a/n: Disclaimer: I don't own the Musketeers and general zombie concerns.
Note: MusketeerAdventure made a review and asked if I was going to use the Court of Miracles again. The truth was, I wasn't even going to use it that one time I did, a couple chapters ago. But it got me thinking... so thanks!
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
Life is Death is Dead
Chapter 7: —
Aramis was dead.
Only d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, and Treville knew the absolute truth that he was not. His funeral was held the next morning after he recovered from the fever, only but a skeleton crew of Musketeers to guard the garrison, as the others gathered in the crowded graveyard behind the garrison, leaving the young Spaniard and Gascon alone. And to make their withdrawal from the station.
"Are you sure you're okay?" d'Artagnan asked the man as the pair walked together through the streets and headed towards Athos' apartment, their faces hidden by raised hoods. They did not look a man and a boy, but two men, even at just fifteen, d'Artagnan was grown to his true height.
After receiving the letter from Milady the evening before, Athos had warned them to be extremely cautious when they made the plan that it was better if Aramis and d'Artagnan left the garrison. With Milady 'outing' herself to Athos, who knew what else she might do.
Aramis gave a quiet chuckle. "I'm alright." He assured, and put an arm around the teen's cloaked shoulders, pulling him to his side as the continued to walk.
Their conversation halted as they turned into Athos' street and d'Artagnan automatically tensed. Aramis squeezed his shoulder and drew them off to the side of the street under an awning. His sharp gaze pierced through each and every person on the street, before his gaze moved to the buildings' windows, doorways, and balconies. But no one seemed suspicious or like they didn't belong, like they were watching the apartment.
"Come on." He murmured, and he and the teen continued down the street, before slipping into Athos' building and up the stairs to his apartment. Once inside, he bolted the door.
Nearly seventy-two hours, and the room had lost any warmth that had filled it, after being occupied for a week constantly with people.
Aramis took off his cloak and folded it over the back of one of the chairs, before he knelt by the fireplace, placing some logs with the ash. "Don't just stand there," he mused. "Hand me the flint?"
Flushing, d'Artagnan handed him the flint from the mantle. The man struck it several times before the sparks took, and he grinned, rubbing his palms together over the budding flame. "That's better!" he grinned and stood, turning to the boy with the knitted brow. "You don't need to worry," he said, and reach forward to unbuckle the distracted d'Artagnan's cloak. He put it over the chair with his own and took his weapons belt and hung it off the back as well. "Athos and Porthos will be here by evening." He pulled out another chair from the small table and tapped it. "Sit, and eat some of this." He pulled the basket of food to him and started to sort through, the still edible and the bad.
d'Artagnan did as instructed, and ate what Aramis put in front of him, even as he didn't have much appetite. When he thought of Milady now, it was with a new kind of hate and disgust. He wondered what Athos could have done to her to make her hate him so much. He barely knew the man, but could never see him as a man who beat his wife. Anything that Milady said, could not be trusted.
"Aramis?"
"Hmm?" the marksman looked over at the boy from where he sat across from him at the end of the table, eating without enthusiasm himself. He was worried. Of course he was worried! It was hard pretending to be dead, but it was better this way. How could they explain that he had survived the bite? At the moment, it was too risky with the Cardinal and Milady.
"What..." d'Artagnan took a nervous breath, but made himself push forward. "What happened between Athos and Milady?"
His brow flicked slightly in his unpreparedness for the question. "It's not my past to tell." He said softly. d'Artagnan exhaled and nodded, avoiding his gaze and staring down at the tabletop.
It had been last night, when d'Artagnan had finally dropped into a fitful sleep, that Athos and Porthos had pulled him away into another room, and told him the complete contents of Milady's letter. Holding the letter himself, reading its contents and growing sick and angry at each passing word. He could feel the ill-intent just by touching it. They argued quietly, and vehemently over its contents for a bit, before he and Porthos managed to get Athos to swear on their lives that he wasn't going to comply with Milady's plan of a meeting.
Aramis yawned, suddenly perhaps, or not. "I think I'm going to take a little nap. They're going to be a bit, might as well get something productive out of this whole thing, hmm? You should too." He stood and stoked the fire before he toed off his boots and discarded his frock.
"I'm not tired." He shook his head, his mind was racing too fast, and his heart too worried to even think about it.
