So I realised I kinda left things a little ambiguously on that last chapter and a few people were asking for a POV from one of the others to tie up all the loose ends… so voilà :) Ask and ye shall receive haha
Thank you so much for the continued support for this fic, couldn't have done it without all the kind words and wonderful critiques :) I'm still new to this fandom and super bad at proof reading so it's always handy to have people point them out so I can fix them :)
Hope this is what people wanted :) (sorry if it's not… :0 )
Language warning again, not too much but still there :)
~ d'Artagnan (Athos' POV) ~
"Hypothetical question…" Aramis posed whimsically as their horses walked leisurely along the dusty road back to Paris. For miles there had been nothing but the sound of hooves upon the rocky track as the warm sun midday sun beat down upon them.
"No," Athos grumbled in frustration as he found himself slightly lulled by the ebb and flow of his horse's casual stride.
Once reaching Vendôme, the trio had stayed the night at the Duke's luxurious estate, each treated as though they were noble guests, rather than soldiers. And while the extravagance was little more than an inconvenience for Athos – much preferring simplicity over grandeur – both Porthos and Aramis delighted in the elegance and ceremony in their honour.
There they bid farewell to the Duke and Duchess – and their irritating little shadow François – and set out at first light.
With a fast pace they had made excellent time on their journey so far. However, there was only so much the animals could take in the warm weather, resulting in long stretches of slow ambling to cool the panting geldings. This also left for a period of quiet and calm, which Aramis seemed to want to fill with pointless chatter.
"I didn't even ask a question," Aramis frowned with a playfully put out expression upon his face as he gazed over at the scowling musketeer.
"Hypothetical questions are one of two things, and I shan't answer either," Athos retorted simply, keeping his eyes on the long road ahead. Paris could be seen in the horizon, it's high building and grandeur illuminating even from such a distance.
Though Athos had grown up surrounded by the beauty of La Fère's rich green hills, there was no longer a sense of belonging to the land or people there, not like the one he felt when entering the walls of Paris. The smell of freshly baked bread, the soft rumble of people and animals moving about rhythmically, the dull ease of calm as he walked the city's streets. Paris had an unconscious warmth that La Fère never did.
Paris truly felt like home.
"Which two things?" Porthos wondered curiously. He was clearly thankful for an opportunity at conversation, as they had been walking in silence for a few minutes with no reprieve.
"Aramis either wishes me to answer a question he feels he cannot ask directly, hence the need for a hypothetical situation, or – and this is the more likely – he wants to start an inane line of interrogation in an effort to relieve his boredom…"
"It's just a harmless game, Athos," Aramis sighed, "it'll pass the time."
"It's a pointless drivel," Athos murmured as he spurred his horse a little to speed its step.
"D'Artagnan always plays," Aramis teased a little, in hopes that he could entice Athos to play along.
"D'Artagnan isn't here," Athos stated the obvious in attempts to conclude the conversation once and for all.
"Is that why you're grumpy?" Porthos chuckled slightly with a wicked smirk.
To this Athos returned a look towards Porthos that said, 'you cannot possibly be serious…'
"It was an act of mercy to all when the Captain removed d'Artagnan from the Duke's escort," Athos told them honestly, with a small hidden smile, "If I had to spend another day around the petty feud of d'Artagnan and that bratty child, I would've have contemplated shooting myself."
"S'not the lad's fault that kid was an arse," Porthos pointed out with a slight curl of his lips in amusement, "but true, those two were like a bomb waiting to go off, five more minutes and it would've ended in blood."
"Maybe we should've let them have it out? D'Artagnan would've beat the boy easily –" Aramis pondered but was quickly cut off.
"And have the wrath of the Duke and Duchess of Vendôme to contend with...?" Athos finished smoothly, bestowing a curious look to Aramis, silently scolding the man for his ill thought through idea. "D'Artagnan finds trouble easily enough without a vendetta with a powerful Duke."
To this Aramis gave a heavy nod, well versed in the Gascon's luck for trouble.
"Twenty livre says he's been in a fight, at least," Porthos proposed to the others, leaning forward casually on his saddle.
"You don't have twenty livre," Aramis shot back coolly, adjusting his hat nonchalantly to keep the glare of the sun from his eyes.
"I will when d'Artagnan loses this bet," Porthos chuckled, "that boy could find trouble in a locked room."
"Well if you win your bet, remind me to put your theory into practice," Athos mused under his breath as he gazed forward to the city beyond. A small niggling feeling pulled at the back of his mind nervously. Though he brushed it away the moment he felt it. It was unfair of him to think d'Artagnan could not deal with a few days alone in Paris. The boy was a truly not a boy but a grown man, a commissioned Musketeer, beyond capable of handling any situation by himself. But there was still a part of him that worried for the young Gascon, feeling a sense of responsibility for him. A part of him that felt a touch apprehensive of what state he would find their youngest musketeer in.
†††
It wasn't until they reached the outer gates of the garrison that Athos' instincts began to sense something amiss. Though there were no visual cues to alert him of potential threats, he still could not shake the feeling that not all was as they had left it two days prior.
"Captain," Athos announced reverently he caught sight of Tréville in the courtyard, hurriedly pulling himself into his saddle.
"Don't get off your horses, you're coming with me," the Captain called over to them gruffly as they entered the courtyard.
Without a word of explaination, the Captain rode off into the training yard, the trio following dutifully as instructed. Though Athos wished for clarification, he knew it was best to wait until the Captain saw fit to do so.
The streets were characteristically busy, given the time of day. Market stalls and city dwellers ambled leisurely in their path, making it difficult to ride with a steady pace, though horseback was far more preferable than walking upon the ground in this area of the city.
"What is going on?" Athos asked the Captain as they dismounted before the Eastern courthouse. The building was large an imposing but not often used in smaller trials, peeking Athos' interest as to what could possibly warrant their attentions so direly.
"I am going to ask you three to remain civil and level-headed once we enter," the Captain ordered them tersely, standing before the large doors to block their entrance. "I am doing all that I can, but this situation is quickly falling out of my hands. I can not afford to worry about the three of you adding further fuel to this chaotic pyre."
"We will be civil," Aramis promised dutifully, though a little apprehensive about what their Captain was asking this of them. Porthos gave a small nod also, catching Aramis' gaze in silence enquiry.
However as the Captain turned to Athos for his word, the musketeer saw something in Tréville's gaze than stilled his heart: guilt. What could possibly cause such a look from the Captain? It was not an expression readily seen in the eyes of their Captain and one that Athos was not entirely comfortable witnessing.
"Whose trial is this?" Athos asked slowly, dangerously as his gaze levelled that of Tréville.
"D'Artagnan's," Tréville revealed with a heavy heart, the remorseful expression aging him beyond his years.
"What?" Porthos growled, his calm attitude vanishing instantly mirroring that of the two men at his sides.
"It's been gone, what, twelve hours, what the hell could he had done?" Aramis gapped, glancing at the courthouse in shock.
To this Tréville lowered his head to shadow his features, pursing his lips slightly before meeting their eyes.
"Murder."
"He didn't do it," Athos argued instantly with a firm, unwavering tone. D'Artagnan was a man of honour. Though often brash and prideful, the Gascon's temper had been softening since his arrival in Paris. The young musketeer was improving greatly at separating his feelings from his duty.
"Don't start –" Tréville began but was quickly interrupted.
"Was it self defence? The Cardinal's guards are–" Aramis wondered, regardless of the Captain's warnings.
"Aramis, d'Artagnan has confessed to murdering a Comte in cold blood, there were several witnesses."
The Captain's tone was cold and regretful, causing a sinking feeling to build in the pit of Athos' stomach; Tréville was doubtful of d'Artagnan. Though Athos knew Tréville would stand by the young musketeer until proven guilty, the Captain's doubt did not bode well in Athos' eyes.
"I won't believe it unless he tells me himself," Athos replied stubbornly, his mind swam achingly with the Captain's revelation.
"Athos, you promised me civility," Tréville sighed with a weary tone.
Athos clenched his jaw though refrained from informing the Captain he had made no such promise.
"Comte de la Marche, does that name mean anything to you? Has d'Artagnan ever mentioned him before?"
"No, not that I can recall," Athos frowned. He searched his memories for any trace of that name, but he came up blank.
"I demanded a trail, but with the King away I could not delay the proceedings any further. My hands are tied." Tréville told them with a tone of heavy regret, pulling the door open to allow them access to the courthouse.
Aramis and Porthos nodded stoically before entering through the doors, the jovial moods from that morning extinct without a hint of what had been.
Before the Captain could move, Athos held the man's arm.
"D'Artagnan did not do this," he told Tréville with unwavering faith.
"Then let us hope the truth is revealed."
†††
The courtroom was wide and open, brightly lit from the large glass windows on one side. It was completely the opposite of the rooms in which Porthos had been on trial, though far less grandiose than the courtroom of Ninon de Larroque. Tréville stood before the trio, a thin wooden rail dividing them. As the three had not been called to give evidence, they were excluded to the gallery for the entirety of the trial, leaving their Captain to handle any proceedings on their behalf.
"Judge Archambeau," Athos muttered as he saw the aging man in dark robes slowly make his way to the large stand above the courtroom.
"Good or bad?" Porthos grunted, his arms tightly crossed against his chest as he surveyed the judge cautiously.
