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Upon arriving at the palace, Treville dismissed his men while he followed the King inside, the royal having requested his presence for a while longer. By the time he arrived at the garrison, it was late into the evening and only a handful of men remained sitting in the courtyard, eating their evening meal by the light of several lanterns. Among them were his best and most troublesome group of four and the Captain waved at the men to follow him upstairs as he walked by. The friends traded looks, wondering why Treville had asked to see them, and headed up the stairs to the man's office. Porthos closed the door behind them as the Captain placed his cloak and weapons on a side table, rubbing a hand across his face as he peered at the group in front of him.
"d'Artagnan, I know that you did nothing wrong, but the King is still upset about what happened during the hunt," Treville informed them.
"d'Artagnan not only did nothing wrong and but should be commended for his quick action, which saved his Majesty's life," Athos countered, his voice low and dangerous.
Treville pinned him with an exasperated look, "I'm well aware of that, however Rochefort was quick to fan the flames when the King spoke of it and has his Majesty convinced that the only reason they were in danger in the first place was because d'Artagnan allowed them both to get too close." Porthos' hands were clenched into fists while Aramis' jaw was clamped tightly closed, both men eager to defend their youngest but careful of overstepping with their commanding officer.
Athos scowled at Treville's words, sensing that there was more still to come. Sighing deeply, the Captain continued, "d'Artagnan, I'm sorry, but you'll be removed from duty at the palace for the next couple of weeks. My hope is that this will pass after you've been out of the King's sight for a short while."
d'Artagnan swallowed thickly and looked at Athos who wore a steely gaze. He nodded as he replied, "It's fine, sir, thank you. Do you have alternative orders for me for tomorrow?" Porthos' head dropped as he listened to the Gascon doing his best to remain unaffected by the news, realizing that the punishment was doubly cruel; embarrassing because others would know he'd been removed from palace duty and forcing him to be apart from the three of them for the next week.
Treville shook his head, "I'll have something for you by morning muster. Go get some rest now; tomorrow will be here soon enough."
The men nodded and began filing out, Athos at the rear and moving slowly. "There was nothing more to be done?" he asked, pausing at the door.
"I'm sorry, Athos. Had Rochefort not shown up, I'm certain the incident would have passed. For some reason, that man seems to hate the Musketeers even more than his predecessor. We'll need to tread carefully."
Athos put his hat on, tilting his head slightly in acknowledgement of the Captain's words before following the others back downstairs. The three were back at the table where they'd been eating earlier and waited for Athos to join them. "This ain't right, Athos," Porthos growled.
Aramis placed a calming hand on his friend's shoulder as he turned to Athos, "Am I correct in assuming that someone intentionally inflamed this situation?"
Athos gave a short nod, looking at d'Artagnan. "Rochefort has never been a friend of the Musketeers and he seems to have fixated on you, d'Artagnan. You'll need to take care."
The Gascon threw his hands up in frustration as he started to pace, "I did nothing wrong."
"We know that, lad, but that Rochefort's a devil. Clearly, he's not above twisting things to his advantage," Porthos cautioned.
"And, he's clearly ingratiated himself with the Queen," Aramis added with a grimace, recalling the look the man had given her Majesty.
"Come, there's nothing more to be done tonight. Tomorrow, you'll receive your orders and stay out of trouble while we report to the palace," Athos declared, placing a hand on the Gascon's shoulder. "It will only be a week or two and then things will return to normal."
d'Artagnan nodded and the four made their way through the garrison gates, intending to tip a glass or two before retiring for the night. Only a couple weeks, the Gascon thought to himself – what could possibly happen in such a short amount of time?
The next day, d'Artagnan received orders to train at the garrison while the three others made their way to the palace. The day promised to be a boring one and d'Artagnan sighed quietly to himself as he was paired off with another man to spar, watching wistfully as his friends exited through the garrison gates. He put as much effort as he could into his training, but often found his mind wandering to thoughts of his friends and to Rochefort, wondering at why the man had selected him in his quest to dishonor their regiment. By the time that his friends returned late that afternoon, d'Artagnan was nearly desperate with relief, agonizing at the realization that he'd only just passed the first day of many more to still come.
It was apparent that he hid his relief at his friends' return poorly, Porthos taking one look at him and laughing, clapping a hand on his back, "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad. Who were you paired with today?"
d'Artagnan gave a mock shudder as he replied, "Geadreau and Vannier."
Porthos gave a wince as he nodded, all of them being familiar with Geadreau's reputation as being a particularly strict task-master when it came to proper technique and Vannier unlikely to pull anything but a killing blow, believing that each sparring session should be as realistic as possible. Aramis took a half-step forward, now frowning, "Were you hurt?"
The Gascon grinned ruefully, "Just my pride. I may have had a difficult time focusing today."
Athos' brow furrowed at his protégé's words, "d'Artagnan, we've spoken of this…"
"I know, head before heart," d'Artagnan interrupted. "It's just hard when I feel like there's a target on my back."
Porthos threw an arm around the young man's shoulders, pulling him close as he started walking them toward the garrison gates, trusting that the other two would follow. "Don't worry, lad, you've three older brothers to look out for you and Rochefort will have to go through us to get to you."
Aramis smiled at Porthos' words, wholeheartedly agreeing as they wove their way through the Parisian streets to a nearby tavern. Their evening passed pleasantly, sharing a rich and hearty stew with bread that was only a day old, and Athos paying for a vibrant red wine that was finer than the vintages they normally shared. By the end of the night, the tension had eased from d'Artagnan's shoulders and he laughed easily as his friends regaled him with tales of the latest gossip from the palace. By the time they left, all of them felt pleasantly flushed from the wine they'd enjoyed and the day's events had been forgotten.
