I'm back! So, I pounded this chapter out today...can't believe I finished it. I will be on vacation next week so I won't get a chance to write until I'm back at work. I didn't want to leave that long between chapters so I worked most of the day on this...in between getting work done of course! Thank you all once again for the kind reviews. They are much appreciated. And for everyone reading, favoriting (is that a word?), and following...THANK YOU! I'm not going to bore you with more rambling, so let's get back to the story :)

Chapter 6 – Friends, or Enemies?

The sound of hooves on hard dirt had the three turning in surprise, their weapons already drawn as the shapes of four men on horseback appeared over the slight rise in the road.

Athos, Porthos and Aramis squinted through the growing darkness as the four men approached, their hearts pounding in their chests. They didn't waver as the men got nearer.

"Athos? Is that you?" one of the men called.

Athos took a step forward, and gazed up into the shadowed face. The large hat atop the man's head made it hard to see his features, but the voice was quite familiar. "Etienne?" Athos called back with a hint of confusion in his voice.

The man gave a quick chuckle then slid from his saddle. "Athos! Fancy meeting you here…and Porthos, Aramis!"

The three musketeers lowered their weapons as the other men dismounted their horses. "What are you doing here, Etienne?" Athos asked as he fellow inseparables stepped up on either side of him.

Etienne looked back at his three travel companions before meeting Atos' gaze once again. "We are returning from a two week training stay at the garrison in Blois. What are you three doing here…and, who is the poor fellow tied to the horse?"

Athos glanced back at their prisoner before answering. "We were sent by Treville with a supposedly very important letter to deliver to Orleans. The prisoner is going to lead us to where d'Artagnan has been taken," he said, to which Porthos uttered a barely audible curse beside him.

"d'Artagnan? Why would a recruit be sent with you to deliver an important letter?" Etienne asked.

"Good question…one that we intend to find out the answer to once we have retrieved the boy and returned to Paris," Athos answered.

One of the other men stepped forward whom Athos recognized as Jacques once he removed his hat. "What do you mean by supposedly important letter?" he asked.

Porthos let out another expletive then turned and stomped back to his horse. Aramis watched him go then turned to the man. "What my large friend is trying to say is that the letter turned out to be a decoy and we were none the wiser to it," he explained.

At the questioning looks on the other musketeer's faces, Athos further explained. "There was a suspected spy in the court so Richelieu issued a letter to be delivered in order to hopefully draw the spy out. If the messengers sent with the letter were attacked, then the spy would show his hand and be caught."

Etienne spat on the ground with disgust and looked at his comrade. "And you were attacked so the Cardinal was right," he said.

"Yeah, and I'm sure we'll find out that Richelieu asked for us personally," Aramis supplied.

"But how was d'Artagnan taken and not you three?" Jacques asked.

Athos sighed deeply and dropped his eyes. "Last evening I sent d'Artagnan in search of fire wood while we set up camp. I had Porthos follow him at a distance…d'Artagnan was ambushed and taken. There were too many men for Porthos to attempt a rescue so he came and found us," he replied.

Porthos stomped back up to the group, his eyes alight with anger. "If we'd of known the cursed letter was a decoy, we woulda went in rescue of the boy instead of continuing on to Orleans!" he spat.

Etienne gazed at the large man with sympathy. "Porthos, you did the right thing under the circumstances. The mission must come first…you know that. Do not let yourself be torn apart by guilt," he said.

Porthos turned on the man, hands fisted at his sides, face beet red. "They shoulda told us! He could be dead…or worse…for all we know, and we just left him behind! And for what!?" he shouted.

"Porthos…" Aramis began, only to be cut off when his friend turned on him.

"No, Aramis! We let him down! I let him down! That whelp ain't gonna give them nothin', no matter what kind of torture they put 'im through! What kind of men would leave their brother to that fate?" he cried, all of the fight leaving him as his shoulders slumped and he turned away.

Athos stepped up to his friend and placed his hand upon his shoulder. "The fault lies with me, Porthos. I am the one who made the decision to deliver the letter, not you. You were set to go after him alone, but I would not allow it. Don't beat yourself up about this, my friend," he comforted.

Porthos lifted his saddened eyes and met the gaze of his leader. "I shoulda fought you harder. I…I can't even think about what we're gonna find, Athos," he whispered brokenly.

"He's alive, brother…I can feel it," Aramis said as he stepped up to his friends, his hand coming to rest on Porthos' other shoulder. Porthos looked at his friend and nodded. Aramis had a way of knowing such things and so if he said he felt that d'Artagnan was alive, then Porthos believed it.