"It's a damn sight better than the judge you were condemned to," Athos revealed in a quiet murmur, giving the taller musketeer a knowing stare. Porthos knew first hand the burden of a bias judge. "Archambeau has a decent reputation for reasonable justice, d'Artagnan may be fortunate for that at least."
"Who's he talking to?" Porthos frowned, watching as another man approached the judge. The stranger was a rather oily looking gentleman, well on in years. Athos considered for a moment how the man seemed to have the features of a rodent; a rat-like smirk revealing sharp yellowing teeth. In a complete paradox of appearance, the man seemed to be robed in the greatest of finery, intricately stitched doublet of silks and lace with several jewelled rings upon his fingers. The man's casual demeanour was intriguing, though Archambeau seemed uneasy by the man's presence, the judge did nothing to discourage the odiously enthusiastic gentleman. On the contrary, Archambeau looked as though he was trying to please the gentleman before him, which made Athos curious to the mysterious stranger's identity. This was not a man of poor expectations.
"That is the Baron de Longepierre," Tréville informed them softly as his eyes trailed over to the richly dressed gentleman by the Judge's side.
"Curiously extravagant for a Baron…" Athos drawled slowly. His lip curled as he examined the Baron with a suspicious eye.
"Look, I hate to play devil's advocate here, but didn't the lad try to kill Athos the first time we met?" Aramis muttered softly as the courtroom began to fill up with a sea of people.
Porthos glowered at the shorter man with silent fury.
Aramis went to defend his words, but was stopped as a door opened bringing forth a familiar – albeit a little dishevelled – young Gascon.
The guard that brought out d'Artagnan was merciless in his handling of the boy. White-knuckled hands fisted the thin cotton shirt that hung off the boy, making him look smaller and younger than ever. Thick iron manacles shackled d'Artagnan's wrists tightly, clinking with each step he took.
A small part of Athos' mind wondered where the Gascon's leather jacket and pauldron had gone. Though he quickly ignored such thoughts, as they were not what was important.
D'Artagnan looked terrible, worst than when the young Gascon had spent a night in prison with Vadim. It was clear he hadn't slept the previous evening; dark smudges beneath bleary unfocussed eyes told of a night spent in worry and anxiety.
"Does he look injured in any way?" Athos muttered under his breath, his eyes never left the boy.
"I can't tell," Aramis frowned as he bit his lip studying the young dishevelled musketeer in irons. "Other than his pretty little shiner," the musketeer added with a concerned scowl.
A dark mottling bruise was painted across d'Artagnan's temple and jawline, it didn't look particularly bad though what worried Athos most was the fact that the boy seemed completely vacant; his eyes glassy and emotionless, no sense of worry nor fear nor anything. It was like the young Gascon's mind had simply shut down. Was it shock?
"Years of battlefield medicine and 'you can't tell'?" Athos chided in a low voice.
"It's a lot easily to diagnose patients when they're not across the other side of a crowded room," Aramis defended in hushed tones, noticing the odd looks from the courtroom patrons around them as the official proceedings readied themselves to begin.
"He doesn't look too good," Porthos furrowed his brows as he took their youngest in his sights.
However their conversation came to a halt as the Judge alerted the courtroom's attention with a timely bang of his gavel.
"I would ask for a delay in this trial's proceedings," Tréville stepped forward, standing just before the Judge's stand.
"Denied." The Judge replied at once, not even giving the request a moment's thought.
"The King is away, I demand a delay so that I may seek clemency from his Majesty in this trial."
"Denied, Captain," the Judge retorted sternly, though his words seemed forced. "This is my courtroom and I shall see fit to make sure justice is carried out."
"This is highly irregular!" The Captain cried out in frustration, his violent outburst echoing throughout the room, even d'Artagnan seemed to flinch at the volume.
"Indeed, this is irregular, Monsieur," the Judge raised his voice to a roar, stern eyes taking in the crowd and the Captain before him, "this case, as I have learnt, is not one that requires my judgement. The boy confessed, Captain, I see no reason for a trial."
"And how do you know this confession was not under duress?" Tréville stepped forward once more, seeking out justice with every fibre of his being.
Athos turned to take in the sight of the Gascon once more. D'Artagnan seemed so lost in the room, looking as though he was not even hearing the verbal battle being fought around him.
"The Baron has delivered his statement of the facts, he bares witness to d'Artagnan's crime," the Judge told the people of the court sternly.
"D'Artagnan is an honourable soldier in my ranks, it is completely out of character for him to commit such an act."
"Be that as it may, Captain, if he confesses, he will be found guilty," the Judge said quietly though his tone still held a powerful authority within the room. With his head held loftily, Archambeau turned his gaze upon the young musketeer in custody, surveying the Gascon with a guarded eye.
"Charles d'Artagnan, how do you plea in regards to your accused crimes?"
Athos held his breath as he watched d'Artagnan. The Gascon did not answer but rather glanced lazily around the room as if looking for something, he did not even seem to have heard the Judge's request.
"Answer, boy," Archambeau stressed.
It was then that d'Artagnan's eye fell upon him. Athos froze as he held the Gascon's stare. For a short moment, Athos swore the young musketeer was desperately trying to tell him something with nothing more than a searching gaze across a crowded room. D'Artagnan look desperate for Athos to read his thoughts and understand what it was he was trying to convey but all the elder musketeer could see was a frightened young boy, overwhelmed by the raging chaos around him.
With one last flicker of his eyes, d'Artagnan looked towards the Baron, his complexion paling slightly as he dropped his gaze to the floor in defeat.
"Guilty," d'Artagnan forced the words to leave his lips, seemingly disgusted and emotionally tortured by having to voice them aloud.
Anger boiled up within Athos like a berserker in the heat of battle. Someone was putting words in d'Artagnan's mouth and stringing him up to take the fall for this crime.
"This makes no sense!" Athos roared aloud, unable to keep his temper under control.
"Ask him why!" Aramis beseeched, taking Athos' fury as a sign to attack. "Demand he tell you why!"
"Stand down," Tréville whispered harshly, urging them to keep a level head.
"This is ridiculous!" Porthos growled in response, slamming his open palm against he wooden railing.
"Keep your tongues, all or you, until you are called upon, or I shall have you have you all removed," Archambeau scolded brashly, his fiery glare silencing the trio, though it did nothing to quell their tempers.
With that, Judge Archambeau turned to the condemned musketeer with renewed fury, "Charles d'Artagnan do you have anything else to say in your defence?"
"No," d'Artagnan murmured airily, back to a distant state of numbness.
"In that case, Charles d'Artagnan, I see no choice but to sentence you to death, sentence to be carried out tomorrow midday."
The crowd around them exploded in a roar of conflicting emotions. Athos' heart dropped instantly at the Judge's verdict, slamming himself back into the crowd to fight his way through. He needed to see d'Artagnan. None of this made a lick of sense and d'Artagnan's behaviour just now had made Athos almost certain of the Gascon's innocence.
Athos could feel Aramis and Porthos by his side as he stalked towards the back of the room, grateful for their presence.
"Athos, Aramis, Porthos," Tréville called after them as they pushed their way through the crowd, though they ignored the beckoning of their Captain.
They had to get to d'Artagnan before he was taken to the Châtelet. If they could have but a moment with the boy, Athos could know for certain if the Gascon had truly killed the Comte. Though he already knew d'Artagnan would never kill without warrant and just cause, the young musketeer was still slightly hotheaded and a strike made in self-defence was entirely plausible. And if so, Athos could force the issue further, eliminating the crimes held against the Gascon's name and eradicating the death sentence upon his head.
Making their way through the winding corridors of the courthouse, they could hear several footsteps ahead and the chink of iron chains.
"D'Artagnan?" Aramis called out down the corridor, rushing forward in hopes to meet the young musketeer.
"Aramis?" d'Artagnan's small voice sounded almost hopeful in the long ill-lit corridor.
The relief brought forth from the Gascon's familiar voice was short lived as they turned the corner just in time to see d'Artagnan's head crack painfully against the hard wall.
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos rushed forward to grab the Gascon, but the guards pulled their prisoner out of reach before the musketeer could reach him.
Athos held back with silent fury, verse all to well in the guards' mistreatment towards their inmates. The blow had struck a painful jolt to his heart, though Athos could tell that the wound was nothing more than superficial, a nasty headache but nothing life threatening, nothing compared the hangman's noose that loomed ominously.
"Oh dear the poor boy must have tripped," the Baron yelped in a concerned expression and though the man played worried rather convincingly, Athos was none to compelled by the odious man's displays of affection. "We must see to that immediately, guards if you will?"
The taller of the guards sniffed casually with a small nod, tugging the Gascon none too gently backward, d'Artagnan's head dropping heavily against his chest, completely unaware of the situation.
"What are you doing back here?" Aramis glared at the Baron with suspicion.
"A simple mistake, Monsieur Aramis, I have not been in Paris long and I took a wrong exit in leaving this place," Longepierre brushed off effortlessly, though none to bared witness to his excuse believe it for a moment, "Thankfully, I ran into these guards who were pointing me in the right direction."
"How do you know me?" Aramis stepped back slightly, looking a little uneasy at being recognised so easily by the Baron.
"By reputation only, I'm afraid," the Baron smiled widely, though it seemed more to be a baring of teeth rather than a display of civility. "Tis a shame how life works out, I would have rather we were better acquainted you and I."
"Exit's that way," Porthos snarled as he pointed at the door to the left, pushing Aramis back slightly as he used his height to tower over the Baron, staring down at Longepierre imposingly.