"You've hardly slept." He chided, sitting on the edge of Athos' bed against the wall, which had d'Artagnan's claim on it for days. "We don't know what will happen in the next few days. It'll be best if we both have our wits about us," he looked pointedly at the boy, "We're both still healing." He patted the bed next to him.
"Sleep together?" the boy exclaimed in shock.
"I don't bite." d'Artagnan glowered and Aramis laughed lightly. "Athos, Porthos, and I sleep next to each other all the time. I'm sure you've done with your father." He said softly. "Sometimes, it's too hard to sleep alone."
Aramis laid down, turning on his side so he faced the wall, his back to the boy. d'Artagnan didn't move, but continued to stare at the man. His father had been a constant presence in his life, waking through his days, and sleeping through his nights. They'd shared a tent, it was all they could manage. A warm and constant presence next to each other. He'd never shun his father's presence. It wasn't until he got older, that he started to sleep outside the tent, out in the open and beneath the stars by the fire. Only returning to the tent and his father in the winter, or when it rained.
He bit his lip in uncertainty. He hadn't slept fitly since his father's death, it was true. He'd never slept alone in his life until this last month. He pulled his boots from his feet and stood, slowly approaching the bed. He gulped and carefully sat on the edge of the bed. He laid down on his side, tight and tense. It was a single bed, small. His back pressed against Aramis'. He could feel the man's every breath, the rise and the fall. He could feel his warmth, and d'Artagnan relaxed. He pulled the blanket up and stared with hooded eyes into the fire directly on the other side of the room.
The soft flickering flame, Aramis' even and constant breaths behind him—lulled him into sleep.
Aramis' framed lips curved silently upwards as he felt d'Artagnan settle down on the bed behind him. He hadn't been sure the teen would take him up on the friendly offer, but was glad when he did. It made him glad that d'Artagnan trusted him enough.
The teen's firm presence at his back, helped him doze as well. He was still exhausted, though it had been little more than 24 hours since he'd broken through the bite's fever. He had rested, of course, though not in the deep slumber that his body would have preferred; his heart clouded too much with worry. That bite was something that he truly never wanted to experience again, and it sickened him to think how many times d'Artagnan had been through the exact same thing.
d'Artagnan was as strong as any of them, perhaps even stronger. The boy's resolve was amazing. And it seemed a gift to watch the boy strive to fight and to live. It was souls like his that built and created and protected.
It was a soft whimper that brought the man to blurry and confused awareness in the dark room with the unattended fire's dying glow.
"Don'... leave me..." the breathless plea behind him had him rolling in the tight space on the bed to find d'Artagnan locked in a nightmare
Sweat clung to his skin, his brow furrowed deeply and the corner of his lips pulled downwards. And he writhed in such a controlled space upon the bed, like he was confined instead of free.
"d'Artagnan," he called, grasping the boy's shoulder. "d'Artagnan!" he gave the boy a shake. "Wake up."
d'Artagnan's eyes snapped open, but his brown eyes were clouded. He gave a small cry, clearly seeing something that was not there.
"It's me! It's Aramis." The marksman cupped the side of his neck, guiding the boy's to meet his own. "It's Aramis, d'Artagnan."
d'Artagnan clouded eyes cleared, and he looked up into Aramis' kind brown eyes above him. A sudden sob broke through his lips and a moment later, he was clinging breathlessly to the man. It hardly took the Spaniard a second to wrap his arms around the shaking boy.
"You're alright now. You're safe!" he hushed the boy soothingly.
d'Artagnan made no further sound, but Aramis felt every breath against his ear and ruffle through his unruly hair. Finally, slowly, his breath calmed down and Aramis let the boy sit back from his hold. The Gascon looked embarrassed as he flicked his uneven bangs from his sweaty forward.
Aramis looked at him with concern. "Are you alright?"
"It was just a dream," he whispered.
Aramis nodded. "Do you want to talk about it? It might help,"
d'Artagnan gave a slight shiver and shook his head. "It don't want to think about it. Please..."
