AN – Thanks so much for all the feedback on this. The plot continues to thicken! Do let me know what you think!
D'Artagnan drew himself up a little straighter as he felt all of his friends eyes fall upon him. He forcibly pushed down the tendril of fear that curled around his stomach at the thought of being arrested and charged. He knew he was innocent and he also knew that his friends would stop at nothing to clear his name of it came to that.
They all watched as one of the Comte's men gave a triumphant shout and came running into the courtyard bearing something aloft in his right hand. A hurried and heated conference took place between the Comte and Treville. At last, Treville broke away and came towards d'Artagnan.
"I didn't, I wouldn't. On my honour I have never seen that ring before," D'Artagnan protested desperately, even though he had more than half expected it, the cold reality was chilling.
"I'm sorry," Treville looked genuinely regretful. "We will go straight to the King, but for now I have to let the Comte take you into his custody so that you can answer these charges."
"I understand," d'Artagnan heard his own voice as if from a long way off.
He stood quietly as his hands were bound, feeling Aramis to his left and Porthos on his right, practically quivering with suppressed rage. The similarly with their first meeting when they had been forced to watch Athos led away to prison did not escape him. He tried to be brave but as he felt his bonds being tested and holding firm he felt a surge of panic and wild eyed, sought out Athos.
Afterwards Athos was never quite sure what had most driven him to act, the stricken expression on the face of a young man whose only crime was his friendship with the three musketeers, or the self-satisfied smirk on Garnon's face as he watched the proceedings unfold. Whichever it was, he was striding across the courtyard, his sword clear of his scabbard and its point at Garnon's throat, forcing him to his knees, before anyone else could react.
"D'Artagnon is no thief," Athos asserted, holding his sword steady. "Confess it."
"What is the meaning of this?" The Comte blustered. "Treville control your men. The Gascon been caught red handed. He is both a thief and a liar."
"Your son is the liar and he will admit his guilt in the matter," Athos insisted, murder in his eyes, pressing his sword a little further into Garnon's exposed throat so a trickle of blood ran down his neck, staining his collar. "Or he will answer to me."
Ever the coward, Garnon quickly succumbed.
"I confess, I was one who placed the ring in d'Artangon's belongings," Garnon babbled, his eyes wide with fear at Athos' murderous fury. "I wanted to see him disgraced."
Withdrawing his sword slightly, Athos looked directly at the Comte.
"D'Artagnan may only be a Gascon farm boy, but he values honour above all else," Athos defended his friend. "He is no common thief."
"The boy knew nothing about the theft, my lord," Treville spoke up in his turn. "We all saw him. No one can lie that well."
"Perhaps he was merely surprised that to be caught," The Comte gave no ground. "As I understand it he recently lost everything when his family farm was razed to the ground. A ring like this would help to cover his losses."
"Your son confessed his fault." Athos insisted.
"With your sword at his throat, musketeer? No court in the land would accept such a testimony." The Comte de Lyon scoffed. "No, I will have my justice before the King. Bring the thief d'Artagnan, and we will settle this once and for all."
The ride to the palace was a grim affair. Porthos was preoccupied with his feelings of helplessness at watching d'Artagnan being guarded by the Comte's men. Aramis was not sure if he was more worried about d'Artagnan or Athos. The latter was coldly furious and Treville's concern for his men was being expressed through frustration.
"You had the son of the Comte de Lyon on his knees in the mud and publically called him a liar," He fumed. "If that has repercussions I won't be able to save you."
"He is a liar." Athos was utterly unmoved.
"And how will it help d'Artagnan if the Comte presses the matter and am I forced to revoke your commission?"
"The Comte has no grounds for complaint," Athos defended his actions. "I issued no challenge and Garnon came to no actual harm."
"You'd better hope the Comte sees it like that," Treville scowled as he dismounted. "He may not take kindly to his son being called to account by a mere musketeer."
The sun was setting by the time they finally gained audience with the King. Aramis supposed that they should at least be grateful for Louis' affection for Treville. It ensured they had equal hearing with the Comte, much good it seemed to be doing them.
"You have seen for yourself your Majesty, d'Artagnan is a fine young man, loyal to the regiment and to the crown. He is innocent of these accusations." Treville tried.
"You are mistaken in your good opinion of him," The Comte de Lyon refuted. "He was caught red handed with my signet ring in his belongings. There is no possibility of a miscarriage of justice."
"My lord, we should at least consider the fact that the ring could have been placed there to deliberately incriminate d'Artagnan?"
