So, I know it's been way longer than it should have taken to get this chapter up. I was on vacation last week and things just kind of got crazy so I had no time to work on it then. I got back to work this week, where I usually do my writing on breaks and when I have some free time, but it took me most of the week to catch up on work that built up when I was off. I did find time to work on this chapter throughout the week and finally was able to spend the morning finishing it! I really hope you find that it was worth the wait :)

Thank you once again to everyone for your kind words for the last chapter, and to all who have not given up on this story and are still reading! I appreciate it more than you could ever imagine!

Now, on with the story!

****UPDATE****

I'm not sure quite what happened, but when I went in to read this chapter once I had posted it I saw that a section had disappeared. I have remedied that so if you have already read it, you may want to go and re-read it as it may make a bit more sense :)

Chapter 7 – Reunited

The musketeers were awake and ready to move before dawn had even had the chance to break over the horizon. It had been a fitful night of sleep for the Inseparables, but they had at least gotten enough sleep to shake off the fuzziness that had begun to creep over them the night before. The anticipation of finally seeing their Gascon fueled their energy, along with a quick breakfast of cheese, cured meat and dry bread. With Athos in the lead, the prisoner and his horse at his side, the party of seven musketeers began their trek to free d'Artagnan. While the three Inseparables were the closest to the young recruit, it didn't mean that the other four musketeers did not feel the burden of what they may find. Over the course of the time the Gascon had been at the garrison, most of the musketeers stationed there had grown fond of the young man. There were some that did not agree with the decision to make a poor farm boy a recruit, but none of those were among the four who rode with the Inseparables this day. Etienne especially had taken a liking to the boy. Watching him train every day, never giving up and improving with each moment had truly impressed the older musketeer. He would make sure that on this day the three musketeers who were closest to the young recruit would get their boy back, even if it was the last thing he did on this earth.

It was just under two hours when they arrived at the spot that d'Artagnan had been taken. Porthos whistled for them to stop then moved up beside their prisoner. "Lead us to where the lad was taken," he commanded as he glared at the huddled form of the man.

The man looked up at the large musketeer and gave him a smug grin. "You'll never get 'im out alive. There's too many of Amyot's men," he said, cackling as Porthos sneered at his response.

"How many men?" Athos inquired.

The man turned his head toward Athos. "More then enough to take you out," he hissed.

Athos' hand shot out, grabbing the man around the throat, his eyes ice cold as he glared at the startled prisoner. "I asked how many," he seethed through gritted teeth.

"Th-there were twenty five, besides Amyot," the man answered once Athos had released his throat. "The boy killed three when we took him. You killed Maurice," he added with a glare.

Porthos glanced over at Athos and cocked his head. "Don't forget the seven who tried to attack us," he said with a grin.

The man turned and narrowed his eyes at the large musketeer, but said nothing. "So," Athos started, "Ten dead and one captured…that would leave fourteen, plus Amyot," he continued.

"Two each," Aramis stated as he came even with his friends. "Doesn't quite seem fair now, does it?"

The prisoner grinned as he turned toward the marksman, but his smile soon faded when Aramis returned his grin. "They don't stand a chance. Twenty four men in total will lie dead, two will be taken to Paris for execution and for what? A letter?" he remarked as he shook his head.

"You think you'll be able to best fourteen men?" the man asked incredulously.

"No, I don't think that at all," Aramis answered. "I know we will." Aramis dipped his head toward Athos before returning to his spot behind the elder musketeer.

Athos nodded in return then kicked his horse into action. "Take us to Amyot," he commanded. The band of brothers and their prisoner made their way through the forest, finding a well worn path within a few minutes that the man said would lead them to the manor. The mood was somber, though each man felt the surge of unspent energy welling within them. Soon they hoped to be reunited with their lost brother and the man responsible for his kidnapping would be on his way to stand before the King, his co-conspirator from the palace at this side. The Inseparables were silent for the entirety of their trek, but the three did not need words to know what the others were thinking…save the Gascon by any means necessary.

It was an hour later when the manor came into view. It was a large building, and must have been quite the sight to see in its day, but now it was plain to see that the mansion hadn't been lived in for quite some time, for it was quite rundown in sections and most of the windows had been boarded up. The musketeers dismounted and tied their horses where they would be out of view of anyone who might look in their direction. Porthos pulled their prisoner from his horse and shoved him ahead of himself. The musketeers discussed their strategy amongst themselves and it was decided that Etienne and his men would enter through the main door and engage any men that they came across, while Athos and the others would wait and then follow after them a few minutes later. The inseparables watched as the other four musketeers made their way across the clearing and up the stairs of the manor. Their heartbeats quickened when the four men disappeared inside and there was the immediate sound of raised voices from inside. After a few minutes they prepared themselves for their turn to enter. Porthos grabbed their prisoner by the back of his collar and pushed him toward the manor.