They travelled together for several streets before reaching an intersection of sorts, Athos' rooms in one direction, while the garrison lay further ahead. The older man gave an inquiring look to d'Artagnan who merely rolled his eyes and grinned, "I'll be fine, Athos. I'll see you in the morning."
Their gazes travelled to their other two comrades next. Aramis was already wearing a satisfied smile as he tipped his hat and said, "I have a fine lady waiting and will also see you for breakfast."
Porthos watched his friend turn and leave, shaking his head a bit at the man's antics before explaining. "Card game down by the Seine." At Athos' severe look, he added, "Don't worry, there'll be some from the Court who I can trust to watch my back."
Athos held Porthos' gaze for a moment, before giving a short nod, one hand on the man's shoulder as he said, "Watch yourself."
Porthos' grin was infectious as he barked out a laugh, "Always." With that, he was on his way, d'Artagnan also giving a last wave to Athos as each moved in a different direction.
The evening had been exactly what he'd needed, the Gascon reflected, as his feet followed the familiar cobblestones back to the garrison. He was by no means looking forward to another week or two of being left behind by his friends, but reasoned that he would be able to manage it alright if he could have their company at the end of each day. His musings had distracted him and he was caught unaware when four men pushed away from a building ahead of him, having stood deep in the shadows so they'd remain unseen until nearly upon them. d'Artagnan slowed his steps, hand resting on his sword in warning as he observed the group, slowing his pace in order to keep several feet between them.
"Good evening," he said evenly, watching as the men spread out across the street, effectively blocking him from passing. "If you're thinking of robbing me, you should know that I'm a Musketeer and have nothing of value to offer you. I suggest you move aside and let me pass." Meaningfully, his right hand tapped the hilt of his sword, drawing attention to it and preparing to free the blade from its sheath.
One of the men spit on the ground before looking back at the Gascon. "Musketeer," he sneered with disdain, "that don't mean nothin' to us. You'll bleed just the same." With those words, the men surged forward, d'Artagnan missing his chance to pull his sword and taking a clumsy step back, narrowly avoiding a meaty fist aimed for his head. Before he could fully recover, another man was on him, striking his face with a powerful right hook that had his head snapping painfully to the side, only to stumble into the arms of another attacker. The man grabbed his arm, another advancing to capture the Gascon's other arm, and the two held him as a third stepped forward to land a punishing strike to the young man's stomach, his breath fleeing his body in one great exhale. He wasn't even allowed a moment to catch his breath before another series of blows attacked his ribs, leaving him slumped boneless in his attackers' arms, now the only thing keeping him upright. The man who'd spoken earlier tangled his fingers in d'Artagnan's hair, jerking his face up viciously as he leaned forward to hiss, "Put the King in danger again and you'll have more than a few bruises to show for it."
The hand was removed and d'Artagnan's head slumped to his chest once more, mind reeling from the words that had been spoken. Before he could give them any further thought, he was dropped to the ground and a booted foot collided with his head, causing it to bounce once against the cobblestones before he fell limp and silent. As the four walked away from the bloodied man, they laughed at how easy it had been to get the Musketeer alone and teach him a painful lesson.
d'Artagnan wasn't certain how much time had passed since he'd fallen unconscious after being left in the street like a pile of rubbish, but it was still dark and he could feel the moisture of the nighttime dew on his face and hair, pulling a shiver from him at the coolness. His mind felt fuzzy and his vision blurred as he blinked repeatedly trying to bring into the focus the cobblestones that lay beneath his head. He moved a clumsy hand and rolled slightly to push himself up, accomplishing a partially upright position with his head handing low between shoulders, his body canted to one side on one shaky arm. The change in elevation made things sway for a few seconds before righting themselves, and he drew a deep breath, hoping to clear his mind and vision. The action awakened the pain in his ribs and he moved his free hand to his left side, groaning softly at the tenderness he felt there. Allowing himself several minutes to recover himself, he pushed his back against the closest building and slumped against it as he gathered his reserves in order to stand and make his way home.
When he felt ready, he supported himself against the wall at his back, gaining his feet and taking a moment to adjust to being vertical. His head throbbed dully in time with the beat of his heart, but d'Artagnan pushed away from the wall, making slow, stumbling progress in the direction of the garrison. At the gates, the men on guard duty waved, a gesture he clumsily returned, imagining that he must look as though returning from a night of heavy drinking. But he cared little right now of what others might think, slowly losing his ability to put one foot in front of the other and he leaned heavily on the banister as he ascended the stairs and crossed the walkway that led to his room. Gratefully, he sank against the door after closing it behind him, taking cautious steps by the moonlight that illuminated the room to light the candle by his bed.
Easing his aching body onto the bed, he toed off both boots and then unlaced his doublet, letting it slip off his arms and onto the mattress behind him. Removing his shirt was a far more painful process that had him gasping and bending forward to awkwardly pull the shirt over his head and free from his arms. Looking down, he saw the marks of his earlier fight painted on his body, the left side already darkening into deep bruising. Taking a steadying breath, he pressed fingers against his ribcage and was relieved to find no shifting bones, something that he'd already surmised based on his pain level, but which needed to be confirmed regardless. He looked wearily at the basin of water that sat across the room, longing to at least wash his hands and face before laying down to sleep, but his body's need for rest was too great. Allowing a gentle sigh to escape, he lowered himself carefully onto his uninjured side, reaching behind to tug the blanket partially over himself, too sore and tired to do anything more. Allowing his eyes to slip closed, he gratefully sank into sleep's welcome embrace.