"That would require some sort of motive, Treville," The Comte reasoned. "Do you have any evidence that would support such an idea?"
"Yes, Treville do speak up." The King encouraged.
Treville hesitated. He could not speak of Garnon's cruelty to Porthos without admitting that technically the musketeer had deserted his past. He could not raise the true circumstances of Athos' injury without admitting that his lieutenant also drew in contravention of the musketeer creed. He could not defend d'Artagnan because the young man had had too much pride to report his harassment at Garnon's hands when he should have done so.
"Not at this time, Your Majesty." Treville admitted reluctantly.
"Very well," Louis nodded. "Then you may have some time, Treville. D'Artagnan, you seemed to me to be a worthy fellow. So I will not condemn you without a fair hearing. But mark this I also have an obligation to hear the complaints of the Comte. We will decide the matter tomorrow."
"Right now we've got less than nothin'" Porthos muttered sourly. "How is that going to change between today and tomorrow?"
It was a testament to how attuned these men were to each other that Athos only had to shift his weight slightly to attract the attention of his fellow musketeers.
"Athos, please say you ain't about to do anything rash." Porthos worried.
"Or suicidal?" Aramis added out of the side of his mouth.
"And here I thought you both liked living dangerously," Athos kept a straight face. "Should we discuss the shooting and the punching or shall I just move straight onto the women and the gambling?"
"Well, if you put it like that." Aramis shrugged.
"Just be careful, alright?" Porthos spoke up. "It would be a devil to get blood out of this floor."
"It's probably antique. Past time they replaced it with something new," Athos gave a rare smile before he stepped forward. "Your Majesty, may I approach? I believe I may be able to provide a solution to the matter."
"This is most irregular," the Comte de Lyon blustered. "Shall we listen to the servant's gossip next?"
Treville hid his smile as Louis stiffened slightly at the implied insult that his regiment of musketeers were little better than servants. The King might have his flaws but honour was very important to him. Although, even Treville was a little surprised at what happened next.
"Athos, isn't it?" Louis recognised him. "Yes, you were the musketeer who did such an excellent job of persuading the Duke of Savoy to sign our treaty. You may approach us."
Athos came forward and bowed.
"Your Majesty, d'Artagnan's involvement in this matter stems solely from his relationship to me. I sponsored his recruitment to the regiment and supervised his training. His disgrace would be my dishonour. Regrettably, there is a history of enmity between the Comte's son, the musketeer Garnon, and myself. D'Artagnan is merely the innocent victim of that."
"Very noble, I am sure," The Comte scoffed. "I presume you have some proof of this?"
"Rather I was going to propose that your son and I might settle the matter between us like gentlemen."
"Athos." Treville frowned.
"What presumptuous folly is this?" The Comte dismissed the very idea. "Do you seriously think I will allow my son, to accept the challenge of a lowly musketeer, so you can cut him down in the street like a dog?"
"Perhaps I should introduce myself?" Athos spoke mildly. "I am Oliver de Athos, Comte de la Fere." Athos gave a stiff little bow that was more insult than courtesy. "At your service."
"This is some kind of a trick, your majesty," the Comte de Lyon blustered. "That name has not been heard of these five years. The Comte de la Fere is dead."
"I assure you I am not." Athos was implacable.
"I can vouch for his identity, Your Majesty," Treville stepped forward. "I knew his father well."
"I can't say I can recall the man," Louis frowned.
"Dead men pay no taxes, Your Majesty. Your exchequer will be able to confirm my returns from those lands." Athos looked at the Comte de Lyon. "You also knew my father and we met several times when I was younger."
"As God is my witness, it is you." The Comte exclaimed in surprise.
"Well, what say you, musketeer?" For the first time Louis looked at Garnon. "Will you accept his challenge?"
"With regret, Your Majesty I cannot," Garnon gave an insincere smile. "If you recall Captain Treville forbids duelling between the regiment. He feels it shows disloyalty."
"Of course, quite right," Louis nodded. "Well, in that case, we shall just have to entrust d'Artagnan's fate to the law. I am sure that if he is truly innocence he will have nothing to fear."
Athos face was a study in torment as he watched the Comte's men prepare to take d'Artagnan away. The boy would not do at all well in prison. And Athos had little confidence that even their most earnest efforts to clear his name would stand up against the influence of the Comte. D'Artagnan was sure to hang. He was determined that no-one else should suffer for his faults and especially not d'Artagnan.
Very deliberately his left hand reached up and began to unbuckle the pauldron from his shoulder.