For a moment Athos wondered if Porthos was going to carry out his silent threats, but the musketeer seemed to do nothing further.
"I bid you good day, gentlemen," the Baron nodded with a deep nod of farewell, though Athos saw the carefully concealed smirk that graced the Baron's lips as the man dipped his head.
Athos knew there were foul beasts at work and seeing Longepierre in person only confirmed his suspicions. There was some greater game being played than the murder of some unknown Comte.
Though before he could voice his reservations, the Baron had taken his leave down the corridor. Athos felt his teeth grate unconsciously as he thought he heard the sound of the Baron beginning to hum merrily as he made his exit.
"Tripped my arse," Porthos growled as the three stood watched the guards carry an unconscious d'Artagnan beyond their reach. "I'll skin every last one of those bastards."
"That won't help d'Artagnan," Athos told him with a heavy sigh as he continued to stare down the now vacant corridor.
"We need to talk to him," Aramis agreed. "Find out what really happened."
†††
The Châtelet prison had been an unwelcomingly familiar sight for the three men. Though they had been denied an audience with the Gascon on route to the prison, they hoped a visit to his cell could be possible.
However when they had arrived, the wardens had been told d'Artagnan had requested no visitors. Confused, Athos had berated the guards, trying all methods of intimidation and exploitation he could in hopes to gain entrance, but his efforts went in vain.
Furious, the three cut their losses and starting out to return to the garrison.
"Why would he not want to see us?" Porthos uttered aloud, completely shocked at the Gascon's blatant refusal.
"This makes no sense!" Athos roared as he tore through the bustling streets of Paris, heading back to the garrison. "He did not do this! I could see it in his eyes at the courthouse, he was lying."
"And why was he even at the Baron's house?" Aramis wondered aloud, knitting his brows in deep thought as he replaced his hat upon his head. "It's the other side of the city…"
"That Baron's a right bastard too," Porthos added, "what the hell was the lad doing around the likes of him?"
"Oh," Aramis halted his pace abruptly as he noticed someone standing in the centre of the garrison courtyard, "can we not go in there,"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm going to get slapped," Aramis shot back, nodding to the angry looking woman pacing back and forth before them.
"Keep your mouth shut and you might not," Athos noted in a slow drawl.
"Brilliant plan," Aramis muttered sourly as they entered the courtyard, mentally preparing himself for the onslaught of verbal abuse he was bound for.
Constance Bonacieux was not a woman to cross. She was quick to temper and even quicker to lash out, particularly – as it seemed – when dealing with snarky musketeers. Though so often silenced by her husband, Constance was a strong and proud woman who fought for those she loved with a fiery vengeance, all the more so when it came to a certain puppy-eyed Gascon who had stolen her heart as she had his.
"Madame Bona – " Athos began only to be shut up quickly by a sharp slap across his face. The burning flame that radiated across his cheek was almost enough to wince. It was clear the woman was looking for answers not pleasantries.
"You bastards," Constance growled fiercely as she pointed at each of them, "what the hell have you gotten him into?"
"Such language from such a… "Aramis' words faded midsentence as a fiery glare from the woman told him they were not welcome. "I shall not say another word," he added with hands raised in gestured surrender.
"Wise," Constance noted coldly before turning back to Athos, "why am I hearing that d'Artagnan is awaiting execution for murder?"
"Because he is," Athos told her simply, feeling the truth was the best option, "we are doing all we can, but d'Artagnan confessed."
"That doesn't make any sense, why would he kill someone?" Constance asked them, making Athos feel as though the woman were voicing his very thoughts.
"We don't know," Athos sighed wearily, the afternoon had been a series of toppling questions that only seem to grow with each passing moment.
"I'm still not convinced he did it," Porthos grunted, as he met Aramis' eyes with a knowing stare.
"But if he didn't do it why would he confess?" Constance furrowed her brow in thought, the stress and strain of recent events displaying clearly upon her face.
"We don't know," Athos repeated once more in a heavy drawl, feeling the weight of futility cripple him in his surrounding circumstances.
"You're supposed to be his friends, how can you not know?" Constance asked the three men before her, levelling her gaze in concern with each.
"He has refuses to see us, even at his trial he wouldn't talk to us," Aramis told her with a heavy tone.
"Barely even noticed us," Porthos added, sounded a little hurt but the Gascon's actions in the courtroom.
"We have tried to seek an audience with him, but again he would not see us." Athos informed her with a soft tone.
"Though perhaps he will see you…" Aramis told Constance before looking over to Athos, silently asking for the other man's advice.
"Go," Athos nodded, "if he talks send word for me immediately."
†††
Pacing the length of his quarters was seemingly building the tension in his chest rather than dissuading it. The others had not returned for sometime and they had not sent word for him to join them, causing Athos to think the worst. With the sun sending its deep orange glow over the darkening city, the hours were running out for d'Artagnan. A bottle of fine vintage wine sat upon his table, cork still firmly set in its neck, though Athos had the feeling it would not stay that way for very long. If d'Artagnan continued to refused them, there would be not much else they could do but wait for the hangman to claim his victim and that was not something Athos believed he could witness sober.
Surely d'Artagnan knew they could help? Not matter the truth, they would not abandon him, not in his hour of need.
"You're housekeeper let me in," Tréville's voice alerted Athos' attention to the open door, instantly locking eyes with his Captain as the elder man entered the room.
"He didn't do this," Athos' voice held strong though he began to feel as if he was simply repeating this phrase to centre himself.
"I'm not blind, Athos," Tréville sighed tiredly, taking a seat at the table, "there are so many unknowns in this case I could not tell the facts if they were placed before me. Without his confession the entire case would have fallen through. The witness are all servants of the Baron, not one could keep a story straight when asked," the Captain told Athos regretfully, "But I can't fight this when d'Artagnan blatantly refuses aid."
Tréville nodded in gesture to the bottle upon the table, asking Athos' permission with a single glance. Athos relented with a wave of his hand, there was plenty more where that came from.
In the aching silence that enveloped the two occupants of the room, the Captain slowly uncorked the bottle, pouring the lapping liquid into a clean cup upon the table, replacing the bottle in its original position.
Athos continued to stare out the window while the Captain drank.
"The King –" Athos turned back to Tréville.
"Isn't due back until the morning." The Captain shook his head with exhausted sorrow, taking a long sip of the dark liquid, staining his tongue and lips with rich burgundy.
"There may still be time," Athos proposed desperately, grasping at straws as the countdown began to d'Artagnan's execution.
"D'Artagnan confessed, Athos," Tréville sighed wearily, "the boy seems intent on taking the punishment for this…"
"His punishment is the hangman's noose!" Athos roared, unleashing the anger that he had controlled with relentless strength.
The eruption of fury echoed around the room for a moment as Athos clenched his teeth to subdue himself. The Captain was not the intended target for his anger and he knew better than to disrespect the man who had given him everything.
"Do you think I don't know this…?" Tréville said quietly, his soft tones revealing the anguish and hurt he felt regarding the situation.
Feeling the need to apologise, Athos sighed as made his way over to the seated Captain, but stopped as he heard footsteps upon the stairs.
For a moment Athos tricked himself into thinking there were three pairs of heavy boots making their way up to his rooms, but seeing the sombre expressions of Aramis and Porthos confirmed Athos' sour thoughts – d'Artagnan had not seen them.
"Any luck?" Tréville wondered as they entered the room, though Athos already knew the answer.
"None, apparently not even a visit from Madame Bonacieux will sway that stubborn kid." Porthos grunted as he leaned back against the wall heavily, crossing his arms tightly.
"We sent her home," Aramis informed them quietly, taking off his hat as he walked around the length of the room slowly. Somewhere along the course of the last few days he had lost the bounce in his step. Athos had not noticed it before, but now it was missing, it seemed obvious.
"I wouldn't advice having her at the proceedings tomorrow," the Captain spoke sombrely, "it is not something a woman should see."
"It not something anyone should see," Porthos murmured through clenched teeth.
"Do you think if would be beneficial for me to take a walk by the Châtelet?" Tréville proposed lightly.
Porthos gave a noncommittal shrug but then shook his head, "He won't even allow a priest in for last confession."
"Believe us, we tried." Aramis sighed running his fingers wearily through his hair.
"D'Artagnan or the Baron…?" Athos snarled darkly under his breath, thinking back to vile man in the courthouse's back corridors.
"What do you mean?" Tréville turned to the musketeer, his concerned expression turning curious.
"What do you know of Longepierre?" Athos wondered of his Captain.
"Relatively nothing, the first I'd even heard of him was at the trial," Tréville shook his head.
"The man is completely unknown in the city, yet he appears for two days and suddenly has a Judge in his pocket and a murder in his study, you don't think that odd?"
"You think the Baron killed the Comte?" Aramis posed sceptically.
"I think it would make a hell of a lot more sense than d'Artagnan," Athos retorted, "The Comte came willingly to Longepierre's apartments, several witnesses attested to the fact, though what was never discussed was why? Why was the Comte there? Why was d'Artagnan there? What drove d'Artagnan to shoot the Comte, if it was truly him that fired the pistol…"
"So a Baron and Comte have business that d'Artagnan got caught in…" Aramis pondered aloud, "still does explain why he's not talking, the boy's got a short fuse but…"
"What if d'Artagnan saw something he shouldn't," Porthos looked up around the room's occupants.