"Don't make a sound, because if you do I'll slit your throat before you even know what's 'appenin'," he hissed into the man's ear.

The man nodded and the four hurried across the clearing and soon they too disappeared inside. Once inside they looked around the gloomy interior. Five bodies lay scattered about the entryway, thankfully none of which wore the blue cloak of the musketeers.

"Five down, nine to go," Aramis whispered.

Porthos grinned then leaned in toward his prisoner's ear. "Which way?" he inquired.

The man pointed toward a door off to the right of the entryway. "This way," he said, grunting as he was pushed forward by the large musketeer. Before they got too far, a voice cried out from above.

"Michel!" a man descending the staircase called. "You traitorous scum! You bring the musketeers to our doorstep?" The four men stopped and turned toward the voice. The man raised his arm, a pistol held in his hand and aimed toward the group. Before Aramis could even pull his own weapon the sound of a gunshot echoed through the cavernous entryway. Aramis wasted no time to see who, if anyone, had been shot. He prepared his pistol, took aim, and fired. He watched as the man dropped his weapon and clutched at his stomach before tumbling forward down the stairs. It was clear to see that he was dead as he hit the bottom by the unnatural angle of his neck. Aramis grinned and whispered, "Eight to go," before he turned to find their prisoner on the floor, blood blooming from his chest, his eyes wide and sightless. Athos knelt beside him, while Porthos stood watch over him. After a few moments, Athos stood, a long litany of curses rolling off his tongue. He met his brother's eyes and shook his head.

"He was our way to d'Artagnan," Athos softly said, regret in his blue eyes.

"We'll find him, Athos," Aramis said as he grasped the older man's arm. "It'll just take more time, that's all."

"d'Artagnan may not have more time."

Porthos patted his leader's back and sighed. "Like we all said before, he's tough…he'll be able to hold out a little while longer until we find him," he said. "Come, let's find our brother and take him from this 'orrible place," he added as he turned and began to walk toward the back of the house.

Athos and Aramis rushed to follow after the larger man. They opened every doorway they found, but came up empty handed every time. They were just coming to what they assumed to be the kitchens when they suddenly found themselves face to face with four more of Amyot's men. The four grinned when they saw they outnumbered their adversaries, but their grins soon faded when one of them suddenly fell backward, a dagger protruding from his throat, the man choking on his own blood. The three men turned and glared at the musketeers.

Aramis shrugged his shoulders then pointed at the man on the floor. "Um, I'm kind of going to need that dagger back," he said with a cheeky grin. The men cried out in unison and charged the three musketeers.

Athos rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation at his friends comment, though his lip did slightly curl at the edge. He met his foe head on, not willing to take the time to enjoy the dance, but merely displaying his far superior swordsmanship by side stepping the charging man, gracefully swinging his body around and slicing the man across his back. The man cried out in rage and pain and turned, only to be impaled upon Athos' sword. His eyes widened in shock as Athos' icy eyes stared him down as he slowly pulled his blade from the man's gut. Once the support of the blade was taken away, the man stumbled back and crashed into a table that stood against the wall. He fell to the floor, his hands pressed to his stomach, blood bubbling over his lips. Athos paid him no more interest and turned to see how his brothers were faring, just in time to see Porthos slam his opponent face first into the wall. The man dropped bonelessly to the floor and did not move. Porthos met Athos' eyes and grinned. They both turned at the sound of a sharp cry, to find Aramis' opponent clutching at his throat. Blood spilled through his fingers as he stared wide eyed at the marksman. He dropped to his knees then fell forward into the ever spreading pool of his own blood. Aramis turned to his friends then surveyed the scene around him.

"So, that's three for me and what…one for each of you?" he quipped, one eyebrow arching as he met his friend's gazes. "You two are getting slow in your old age," he added as he knelt down beside the first man to fall and pulled his dagger free from his throat.

Before either of the two could respond, a man burst through the doors at the end of the hall and stopped as he saw the three of them. His eyes flitted to the four dead men on the floor before finally returning to stare at the musketeers. When the three began to move forward, the man lifted his hands out before him, showing that he had no weapon.

"Wait!" the man cried, but the three musketeers continued to move toward him.