"We don't have to if you don't want to." The Gascon nodded and exhaled a breath in relief. The was a creak on the landing outside the door, and they both tensed. "That'll be Athos and Porthos finally."
d'Artagnan nodded, rubbing the nightmare from his brown eyes and Aramis rose from the bed, walking to the door as the tattoo was knocked. He smiled over his shoulder at the boy as he reached up and slide the bolt back. Just as he faced back and started to pull the door open, it was kicked inward with a force. The bolt on the door punched him in the forehead and threw him backwards into the room. He lay on the floor by the table, senseless.
"Aramis!" d'Artagnan screamed, jumping to his feet in horror. He ran to the man near the table, but his attention was turned as two cloaked figures stepped over the threshold. Two men that were most definitely not Porthos and Athos.
"Grab the boy, I'll take care of the other one." One of the men commanded the other, and the boy felt a phantom shiver go through him at the sound of his rough voice. The thicker of the two started to step forward.
Instinct kicked in, and he grasped the sword hilt from where it hang in Aramis' belt on the back of the chair. His body instantly turned into stance as he faced the two men. It had been such a long time since he'd held a sword, any weapon for that matter; it felt heavy in his grasp. The thicker one paused.
"What are you waiting for?" the leader demanded. "Get him!" Thick pulled out his sword. "Alive!" he reminded.
The man struck first, and d'Artagnan blocked the strike. It reverberated up his arm and he gritted his teeth. He wasn't fooling around, he couldn't leave it to chance. The Gascon made his own charge next, but feinted at the last moment, spinning around to the man's back, and slashing with a shout. The thick man cried out in pain, dropping to his knees and then his face—dead.
Breathing heavily, d'Artagnan quickly faced the second man at his sharp laugh, backing up several paces with the body between them, but stayed standing protectively in front of the still unconscious Aramis.
The fact that he had only ever faced against zombies before, never entered his mind. That he'd only ever killed one man before, on the night of Alexandre's death, with no duel at all. It had just been instinct that had taken over as he faced against the thick man who had clearly underestimated him and fought with a handicap.
"I can see why she'd obsessed with you!" the man said, and he dropped the hooded cloak from around his shoulders to the floor. Loose and dark greasy hair hung at his shoulders in strands. Rough whiskers peppered his chin and cheeks. His thin lips had a cruel twist to them.
d'Artagnan's body seized up as fear suddenly attempted to strangle his heart as he looked into the blue-eyes of the true murderer of Alexandre. Gaudet slowly started to stalk towards the frozen boy.
"She says you're special." He said. "Is that why your daddy died for you? Hmm?"
And suddenly, d'Artagnan's frozen fear was shattered. "You killed Pa!" he screeched. He saw red, nothing else. Rage swept through him, boiling his blood, freezing his brain, and steeling his heart. "I'll kill you twice!"
"You're fighting a real man now, boy!"
d'Artagnan charged at him with a cry, jumping over the other dead Guard. Gaudet parried the blow, pushing the boy back. d'Artagnan charged right back at him, chopping and slicing—heedless.
"Don't you want to see your girlfriend again?" Gaudet mocked him, egging him. He did it on purpose, but the boy didn't realize it. The angrier the Gascon became, the harder and more unrelenting he attacked—tiring his still not recovered body out even faster.
Aramis moaned low, the clash of steel and wordless shrieks piercing his pounding and aching skull. He slowly sat up, nausea climbing his throat, he felt a trickling sensation between his eyes. When his vision cleared, he saw the dead man on the floor not too far from him. Saw d'Artagnan raging against another man, their swords crossing.
d'Artagnan was flagging, covered in sweat, breathless, bootless. Gaudet used the opportunity of his weakening state to lock their blades. The man gave a malicious grin as d'Artagnan looked into his face with rage narrowed eyes and finally, finally, realized his mistake—but by then it was too late. Athos had begged him...
Gaudet twisted the sword from the teen's hand and tossed it away, and wrapped his arm around the back of the boy's shoulders, locking him against his chest.
"I'm going to kill your friend over there," he sneered at the boy, not noticing that Aramis had awakened. "Going to make you watch, helpless, as I did your father!"
d'Artagnan let out a cry of rage and reared his head back. He cracked it forward. Gaudet let out a shout as his nose crunched and he released d'Artagnan.