"If d'Artagnan had uncovered something it would be his duty to report it," Tréville murmured, "he is not the type to be swayed by profiting noblemen."
"Which is what he would have told the Baron," Porthos agreed with a heavy tone, prompting a dark thought to curl up inside Athos' mind.
"What would you do if you wished for silence from a young dutiful musketeer?" Athos posed aloud, biting his lip in thought as his mind reeled over all the possibilities.
"A young man with known romantic entanglements with a beautiful married woman…" Aramis caught Athos' eye as the both came to similar conclusions.
A flickered gaze towards Tréville made Athos realise that d'Artagnan's affair with Constance had not been unknown their Captain.
"He wasn't exactly subtle…" Tréville raised an eyebrow in retort.
That was an understatement. When Constance and the Gascon had begun their 'secret' relationship, d'Artagnan had all but called it from the rooftops. The bright toothy grin on the young musketeer's face had been amusing but far from covert as the two would exchange kisses and whisper sweet nothings to one another in the centre of crowded market street in broad daylight. At the time it had made Athos almost wish Aramis had followed through on his threat to teach the boy how to handle clandestine affairs with the fairer sex.
And even though the young lovers' relationship had not lasted long, it did not take a genius to see that they still yearned for one another. All rational thought seemed to disappear in the Gascon's mind when matters concerned the fair Madame Bonacieux.
"So the Baron and the Comte argue, he shoots the Comte, d'Artagnan discovers them and Longepierre threatens Constance for his silence…" Aramis concluded.
"It's the only thing that making a lick of sense right now," Porthos agreed.
"I shall seek an audience with his Majesty early tomorrow, if luck is on our side he should be in residence before the execution," Tréville announced, standing up to announce his exit. "Justice shall be carried out," he promised with a meaningful look to each of his men.
"I appreciate the wine," he added with a small smile towards Athos, "get some rest," he nodded, leaving the three musketeers to wait out the night.
†††
No one slept that night. The very thought of sleep or rest seem utterly impossible given the events that would greet them once the sun rose once more.
The hours dripped by slowly like a small leak in a thatched roof. No one had said anything for the past few hours, each suggested topic seemed useless in their efforts to save their youngest from his fate.
Though they had all been instructed to by their Captain to rest, none left Athos' apartments. Each had taken a separate corner of the room; Athos sat upon his bed, head resting in his palms, Porthos sat upon the floor, leaning his back against the wall, starring at the room with a black expression and Aramis sat at the table, using the second chair as a footrest. No one had moved in hours, each silently mulling over the situation their youngest had landed himself in.
"You do realise that once we get d'Artagnan off these charges it's Aramis' turn…" Porthos broke the silence with an absent tone.
"What the are you talking about…?" Aramis grumbled with a sleep-ridden moan, peering over at Porthos with a brow raised lazily.
"You're the only one that hasn't been wrongfully sentenced to death," Porthos shrugged, slightly delirious as the early hours of the night had begun to weigh upon him. "It's only fair you goes next."
"This is no time to joke, Porthos," Athos sighed, standing up from the bed only to take the bottle from the table, before returning to the bed.
"Is it time for that?" Porthos said curtly, eying the bottle distastefully.
"It is the exact hour for this," Athos murmured, pulling the cork out with his teeth, taking a deep drink from the bottle, his eyes never leaving the window, intently watching as the sky began to lighten ominously.
"There is still hope, Athos," Aramis sighed, though from his tone Athos questioned whether Aramis believed it himself.
"Is there?" Athos returned, his voice betraying how defeated his soul felt.
"We won't give up on him, Athos," Porthos declared, "God knows he wouldn't give up on us."
"What hope is there when the law has been abused before our very eyes…?" Athos growled hopelessly, cursing the lack of numbing ecstasy he desired from the alcohol before him.
"Well there is another option," Aramis noted casually, catching the other's attention instantly.
"I'm listening," Athos drawled slowly as he caught Aramis' gaze.
"If the law betrays us, Athos" Aramis told him with a glint of mischief in his eyes, "we shall just have to betray the law."
"Music to my ears," Porthos chuckled as he pushed himself off the floor, taking a fresh bottle from a small, concealed wooden box.
Athos gave Porthos a curious look but this only made the man's smile widen, "I know all your hiding spots."
With a noncommittal shrug, Athos turned back to Aramis, "What's your plan?"
†††
The jeers from the crowd were ruthless. Taunts and angry slurs that Athos doubted they fully understood. None of these people had truly known d'Artagnan, nor did they fully comprehend the facts of his accused crimes. They had not right to judge him, call him murderer, to boo and hiss as the boy was led before them.
"It is going to take an ocean of wine to get this image from my mind," Porthos growled, as he looked up at the scaffold where a rope was being placed around the Gascon's neck.
"And then some," Athos agreed bitterly, biting the corner of his lip nervously as he watched the blank expression upon the young musketeer's face. D'Artagnan's calm at that moment was utterly unnerving. The boy looked so young, so unaware of all that happened around him, unconsciously bending to the will of executioner. It was then that Athos recognised the look in the Gascon's eyes, defeat.
He had given up. Surrendered to his sentence so entirely. It made Athos sick to the stomach. If Aramis' plan succeeded, Athos swore to Heaven and Earth that he would strive to do all that he could to never again see the expression d'Artagnan wore at this very moment.
"Does Flea know we're coming?" Aramis asked quietly, making sure his lips did not move too much as he looked around the joyful crowd casually.
"She's ready and has men in position," Porthos murmured under his breath to the musketeers at his side, "Says he can stay until a retrial can be agreed upon…"
"And if it can't?" Aramis asked apprehensively, licking his bottom lip anxiously as his eyes travelled back upon the young Gascon on the scaffold.
"I hear Barbados is nice this time of year…" Porthos shrugged nonchalantly, in a conversational manner.
"You can get a boat?" Aramis wonder aloud, clearly feeling the need for light conversation to distract him from the proceedings before him.
"Aramis, please," Porthos snorted as if the question had caused him some offence.
"I have been meaning to travel more," Athos smirked a little; though his expression quickly turned sour again as the official stepped forth upon the scaffold, ready to address the jeering crowd.
"Charles d'Artagnan," the official announced dutifully, though he did not even spare a glance to the man he was addressing. "You are charged with the murder of Comte Bertrand de la Marche, for which you have been found guilty. For these crimes you have been sentenced to hang from the neck until dead."
"Do you need a boost?" Porthos muttered to Aramis with a ghost of a smile.
"I have a box," Aramis retorted wirily, absently knocking a wooden crate at his heels.
"Can you make the shot?" Porthos asked, peering at the man beside him.
"Porthos, please," Aramis scoffed as he readied his arquebus subtly, watching the crowd tentatively for any sign of suspicion upon the trio. But his worries seemed unwarranted as all eyes were glued upon the wooden scaffold and the musketeer upon it.
"Do you have any last words you wish to confess?" The official asked the condemned Gascon.
From where the three were standing it was too far to hear what d'Artagnan uttered, though Athos could still see the words the Gascon's mouth was forming:
All for one and one for all.
All thoughts froze in Athos' mind as recent events slammed back through his mind like a lucid dream, chilling his blood. For they had been right in thinking the boy's actions had been for love, but not the love they had thought. D'Artagnan was not in the hangman's noose for Constance…
"It's us," Athos breathed in realisation, heart crashing painfully against his ribcage, eye wide.
"What?" Aramis' attentions were now solely upon Athos.
"Someone is threatening us," he growled, eyes locked upon the Gascon boy strung upon the scaffold, precariously wobbling on the wooden block.
"That idiot," Aramis gapped with an expression of worry and frustration, though they did not have long to ponder over the recent revelation as the executioner viciously kicked the block from beneath d'Artagnan's feet, dropping the young Gascon ruthlessly.
Athos' heart rammed against his chest in sickening thuds as he saw the young musketeer struggling desperately, swinging frantically upon the scaffold.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos roared across the courtyard, forgetting all thoughts of their plan as he rushed through the cheering crowd.
"Shoot it," Porthos urged Aramis as the musketeer quickly stood upon the wooden crate, lining up the swinging rope in his sights.
Just as Aramis placing his finger upon the trigger, a new voice shattered his concentration completely.
"Stop! Cut him down!" A woman's voice rang out above the jeering crowds, "this man is innocent! I have proof!"
"What?" Porthos turned to the voice of the newcomer, stunned as he met Aramis' gaze.
"Cut him down!" Athos bellowed, pushing people aside with a crazed fury, though it was like swimming in molasses as he shoved his way in attempts to reach the scaffold.
"Move aside," Porthos growled fiercely as he and Aramis attempted to clear a path for the mysterious woman.
"Piss off," a man sneered at Porthos, though the larger musketeer did not take his comment kindly as he forcefully pushed the man to the ground in order to get past.
The dense crowd seemed an unmoving wall of people, a rock against their endeavours, though thankfully the woman's cries had alerted the executioner and he had cut down the Gascon with quick precision, dropping d'Artagnan upon the hard wooden scaffold.
"Who is she?" Aramis looked to Athos for answers with wide eyes as the three stood in shock, thankful their youngest had been cut down from the noose around his neck, but unsure of whether the boy's saviour came with good tidings or ill.
"As long as she buys d'Artagnan time, I don't care," Athos allowed himself a moment's breath, looking over that the woman kneeling beside a shaken d'Artagnan. She appeared to be whispering something to the boy, which caused d'Artagnan some initial panic – this did not sit well with Athos. However he would let it rest for now, d'Artagnan's neck no longer sported a deathly rope and he seemed to be breathing well under the circumstances.