Porthos reached him first and the man cowered as the large musketeer loomed over him. Athos stepped up beside Porthos, his sword at the ready, while Aramis moved behind the man.

"Please," the man said. "You must follow me!"

"And why would we want to do that?" Athos drawled, seemingly unaffected by the scene around him.

"Because he's going to kill him! You have to come…now!" the man cried.

"Who's going to kill who?" Porthos queried.

"Amyot! He's going to kill d'Artagnan!" the man answered. "I tried to free him, but Amyot came!"

"d'Artagnan is alive?" Aramis asked hopefully.

The man turned to look at the medic and nodded. "He was when I left him. Amyot will be there by now…we have to go!"

The three men glanced at each other then turned to the man. "Lead the way!" Athos commanded.

"This way!" the man called as he turned and headed back through the doors that he'd just come through. The three musketeers followed the man through the kitchen then another door at the back of the room that led to a flight of stairs leading down into darkness. Some torches lit the way, but the passage was still gloomy as the musketeers ran after the man in the lead. They hadn't gone far when they heard a muffled scream carry down the corridor and the Inseparables didn't need to be told that they must hurry in order to save their Gascon. They picked up speed, all four men now running as if their lives depended on it. The man in the lead turned his head and pointed ahead of himself. "That door!" he called and moved to the side to allow the three musketeers to run past him and through the door, only to see them stop and stare ahead of themselves in shock.

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Earlier

d'Artagnan waited for what new pain would come when he heard the door to his prison being pushed open. He flinched when he felt a hand on his arm and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of what was to come. When no pain came, he opened his eyes, only to see the man who had helped him before beginning to work on the manacles around his wrist again. The man glanced around and found the Gascon's eyes on him.

"We're under attack!" the man breathed out. "I can free you while Amyot's attention is elsewhere!"

"Under attack by whom?" the Gascon asked weakly.

"I do not know for certain, but I believe it is musketeers," the man answered before going back to work freeing the young man. He didn't miss the look of hope that crossed the young man's features and he smiled sadly, praying that the prisoner would soon be in the protective hands of those who cared for him.

"What is your name?" d'Artagnan queried, hissing when he was jostled by the man's work.

"My name is Jean," the man replied as he continued to work at the manacle. "I apologize that this causes you more pain, but I don't have the key so I have to try to force it open," he added.

d'Artagnan smiled softly as he watched his would be savior. "My name is d'Artagnan," the Gascon said as he rested his head against the barrel.

The man dipped his head in acknowledgement as he continued to work. "It is an honor to know the name of the bravest man I've ever met," Jean said.

d'Artagnan snorted at that, fully aware that it was far from the truth. "I would say that you are far more brave than I, Jean. You are risking your life to save a dead man," he whispered, his strength once more beginning to flounder.

Jean glanced back at the beaten and broken young man and had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. It was true that he may not survive what he had been put through, but Jean had to believe that his strength, and his friends, would indeed pull him through. "I will not allow you to die here, d'Artagnan. If you are right and you are not meant to survive this, then at least you should die a free man, in the arms of your brothers," he said.

d'Artagnan's heart skipped a beat at the man's words. He had called the musketeers his brothers, but d'Artagnan wasn't even sure if they considered him their friend, let alone a brother. Yes, it appeared as though they were there to rescue him and the thought gave him a surge of energy, but it didn't mean that they felt anything for him other than responsibility. d'Artagnan closed his eyes against the sudden emotions that overcame him, but then gasped as he felt his arm finally freed from its restraint. The sudden loss of stability that the restraint offered had the young man tipping backward and only the quick reaction by his rescuer kept him from further damaging himself. As it was, the weight of his body now fully on his still restrained arm, the arm whose shoulder had been so horribly damaged, brought a sharp cry from his lip as the wound was stretched and torn.

Jean steadied the young man and coaxed him to take as deep of breaths as his ribs would allow. Finally, the pain in his shoulder lessened and he looked up at the man and smiled appreciatively. "I'm okay," he gasped. "Please, free my other arm." Jean nodded then after making sure that the Gascon could support himself, went to work on the other wrist. He was only at if for a few moments before the distant sound of footsteps reached their ears. Jean scrambled from the platform and hastily shoved a pistol into d'Artagnan's free hand.

"I won't be able to get you free before he gets here," Jean cried, his eyes moving toward the door.

"It may be my friends," d'Artagnan offered hopefully as he turned to look over his shoulder, his dark eyes searching the gloom.

"No, they would be coming from the other direction. Only Amyot would be coming from that way," Jean explained. He turned to the Gascon and met his pain filled gaze. "Shoot him, d'Artagnan…as soon as you see him, do not hesitate. I will hurry and find your friends and bring them to you!"

