Seven.
By sunrise, Athos and Porthos were back in the saddles, not letting sunlight go to waste. They picked up all their things, tacked their horses, and rode while sharing some of the bread and cheese for breakfast. They kept following the tracks that they had been following so far, hoping that they would lead them in the right direction.
They had lost the tracks a couple of times, but managed to find them each time. They had found several camps along the roads as well, and they hoped all the leftovers belonged to Bastien and his men. Roger and Zad pushed right through the camp, walking around the still smouldering left overs of a fireplace.
"If this is Bastien's, we shouldn't be far off now." Athos nodded. "Let's catch up."
The horses didn't need to be told twice before they set off at a fast gallop. Leaving the forest they headed out on a wide open field, both men easing up on the reins to let their horses gallop freely, both horses pressing on as hard as they could.
Even though they were out on a hunt, the seriousness of the situation, Athos couldn't help but to enjoy this moment. He loved these wide-open stretches, where he could feel every muscle of the massive stallion work underneath him, the power of the beast urging forward. There was nothing that could give him this kind of complete sense of freedom, and it was a feeling to cherish. Running with the wind, the hooves of his stallion drumming against the grass like thunder as they roared the lands remote.
He looked over at Porthos, and the big man seemed to be enjoying it just as much. Zad was very different from their other horses, both Buttercup and Roger were breeds from the Frieslands, as Aramis mare Belle was of pure Spanish blood. Zad was a mix between breeds, and none of them truly knew his history. With the speed the horse could keep Athos had a feeling that somewhere in his past, Zad descended from the racing horses Athos had laid eyes upon during his travels to England in another lifetime, but none of them knew for certain. Porthos had won the horse in a hand of cards a few years back, (Athos was certain he had been cheating no matter how much Porthos denied it) and the two of them had been a perfect match. They didn't have the same background as the others, they hadn't quite developed the bond, but they trusted each other and that was all necessary. The bond would just grow over time.
Athos moved his hand down towards Roger's withers, gently moving it up to scratch the horse's crest, the long, wavy mane entangling between his fingers.
Roger had once belonged to Thomas, his younger brother. Thomas had gotten Roger at age 10, the black stallion being less than a year old at the time. Their father had known how much a bond between an animal and its rider makes a difference, and he had solemnly believed that the earlier you start caring for the horse, the stronger the connection will be. Athos had gotten a yearling when he turned 10 as well, a beautiful stallion of the same breed, named Thibault.
Athos and Thibault never really found that bond, they both trusted each other and worked well together, but never really connected. Not like Thomas and Roger. They did everything together, they had been truly inseparable. Athos remembered how he had been watching them from the patio whilst at some dull meeting with some dull person of high authority. Thomas would be running across their gardens with a sword in hand, and Roger would be galloping behind him, trying to keep up in all twists and turns. They had literally been playing, knowing each other well enough not to accidentally hurt the other. More often than not had Thomas not showed up for supper, and as Athos had gone out looking, he had found him somewhere resting, leaned up against a tree with Roger happily grazing by his side.
Athos would never admit it, but he had been so extremely jealous of Thomas as they grew up. Thomas had always followed his own path, doing everything he wanted and disobeying the rules of the house. And their parents had let him, laughing at his free spirit and never punished him for anything. Athos had never had those privileges; he had been brutally punished for breaking the rules. He was going to be the Comte, he had to obey, and he had to do what was expected of him. He had always wished to be Thomas, and therefore he had put up a façade against his younger brother, pushing him away. Thomas had never understood why, but left Athos alone, and as they grew up they drifted further and further apart.
Thomas had always been the favourite, of everyone. It had been easy to tell, they way they talked to him and the way they laughed with him was nothing Athos ever had experienced. He was firstborn and heir to the family's riches. He was expected to be fair, noble, honorable and stoic. He had never asked for it, and he had never wanted it, but followed his duty as Comte as his parents died way too early during a raid on their village.
Athos had been out there, fighting alongside the villagers, and his father, but he hadn't been able to protect him. Thibault had taken a sword through his chest, and he had badly broken Athos' leg in the fall. Athos had been trapped underneath his big stallion long enough for him to watch his father be killed, along with several other family member and friends, feeling extremely helpless.
His mother had been held hostage, and killed with a stray bullet as she fiercely protected 13 year old Thomas. And suddenly Athos had the entire responsibility hanging on his shoulders. He was just 17 years old. Thomas didn't speak to him for months, never more than nods of courtesy, and people in the streets looked at him with disgust. He knew they blamed him for the death of his parents, he should've been able to protect them, but he had failed his duty. He and Thomas drifted apart even further as Athos begun drinking away his sorrows. He was rich enough to always make sure there was a bottle of fine wine or brandy nearby. Thomas had grieved alongside Roger, never seen without the horse next to him.