Though before Athos' worries could be completely dissuaded, several of the Cardinal's red-caped guards surrounded the young musketeer, pulling him from the scaffold.
"Where are they taking him?" Athos demanded, tried to push his way through the crowd once more in order to follow d'Artagnan, renewing his efforts to force his way towards the young musketeer.
"Athos, stand down," the familiar voice of their Captain appeared behind them, halting their attack instantly. Turning rapidly they saw Tréville standing tall before them, a content smile upon his face. The man seemed calm, which in turn soothed the mental monologue of worries tormenting Athos' mind. "D'Artagnan is to be retrial before the King," Tréville told them evenly, his tone pacifying their anger and frustrations.
"Cutting it a little short," Porthos grumbled quietly, hands clenched with white tipped knuckles, though his rage had all but gone.
"What changed their minds?" Athos wondered aloud. The last few days had become a string of unexpected twists and turns, each more troubling than the last. He prayed this revelation was to be the last of the heart-wrenching disclosures that fate seemed to be torturing them with.
"New evidence has arisen," Tréville informed them, revealing a letter with a broken wax seal. "The Baron killed himself last night, ate his own pistol."
Athos raised a sceptical brow at the Captain's news. The man had seemed rather chipper the previous evening, far too much to commit suicide. From the look Tréville gave them, he too suspected the Baron's death was a little too convenient.
"We have the very best of alibies," Athos assured the Captain slowly with great caution.
"You don't need them," the Captain sighed, nodding to the letter in his hand, "the Baron was kind enough to confess before he ended it."
"Considerate of him," Athos uttered as he gazed down cautiously at the paper in Tréville's hand, a small part of him hesitant to believe that this innocuous piece of parchment held the key to d'Artagnan's freedom.
"Come, the trial is to begin immediately at the palace," Tréville told them, nodding over to where d'Artagnan stood surrounded by an escort of several of the Cardinal's guards. D'Artagnan looked pale and shaky, which was understandable, though they all knew the guards would not try anything with Tréville and the musketeers watching closely.
It was then that the Captain noticed Aramis' readied arquebus and the box near the musketeer's feet. With great suspicion, Tréville surveyed his musketeers before him, and then concluded his examination with a heavy eye roll.
"I don't even want to know…" Tréville groaned wearily as he began to follow d'Artagnan's precession towards the palace.
†††
Once in the King's presence the trial commenced. And though the Judge from d'Artagnan's trail seemed vehemently against a retrial, his Majesty ignored all protests, wishing to hear the facts from himself.
D'Artagnan muddled through some tale of heartbreak and illicit affairs with a lady of the court – utter rubbish. Anyone that knew d'Artagnan well knew of how he still carried a strong burning flame for the fair Madame Bonacieux and none so far had swayed his attentions in the slightest.
Though apparently the King ate up the story with much interest. It was no secret that the young Louis often enjoyed the adventurous and romantic escapades of his musketeers. Athos often considered that his Majesty simply relished in the vicarious experience of these matters, as the excitement was something completely out of his reach.
The Cardinal, however seemed suspicious, which was nerve inducing. After everything that had occurred with his wife, Athos had noticed how the Cardinal's vengeful attentions seemed to be aimed at the youngest; in hopes that d'Artagnan's downfall would cause a domino effect. All for one indeed...
Athos barely payed attention to the proceedings after d'Artagnan made his 'confession'. All that was in the musketeer's sights was the dishevelled young Gascon before him. D'Artagnan's story to the King only brought up more questions than had answered. What was so dire that it warranted lying to all around him? Even with the Baron dead, d'Artagnan seemed unmovable on keeping his silence. It worried Athos all the more. Never before had the boy been so secretive towards his brothers. True the events with Anne had eventuated in uncovered the boy's deception but that had been due to d'Artagnan's oblivious position, not by any nefarious means. Once the true had been revealed d'Artagnan had relinquished the information he kept, explaining how he would have told them earlier, had he known.
And it was true that the boy was welcome to his secrets. Athos would not pressure any of his brothers to revealing something they did not wish. But this was different – when the secrets began to eat away at their entire dynamic, threatening lives and leaving them in the dark, that was where Athos drew a line. Perhaps one day soon the boy would trust them enough to tell them, for that was what cut the deepest. Athos had once prided himself of the transparency between the four of them, however as time went on it seemed secrets had begun to poison the bond they shared.
But for now he simply relished in d'Artagnan's freedom. A cooling wave past over him as the King dismissed d'Artagnan's charges, clearing the young musketeer's name of all he was accused.
"Take him home, make him rest," Athos heard Tréville mutter to the trio, "take the next few days and make sure there are no lasting trauma's from this nightmare."
Athos nodded slowly in acceptance. He did not need to be ordered to do this, but the reprieve from duties was most welcome after the gruelling torture of the past few days spent in worry.
"Where did he go?" Porthos frowned after a moment, causing Athos' heart to skip a beat for the umpteenth time that day.
"What? He was just there!" Aramis' eyes widened as he desperately searched the emptying room.
"Where the hell is he?" Athos swore as his eyes flittered between the faces around them. "Find him."
Splitting off into three separate directions, each musketeer strove towards the exits, rushing through the waves of people, anxiously searching.
After a few minutes of chaotic blind panic, Athos heard Porthos utter four of the most calming words that had graced his ears in the past few days.
"Athos, I found him!"
Rounding the corner, Athos finally gave himself the chance to breathe as he saw d'Artagnan – safe, alive – at the end of the corridor.
"Thank God," he murmured a silent prayer as he stalked to towards the boy, his guard still held high as his gaze turned upon the elderly woman standing next to d'Artagnan. This woman was the very same who had tore the Gascon from the scaffold, saving him at the last moment. She was wealthy, her clothes and poise expressed her elite status, elderly, married.
"Madame," Athos eyed the woman with ample suspicion as they three rounded on the young musketeer. "Who are you and how do you know d'Artagnan?"
"Charming as ever," Aramis quieted chided at his side, though Athos ignored this.
"I'm the Baroness de Longepierre," the elderly woman told him with a lofty tone and Athos mentally kicked himself for not realising more quickly. The woman had introduced herself to the King not but a few moments before, though Athos' attentions had been so focused upon d'Artagnan he had barely spared a thought for the woman claiming the boy's innocence.
The Baron's wife. Athos' expression turned cold as he studied her in a cautious light. Though seemingly singlehandedly saving their youngest from the hangman's noose, the woman's connection to the manipulating Baron did her no favours in Athos' eyes.
However as he studied her, there was something amiss. The fading bruises upon her wrist and the bandages seemed to tell a tale of abuse, though Athos could not be certain of this. The woman was clearly proud and hardy, regardless of her advancement in years, she would not be one to admit such abuse if asked outright.
"I broke her teapot," d'Artagnan confessed meekly, causing Athos to blink owlishly at the younger man.
"Please tell me that's not a euphemism…" Porthos snorted, causing Athos to rolled his eyes. Though Athos soon realized Porthos' humour had been an attempt to dispel the tension in the room.
"I am old enough to be the boy's grandmother," The Baroness frowned deeply with an unimpressed expression. As the elderly woman took Porthos in her sights, Athos suddenly realized how much he liked this woman, reminding him of the Mother Superior.
"Perhaps not the time, my friend," Aramis noted quietly, as he patted Porthos upon the shoulder.
"I shall let you get back to your family," the Baroness turned back to the young Gascon, patting him maternally on the arm, though d'Artagnan still looked at little dazed, "come by anytime my dear and once your dear brothers learn some manners, they are welcome also."
It was always amazing to Athos how quickly people took a liking to the young Gascon. Though he himself had been one of them, Athos always forgot how charming the young musketeer's politeness and enthusiasm were to those who admired such traits. And though these effects seemed to work best on old women and children – which seemed to irritate d'Artagnan as his attentions lay upon the young beauties of Paris – Athos could see it was moments like this that he was grateful for the young man's unconscious magnetism.
"Thank you," d'Artagnan whispered to the Baroness as the elderly woman made her exit.
Without a moment's rest, Athos immediately closed the gap between himself and d'Artagnan, peering over the young musketeer in search of injury and mistreatment.
"Are you alright?" Athos breathed out, tension rolling off him as he finally had tactile proof that the boy was breathing and alive.
"A few bruises, nothing more," d'Artagnan mumbled, though it was a lie clear as day. The boy looked beyond exhausted, the pallor of his skin and the redness in his eyes revealed how thoroughly shattered the events of the past few days had left the young musketeer.
Athos' fingers trailed the length of the rope burn upon the young Gascon's neck, relieved that a simply burn was all that had occurred. It would fade soon, leaving no achingly clear reminder of their failings.
Four bloodied crescents had been dug into d'Artagnan's neck. Someone had held the boy's throat, applied enough pressure upon it to break the skin. Light bruises around the scratches told of a vehemently merciless touch, causing a deep anger to burn in Athos' heart.
"What the hell are these?" Athos snarled, unable to hold back the anger boiling beneath his skin.
"I'm fine, really," d'Artagnan brushed off Athos' worry casually, but that did nothing to quell Athos' growl in reply.
"You just narrowly escaped your own execution, of course you're not alright."