"But they may kill you as soon as they see you!" d'Artagnan cried.

"Then I will die, but I have to try!" With that, Jean rushed from the room, leaving d'Artagnan to await the arrival of the man who had caused him so much torment.

Jean ran as fast as his legs could carry him toward the main part of the manor where he knew he would find the musketeers. He reached the stairs leading up to the kitchen and tore up them in a frenzied rush to get help for the young man he had grown to respect. He pushed open the door at the top of the steps and rushed across the empty kitchen and burst through the doors leading into the hallway beyond, only to stop short when there before him were three of the men he sought to find. His eyes took in the carnage around the three men and when he saw them start for him, he raised is hands to placate them and cried out for them to "Wait!"

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The Gascon took in a deep breath and with all the strength he could muster, heaved himself up onto his knees. He had to turn himself so that he faced the door when Amyot arrived, but he knew that it would be difficult and painful. With the sound of the footsteps getting ever nearer, d'Artagnan took as deep of a breath as he could then shoved himself away from the barrel with his free hand, his body swinging backward and to the side until he lay partially on his back on the platform, his body lifted slightly on one side by his still secured arm. He couldn't contain the scream that tore from him as the strain further tore his wound, but he had no time to recover as just at that moment Amyot burst into the room, his eyes wide as he found his prisoner halfway freed. The man took a step forward, but stopped when d'Artagnan raised the pistol that he had somehow been able to hold onto. Amyot laughed when he saw how badly the Gascon's hand was shaking.

"Go ahead, try to shoot me, boy. You'll never be able to hit me with your hand shaking so," Amyot taunted. "It looks like I have a traitor in my midst. Jean always was too soft for this," he added.

d'Artagnan watched the man, certain that he was right in his assumption that he would not be able to hit his target. Suddenly, Amyot lurched forward, bringing his hand down on d'Artagnan's wrist, forcing the young man to drop the pistol. Amyot's hand went around the Gascon's throat and began to squeeze, the young man's feet kicking out weakly as he struggled to break the hold. He gasped when Amyot released him, the young man sucking in air as quickly as he could.

"I think that soon your friends will arrive to save you," Amyot hissed as he pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket. "And I think that I will enjoy taking their lives as they attempt to rescue you," he added. d'Artagnan watched with lidded eyes as the man leaned forward and roughly tied the cloth over his mouth as tightly as he could, actually cutting the corners of his lips in doing so. He cried softly to himself when Amyot pulled a pistol from his belt and backed away before sliding into the shadows behind the door. He lifted his free hand and tried to remove the gag, but it was too tight and he was too weak. He closed his eyes in defeat. All that he could think was that Athos was right. He wasn't ready, and even if he did survive his ordeal, he probably would never be ready. He had thought himself to be worthy of being a musketeer, but this entire fiasco had proven to him that he was wrong. He would never be more than an orphaned farm boy and thought of that made him realize that he would almost rather be dead than to be that.

d'Artagnan was so lost in his misery that he almost missed the sounds of quickly approaching footsteps. He forced his eyes open, panic causing his lungs to constrict, making it hard to breathe. He most likely would not survive to see another day, but he could do one thing before his time came. He could kill the man who had caused him so much pain and save the men he held in such high esteem. He looked down, his eyes catching sight of his dropped pistol. He flicked his eyes toward the door, feeling Amyot's eyes on him even though he couldn't see him, but not caring about what the man may do to him. His only thought at that moment was to protect his friends. He stretched is arm out, fingers fumbling madly for the gun, but it was just out of reach. Taking as deep a breath as his battered body would allow, he pulled his body forward, knowing the pain he would endure as his shoulder was stretched, but not caring as long as he could reach the pistol. He screamed in agony as he strained to reach the pistol, the scream muffled by the gag in his mouth. His fingers finally closed over the gun just as the footsteps reached the doorway. He turned his head in time to see the Inseparables rush into the room, Athos calling out his name when their eyes met. He caught movement behind his friends and shifted his eyes to see Amyot step from the shadows, his pistol raised and aimed at Athos' head. He brought his arm up, pistol held in his shaking hand, as his friends watched him in shocked silence, not understanding why he would be aiming a gun at them.

A gunshot suddenly rang out and all hell broke loose.

That's it for now. I'll probably start working on the next chapter on Monday and may even be able to complete it as my busy time won't start again until the first of the month. Please let me know what you think of this chapter. We're almost to the end! Thanks for reading :)

Cindy