Aramis yanked his pistol from his belt on the chair behind him. "d'Artagnan!" he shouted as the boy fell to the floor. The report of his pistol was like thunder in the small room. Gaudet stood still for a moment, still holding his broken and gushing nose, before a wheezy breath left him and he dropped to his knees before falling on his front. "d'Artagnan," Aramis grasped his shoulder, having scooted over to the boy, and nearly got his eyes clawed out in startled response. "Are you hurt?"
d'Artagnan exhaled, his shoulders slumping, and shook his head. He stared at Guadet's dead body for a long moment, Aramis' hand on his shoulder a grounding presence. He finally turned back to the man. "Your forehead!" he exclaimed.
"Hmm?" Aramis touched his forehead in confusion with a grimace, and his fingers came back with blood on them. "No wonder my head's killing me."
"Come on." d'Artagnan jumped to his feet and pulled Aramis to his, guiding him to one of the chairs, the two dead men forgotten at the moment.
He went to the fire and threw another log into the embers, stoking the flame back into life and casting the dim room into further light. He poured the stale water from the jug at the side table and into the basin that he'd brought to the table, and soaked Aramis' handkerchief in it. He dabbed at the man's forehead, cleaning the wound and the trickle of blood away.
"Am I scarred for life?" Aramis joked, disliking the tense and sombre expression on the teen.
There was a laceration, and a lump already starting to form. The bruise, a dark blemish on his forehead, following quickly. "No." He shook his head. "It'll be tender for a while, but it won't scar."
Aramis took the damp handkerchief from his hands and pressed it the cool cloth gently to his forehead. "Thanks a relief! Wouldn't want to mess with perfection," he winked and d'Artagnan gave a tight smile. Aramis sighed. "d'Artagnan... thank you for saving my life. If it weren't for you..." he shook his head.
"If it weren't for me, they never would have come." He muttered darkly.
Aramis shook his head. "Don't say that!" he pushed the boy down into the chair next to him. "I'd rather have you here every day. Understand?"
d'Artagnan nodded after a moment. What mattered, was that Aramis was alright, and that Gaudet was dead. It didn't matter who had killed him. "You're right. I'm sorry."
"How did they know the password?" Aramis murmured in thought. In retrospect, they should have changed it.
"I always wondered if I would see him again," d'Artagnan whispered.
Aramis furrowed his brows. "You know them?"
"Just the one that you shot. He... he was the one that killed—killed my Pa." He gulped.
"Oh, d'Artagnan!" he gasped.
The first groan of the turned Red Guard halted any further conversation. It twitched and shifted as its body reanimated.
Aramis started to stand, but d'Artagnan stopped him. "I got it." He took the main gauche from Aramis' hanging belt and stepped to the thicker Guard. He bent, and thrust the large dagger through the back of its skull without a bit of emotion, stilling its first attempt to rise. He stood and went to the other.
d'Artagnan didn't immediately stab Gaudet through the head, but instead he turned the dead man onto his back and sat on his chest, waiting.
"d'Artagnan—" Aramis whispered in horror as he realized the teen's intent.
The Gascon gave a sharp shake of his head, not taking his eyes from the dead man. "I said I'd kill him twice—at least let me kill him once."
Aramis bit the inside of his cheek but stayed his place. He knew this was something that d'Artagnan needed to do, if only to help himself start to recover from his father's death.
d'Artagnan reached behind him and unsheathed Gaudet's main gauche from his belt, and gripped in it his left hand. The pair sat in silence. And then, Gaudet's eyes opened, the blue that had haunted the Gascon, vanished as nothing but black pupils looked up at him. It gave a raspy moan and instantly started snapping its jaw at the meal on its chest. d'Artagnan stared at it with a twisted expression.
"I hope you rot in hell!" he raised both his hands above his head, each grasping tightly to a large parrying dagger. And with a loud cry that held every ounce of anger that had built up inside of him over this man, the black and red rage, he brought down his blades with whatever strength was left inside his exhausted body.
Aramis flinched as each dagger went into either of Gaudet's eyes. The zombie stilled instantly. d'Artagnan's arms jarred as the dagger tips clipped into the thick back skull bone, sticking. Breathing heavily, his arms shaking as he yanked the daggers from its eye sockets. He climbed to his feet, feeling utter exhaustion, and praying that after destroying the eyes that haunted his nights, he might be able to sleep once this was all over.