"Have you slept?" Aramis frowned, stepping forward as he caught Athos' gaze, "when was the last time – "
"D'Artagnan?" The Queen's soft tone's alerted Athos instantly, standing aside so as to face her Majesty and her ladies in waiting.
"Your Majesty," they nodded reverently in unison, upon the Queen's arrival.
With a gentle word Anne of Austria bid her ladies leave her and the musketeers, to which they accepted dutifully with an array of delicate curtsies before making their exit.
"Oh come here," she sighed, all sense of regal elegance forgotten as she pulled the young Gascon into her arm. "Forgive me for the pain I have caused you."
Stunned into absolute silence, all three musketeers stood agape, eyes wide as their Queen fretted over their youngest with all the love and affection of an elder sister.
"You…?" Athos felt himself at an utter loss for words, his eyes flittering between the Queen and d'Artagnan.
All previous theories had been utterly floored by her Majesty's revelation. Never had they even once considered that the Queen had been involved in this chaotic chain of nightmarish events.
"Longepierre was threatening me, I sent d'Artagnan to deliver a missive and somehow allowed him to be pulled into the Baron's cruel web," Anne explained with a tense expression. "I had no idea the extents of the matter until Tréville burst into the throne room this morning, as his Majesty returned from his hunting trip, demanding a retrial," she told them softly. "I would have waited to confront Longepierre, but it was an urgent and timely matter."
"Better me than you, your Majesty," d'Artagnan murmured softly, catching her Majesty's gaze for a brief moment.
"I'll have none of that," Anne chided softly, her tone gently and kind. "I cannot begin to fathom what you said to sway his intentions."
"Indeed," Athos levelled his gaze upon the Gascon. His mind was now drowning in unanswered questions. This entire escapade had been maddening from beginning to end, each time they thought they had deciphered the events, another issue would come to light, toppling all previous conclusions.
"I never really understood it, it all happened so quickly. But I think he did it purely because he wanted to," d'Artagnan gave a vague shrug as he muttered quietly.
Porthos cracked his knuckles audibly as Athos' jaw set tight. Aramis seemed to hold a cold level of calm but Athos could see the anger masked behind his expression.
"Your Majesty," d'Artagnan suddenly paled before them, his hands beginning to trembling slightly, though Athos wondered if the Gascon was aware of how much his body was betraying him, "the Baron, he still – "
"He is dead d'Artagnan, it is over," the Queen told him gently, soothing the young musketeer with kind words.
"He had letters, letters of yours sent to… an acquaintance," d'Artagnan uttered softly, leaving a pause as he conveyed something silently with the Queen.
Athos flickered his gaze over to Aramis and Porthos in hopes they could decipher what the boy was getting at but all he got in return was a small noncommittal shrug from both.
"I have never sent any letters of that kind, d'Artagnan," the Queen uttered smoothly, though her tone revealed a warning edge.
"But I saw –" d'Artagnan began but then trailed off in an undecipherable murmur.
"What was that?" Athos inquired tersely.
"Nothing, it doesn't matter now…" d'Artagnan said airily, his voice seemed to be fading away as though he was unaware of where he was.
"I am glad you are safe," the Queen smiled warmly, as she gave the boy a small nod in thanks, "I am in your debt, d'Artagnan."
"I was simply doing what any musketeer would have done," d'Artagnan informed her modestly, though his voice seemed a touch detached from the situation.
"You served your Queen far beyond your duty and shall be rewarded for you valiant efforts," Anne smiled brightly, though paused for a moment, as d'Artagnan did not reply.
"D'Artagnan?" the Queen frowned as she stepped closer to the young musketeer.
The young musketeer's eyes seemed to glaze over into a state of shock and panic.
"D'Artagnan?" Athos watched the Gascon intently as he reached out to him.
"Athos, I think he's going into shock," Aramis murmured with heavy concern as he took the boy's head in his hands, desperately attempting to bring d'Artagnan back to reality.
Blinking owlishly the boy looked towards the Queen with a panic stricken expression, his colour fading rapidly as his hands began to tremble and shake.
"Are you alright?" Anne of Austria asked with a pinched expression, her concern radiating clearly for all to see.
All at once d'Artagnan seemed to come back to reality, though all he seemed to utter was "excuse me" before darting of down to corridor at a racing pace.
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos called after the boy, but all attempts to stop him proved futile.
"Please excuse us," Athos nodded dutifully, with a hurried bow.
"Don't be silly, please see that he is well," the Queen waved off as the trio powered after the Gascon, hands grabbing swords and belts to stop them flying about with their rushed pace.
†††
Idiot, Athos thought brashly as his eyes searched the gardens frantically for d'Artagnan.
Where are you? Athos' mind screamed for a release from the emotional agony, but kept his pace true as he heard a growling cry of anguished frustration from an avenue of trees to his right.
Without another though, Athos ran towards d'Artagnan's screams of fury, unsure whether it was simply a release of stress or the cause of something more severe.
"D'Artagnan!" Athos cried out as he ran towards the boy, arms desperately collecting the fiery Gascon in hopes to calm his anger.
"He lied, he fucking lied," d'Artagnan growled into Athos' chest, vibrating physically with the anger that coursed through his entire body, tears rolling uncontrollably down his cheeks as he clenched his teeth.
"You're okay," Athos uttered soothingly, fingers combing through the boy's hair as "you're okay."
Looking up, Athos could see Aramis and Porthos run up to the two, they both seemed as relieved as Athos felt.
"Calm your breaths," Aramis said gently; placing a hand upon the boy's back, "You'll pass out if you keep breathing this way."
Aramis' orders seemed to pacify the hyperventilating Gascon, as he pushed himself out of Athos' arms, trying desperately to slow his breathing.
"You okay now?" Aramis asked softly.
D'Artagnan starred at the three men before him for a moment, heavy breaths
"Argh!" d'Artagnan growled in frustration as he went to punch is white-knuckled fist into a nearby tree, however Porthos quickly caught the fist in his larger hand, pulling the young angry musketeer away from his leafy target.
"Not a good idea," Porthos told him gently, moving so that he should stood between d'Artagnan and the tree, "you'll only break your hand that way."
"I want to kill him," d'Artagnan gasped, dropping his hands against his knees as he bent over, trembling. "I want to kill him."
Athos' heart wrenched at d'Artagnan's anger and frustration. The young Gascon had always shown a fiery streak, his heart all consumed with the honour of justice and the honesty of his fellow man. D'Artagnan's world was black and white and now he was beginning to see the world was grey. The courts did not always deliver fair justice; the villain did not always get his comeuppance. And though Athos had known this day would come it had eventuated in such a cruel fashion he wished it gone from the young musketeer's memory.
"I could've, I had the opportunity, but I didn't," d'Artagnan revealed.
"Then that makes you a better man than he," Aramis told the young musketeer.
D'Artagnan laughed at this, but it was hollow and jaded, unlike his usual laughter, it chilled Athos' blood, "no, it really doesn't."
Something about this comment seemed to cause the Gascon more pain, his skin paling further as he began to look a little green. However they quickly found out the cause of d'Artagnan's sickly pallor as the young musketeer doubled over into the bushes, expelling what little he had in the stomach.
Aramis rushed forward to aide the lad, gently rubbing his back in hopes to quell the bout of nausea.
And though d'Artagnan seemed to wish to ignore all else around him, Athos knew that there was still more to this situation. He could not just accept this as a full explaination, there was still far to many variables left unanswered.
"What did the Baron say that would force you to the gallows?" Athos asked after a moment, as d'Artagnan's gagged quieted. "You lied to the King and court just now, why?"
"It doesn't matter, it wasn't true…" d'Artagnan moaned meekly, his complexion almost tinted green as he held his stomach weakly.
"Leave him be," Aramis sighed, rubbing d'Artagnan's back in hopes to quell the younger's nausea. "You of all people should allow him his privacy, after all the secrets you've had."
"I also know the danger in keeping them," Athos shot back, leveling Aramis with a sharp knowing gaze.
"Look, I understand your concern," Aramis stood up as he addressed Athos, Porthos kneeling down to relieve Aramis' care of d'Artagnan, "but this is no time for an interrogation."
"When's the last time you ate lad?" Porthos sighed wearily as he helped the young musketeer off the ground.
D'Artagnan leaned heavily against the larger man, eyes glazing over as he pondered in thought. "What day is it?"
"See?" Aramis turned to Athos with a sharp look of concern, "let him be, he needs sleep and food."
Seeing d'Artagnan in such a state proved Aramis' point exactly, the young musketeer was in no position to be pushed. He needed to eat, to sleep in a warm bed, he needed his cuts and abrasions seen to and the wound on his head cleaned out.
Athos nodded without another word, moving off through the tall trees back toward the palace. They all needed rest. The past twenty-four hours had felt like months of excoriating emotion turmoil.
"Longepierre claimed that the Queen…" d'Artagnan's voice halted Athos in his stride, causing him to turn back at the stoic Gascon, "and Aramis –"
For all the pain and worry that had transpired over the past two days, none could compare to the uttering chilling ice water that doused him with this revelation.
"Aramis?" Athos almost choked on the musketeer's name, so fearful of the next words to leave the young Gascon's lips, though his aching heart and mind were already filling in every unanswered question.
What secret did they keep which would cause a young musketeer to give his life for…
The truth was so plain it was blinding, sickening.
"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan turned to Aramis, his voice sounding desperate, as if he were pleading for forgiveness, "I should've known, I should have trusted that you would never…" d'Artagnan trailed off.