Athos drew away from his friends and headed for his horse. "We must make camp and get some rest…we have a Gascon to find in the morning," he said. Porthos and Aramis both nodded and walked slowly to their horses.

"We will join you in the search," Etienne called as he and his men led their horses off the road.

Athos looked and the man and gave a grateful smile. "Thank you," he said.

Soon, camp was made, the prisoner was secured to the base of a tree and a small meal prepared from the men's rations. The campfire was blazing as the men prepared to turn in for the night, Jacques taking first watch as the three inseparables were dead on their feet. While Porthos and Aramis fell asleep almost immediately, the same couldn't be said for Athos. The decision to leave d'Artagnan and continue on to Orleans had torn him up inside. Every fiber of his being had screamed at him to go after the young man, but duty and loyalty to the king had forced him to make a decision that he would forever regret, especially now that he knew the truth about their mission. His thoughts turned to Treville and he had to physically rein in his anger. Did the captain know what their mission truly was about and if so, why didn't he warn them? They would have still taken on the mission, but having the knowledge of what the true mission was would have led to different decisions on his part. The very fact that they were attacked would have been proof enough of the spy's identity and they could have saved precious time by going after the men who took d'Artagnan right away, rather than continue on to Orleans. Disgusted with himself and the entire debacle, Athos turned on his side and forced himself to empty his mind. He would need to be in top shape in the morning. The young man who, despite all odds, had clawed his way into Athos' heart needed him and he swore that he would not betray him again.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

d'Artagnan couldn't scream anymore. His voice had left him ten lashes ago, along with what little energy he'd had remaining. He had collapsed back on heels as overwhelming weakness overtook him, the manacles on his wrists the only things keeping him from tumbling over backward onto the cold, dirty floor. Blood dripped from his wrists where the metal shredded delicate skin, but he lacked any strength to pull himself back up to relieve the pressure. His chin rested on the rim of the barrel, his head tilted back as his body sank deeper toward the platform he knelt upon. One lash missed its mark as it hit high on his back, the end of the whip wrapping around his throat and leaving him gasping for air as it was violently tugged away. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the whipping ceased. d'Artagnan let his head fall back as he closed his eyes, the young man praying for the darkness to take him from this hell. He jumped when a hand wrapped around his throat and a smug, evil voice whispered in his hear.

"Tell me the contents of the letter. If you do, I promise that I will not hurt your friends when they are brought to me and I will end your suffering quickly and almost painlessly."

D'Artagnan ignored the voice and allowed himself to drift away. He barely felt it when Amyot pulled away and the first fist met flesh. He smiled weakly as the darkness finally pulled him under.

When he next awoke, it was to a voice whispering desperately into his ear. He groaned, thinking the voice was that of his tormentor, but when a gentle hand brushed the hair from his sweat soaked face, he then thought that at last the inseparables had come to rescue him. He turned his head and slowly opened his eyes, only to meet the eyes of the man who had given him water so long ago. "Wha…" he croaked, his eyes rolling in their sockets as he attempted to focus.

"Shh, I only have a moment," the man said before he moved up to one of the shackles secured around d'Artagnan's wrist. d'Artagnan felt detached as he watched the man try to open the cuff, but when the man slipped and jostled the Gascon, he let out a cry as the agony from his many injuries brought him more awake and aware. He couldn't hold back the tears of pain that escaped to roll lazily down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," the man said, his eyes conveying the truth of his words. "I have to get you out of here," he added hastily.

"W-Why…"

"Amyot…he's losing patience. He's going to kill you soon," the man replied.

The Gascon nodded, fully aware of his predicament. "Why'r you helping me?" he asked weakly.

The man stopped his work on the manacle and turned to the younger man. "Because you don't deserve this. Because Amyot has gone mad. When I first joined him, I truly believed in his cause, but now…now I don't even know if he has a cause anymore or if he's just plain evil," he replied before returning to his task.

A few moments later, the sound of footsteps from outside the room reached the two men's ears. The older man quickened his efforts, only to be stopped by the ruined voice of his prisoner. "You must stop," d'Artagnan said. "Please."

The man shook his head. "I cannot…this has gone far enough. He is going to kill you," he said in reply.

"He will kill you if he finds you tryin' to free me," d'Artagnan breathed out. "I cannot die with your death on my conscience," he added, his dull, dark eyes pleading with the man listen.

"But you'll die…"

"'m pretty sure 'm dead already," d'Artagnan whispered.

Reluctantly, the man stood. He nodded down at the chained Gascon and smiled sadly, thinking to himself in wonder at how strong and brave he was for one so young. He quickly moved to stand beside the door, just before Amyot and another man stepped into the room. Amyot seemed surprised to see anyone else in the room when he saw the man standing next to the door.

