eyes regarded him coolly.
Aramis watched her step over the man, pluck his weapon from his lax grip and take an aim at the unconscious man's head.
"What are you doing?" he was on his feet and pulling her away.
"I'm making sure he's no longer a problem," M'Lady replied.
"You are not killing under my roof,"
"Bossy, bossy," M'Lady retrieved a couple of zip-ties from her pockets as gunshots echoed downstairs.
Aramis didn't spare her a glance as he made to move past her but she grabbed his arm and yanked him back. Yet he had caught the glimpse of three men coming out of d'Artagnan's room near the staircase and unfortunately they had seen him as well.
"Porthos is down there –"
"Tie them up," M'Lady snapped as she shoved him back and locked the door.
Aramis clenched his jaw shut and forced down the rising panic bubbling in his chest. He had to believe that his brothers were fine, that they could take what the situation was throwing at them. He had to trust them to hold their own.
Plucking the thin plastic strips from the woman's hand he hurried to secure the men in his room, zip-tying their hands and feet as the men outside kicked at his door. He glanced up as the woman pulled aside the curtains from the window and threw it open.
"C'mon,"
"I'm not leaving Porthos behind,"
"We're going around from the outside genius," she smirked at him, climbed onto the windowsill, grabbed its edge and disappeared in a plunge.
He followed her lead just as the door to his room opened with a resounding bang.
Aramis rolled over his shoulder as he hit the ground outside and broke into a sprint to escape the gunfire raining from the open window. He stopped beside M'Lady as she rounded the corner of the building and scanned the front porch.
"Care to explain?" he said.
"Would you rather I do that while they gun down your precious Porthos?" she smirked at him and pulled out one of the weapons she had picked off from the men in Aramis' room, "let's see to our guests first hmm?"
She pressed the gun in his hand. It was a snug fit, the alternatively grainy and smooth surface filling in the curve of his hand and the weight of the weapon a familiar promise. He was checking the chamber and the number of bullets almost out of reflex.
Slip, slide, lock.
…he is staring down his weapon at the slumped form; his father's face is leeched of colour, lips pale and thin and pursed in a grim line. The man is clutching his thigh, the shattered kneecap spreading a red pool under him. But there is triumph in his father's gaze, a smug gleam in the blue of his eyes.
In the end he had made him a murderer, he had made him his son after all.
"Just do it Rene," he says, "just finish this," ….
…Aramis swallowed hard to keep check of the bile rising up his throat. Fear of the precipice he had reached once churned in his stomach and he shook his head, pressing the weapon back in the hand of the woman beside him.
If M'Lady noticed the cold sweat breaking over him she didn't point it out and tucked the gun in her belt before moving out of their hiding spot. There were no more men in sight and since the three in his room weren't following them down the window, Aramis assumed that they were taking the stares.
It struck him like a bolt of lightning that they would be heading for Porthos.
He crossed the porch, was through the main door and in the foyer in seconds; stopping short at the scene that greeted him. Porthos had his hand pressed flat against the wall he was leaning on, while a man aimed his weapon at him even as three more armed men made their way down the stairs behind his brother.
Threat.
Identify, evaluate, resolve.
Aramis didn't even glance at the woman beside him as he plucked the extra weapon from her belt, took aim and fired two consecutive shots between one breath and another. He lowered the weapon, not bothered by the whiff of heat at its muzzle that spoke of violence.
From beside him M'Lady smirked as she walked ahead. Stepping over the man with the bleeding shoulder, she moved ahead to secure the two men who had tumbled down the stairs after Aramis had shot the man on the front in the knee.
"Thought you were upstairs," Porthos grinned at him.
His friend pushed away from the wall and Aramis' eyes zeroed in on the red stain spreading at his side.
"Porthos…"
His heart stuttered, his throat closed up and Aramis wasn't aware that he had moved.
But he had.
His trembling fingers were stained red at the tips when his brain caught up with his eyes.
"N-no, please Porthos, please," his breathing picked up its pace.
A large warm hand grasped his; another tipped his face up until his foggy view was filled with the dark eyes of his brother.