Though Athos was consumed in the overwhelming sound of his blood rushing in his ears. It was becoming harder and harder to keep his expression neutral.
"Never what?" Porthos asked softly, slightly confused.
"The Baron said he had evidence to prove that the Queen's child belonged to Aramis…" he revealed quietly, brows knitted, beseeching absolution for his doubt.
"And that is what kept your silence?" Aramis paled visibly, his voice had gone eerily hollow. The musketeer looked pale as his eyes sought Athos', though Athos refused to look at the other man, for he was not sure what he would do.
"This is what you almost gave your life for?" Athos fought with every inch of his being to keep himself from bursting out in rage.
"He said you all knew, that you would all surely hang for the allowing it to happen…" d'Artagnan revealed, his guilt like a dagger through Athos' heart. "I should've known he was lying, but he seemed to know everything, he knew about Athos' marriage to Milady, he knew about Bonaire, Aramis, he even knew about Savoy…"
Longepierre had known everything about them, collecting information like nails for their coffins, waiting the perfect moment to strike.
"Lies are easy to swallow when they are swaddled in truth…" Porthos muttered darkly.
"God…" Aramis' voice wavered noticeably and Athos saw him stumble. His quick reflexes caught Aramis' shoulder quickly though he could not help the vice like grip upon the other's shoulder. The anger within him was becoming uncontrollable. Guilt crippling him as the secret he and Aramis had kept from the others was now coming back to haunt them in the most horrid of ways.
He and Aramis had never discussed that night any further than when they brushed it off at the convent. But a month of building tension between the two had infected the wound, festering the issue silently.
"I'm so sorry," d'Artagnan seemed to be repeating himself but Athos was solely concentrating on keeping Aramis upright without releasing his anger in a physical manifestation that he knew he could later regret.
"Please, do not apologise," Aramis struggled to force the words from his mouth. Athos new he would feel sorry for the guilt Aramis was dealing with once this was dealt with, but at the moment he could not see past his own fury to accommodate the other man.
"Athos," Aramis whispered through heaved breaths, his voice hitching slightly.
"Don't," Athos gritted out, tightening his grip, watching the other's carefully to make sure they did not see.
Athos did not see a reason for revealing their subterfuge to Porthos and d'Artagnan. They were safer not knowing. This secret may prove be the ruin of them all.
"Why did you not seek one of us out, to find the truth?" Porthos wondered in frustration, "A single word would have set this slander right."
"There was no time," d'Artagnan, "before I knew it the Comte lay dead at my feet and I was in irons bound for the Châtelet. Once there I had no way of reaching you before the trial…"
"Where the Baron stood watch…" Athos snarled as he placed all the pieces together in his mind. The Baron seemed to be a master at manipulation, preempting all, bar his eventual demise.
"I couldn't risk it," d'Artagnan said meekly.
"Lad, know this," Porthos eyed the younger man, placing both hands upon d'Artagnan's shoulders, "we would not hide something of this caliber from you. You are one of us and we would never risk your life for the concealment of a secret."
"I know," d'Artagnan smiled meekly as the larger man pulled him in for a playful hug. "I'm sorry."
As Porthos and d'Artagnan headed towards the palace exchanging light banter, Athos felt a hand on his shoulder, halting his pace.
"Athos," Aramis tried, but Athos was hearing none of it.
"Don't," Athos warned coldly in a harsh whisper, his eyes darted at Porthos and d'Artagnan before them. "Just leave it."
"I know you're angry, I am too, but –" It was clear Aramis' guilt was weighing on him heavily but now was not the time to discuss such matters, not here in the open. If recent events had told them anything, it was that they had been careless and d'Artagnan had almost paid for that carelessness.
"I said leave it."
"Athos, we need to talk –"
Athos turned to face the other man with the speed of a whip, fists bundling Aramis' shirt collar as he pushed him back roughly against a nearby tree, staring the other man into silence.
"D'Artagnan was almost executed because you couldn't keep it in your pants for one fucking night," Athos snarled through clenched teeth, staring down the other man for a moment before releasing him with a harsh push. "Do not push me, Aramis, I am in no mood for it."
Looking back to where Porthos and d'Artagnan were walking, Athos eyes met the larger musketeer's, earning a sharp glare of anger and curiosity as Porthos' gaze flickered from Athos to Aramis.
There was going to be a lot of explaining to do.
†††
They had made it back to the garrison without further incident, though the silence between them was deafening. Porthos had walked a far way ahead with d'Artagnan and had already brought the doctor into the Gascon's quarters by the time Aramis and Athos had arrived.
"The doctor's in there with him," Porthos told them gruffly, placing himself in front of the door imposingly, completely blocking from entering the room.
"Porthos, it was just a couple of bumps and bruises, I can handle it." Aramis sighed, moving forward to push Porthos aside but the larger man made no indication of budging from the doorway.
"Porthos," Aramis furrowed his brow as he looked up at him, looking a little hurt by the larger musketeer's actions.
"You're not going in there 'til I know what the hell is wrong with the two of you." Porthos growled, "you've been keeping secrets for weeks, it ends now."
"Porthos…" Aramis groaned, running his fingers shakily through his unkempt hair.
"He was right, wasn't he?" Porthos shook his head, clenching his teeth as Athos could see the frustration broiling beneath.
"I don't know what you're – " Aramis tried to brush off nonchalantly, but Porthos saw through it instantly.
"You and the bloody Queen!" he hissed angrily.
"Keep your voice down!" Athos snapped, peering down the corridor to make sure there was no one about. "Do you want the entire garrison to hear of this?"
"You never even flirted with Charlotte Mellendorf, did you?"
"Who?" Aramis frowned, clearly thrown by the name, though Athos knew this the worst possible thing he could have said, even without looking at the deep seeded anger growing in Porthos' eyes.
"We are not having this conversation here," Athos whispered harshly, "now let us in there."
"You cold selfish bastards," Porthos snarled with an anger he'd never shown towards his brothers. "You would let that boy die to save your own skins?"
"We didn't know that was why he did it!" Aramis hissed back, the guilt glinting in his eyes.
"We had no idea of knowing, Porthos," Athos told him quietly, "Naivety led us to believe that no one knew of this."
"You two seriously fucked up," Porthos glared furiously at the two of them. "D'Artagnan is one of us, he's our brother and you two just threw him to the wolves so that you could have a little romp in the sheets."
"It wasn't like that," Aramis tried to defend himself, but it was clear he had not the heart to continue.
"It never is," Porthos scoffed coldly, pushing open the door to d'Artagnan's quarters gruffly as he stalked into the room, revealing the Gascon standing shirtless before the doctor as his lightly bruised ribs were prodded gently.
Athos followed in turn, a wave of fresh guilt doused him in an icy blast as his eyes caught sight of a thick scar upon d'Artagnan's ribs. Once again their youngest had suffered the consequences of their past sins.
"How is he?" Athos asked with a touch of apprehension, though d'Artagnan had not seem too badly hurt, the Gascon was relentless when it came to hiding his injuries from the others.
"M'good," d'Artagnan murmured, pulling a fresh shirt over his head as he sat upon the bed. Though Athos still turned to the doctor for his diagnosis.
"He's fine," the doctor concluded with a nod, "scraps, bruises, nothing more. He needs rest and a decent meal, but other than that he is fine."
"Told you," d'Artagnan muttered sleepily, his eyes drooping heavily.
"Thank you," Athos nodded to the doctor, who left without another word, concluding his work finished.
"Got something to say Aramis?" Porthos asked snidely as he leaned back against the wall.
"Not now, Porthos," Athos growled tersely. D'Artagnan was in no state for further torment, he was already starting to dip his head into sleep.
"Then when?" Porthos muttered darkly, glaring fiercely at the two gentlemen.
†††
The next few days were akin to fresh and tortuous level of hell. Athos refused to speak to Aramis, his anger still too raw to warrant talking to the man without wishing to punch him in the face. Porthos refused to speak to both Athos and Aramis, furious that they would keep something like this from him and d'Artagnan. Coincidently Porthos seemed to be anger on d'Artagnan's behalf as well, as the boy was still unaware of how true his sacrifice had been. Porthos stood watch over the young Gascon, delivering cold, bitter glances whenever Athos entered the boy's quarters to check how he was doing.
And Aramis? Aramis seemed to be taking the news the hardest. With both Athos and Porthos not speaking to him, and d'Artagnan's misguided guilt whenever he want in the boy's company, Aramis had chosen solitude over any form of companionship, spending their days off duty in the darkest corner of the local taverns.
"Look, I know I screwed up, but can we just forget it?" d'Artagnan sighed wearily on the morning of the third day of silent feuding between the trio. They had been sitting at their usual table in the garrison with the same level of sullenness they had all grown accustomed to since the recent events.
"If you apologise one more time I will punch you in the face," Porthos muttered sourly into his glass.
"Then why can't we just move on?" d'Artagnan told them, "This is getting ridiculous, I thought you three were meant to be inseparable…"
The tension between them had become utterly unbearable. Though the three often had small disagreements, it had been a long while since anything had divided them so greatly.
D'Artagnan was right. And though the Gascon was not entirely aware of why he was right, Athos took his words to heart. They were brothers and should stick together regardless of the issues between them. How many times over the years had Aramis turned a blind eye to his own misdeeds? Athos could not count the times Porthos had stayed behind at a tavern simply to make sure he was alright and got home safe. Both Porthos and Aramis had not so much as blinked an eye when he had revealed the truth about his murderess wife. They had stuck by him with great loyalty, never once condemning Athos for his past crimes.