Then he met Anne de Breuil.
And things had seemed to turn for the better. He had been truly, madly and deeply, over the moon in love. She had been the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes upon, and he could feel how she turned him into a better man. He wanted to please her, wanted to show her off and wanted to shout from the top of a mountain how much he loved her. His love was contagious, people begun talking to him again, as if they suddenly realized that this man had a heart as well. He had been happy, and it had spread like an epidemic through the town. Windows opened up, letting the sunlight in, people were cheerful and Athos' bottles were not emptied as fast as they had been.
And then Thomas died. Athos had found him, with Anne standing over him, her hands covered in his blood, tears streaming down her face. Her clothes torn. Scratches from nails across her chest and arms.
Athos did everything in his power to protect Anne, he knew what Thomas could be like, he had heard the filthy rumors, and he had believed her story when she said she had been attacked, all the evidence was there. But his hands were tied. He had been content with letting her flee the country and never return, but the pressure from everyone around him had forced him to watch the woman of his dreams hang. They wouldn't let the murder of their favourite person go, everyone living on his lands trusted him to put an end to her life. Several of them had found conclusive proof that she had been a criminal, a pickpocket and a thief before he met her, and he was confused, he didnt know who to trust anymore. Was she a murderer? She must've been. They had proof… The people of his land had proof of her being a cold blooded murderer… And at the end he had no choice. He had been heartbroken, and he hadn't known how to tell her. In the end, he didn't need to, she had understood what he had to do from the look in his eyes. The absolute sorrow, the look of Athos completely losing everything he had left. He couldn't even watch. He couldn't stay. He couldn't look anyone in the eye, they had forced him to kill her, and he had to get out.
His belongings had been few enough to fit into his saddlebags. He was about to tack of any of the horses from their stable when he saw Roger standing by Thomas grave. The entire horse oozed of sadness, and Athos realized that no one had been caring for the horse since Thomas' death. The horse hadn't allowed anyone to come near him, kicking and fighting everyone off him. The stallion was grieving, just as much as Athos was.
Athos had walked up to the horse, put a gentle hand on the horse's forehead, before tacking him up, putting a foot in the stirrup and heaving himself up. He had expected the horse to buck him off, but Roger had been calm and gallant, just awaiting orders. Athos had turned for the roads getting them as far away as possible. How he got himself to Paris he never understood, and getting there he had no clue what to do, until he ended up in a brawl with some Red Guards. The fight had been over quickly, and just a few days later some men had approached him, asking him to join the Musketeers.
Athos smiled as he thought back of that day. Those men had been Aramis and Porthos, and he still remembered how they had been grinning by his side as they led him to the garrison all while he wondered what he was doing. Joining a regiment? He could fight, he knew that much, but he was too emotionally hurt and damaged to even picture himself defending the king. But Aramis and Porthos had seen something in him and they were not about to let him walk out. And he was forever thankful that they had decided to keep him, as if he had been some sort of a pet. They had saved his life.
And Roger had been his trusting companion ever since, with him protecting the horse just as much as Roger protected him. Maybe they were not able to protect their loved ones, but they had been given a second chance, and they would not let it slide.
…
Athos was shaken back to the present as Roger curled his neck and snorted loudly, and Athos sat back into the saddle.
"All good?" Porthos asked. He had been looking over at Athos for a while, as the man next to him had been lost deep in thoughts. It happened now and again that Athos completely blanked out, but it wasn't as common as it had been before.
"Yes." Athos said, and even managed to land a smile in Porthos direction. "I was just thinking about when I arrived to Paris for the first time."
"I will never forget the way you knocked those guards down." Porthos grinned. "It was some sight. We knew straight away we needed to recruit you, no matter who you were."
"I'm glad you did." Athos smiled. "I was just thinking about what would've become of me if you hadn't."
"Let's not ponder on what-could've-been. I don't want to imagine where I would be today had I stayed in the Court."
Athos sat quiet for a moment, just breathing as he pondered on where life's roads could've brought him. Shaking those thoughts out of his head, he once again looked over to Porthos.
"Do you believe in destiny, Porthos?"
"I believe that every man has a road to travel, but which road we take is up to ourselves to decide." Porthos pondered, then let out a small chuckle. "Your bad sense of direction is probably why your life got so screwed over."
Athos couldn't stop the giggle from escaping his lips, as he tipped his head forward, before gathering himself, looking back up to meet Porthos' eyes. "When I left I just rode on, I had no idea where I was traveling, I was just letting Roger decide the paths. I could've ended up anywhere, but instead I ended up in Paris, at the same bar where you and Aramis were drinking. If that just coincidence?"
"A very happy coincidence." Porthos nodded.
Athos smiled. He had stopped being a man of the church a long time ago, but he couldn't help but to think that somehow, he was destined to find these men he called brothers. And even though he would never admit it out of loyalty to his family, they had been closer brothers to him than Thomas ever was.