"What are you doing in here?" Amyot asked suspiciously, his eyes moving to rest on his prisoner.

"I thought that I should guard the prisoner, sir," the man responded.

Amyot gave out a short laugh as he moved further into the room. "He's not going anywhere," he said with a smirk. "He's barely even alive," he added as he strolled across the room and stood over the broken young man. His eyes roamed over his handiwork, a sickening smile curling his lips. He leaned over and with cold fingers brushed the Gascon's cheek, his smile widening when the young man opened his eyes and glared at him. "You should have told me what I wished to hear. I would have ended your suffering, but now I think I'll let you languish here," he whispered. "My men have not returned with your friends yet, but there is still time. While I would love to stay and continue with my interrogation, there are other things more important at this time. I must prepare a room for when the musketeers arrive, but fear not, I will return." Amyot straightened then turned away from the chained man. He walked to the door, turned and gave one last glance in the Gascon's direction. "Come, and lock the door. There is no need to guard him now," he commanded, before he swiftly left the room, followed closely by the man who had entered with him. d'Artagnan's would be rescuer looked longingly at the young man, but with a shout from Amyot, he left the room and pulled the door closed behind him, locking the door before following after his boss.

"I'll be back," the man whispered, hoping that when he did return, the young man who had endured so much and had remained strong and given up nothing would still be alive to rescue.

d'Artagnan flinched as the door was closed and locked. His chance for rescue was gone. His body ached mercilessly from the regular beatings he'd been receiving and he was sure there were broken ribs that could at any time during the next beating puncture a lung. He was positive that his shoulder had come out of its socket, and a bit scared since the overwhelming pain had turned to a frightening feeling of numbness running from his shoulder to his fingertips. His stomach was hollow from two days with no food, his mouth dry and lips cracked from no water, but it was his heart that hurt with the most ferocity. He had thought that the musketeers left no man behind, but here he was, alone with his torturers while his comrades were who knows where. True, he wasn't one of the Inseparables, but he was a musketeer recruit and he thought that should be enough to warrant a rescue. He'd heard the mantra "All for one, and one for all" and assumed it meant recruits as well as commissioned musketeers. Well, he was holding up his end. Forget that he didn't know the whereabouts of the damned letter…he was not made privy to any information…the fact that he had not said a single word in response to any of his captors questions was enough, he believed, and even if he did know where the letter was, his captors would be sorely disappointed because he'd rather die than to dishonor his friends. So yes, he had the one for all part down and he thought it was high time the all for one part came into play. He didn't know how much longer he could hold on after all. No food, no water, no real sleep, because he didn't count unconsciousness as sleep…and regular beatings that left him reeling and in agony, were draining his body, and his spirit, so much so that he had caught himself at times wishing that he would not wake up once his broken body succumbed to unconsciousness once again.

d'Artagnan must have black out again because he was startled awake by something, not even realizing that he had fallen unconscious. He weakly lifted his head and listened for any sound. He heard nothing and attempted to push himself up onto his knees from where he'd collapsed upon himself earlier. He cried out as the movement made his injuries flare, the young man realizing he lacked the strength to even get to his knees. He dropped his head again and took in as deep of a breath as his chest would allow. His dislocated shoulder ached…no, not dislocated, d'Artagnan thought…stabbed. He'd been stabbed and then the wound burned shut. He wondered absently at his error, but shook himself out of his thoughts as he thought, not for the first time, why his friends had not come for him. He should have given up hope a long time ago, but it just wasn't in him to do so.

It was his stubbornness, and a small shred of hope for rescue that lingered even when his mind had him convinced he meant nothing to the musketeers, that kept him hanging on. He would prove to them, all of them, that he was worthy and that he deserved a place in the regiment. It was all he had left, this desire to be a musketeer, and he would not allow these men, these criminals, to take that away from him. He sucked in a shaky, painful breath and lifted his head when he heard the sounds of his tormenters approaching. He would meet their eyes and he would smile. He would welcome their questions and their fists, and whatever else they chose to use on him, because in the end, it would make him stronger. It would make the others see him as an equal, not a burden, someone they could trust and count on when needed, and maybe, just maybe, one day, if he survived his ordeal, they would call him brother.

With that thought, he steeled himself for what was to come when he heard the sound of the door being unlocked. He would survive and he would see the inseparables again.

That's it for now. I may be able to get started on the next chapter while I'm off next week, but no promises. I'm not sure if you noticed, but I pulled in stuff from the prologue to kind of tie that in with where our Gascon is now. Coming full circle I guess. Anywho, thanks for reading! Enjoy the weekend! I'll get more posted just as soon as I can.

Cindy