Eyes that were alight with life and full of concern.
"Not dying 'Mis," Porthos told him, " 'tis just a scratch,"
It was not a scratch, it was a long bloody gash winding from his back to his stomach and Aramis clutched the wrist of the hand that held his face. The steady beat under his fingers loosened the fear enclosing like a vice around his chest and he let out a shaky breath.
His brother was alive, not dying but still bleeding.
He needed to move.
"Keep talking," Aramis said, "just keep talking,"
"Not a problem," Porthos said, "at least d'Art and Constance weren't caught in this. But I think we should send someone out to fetch them back,"
Aramis nodded as he took Porthos' weight when he stumbled.
"He'd be mad if we didn't let him know. And we have to check on Athos too,"
"He's at the pool with Raoul," Aramis said, "I don't think the guest houses were targeted."
"I don't think so," M'Lady spoke up as she turned away from the bound intruders.
She had added duct tape on the mouth to the ensemble, effectively leaving the men squirming like worms.
Aramis' grip flexed on Porthos' arm as he guided him to the sofa in the lounge, sparing a glance to the unconscious man there before he glanced towards the woman. Aramis crouched before Porthos and tore into his shirt to get a better look at the wound.
"Explain," he said.
"I think they came after Raoul."
"How did you come to that conclusion?" Porthos asked.
Aramis caught the hitch in his breath as he pressed at particularly deep point in the gash that was still bleeding sluggishly.
"I saw them taking him and Athos,"
Aramis clamped down at the point where the wound still bled and frowned up at the woman. He didn't trust this woman but there was a niggling fear at the back of his mind that she might be telling the truth. Had Athos been around he would have been here by now, he would have come to check on them the second he would have heard the gunshots.
He glanced to Porthos and found the big man tied in the same thoughts.
"Why are they after Raoul?" Porthos asked.
"And where did they take the two of them," Aramis added.
"It's the work of an old acquaintance of mine," she toed the wriggling man near her feet, "as for where they took them, I think I can make one of them talk."
Aramis caught like the gleam in her eyes; it was cruel and promised answers and he would never admit to her that he was tempted. If torture was the way to get to those he loved away from danger then Aramis was not above from using it.
He looked to his brother suddenly when Porthos' hand came over his own.
"Don't," said his brother.
"I –"
"Don't go down that path," Porthos said, "Athos can hold his own until we get to him,"
A grim smile played on Aramis' lips. Even if he veered off, he could always trust his brothers to set him right. He pushed down the desire go out with all the fire power he had and burn down the world until he had found their brother and nephew. Athos would be fine; there was no other way Aramis would see this solved.
He looked up when the cook rushed in through the main door followed by her helper Senora Aleta. The old cook's eyes were wide and her breath was coming in ragged puffs as the woman by her side steadied her.
"Senor Rene someone stole the horses, I called Senor Alvaro already - he is on his way, " Senora Maria announced, "poor Berto's throwing up in there saying he was drugged and oh –!"
She gasped at the sight of scattered wounded men.
All eyes turned to the main door as the beat of horse hooves echoed in the silence that followed. Aramis pushed Porthos back down when he made to stand up and picking up the weapon he had taken from M'Lady he motioned for the staff to get inside.
Cautiously he moved ahead into the porch and broke into a jog when he saw the riders.
Tucking the weapon in his belt at the small of his back he hurried over to help down Constance, her alarming pallor spiking worry in his heart. But it was the sight of d'Artagnan, swaying in the saddle with the side of his face caked with patches of red earth that frightened him.
Calling Senora Maria he handed Constance to her as he reached up for his brother.
"D'Art?"
"Aramis? You have to – there were men –"
"We met already," Aramis offered him a small smile, "Come on down from the horse now,"
" 'tis a good horse,"
"I'm sure," he braced the younger man as he dismounted.
"We're friends now,"
"That's good to hear," he steadied his brother who swallowed convulsively.
D'Artagnan groaned as squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into Aramis' hand at the side of his neck. The dry heat of the skin under his hand was far from ideal as far as the older man was concerned. He gently began steering the boy inside but d'Artagnan dug his heels.