Aramis stood, and though he felt slightly dizzy, and his head still thumped, he went to the teen. He grasped d'Artagnan's shoulder, squeezing, and boy looked at him with tired eyes. He wasn't going to ask if the Gascon was alright. He knew he was sick of answering the question, same as him. "We can't stay here any longer, it's not safe."
d'Artagnan nodded in agreement. "But what about Athos and Porthos?"
He exhaled and grimaced. d'Artagnan watched the man as he contemplated their next move. The apartment was obviously compromised, who knew what might happen if the Red Guards didn't check in with Milady. They'd have to leave, and leave a message for Athos and Porthos, but—
The stairs creaked beyond the open doorway and there was the thump of two sets of boots. d'Artagnan spun and raised the two daggers in his hands in a high and low position. Aramis quickly scooped up his fallen sword and they faced against the dark doorway and whatever surprise approached from the darkened stair.
Athos and Porthos stood startled in the doorway at the scene before them.
"What happened?" Athos demanded, pushing Porthos into the room and quickly shutting the apartment door and throwing the latch.
"They're Red Guards," d'Artagnan finally lowered the daggers, and Aramis sheathed his sword in his belt on the chair. "They work for Milady."
Athos peered down at the man closest to him, his face up. His brows twitched as he noted the hollow orbs where his eyes used to be and the two daggers in d'Artagnan's hands. "This is Gaudet. He's Captain of the Red Guards."
"He's the man that killed my father." d'Artagnan said curtly. Athos looked at him for a long moment but said nothing, and instead, gave a small dip of the head. The Gascon returned a firm one.
Porthos went to Aramis and grasped his shoulder and peered closely at his brother, and the wound on his forehead. "What 'appened? Are you okay?"
"Mm." Aramis answered not committally, silently glad when Porthos pushed him back into the chair. "They got the drop on me." He confessed. "If it weren't for d'Artagnan, I would be dead."
"You did this?" Porthos gaped at the teen and the scene before them.
d'Artagnan nodded proudly, "My father taught me."
"'Ow did they get in here in the first place?" he asked.
Athos added, "The door isn't splintered..."
"We thought they were you." Aramis said.
"'Ow could you possibly think they were us?" Porthos gasped. "I definitely look better than that guy!" he pointed to Gaudet, giving a only a half-faux shiver.
"Not like that," Aramis rolled his eyes, and felt a little dizzy for it. "They knew our secret knock."
Athos sighed, going over to the side table and the old bottle of wine that sat there. He uncorked it, and swallowed the stale last dregs, grimacing at the stagnant taste even his taste buds weren't equipped for. "We knew this might happen," he abandoned the bottle and turned back to his friends. "At least one of you was prepared." He deadpanned. Aramis sputtered in protest, much to the other threes amusement. Athos sobered. "They must have been watching us, and when they saw you two arrive, they made their move to steal d'Artagnan, just as Milady said she would."
"So, what happens now?" d'Artagnan asked. He's finally set the long daggers down, and was pulling his boots back on. "We can't stay here any longer. We can't go back to the garrison..." He shook his head despairingly as he sat back tiredly on Athos' bed.
"There's a woman I know—" Athos said slowly after a long moment of thought.
"Oh?" Aramis raised a pointed brow, despite the situation.
The blue-eyed man shot his a glare. "She can be trusted. She'll give us shelter until we can figure out our next move."
"Sounds like a plan!" the Spaniard stood and clapped his hands, throwing on his boots, frock, belt, and cloak. He carefully laid his hat on his head, tilting the brim up above his wound.
"Douse the fire, pack up." Athos told d'Artagnan, before jerking his head at Porthos and Aramis to follow him. The trio descended the staircase, and lingered in the shadows of the ground floor landing.
Porthos leaned against the doorjamb of the door that led to the landlord's apartment. Unnoticed, his shoulder pushed open the unlatched door. "What do—!" he was surprised to suddenly be jumped by the landlord from the darkness of the apartment, the turned corpse intending to take a chunk out of him. Athos was quick to draw and put his sword through its ear.
"I guess that answers your question," he drawled to Aramis, spotting clear signs of a beating on the body.
Aramis had not seen anyone suspicious hanging round on the street, because the two men had taken a step sideways and broken into the landlord's apartment on the ground floor. Not even half an hour later, they had all the secrets that they might of the upstairs tenant. The landlord lay dead in the apartment below, unchecked, and changed into the zombie that now lay at their feet.
