Thank you to all who read and reviewed the last chapter. The reviews really encourage me.

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Porthos

His first awareness was of pain. Deep, and vicious, and throbbing. In his head, and his ribs. The next thing he noticed was the cold and the damp, water dripping from the stone wall onto his shoulder. Carefully he sat up. Hand reaching to his head coming away sticky with blood. Desperately trying to clear the fog in his brain, he attempted to remember where he was and how he got here, but the persistent thump in his head made that difficult. He squinted around the room. It was dark, but some moonlight came through a small barred window near the roof. He hauled himself to his feet with the help of the cold stone behind him. The tiny window was a good six inches above the stretch of his arms, so whatever lay outside remained unknown. He appeared to be in a small room, it reminded him of a cross between a jail and a monk's cell. A pallet on the floor, a chamber pot and a pitcher the only items present. His hands were bound in front of him with a chain. One foot also chained to the ground with just enough give to reach the only door to the room, which was heavy, and wooden, and locked. Another even smaller barred window sat in the door. Behind it a corridor, dank and apparently empty. Pressing his face to the small window in the door, he could just make out other similar doors on the opposite side of the corridor. And possibly on this side as well, though he couldn't really see from the angle. As his foggy head cleared he became more aware of the sounds of other men. Snores, grunts of pain, someone using a chamber pot. And beyond that the growls, screeches and howls of animals.

Suddenly his confusion cleared and the memories slammed into him ...Etienne! They had been heading home to the garrison, task successfully completed. Leaving the trail to reach a river, to water the horses and refill their own water skins. The shy young man had opened up, seemed relaxed and happy. Telling Porthos of his little brother and the apple tree they loved to climb back home. As they reached the top of the steep river bank the peace of the afternoon was suddenly shattered by the sound of a musket ball. It slammed into Etienne and he tumbled backwards off his horse. There were six of them, four on horses and two others on foot, waiting behind trees to ambush with pistols. Porthos roared and immediately charged his horse at the gun men, almost slicing one in two with his sword as he tried to reload, then turning and racing towards the other. Another shot found its mark in his horses neck. The poor beast reared up then fell, Porthos barely managing to jump clear, rolling to his feet and quickly dispatching the other gunman before he knew what was happening. Another rode at him sword drawn, while yet another advanced from behind. He quickly threw his dagger, but had barely a moment to register it's satisfying thud into the bandits chest, propelling the man off his horse and down the steep bank into the racing river below. Porthos then whisked round sword held high at the other attacker. The cudgel caught his sword arm, pain shuddering through him as he dropped his sword. Quickly recovering he grabbed the man and pulled him off his horse, almost bringing the horse down with him. As they grappled on the ground, Porthos heard another shot and a man immediately behind him, dagger in hand about to strike, fell dead at his side. Looking up Porthos saw Etienne propped on one elbow, smoking musket raised. He smiled a brief bloody smile at Porthos, then fell, never to rise again. The momentary distraction was enough for the remaining two bandits to turn the tide on Porthos, a club to the head had him seeing stars, but desperately clinging to consciousness as three vicious kicks to the ribs stole his breath.

"Finish him Jacques" growled the man Porthos had pulled from his horse.

"No, wait!" the man named Jacques, a bear of a man with yellow teeth, ordered.

"He killed Alain and the others, he deserves to die, slowly and painfully" replied the first, underlining his words with a knife held beneath Porthos chin, forcing his head back, and nicking his skin at the neck.

"We're doin this for the money" Jacques replied in a tone that brooked no arguments, gun in one hand, the other riffling through Porthos doublet and relieving him of his purse. He already had Etienne's purse and pocket watch on his belt which fuelled Porthos' fury

"I'll kill you, you bastard" the musketeer growled, despite the deeper cut to his neck that resulted.

"These few trinkets ain't gonna make up for what this cost us, we need to make it count. We'll sell him to Devereaux, he'll pay good money for the likes of 'im"

The last sentence had Porthos thrusting his head backwards, hearing the satisfying crunch of the man with the knife's nose and feeling the spray of his blood, causing him to drop the weapon. Porthos received a vicious crack across his head from Jacques' pistol for his efforts. Falling forward to be subject to more kicks to the torso. Jacques then rasped in his ear

"it's good you're worth more to us alive. But don't worry, you'll die soon enough. But at least we'll get paid first. Oh, and if you think anyone's comin to rescue ya we'll make sure they think your a goner! "

The last thing Porthos saw was Jacques' yellow toothed smirk, before another sharp pain in the back of his skull and all was black.

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Porthos guessed it had been several hours since he woke in the cell, daylight already creeping through the high window, when he heard the heavy door unlocked and three large men with weapons entered. They were followed by a weasley little man who, despite his diminutive size and appearance, managed to possess an air of definate authority.

Porthos raised his chin and pulled himself up to his full height, giving his most intimidating glare. The small man simply nodded at one of his guards and Porthos received a sharp blow to the face from a kosh in the mans hand, rattling his teeth and aching head. But he quickly regained his feet ...and his glare. The man laughed and cried,

"That's it! ... That fire is what will give you the chance of winning your freedom Monsieur! Allow me to introduce myself. I am Devereaux" the small man flourished "and you have the chance to become a very fine champion. To beat the odds. "

"What odds?" Growled Porthos

The man laughed again. A hollow and unpleasant sound

"Think of it as competing in the great gladiator arenas of old. With the added bonus that if you survive and win just ten battles you win your freedom"

He went on to explain the fights. The four weapons and the fight to the death.

"You want me to fight...and kill for amusement!" Porthos voice grew louder as he spat the last words. Receiving only a gap toothed smirk in reply. "And if I choose not to?"

Devereaux sighed in mock resignation "Well then, you will die...The others in the arena will do anything to win their freedom. Believe me they will not hesitate to kill. My current champion has already won four matches. Trust me when I say he will do anything to survive. There are no rules once the fight begins."

"I'm a musketeer, my friends will come looking for me" Porthos raised his chin, his characteristic tone of defiance in place.

"We are a select operation ... strictly invitation only. Oh, and your friends will most certainly believe you dead. Claimed by the river I'm afraid." Again he gave a melodramatic sigh of regret. "Believe me no one is coming for you. But you have the chance to win your freedom."

"And you expect me to believe if I win ten times I will be released? That you would actually let me go, and bring the King's musketeers down on you! How daft do you think I am?" scoffed Porthos

"Believe what you will. But you don't strike me as a man who gives up easily, or as someone who will lie down and die. Either way you will be going into the arena in two days time. Fight. Or die. The choice is yours."

Two days later Porthos was marched hooded and chained, along with others - he couldn't tell how many. Dragged onto some sort of cart or wagon. After rattling along for what felt like a couple of hours. He was roughly shoved off the cart, still hooded. He could hear shouts and cheers from a crowd near by. Smell blood and animals. Disorientated by the hood, he did his best to focus on the sounds, to understand something of his surroundings. Before long he was shoved into the ring and it was time for him to make his choice.

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I realise I'm cutting off before the fight action again. It is coming I promise, but there is a lot to set up first.

Reviews are so appreciated. And constructive criticism will help me to improve. This is the first time I've tried something with so much plot, and I would appreciate any advice I can get!

Anyway thanks to all who take the time to read.