"No, hafta tell you –" he swallowed, "they came from the hill,"
D'Artagnan groaned as he bent and vomited.
He shuddered and emptied the contents of his stomach until he was left dry heaving. Aramis waited him out, rubbing his too hot back and reining in the worry thumping in his veins.
"Sshhh… c'mon d'Art, you're done, that's it," Aramis eased him straight and carefully maneuvered him inside.
He placed him beside Porthos and took in the mess that was the main hall. Aramis asked Senora Maria to get him the first aid box and call the emergency services.
"And no you cannot torture people either," he turned to M'Lady, "you can get the horse ready for us to get to the hill, there'll still be one left in the stables and on the way I'd like to know who this acquaintance of yours is. And no Porthos you are not coming with that wound, it'll bleed worse."
"I –" They began in unison.
"We need to get going if there's to be a chance to help Athos," Aramis shook his head and arched a brow towards the once-upon-a-time wife of his friend, "you do know how to saddle a horse right?"
"Of course,"
He ignored the bite in her words and took the wet cloth from Senora Aleta and dabbed the cut on d'Artagnan's face where he sat limp on the sofa.
"What happened?" he asked.
"We were attacked," it was Constance who replied as she took the wet cloth Senora Aleta offered her, "he tried to fight them off and I was left unconscious," her nose wrinkled, "I think it was chloroform,"
It took an effort to not growl at the audacity of it. Aramis bit his cheek to keep his focus as anger simmered to the surface. How dare someone come into his house and hurt his family.
He knew Porthos was watching him carefully and ignored his brother's concerned frown as he took the first aid box from Senora Maria. It was strangely soothing to be able to at least partially patch up his brother's wounds, cleaning and taping them up with bandages before they could be carted off to the hospital.
He got to his feet and glanced at the three severely wounded intruders, it was that deep seated, annoying voice in the back of his mind that could not let him leave them unattended. With a shake of his Aramis resigned himself to the task.
Porthos grinned at him when he was done wrapping the wounds of their attackers.
"Don't," he snapped at him.
"As you wish," Porthos grinned even wider.
"Your carriage awaits princess," M'Lady sauntered in.
"I'm coming too," Porthos made to get up.
"We have one horse Porthos," Aramis reminded him, "and you're wounded. Keep an eye of d'Artagnan for me."
"I 'm fine," the younger man glared blearily.
"I know you are, just keep drinking and make sure Constance doesn't sleep alright?"
"And I'll make sure he doesn't slip off into unconsciousness," Constance nodded.
" 'Mis…"
Aramis turned to his brother with an exasperated eye roll but his retort died on his lips at the worry he found there. He knew how difficult it was to stay behind but he had learned the hard way, he had understood only recently that sometimes you have to put your faith in someone else. Sometimes you have to stand down and trust your brothers to carry you.
"I –"
"You've got this," Porthos nodded.
He kept an eye on his son. His horse remained neck to neck with Renard's and from the corner of his eye Athos waited for any sign that Raoul was coming around. His only solace was that the boy was alive, but the fear rooted deeper in his heart as he remained unconscious.
He jerked his horse to slow down when Renard slowed to a trot.
"Hmmm, I thought they'd still be here," he looked around.
Athos raised a questioning brow but refused to honour the man with inquiring words.
"I left them here, my witnesses." Renard told him gleefully, "a young man and a woman, guess they'd come around quickly."
Fear dropped like a stone down his stomach and Athos' grip tightened around the reins.
"What did you do?" he asked.
"I didn't kill 'em if that's what you're implying,"
If the man hadn't been holding his son up Athos would have tackled him then and there. As they began to ascend the trail on the hill, he ignored the yellow grin focused his way and glanced down at Raoul. His heart skipped a beat when those eyes fluttered open. Raoul groaned and tried to curl into himself.
"Dad?" he whispered.
"I'm here," Athos pulled his horse closer to Renard's, "I'm here Raoul, it's alright."
"Don't feel good,"
"That's the drug talking," Renard grinned.