"Whoo!" Porthos shuddered. "Almost bit it there. Thanks,"
"This is getting out hand," Athos shook his head, resheathing his sword. Porthos tumbled the body back inside the doorway and shut it tight. "d'Artagnan won't ever be safe—none of us will—until Milady is put a stop to."
Despite the knock to the head, Aramis knew instantly what the other Musketeer was suggesting. He shook his head emphatically, reaching out a hand and gripping Porthos' shoulder as it made him a bit woozy. "We will go to this woman's place and come up with a plan from there after a good night's rest."
Athos carded his fingers through his brown hair tiredly. "She wants d'Artagnan, but we can't let that happen. You two will go with d'Artagnan, and get out of the city. And I will meet Milady like she said in her letter."
"You can't be serious!" Porthos protested. "She's insane! It's obviously a trap."
"It's not a trap if I know it's there."
"You may know it's there, but you don't know what it is!" Aramis snapped.
Athos' face was stone. "I know how she thinks. I have the upper hand over her, not the other way around. Take d'Artagnan, leave the city. We'll meet at the ruins by tomorrow. Understand?" but he didn't wait for them to answer, and stepped from the landing and into the street, quickly disappearing into the distant dark.
Aramis and Porthos looked at each other gravely.
"What are we supposed to do?" Porthos asked.
Aramis sighed. "He was right—d'Artagnan isn't safe in Paris. We need to get him out and to safety—the Cardinal can not get him." He shivered at the thought. If Richelieu knew, and got d'Artagnan's bite, what would he do with the boy afterward?
"We're really goin' to just let Athos confront the witch... alone?" Porthos shook his head.
"When have we ever listened to Athos' orders when he's being stupid and self-sacrificing?" Aramis smirked. "We get d'Artagnan somewhere safe, then we come back and generously tell Athos how dumb he's being."
The big man grinned. "Now that's a plan!"
d'Artagnan had done as instructed, and doused the fire in the fireplace with the remaining water from the jug on the table. It hissed and spit and smoked as it was smouldered. He wasn't stupid, he knew the three were probably having a secret discussion. And while it irked him, it couldn't be helped. He buckled Aramis' borrowed cloak around his shoulders, and was about to leave the apartment, but was pulled to a pause next to Guadet's body. He looked down at the eyeless zombie, his lips twisted with hate. After a moment, he crouched by its side.
d'Artagnan stole Gaudet's weapons belt, sword, main gauche, and pistol—wondered if it was the same that had killed Alexandre, but decided to hold onto it anyways. He would use this to end the people that had ruined his life. He stepped from the apartment and closed the door.
d'Artagnan came down the stairs, and halted at the bottom with the pair. "Where's Athos?" he questioned.
"'E went back to the garrison to talk with Treville." Porthos lied easily enough.
"Oh." There was no reason not to believe them.
"We should go," Aramis said, grimacing. "Athos gave directions. We'll stick to the backstreets. It will take longer, but it give us better cover for the curfew."
Porthos took the lead, d'Artagnan followed, and Aramis took up the rear. They did not speak, moved quietly, ducked into hiding when they came across a Red Guards patrol.
"How do you know where you're going," d'Artagnan cringed his cloak caught on the edge of a precariously balanced stack of crates at the corner of the street, and he barely avoided tumbling the whole thing down. They turned into a darkened alley.
"Porthos knows the city like the back of his hand, day or night." Aramis whispered. "He knows all the best hiding places, all the best ways out of the city—"
"Out of the city?" d'Artagnan repeated, and his eyes widened in the dimness. He stopped so suddenly that Aramis barely stopped from tripping into him and bowling them over.
"What's you stop?" Aramis grasped his shoulder in confusion.
Porthos finally noticed their absence and turned back. "What's the 'old up? Why'd you stop?"
"Me?" d'Artagnan asked angrily. "You're trying to get me out of the city!" his voice seemed loud in the quiet of the night, but he didn't care, he was pissed.