It was wrong of him to punished Aramis for something beyond his control.
"We're going to my apartments," Athos announced, this had gone too far. At this rate the three of them would stand stubbornly until Hell froze over. It needed to end. "Porthos show d'Artagnan the way."
"Where are you going?" d'Artagnan asked, his line of sight trailing after Athos and the elder musketeer strode toward the garrison's archway.
"To get Aramis."
†††
Aramis was easy to find, secluded in a heavily shadowed booth in the corner of an ill-lit tavern near the garrison. Athos knew the other man would be close by. Aramis looked as if he had spent the last few days at the bottle of a very large, very potent bottle. His hair hung limp, half pressed on one side, mattered and dishevelled on the other. Bloodshot eyes starred down at the table, focusing on nothing at all. These last few days had been hard for all, but Aramis had suffered the worst.
"Spirits are better for hangovers," Athos uttered softly to announce his presence to the man in the booth.
"Unfortunately this is all I can afford," Aramis slurred slightly, though Athos could tell it was mostly sorrow that numbed the musketeer's tongue not alcohol. "I thought we weren't speaking." Aramis gaze up at Athos curiously, to which the latter shrugged slightly.
"It's not often you seek my coping methods, I found myself intrigued." Athos told him with a slow drawl, keeping his tone light, despite the heavy subtext beneath.
"Well, women were definitely out, as they seemed to be the root of all my problems," Aramis supplied bitterly, his gaze still not meeting the man before him.
Athos sighed quietly as he took a seat opposite Aramis. "I'm sorry I handled that the way I did, you have suffered enough torment for your… lapse in judgement," Athos put delicately, "I did not need to punish you further."
"My actions were my own and those actions came with the greatest of consequences, you had a right to be angry," Aramis shrugged numbly, lazily raising his eyes to Athos.
"It takes two people, Aramis, you are not solely to blame."
"Surely you do not blame her, Athos," Aramis chided airily with a scoff, giving the other a look of disbelief.
"Were she a man and you a woman I would call it an abuse of power," Athos revealed tightly. For truly, what right did a soldier have to refuse the Queen's request? As a man Aramis had a clear advantage in physical strength but power of a royal was far beyond his station.
"I wished it as much as her, it was a moment of weakness, yes, but I do not love her any less for it," Aramis inform him, pausing for a brief moment before adding, "for I do love her, Athos."
"Then you are a fool," Athos uttered softly, though there was no malice in his tone.
"Is that not what love makes us?" Aramis murmured to the other man with a hollow smile.
Athos immediately thought of Anne. His love for her had indeed turned him into the greatest of fools. It had made him blind to her treachery and oblivious to the facts until it was too late to stop her. And though he knew the Queen was not the evil manipulating murderess that Milady was, he knew how love's hold could turn a gentleman into a brainless fool.
"I want to tell d'Artagnan," Aramis told Athos after a moment, "he needs to know his actions were not in vain."
"Agreed," Athos nodded, "we cannot continue like this."
"Do you think he will forgive me?" Aramis sighed wearily, biting the corner of his bottom lip to quell his nerves.
"Well if he's truly angry he may have Constance slap you," Athos shrugged casually with a dark smirk, hoping to ease the tension between them.
"That woman has the strength of a man twice her size in her hand alone," Aramis noted with an impressed expression.
"You aren't wrong..." Athos nodded, unconsciously rubbing the side of his face where Constance had berated him a few days prior. Though the ache had gone, he could still almost feel the tingling pain that resulted from the force of the woman's blow.
†††
It took less than a few minutes to make the trek from the tavern to Athos' apartments. Within close range to the garrison, Athos had chosen the residence for the sheer fact that he could make the distance completely drunk or severely hung-over, which he had proven many a time.
As they entered the room, they discovered that both d'Artagnan and Porthos had obviously been there a while. Porthos had opening a bottle and had placed a few glasses upon the table, clearly enjoying the free drink courtesy of the house. And while usually, Athos might berate the man verbally or with a sharp glare, he knew this situation would be far better with a bottle handy.
"What the hell happened to you?" d'Artagnan frowned as he saw the state Aramis was in.
"Aramis has something he wishes to say," Athos drawled slowly as he sent Aramis a sharp look.
"Good," Porthos noted, handing a cup of wine to Aramis. The two exchanged a silent conversation, which seemed to be one of apology and forgiveness. And though this exchange was lost on d'Artagnan, Athos notice it easily. Aramis took a small sip of the wine as he sat down in a chair across from d'Artagnan, levelling the Gascon in his gaze with a sombre expression.
"Know this," he began with a heavy tone, "we only kept this from you to protect you, we never thought anything like this would happen."
D'Artagnan frowned at little in confusion as he looked between the trio before him.
"Don't look at me," Porthos sniffed defensively, "they were the one's that done it, I only just found out…"
"Had we known," Aramis stressed before pausing, unable to find the right words. "The Baron was correct in his suspicions, d'Artagnan," he finally revealed firmly.
"As in...?" d'Artagnan turned to each of them with a stunned expression.
Though no one spoke, each gave the Gascon a regretful nod in answer to his question.
"Oh thank God…" d'Artagnan breathed out in relief, to which Athos seriously contemplated the boy's understanding of the situation. Though after the Gascon's initial response, Athos could see there was an underlying anger growing.
"Interesting response," Aramis blinked, cocking his to one side, "not what I would have –"
"I can't believe you slept with the Queen!" d'Artagnan hissed angrily at Aramis, his mood shifting instantly as the reality of the revelation seemed to dawn upon him.
"Huh," Athos blinked slowly at the Gascon's outburst, having an odd sense of déjà vu.
"I'm going to limit the time you spend with Athos, that was just eerie…" Aramis frowned at the younger man, before looking back at Athos who gave a small shrug.
"This is serious," d'Artagnan glared at Aramis, "you… oh God…so her child, it's…"
"We do not know for certain," Athos told him sternly. There was no good in making such accusations without warranted proof. The fact that the Queen was know pregnant after
"But there is a great high possibility," Aramis winced a little at this.
"Oh my God…" d'Artagnan breathed out shakily, as he lowering his hand in his head.
"No one can know, d'Artagnan, the safety of the Queen and the monarchy of France hangs in the balance." Athos instructed sternly, making sure the young musketeer understood.
"No pressure then…" d'Artagnan uttered looking up at the three meekly.
"I'm sorry we did not tell you," Aramis told him with a richly regretful tone, "we thought you two would be safer without the burden of this hanging over head."
"Well done there..." d'Artagnan shot back with a reproachful tone, though there was little anger in his words.
"And I feel that guilt most severely," Aramis revealed, "I would never have forgiven myself had…" Aramis was at a loss for words, his gaze fell to the floor.
"This nearly got me hanged..." d'Artagnan warned Aramis slowly as his stony expression began to curl with a hint of amusement. "I'm going to take this very personally."
"I knew you would," Aramis smiled meekly at the Gascon and though Athos was unsure what had transpired between them, he knew the two had settled their grievances.
"What we still don't understand is how the Baron found out," Athos told them.
"He told me had letters between you two, but the Queen said that she never sent any," d'Artagnan offered with a shrug.
"She's right," Aramis nodded thoughtfully, "we would never be that careless."
"Was there nothing else?" Athos pressed, knowing that this mess would not be over until all potential leaks were seen to.
"Ladies in waiting…" d'Artagnan frowned, looking up at the others in realisation, "he said something about them knowing all sorts and loving gossip."
"But they would not know for sure," Aramis brushed it off, "they just speak of speculation and gossip, no one truly believes that nonsense."
"Until the moment someone does," d'Artagnan reminded him with a sharp look.
"Sorry," Aramis sighed, nodding in compliance, "you are right, we cannot afford such gossip."
"I will speak to Tréville," Athos declared, "It will be less suspicious if a warning comes from him. Her Majesty will need to keep a close eye upon her ladies and vet out any potential threats."
"Good idea," Porthos nodded, as he met Athos' gaze. The further the suspicious was from the four of them the better.
"Would it be too much to ask that you three stay out of trouble while I am gone for an hour?" Athos raised his eyebrow in a scornful expression.
"Athos, you wound us," Aramis scoffed, "you think us incompetent?"
"I think I'm putting Porthos' room theory to the test," Athos shot back effortlessly.
"We promise not to disturb the peaceful tranquillity you have become accustomed to," Aramis retorted sarcastically, causing Athos' brow to raise a touch higher.
"How about we just don't sleep with married aristocrats…" d'Artagnan posed facetiously.
"Kettle, pot, d'Artagnan," Aramis shot back with playful expression.
"Well that's not fair," Porthos pouted as he turn to Aramis, "you always have to ruin it don't ya?"
"Enjoy you're afternoon, gentlemen," Athos nodded, taking his leave of his rooms.
As he stepped down the familiar staircase he listening to the sound of a muffling stream of curses and a glass breaking – five seconds… a new record…
Though Athos made no move to berate the three, instead he continued on his path into the busy Parisian street.
The past week had been a complete nightmare in their eyes and any sound of normality was readily welcomed. He hoped that things would return to their chaotic version of normal soon. But until then, he knew they could rely on one another to ease them through these trying times.
Thanks for reading :) So this is the end now haha Hope you enjoyed it :)
xxx