Raoul stilled. He turned to look around at the man before he moaned softly and turning to his side threw up on the man's shoe. Loud cursing filled the air as Renard picked the boy up from under his arms and away from himself.
"Let me take him," Athos said, fear cutting into his heart that the man would hurt his boy, "let him ride with me."
"So you can turn tail and head back?"
"I won't," Athos' eyes were on his son, "I'll ride a step ahead and you can keep your eyes and weapon on me all the time."
He hoped against hope that the man would agree and Athos' breath caught in his chest when Renard swung the boy around. He only exhaled when he was able to take his son in his arms, steadying himself in the saddle as he kept his horse in a trot.
Athos was only too happy to pull his horse a little ahead of Renard; he feared he would punch the man if he had to look at his face.
"There you go, you're alright," he wrapped an arm around his son.
"Where're we going?" the boy clutched Athos' arm that had come around him.
"We'll know when we get there,"
Raoul turned to look at him, his eyes wide but his voice uncannily steady when he spoke.
"You're not giving me away are you?" he asked.
Athos' heart faltered, missed a few beats at the earnest question in a matter-of-fact tone.
"Never," Athos told him, forced himself to look into those young eyes, "I'm never giving you away and neither will your uncles."
Raoul smiled and turned to look ahead, melting into his father's hold. Athos promised himself to prove it to the boy; he would not let anyone take him away. His mind raced back to his brothers in the farmhouse and he held on to the grim hope that his brothers were fine and on their way to help him. He had to buy some time, he to keep within range and trust his brothers to come for them.
Athos looked ahead and found them nearing the ledge where they had found Aramis the day before. The empty bottle of wine reflected the sunlight where it lay a little way away from the grave of his friend's mother. Athos couldn't believe that it had only been a day since then.
"We leave the horses here," Renard called out.
It was around the shoulder of the hill with the hilltop looming ahead.
Athos dismounted and helped his son down, only to find the child swaying on his feet. He picked him up and glared at the man in a dare to tell him otherwise. But Renard shrugged and motioned with his gun for them to move along.
The trek up was harder since there were no trails left; the loosely packed earth kept rolling away under his feet threatening to trip him at the slightest chance. Heat prickled on his face and the dry air cut into his airways as Athos gathered his thoughts to form a plan.
"Raoul? Are you awake?" he rubbed his son's back.
He felt the nod against his face.
"Can you run?" Athos asked, "Can you run down this hill."
Another nod.
"When I tell you to, you run back the way we've come alright?"
Raoul pushed away from him and slid down. Athos let him fall in step beside him, clutching at his hand. He traced the boy for any sign of the previous wobbliness but was surprised when his son looked up at his face.
Raoul shook his head at him.
Athos quirked a brow.
"Not leaving you," Raoul said.
Athos opened his mouth then closed it. His mind drew a blank at the grim determination in the young eyes and he shook his head slowly.
Rendered speechless by a five years old.
The corner of his lips lifted in a smile and he picked up his son again. This time he gave him a squeeze and as the boy rested his chin on his shoulder he pressed his lips to the side of the damp head.
"Please," he said, "do this for me."
Raoul frowned at him but nodded before sliding out of his hold again.
They made to the hilltop and Athos realized why they had left the horses behind. Even if they would have somehow coaxed the animals up to the crest they would have been useless after that. The hilltop was slightly flat and dotted with a few trees, sparse shrubs and a smattering of tightly packed earth pretending to be rocks, but the slope on the other side was steeper. As they moved across the summit towards the other side Athos realized that the nearest incline downwards was sharp and there was a chunk of the hill missing after a distance; the jagged edge gaping over a sheer drop down.
"We go that way," Renard pointed towards the right.
"Your employer is waiting down there," Athos said.
"With the mode of our transportation,"
"What did she promise you?"
"That's none of your business,"
"I could offer you more,"
"I doubt it," Renard stopped in his tracks to sneer at him.
Athos turned on his heels, grabbed the wrist of the hand that held the weapon and punched Renard across the face.
"Run!" he told Raoul.