Porthos sighed and then gazed at him as if he were an idiot and it had to have been obvious, any pretence dropped. "That's the plan, pup. 'Aven't you been payin' attention?
d'Artagnan looked back and forth between the two men as if they were the idiots. "Athos clearly said—" he suddenly cut himself off as the realisation finally hit. He clenched his fists and cursed. "You bastards! You two lied to me!"
"Would you 'ave listened otherwise?" he raised a brow.
"You were going to smuggle me out of the city—did you think I wouldn't realize?" he demanded.
"No," Aramis disagreed. "We were just hoping you wouldn't realize until it was too late."
"How could you do that?" the boy gasped.
"I swore to protect you, d'Artagnan. I won't let anyone hurt you again. This is the best way to do that." Aramis said. "We all agreed. Milady and the Cardinal cannot get their hands on you." He grasped the boy's shoulders. "I'm getting you out of the city," and he turned him back towards Porthos.
"Athos!" d'Artagnan tore his shoulders free. "Why isn't he with us then?"
Aramis and Porthos shared a fast look in the dark alley, but d'Artagnan saw it anyways.
"He's meeting us." That wasn't a lie, at least.
"Meeting us..." d'Artagnan again repeated, like he was tasting the words on his tongue to see if they rang true. And while they might have, there was still a sour taste that didn't sit well—where was Athos before he would meet them? The conclusion came to him an instant later as he finally put all the loose pieces together. "Yeah—he'll meet us after he goes after Milady!" their awkward and guilty expression were all the answer he needed. "All those secret talks!" He shook his head in distaste. "I knew something stupid was up. How could you just leave him like that—and make me too? He's our friend! Milady is insane—and has resources. He's going to get himself killed!"
"Oh, calm down." Porthos rolled his eyes as the steamed boy, though worry was etched in the dark orbs. "'E's the best swordsman in Paris. And 'e 'as your bite. 'E'll be fine."
"Even the best swordsmen die!" he exclaimed. "And my bite doesn't make him invulnerable!" he breathed heavily as his decision was made. "I'm going back for him. Do what you want!" he turned and pushed passed Aramis, and fled back the way they had come. He didn't know where he was, or where he was going, but he'd find Athos by pure willpower alone if he had to.
Aramis cursed. "We should have knocked him out when we had the chance!"
Porthos raised a brow at his brother before they settled back down in a firm line. "'E's right, you know. This was a stupid plan. We never should 'ave let Athos just walk away!"
"I know." Aramis sighed heavily and lifted his hat, running his fingers through his unruly hair, before settling it back in proper place. "I just wanted to keep d'Artagnan safe and Athos used that against me to get us to agree that his plan was otherwise."
Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "We'd better get after the kid before 'e get's lost."
Aramis nodded and they made their chase back the way they had come, hopefully, d'Artagnan hadn't gotten too far in the dark streets.
In truth, d'Artagnan didn't get very far. He didn't know where he was, where he was going, the shifts of the Red Guards. It didn't help that it was dark, and the only light came from the moon overhead and torches that only lay in intervals on the main streets. And with curfew-passed, there was even less reason to have the streets lit when the Guards could just carry torches themselves.
But he'd been too frantic, desperate, and fearful to realize...
He'd been about to step into the street, right into the laps of two Red Guards when hands grabbed him from behind. An arm around his chest, and a hand clamped over his mouth to silence his protests. He was dragged back into the darkness of the alley with the two men. But he quickly recognized the hands holding him still and silent. They were the hands that had treated him, cared for him, had saved his life. Despite how angry he was with both Aramis and Porthos, he instantly stilled. Several moment's passed before the Guards passed by the mouth and them, and vanished down the street.
Aramis finally released him and d'Artagnan straightened, turning to the two men with a stone expression. "So, you came to your senses, then?" he asked them, his eyes narrowed. "Because if you chased me down just to drag me away—"
Aramis shook his head. "No... you were right about Athos." The boy raised a brow. "But I still stand by my want to keep you safe, my promise."
"Thanks, but I stand by saving Athos." He retorted but nodded. "So, are you going to tell me where they are?"
Porthos exhaled a heavy breath, "The Court of Miracles." And that should have been reason enough to not let the blue-eyed Musketeer go, let alone his insane wife.
[tbc]
the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht
Well, we seem about to be reaching the climax of this thing… I truly had no idea where I was going with this chapter, but hopefully it's a good lead-up to the next.
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