"Your Magesty, with regret .."
"Athos, no!"
Using the element of surprise, d'Artagnan broke free of the men guarding him and raced to stand in front of his friend and mentor. Around them the small crowd gasped, Aramis and Porthos exchanged a look of concern and Treville actually took a step forward. But the King raised his hand keeping them all in place, his eyes on the two musketeers.
"Athos, you don't have to do this." D'Artagnan pleaded.
"I will not see you hang for my sake."
"Then we'll find another way," D'Artagnan urgently assured him. Then he gave a lop sided smile. "Head over heart, remember?"
For an instant Athos expression softened and d'Artagnon felt a surge of hope. But then Athos shook his head and put a hand gently on d'Artagnan's shoulder.
"Sometimes the price is worth paying. You were born to be a musketeer. It's a better legacy than I could have hoped for."
Bound as he was d'Artagnan could not grasp the front of Athos' jacket and shake some sense into him as he wanted. Seeing that the musketeer was entirely determined on resigning his commission he did the only thing he could think of. He fell to his knees and looked up at the man he most admired with love and tears shining in his eyes.
"If you do this I will follow. I would rather stand shoulder to shoulder with you in the worst of circumstances than serve as a musketeer without you at my side."
"And me." Porthos vowed quietly.
"And I," Aramis added. "You should know by now you can't get rid of us that easily."
Athos blinked hard, his own eyes wet with tears as he reached out and put a hand in d'Artagnan's hair as if in benediction. Tipping back his head a little as he looked towards the ceiling as if searching for divine inspiration, then he moved his hand to grip d'Artagnan's arm and pull him to his feet, leaving the half unbuckled pauldon in place.
"I believe I have heard enough," The King decided. "All charges against the musketeer d'Artagnan are dismissed."
"Your Majesty?" The Comte de Lyon baulked.
"Once again we have witnessed d'Artagnan acting with great honour and loyalty," The King announced. "These are not the actions of a common criminal. Treville has the truth of it. Someone obviously planted the ring to incriminate him. Since your men conducted the search perhaps you should look to your own household, Monsieur Le Comte?"
"As you command, Your Majesty." The Comte bowed low, glaring daggers at his son at being so publically humiliated. "Let there be no record of my complaint. Clearly, the musketeer d'Artagnan was wrongly accused."
"A moment of your time, Captain," The King held Treville back as the assembled company were dismissed. "Athos clearly inspires great loyalty in his men."
"He is the greatest soldier in the regiment your majesty," Treville agreed. "He would be a fine choice to take my place when the time comes."
"Not for many years, I hope Captain," Louis paused. "He was prepared to resign his commission to resolve this matter with Garnon and his fellows likewise. That would be a great loss to France."
"It would indeed, Your Majesty." Treville cleared his throat. "I do have another solution."
Unaware of the conversation between their Captain and the King, the four musketeers headed back into the city. Feeling impossibly weary after his ordeal d'Artagnan presumed they were heading to the tavern to celebrate. Not wanting to disappoint his friends he let his horse follow on, as he allowed his mind to drift, only to come to with a start.
"What?"
"I asked if you needed a hand?" Athos enquired.
As D'Artagnan looked around he was surprised to see that his friends had all dismounted and were looking at him with concern. He was equally startled to realise that they were in the courtyard at the garrison.
"No, I can manage."
Taking a moment to centre himself d'Artagnan wearily heaved himself out of the saddle and landed on slightly shaky legs.
"Looks like its past somebody's bedtime," Porthos sounded amused.
D'Artagnan had never been more grateful for his friends' kindness. Athos had a firm grip in the back of his jacket to keep him upright as they steered him upstairs. Instinctively knowing that he wasn't ready to face people just yet they led him back to the guest room rather than his bed in the barrack room. Porthos brought him a copper of hot water to wash in. Aramis fetched him a bilious nightshirt made of the finest linen fit for a Duke.
"It was a gift." He offered in response to Athos' raised eyebrow.
Settling in-between freshly laundered sheets and a pile of soft blankets, d'Artagnan felt the last of his energy ebbing away as he sank into the feeling of safety and security. He managed only a few mouthfuls of the rich beef stew Athos brought for him before his eyelids began to droop and the bowl was swiftly rescued from his suddenly lifeless hands as he surrendered to sleep.
He awoke to thin moonlight streaming through the window and the feeling of being surrounded by looming figures, as a cold, hard, blade, bit into his throat.
"Did you really think I would let things end this way little Gascon?" Garnon's voice hissed in his ear.