He didn't give the man a chance to recover and landed another hit across his temple before he kneed him in the gut. Drawing back his fist again Athos let all the hate he felt for the man push behind the force of the next punch and felt him go slack.
Breathing heavily he dropped the man and looked for Raoul.
His heart dropped to his feet at the sight of the woman gripping the boy by the back of his collar.
"Impressive," she said.
Athos was tempted to reach for Renard's weapon but she had the muzzle of her gun pressed into Raoul's back.
"Who are you?" Athos asked.
"Catharine," the blonde replied with a smirk, "also known as The Comtesse."
M'Lady, The Duchess and now The Comtesse, Athos could see the pattern and he suddenly understood what this was about. He just couldn't understand why his wife wouldn't reach out to meet their son like a normal human being.
"She sent you," he ground out.
"As if she could," Catharine gave a small breathy laugh, "Au contraire, I'm here to collect her one weakness." She pulled Raoul closer to her, "you know she went renegade for him? Turned her back to the Cardinal? Imagine what she'd do to get him back."
Athos didn't like the glint in her blue eyes.
"How can you be sure that she would come for him?"
"Oh she will," the woman grinned, "that's why I told that idiot over there to leave a witness but he decided it was a good idea to bring one along."
Catharine looked him up and down.
"You're the husband aren't you?"
"What's it to you?"
"You were supposed to be my mark," she said, "I prepared so hard, watched you, read up on you, trailed your coming and goings but do I get the assignment? No, you ruined it all by choosing her,"
Athos wasn't sure if he should be flattered or disgusted.
"Then your grievance is with me, why drag a child into it?"
"My grievance is with HER. I guess it could work," she shrugged a shoulder, "you can tell her who took the boy and if she believes my threats to be empty let her know of the dead men I had left behind."
Athos itched to glance back the way they had come; his brothers should be here by now.
"And I'm supposed to find her?"
"Oh no, you think she wouldn't be watching this one?" Catharine laughed again, "She'd know he's missing."
"As do I," said a voice around the bend.
Athos turned around to stare at Aramis, his eyes going from the deadly grin to the weapon held steady in his friend's hand. If his brother was panicking, it was neatly tucked behind the dangerous darkness lurking in those brown eyes.
"Although I must inform you the men at the farmhouse are not as dead as you'd like," Aramis went on, "even the ones you sent. A little banged up I assure you, but that's it."
"And who're you?"
"Someone who'll add a hole to that pretty little head of yours,"
Athos stiffened.
He knew that his brother could easily shoot down the woman before she could pull the trigger of her own weapon. He could save Raoul in a blink, a huge part of Athos wanted him to take the shot, but another, the father in him didn't want his son to witness something this violent and it struck him suddenly that he didn't want Aramis to be burdened by the act either.
"Let him go," Aramis walked up to the woman, not glancing towards Athos on his way.
"Or what? You'll shoot me?"
Aramis looked down at the boy between them. He lowered his weapon and tucked it in his belt.
"Not in front of him,"
Athos let go a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Then what?" Catharine frowned.
"Well I don't hit women," Aramis shrugged and Athos' eyes widened imperceptible as he saw it at the last second, "but she would love to have a go,"
M'Lady yanked The Comtesse' armed hand back and landed a fist across her face even as she twisted her arm to make her drop the weapon.
Athos eyes however drew to his son and he met the boy half way in an embrace that lifted Raoul off the ground. The boy clung to him and wriggled to press closer, his heart thumping wildly against Athos' chest.
"It's over, it's over," he murmured, "it's over…"
Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder and swallowing the lump rising in his throat he yanked his friend in an embrace as well. An undignified snort escaped him at the yelp of surprise that erupted from his brother.
But Athos was too happy to have his family safe and within arm's reach.
As Aramis pulled away and Raoul once again slid down from Athos' hold the three of them turned to the women. M'Lady was tying Catharine's hands behind her back. The woman spat blood and blew the fringes of blonde hair from her rapidly puffing eye.
"You should have snapped my neck when you had the chance," she hissed.
"Not in front of him," M'Lady nodded towards the boy.