The day passed as quickly as the last one, and the horses' good shape allowed them to cross many miles of land. Just as they were about to stop for the night, the heard voices. A lot of voices. They could see smoke rising through the air from a big fireplace, and they heard chattering of cups and glasses, people singing, people laughing.
Athos and Porthos dismounted, and walked the last bit on foot. They used the trees as a hiding place, and from where they were sitting they could see a big camp set up at the middle of a wide open glade, with ten or so men drinking happily, enjoying themselves as the sun set. Porthos nudged Athos' shoulder, and a finger pointed to one of the corners of the camp.
Bastien. He was sitting there. Drinking straight from a bottle. They had him now. And they would not let him go. The question was just how they would go at this, how would they do this without causing as little damage to themselves as possible?
"We wait till morning." Athos said. "It's not very chivalrous, but I honestly don't care. Not with him."
Porthos nodded in agreement. They were done being polite when it came to Bastien. He didn't deserve that anymore.
"From the look of how they are celebrating, in the morning they will all be hung-over and tired. That will be to our advantage."
"As said, it's not chivalrous, but I don't feel like being a gentleman. Let's just bring him down, tie him to the back of Roger and get out of here. If they had brains enough they wouldn't be drinking that heavily while on the run."
Athos nodded. "Let's go rest. No fire, no fuss, we'll find somewhere where we can lie down far enough from them but close enough to still hear them. Tomorrow, we fight. And in two days time, we will return to Aramis and d'Artagnan."
"Sounds like a good plan to me." Porthos nodded as the two of them walked away from there, finding their horses they walked them far away so they would not be spotted by Bastien's men if any of them were to drunkenly wander off into the woods to take a piss. Being spotted now would surely mean a quick and safe death to both the Musketeers. And they were determined not to lose the fight now, when they were so close.
"D'Artagnan?"
D'Artagnan moved quickly to Aramis side, a gentle hand on his shoulder. He quickly realized how much cooler the man felt underneath his touch, and he moved his hand to Aramis forehead. Yep, definitely cooler.
"Your fever is breaking." D'Artagnan said pleased, brushing some of the sweaty hair away from Aramis forehead.
"I can feel that." Aramis smiled weakly, his tongue brushing over his lips. D'Artagnan got the hint and quickly moved the cup of water standing next to Aramis over to his lips, and Aramis drank several big mouthfuls.
"Easy Aramis, don't choke on it." D'Artagnan smiled, his hand back on Aramis' shoulder.
Aramis swallowed tiredly and sent a small smile in d'Artagnan' direction.
"Still nothing?"
"Still nothing. Don't worry. It's only been two days. They will be back before you know it."
"They shouldn't have left alone."
"Aramis, you were in no state to ride, and they have to get Bastien before he crosses into Spain. If he crosses borders we will have no legal claim on him anymore and all of this would have been wasted. All your pain for nothing."
"Athos and Porthos are putting their lives at risk. They shouldn't do that, what if something happens and we are not there to help?"
"They will be fine. Trust them. They gave me their word of their return, and you know they will keep it. They will come back to us."
"And if they don't?" Aramis voice was wobbling, and d'Artagnan could tell he was on the verge of tears. His older brother was hurt, tired and still sick, and exhaustion and worry was visible all over his face.
"I'm not even going to answer that. Pray to the God you believe in, if it pleases you, but I am certain that they will return within a couple of days time. Have faith Aramis. If anyone can sort this mess out, it's them."
"You better be right." Aramis whispered, a cough escaping his throat. D'Artagnan helped him to another couple of mouthfuls of water.
"Try to get some more sleep. Who knows, by the time you wake, they might be back here."
Aramis sighed loudly, clearly not believing in d'Artagnan's words, but he could already feel himself drifting off to sleep, the few remaining bits of the fever lingering. He had to sleep to get better, so he could be ready for their return. He didn't want them to return only to find him still helpless. He had to be ready to tend to them if needed be. And knowing what risks they were putting themselves in, there was a big chance that he would have to patch them up upon their arrival. Aramis sighed, worry growing in his stomach, as he pressed his eyes shut, and once again drifted off into a restless sleep.
So, yeah, I might've taken on another view of the relationship between Athos and Thomas, and it's been nagging me since I first watched 1x03, Commodities. The way Athos says "Thomas, my younger brother. Everyone's favorite." had me thinking of family and friends of family favoring certain kids. So instead of every other story out there where Thomas is everything to Athos, I decided to give you my take on it.
And this is how I imagined it played out between Anne (aka Milady) and Athos. This is one of many theories, not saying this is how it happened, but this is my view of it. Please let me know what you think!
On other note, I have two more chapter already done and waiting for posting… You want it? ;)