Catharine grinned.
Athos caught the wild look in her eyes a second too late.
He moved to block the piece of hard packed earth she had kicked towards the boy.
Pain bloomed in his arm where it hit but it was enough to unbalance him.
The earth under his feet slid out.
He slipped with Raoul a second behind him.
And Aramis dove after them.
It was instincts that pushed him down the slope.
The steepness and gravity did the rest.
He hadn't expected the speed with which he slid down but Aramis was well aware of the sheer drop they were heading towards. His eyes searched for any form of hold, shoes digging in loose earth to slow him down, even as he reached for Athos and Raoul.
He grabbed the boy by his shirt and winding an arm around his waist tucked him close before grasping Athos' stretching hand in his other. The world still slipped by like rapids in a river and empty air awaited them at the end.
Everything came to a jolting halt as Aramis' heel struck the dead root at the lip of the fall.
He dug his heels in and leaned back, trying his best to distribute the weight as he held on to the boy on one side with Athos half hanging over the edge on the other. He could tell his brother was scrabbling for a foot hold in the face of the cliff where his legs were hanging in the air and gave his arm a jerk.
Athos' dust streaked face turned to him.
"Don't move," Aramis breathed out, "It's loose earth, don't move."
Athos stopped.
Aramis could feel the slight give in the root he had wedged his foot against. The shower of dirt and stones as the edge crumbled a little under Athos' weight echoed in his ears even as Raoul breathed in the side of his neck. The boy had his arms wrapped firmly around Aramis' neck and he was silently thankful for that.
At least the boy wasn't dangling on the edge like his father.
Aramis glanced down to Athos.
Blue eyes met brown.
He could read the plea in there, could tell what Athos was thinking. It was in the way his gaze shifted to the boy in Aramis' arms, it was in the pupils expanded in silent fear and the lips pursed in a thin line. Athos was begging him to let him go and save his son.
"Shut up," Aramis ground out, "just shut up."
"I didn't say anything,"
That wry smile made him want to punch Athos in the face and pull him in a hug.
"We're all getting out of this," Aramis told him.
"Yes you are," it was M'Lady.
Aramis and Athos shared a glance before looking to the woman. She was easing down in a controlled slide with a rope tied about her waist. Aramis' eye widened at the sight of it and an incredulous laugh bubbled in his chest.
"You brought a rope?" he grinned, "why?"
"You asked me to prepare the horse and a lady is never half prepared," she told him as she drew parallel.
She reached out her arms towards the boy.
"I'll take Raoul before sending the rope down to you,"
Aramis nodded even when the boy shook his head.
" 'm staying,"
"You really can't," Aramis tried to keep the strain out of his voice, he was pretty sure the root under his heel had tipped a little.
"You won't lemme go right Uncle 'Ramis?"
"I won't buddy," he looked to Athos for help, "but you have to let go of me and go back up."
Before Athos could say a word it was the woman who reached out to rub the boy's back.
"Raoul do you remember me?" she asked.
The boy ventured to pull his face out of the side of Aramis' neck and stared at the woman.
"Ms. Winters," he said.
"That's me, and I give you my word that I will see you safe up there," she said, "I'll even make sure these two get back to you. Now you know I keep my word right?"
Raoul looked from her to Aramis to Athos.
"I brought you to your father once and I'll try my best to do so again," M'Lady said.
Aramis felt the boy shift in his hold and leaned back to let him crawl into the woman's arms. The sudden displacement of weight had him reaching out with his free hand to dig his fingers in the dirt.
It didn't stop Athos from sliding down a little further and pulling Aramis along with him.
Inched a bit closer the edge the two of them watched the woman and the boy crawl up the slope and disappear beyond the edge of the top. Their relived sighs were in sync.
"What are the chances that she won't be coming back for us?" Athos asked.
"I think she'll help us for Raoul's sake," Aramis grinned, "but as long as she does help, I'm not complaining."
A layer of dirt sifted somewhere by Aramis' head, the dry rustle loud in his ear. The tangled root against his heel pulled a little more out of the soil as Athos slipped a little further and he got pulled down a little more. Aramis dared not breathe fully and concentrated on Athos' hand gripping his tightly.
"Aramis?"
So much was spoken in that one word. The fear in the pitch of Athos' voice and the guilt of dragging him down in the soft inflections of his name knocked the breath out of him. Aramis let his head fall back against the dirt, blinking up at the clear blue sky.
"I know," he said.
"Maybe you should –"
" Don't," Aramis said and grit his teeth when the sound of more dirt spraying down the drop reached him," I can't let you go Athos, don't ask me to do that."
He curled his fingers tighter around his friends' hand, their palms slick with sweat.
"I don't think washing will save my shirt," Athos said.
"We'll burn it," Aramis offered.
"And add to this heat? No thank you."
Aramis huffed and grinned, his eyes brightening at the sight of the rope slithering down to them. He reached out with his free hand, fingers stretching but falling short. For a second he wondered if it was a cruel joke on M'Lady's part but then he realized he had shifted further down towards the edge from where he had been.
"If you let go for a second –"
"I will kick you in the face Athos," Aramis growled, "you're right in my range and knocking you out is becoming an increasingly appealing idea."
"So what then? We both go down?" Athos snapped.
"Or we both get saved," he said.
Athos eyes widened, a soft smile played at the corner of his lips.
And the chunk of earth under his waist gave way.
The drag was swift and powerful.
The root against his foot gave away and Aramis scrambled to dig his heel in the dirt.
For a split second he wondered if this was it, he could feel Athos trying to untangle their fingers and held on so tight in return that he felt the bones shift in his brother's hand.
The world stopped rushing and the sound of their harsh breaths filled the air. Aramis forced his eyes open and took in the sight of Athos where his elbows were pressed against the edge of the break, while the rest of him was out of view, hanging over the drop.
Face streaked with grime under fringes of sweat damp hair regarded him with clear blue eyes.
"You were saying?" Athos drawled.
Aramis snickered.
"If it's any consolation I don't think letting you go at this point will save me," he said.
He was on his front now, facing the open air beyond Athos' shoulder as he lay on the lip of the fall. He didn't see the woman who appeared at the top of the hill
"Are you two trying to get yourselves killed?" her voice reached down to them.
"Because there are no easier ways then this," Athos arched a brow although Aramis was sure that M'Lady could neither see nor hear them.
He was about to tell him so when something flicked his leg. Turning his face as much as he dared, he caught sight of the rope end by his knee and Aramis reached for it with his free hand. His fingers grazed the frayed end and he slowly began to shift in a semi-circle to get a better hold on it.
And then the earth dropped out from under him.
Air rushed out of his lungs and the sunlight blinded him.
He reached out in a last attempt for something to keep them from plummeting.
…the fire was rushing towards them even as he reached out. There was nothing he could do, he couldn't reach his brothers. The flames curled higher, his arm taut, his fingers stretched but he couldn't reach them…
A moment of weightlessness engulfed him.
And then the world stopped with a harsh jerk as fire licked at his hand and wrist.
A jagged groan filled the air.
Panting like he had run a marathon, Aramis opened his eyes at the sound. He looked down first, his stomach lurching at the expanse rolling out beneath him, over a hundred feet down. But then he focused on the reassuring weight of Athos on his arm.
He sought his brother's face but Athos' head was bent, chin resting on his chest and his fingers lax against Aramis' arm. It took Aramis a second to realize that he had grabbed his brother by the wrist and his heart clenched at the odd way Athos' arm linked to him.
His shoulder was dislocated.
"Athos?" his voice came out hoarse.
There was a taste of dust on his lips.
"Athos?" he tried again.
Aramis looked back up where he had somehow wrapped the rope around his hand and wrist.
His eyes flicked back down when he felt Athos shift.
He hated the pain he was causing his brother but refused to let go of his arm.
"Can you reach for my hand with your other one?" he asked.
Athos' grunt wasn't lost at him.
Blinking the sweat from his eyes Aramis ignored the strain burning in his shoulders and up his neck. Pain stabbed in his back and jabbed viciously behind his eyes. He wondered what to do now. He was hanging in the air, with only one hand secured by the rope when he needed desperately to ease the pressure off of Athos' dislocated shoulder. But there was no way he could pull them up.
And then as though from a breeze of good luck amidst all their troubles the rope around his hand and wrist tugged up.
It kept on pulling, digging and cutting in his skin, straining his shoulder in a blessed torment that delivered the two of them from the edge where they were suspended. And it still dragged them up against the slope until the flat of the hilltop was under him.
The second the rope went slack Aramis reached out with both hands and hooking them under Athos' arms tugged him up to the hilltop. Pulling him up until his brother was sitting between his bent knees with his back pressed to Aramis' chest.
Their breathing ragged and heartbeats running amok.
Aramis snaked an arm around Athos waist and just held on. He had no idea where his own trembling began and Athos' ended. They simply pressed close in relief and fear, shaking like leaves in a gale.
"Let's not tell Porthos about this," Aramis muttered in Athos' hair.
"And d'Artagnan," Athos whispered back.
"Dad?"
They both squinted at the shadow that fell across them a second before the boy had launched himself at his father. Aramis took the chance to untangle his hand from the rope and as Athos held his boy in a one armed embrace, he traced the other end of the rope to the pair of horses that had apparently pulled them up.
M'Lady was freeing the animals from the rope and caught his eye.
"Thank you," said Aramis.
"I wouldn't have you make a liar out of me before Raoul," she said.
Her eyes flicked towards the father and son clinging to each other and Aramis saw something flash in her eyes that he couldn't comprehend. When her gaze shifted to him it struck a link with some unknown synapses in his brain.
Aramis understood, he just didn't know what.
M'Lady offered him a curt nod before she turned back to the horses.
Aramis was distracted by the small arms that threw themselves around his neck. Even through the elated welcome of the boy, he didn't miss the way his brother was cradling his arm close to his chest.
"C'mon Raoul, let's get these horses back down and check on our prisoners," M'Lady called to him.
Aramis felt rather then saw the rigidness in his brother's spine.
But Athos gave a nod to his son.
"You should go help Ms. Winters," he said.
Aramis waited until the other two were out of sight before he extracted himself from behind Athos. He instead came to crouch before his friend and waited until the blue eyes settled on him.
"We need to keep it immobile until we can get you some medical help," he said.
"And here I thought you qualified for that,"
"Not really," Aramis shrugged even as he eased Athos on his back.
He palpated the joint before getting to his feet. Holding the arm carefully he braced his friend with his foot, forcing himself to ignore Athos' flinch at every motion.
"Saved by M'Lady, who'd have thought," Aramis said.
"Don't remind me," Athos groaned.
It turned into a chocked scream as Aramis reduced the shoulder in one fluid motion. Athos cursed under his breath; gasping up at the sky even as his arm was lowered onto his chest.
They waited until Athos could get his feet under him and then made their way down to the trail where M'Lady was waiting for them with Raoul and three horses. Aramis helped her place the unconscious Renard and Catherine on one horse each and forced Athos up the other.
"You won't be able to hold him safe," he argued when Athos insisted that Raoul ride with him.
Instead Aramis picked the boy up and flipped him over his shoulder in a way that had the boy laughing. It was easy to coax the child to cling to his uncle's back, arms around his neck and legs about his waist, attaching like a limpet.
As M'Lady grabbed the reins of two horses, Aramis held on to the one that was carrying Athos.
He could feel his friend's eyes boring down at him, could tell that his brother wanted to protest him carrying the boy, could feel the worry in the gaze fixed on him but Aramis ignored it. He knew it would all hit him eventually, when the rush died down and the dust settled.
But for now he simply chose to dwell on the knowledge that those he called family were safe.
TBC
I am sorry for the delay for this chapter; I'm a horrible person who gets distracted by random story ideas then laments that why there are only 24 hours in a day!
Thank you everyone who read, favorite and follow this story. The reviews you leave me are stored like my personal nuggets of sunshine to be brought out any time I need cheering up.