Thanks for all the lovely reviews and speculation about d'Artagnan's absence. After a bit of a reprieve, things start to heat up for our boys again. Hope you enjoy!
In d'Artagnan's room, Aramis and Porthos had eaten and the larger man had convinced his friend that it would be alright for him to leave for a while, wanting to return to his room for a clean shirt and a salve that would ease the bruising on the young man's chest. Porthos sat quietly in his chair at the table, considering all that had transpired over the last days while the boy had been missing, and the implications of the scant amount of information he'd been able to share while awake. Like the others, he sensed that there was more to come, and the Gascon's kidnapping was simply one piece of a larger puzzle, but he currently lacked enough of the picture to be able to hazard a guess as to what. When the boy had first disappeared, Porthos had gone to his contacts at the Court in search of information, and while his request had garnered no insights into the boy's location, he was surprised now that no one had even made mention of having seen the abduction in the alleyway. There was a strong possibility that the person who'd tricked d'Artagnan into leaving the garrison was a resident of the Court, and the fact that this information hadn't come out was concerning; too concerning for him to leave alone, he realized, and he vowed to spend some time later in the day investigating exactly what had happened to keep this information from him.
His thoughts were interrupted by Athos' return, the older man pausing at the door when he saw Porthos' pistol aimed in his direction, the larger man lowering it back to the table with a grin. Athos entered and closed the door behind him, pleased that the young man was being well guarded. He sat down across from Porthos, glancing quickly at the still sleeping form in bed, "Aramis?"
Porthos pushed the food toward him as he said, "Gone to change and to bring back something for the lad's bruises. He seems alright now, but we both now that once he starts movin' around, they'll ache like the devil." Athos gave a nod and began to eat. "What does the Captain think is goin' on?"
Swallowing, Athos leaned back, unhappy with the conclusions they'd both drawn, "It makes no sense to kidnap him, only to return him days later, essentially unharmed. There must be more to it, and I fear that we will be caught unaware if we're unable to ferret out what."
Porthos dipped his head in understanding, sharing the man's feelings. "I was thinkin' I would go back and talk with a few folks in the Court today. Now that we know what happened, I find it hard to believe that no one saw anything on the day he was taken."
Athos looked at him sharply, "You believe someone from the Court was involved?" The look he received from Porthos indicated the larger man thought he was being naïve and Athos conceded with a nod. "You're probably right. Someone from the Court would have been all too willing to dupe a Musketeer for a handful of coins."
As much as Porthos was loathe to admit it, he knew Athos' statement to be true, many of the Court's residents willing to do almost anything to stop from going hungry and they certainly held no love for any of the King's guards. Instead he said, "We'll need to ask the lad more about the messenger who tricked him so I have a better idea of who to look for."
Athos hummed as he took another bite, watching calmly as Porthos lifted his pistol once more, this time taking aim at Aramis who was returning with the salve he'd sought. The medic smiled at Porthos as he closed the door behind him and found his way to the Gascon's side. "Has he been asleep this whole time?"
"Hasn't even twitched," Porthos replied.
Aramis folded the blanket back, revealing the young man's chest, the bruising still looking dark and tender. Taking a dollop of salve, Aramis rubbed it in his hands to warm it and then began to rub gentle circles on d'Artagnan's chest, allowing the ointment to soak into the skin beneath his hands. When he'd finished, he grabbed a clean cloth to wipe his hands, startling when he noticed he was being watched. A smile split his face as he greeted the young man, "Good morning…again. I'm sorry if I woke you," he motioned to the Gascon's chest. "That should help those bruises heal faster and take some of the sting out of them."
"Thanks," d'Artagnan answered, glancing down at the dusky blotches on his chest. Noticing Athos and Porthos at the table, he pushed himself up onto an elbow, Aramis leaning in to place a hand softly on his chest to prevent him from moving further. The young man closed his eyes for a moment before catching Aramis' gaze, "I just want to get up and sit at the table."
The medic seemed conflicted but it was difficult to deny him such a simple request after the days they'd spent apart, worrying over the boy. "Very well," Aramis finally responded. "But you let me and Porthos help you and, if you start feeling unwell, you'll return immediately to bed."
d'Artagnan gave a satisfied grin at his victory as Aramis rolled his eyes and helped the boy sit up. When he'd adjusted to his new position, his two friends helped him stand and then guided him to one of the chairs at the table, where Athos sat waiting for the tenacious young man. He took several seconds to recover after the move and then opened his eyes and grinned at his friends, knowing well what they thought of his antics. "All I'm doing is sitting," he pointed out, seeing the trepidation in their eyes. Letting out a small huff, he reached for a piece of bread and began picking at it, popping a small portion into his mouth. "So, what did I miss?" It was obvious that the Gascon was feeling better and Porthos poured a cup of water for him, d'Artagnan nodding gratefully as he took a sip.
"In truth, we feel that we should be asking you that question," Aramis countered.
d'Artagnan's grin slipped as he recalled his time spent in captivity. "Is there anything more you can tell us that would help us identify who did this?" Athos asked. "Earlier, you seemed much less…coherent than now."
The Gascon ducked his head for a moment as he grimaced. "I don't remember much from before other than my head feeling that it was twice its normal size."
"And now," Aramis leaned in, needing to confirm that the boy was actually feeling better and not just stubbornly pushing himself to ignore his infirmity.
"I feel much better, Aramis, really. The last thing I remember was them forcing me to drink and I think they drugged me again," d'Artagnan admitted guiltily, eyes dipping to stare at his lap.
"Hey, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You can't help it if they forced it down your throat," Porthos declared, reaching a hand across the table to squeeze the boy's forearm.
"That would explain why you were so disoriented earlier, and why you seem so improved now," Aramis stated thoughtfully.
"Now that your thoughts are clearer, is there anything more you can tell us? Perhaps about where you were held?" Athos reminded him.
"Or the messenger who came to the garrison?" Porthos added.
d'Artagnan's eyes lit up at Porthos question. "It was a young boy. By the look of him, he had to be living on the streets." He closed his eyes as his face screwed up in thought, trying to recall more about the boy. "He was dirty, wearing clothes that were too small for him. Maybe ten or eleven years of age with straw-coloured hair and blue eyes." He turned to face Athos as he explained, "I remember because they reminded me of yours." The comment brought a partial smile to Athos' lips as he was often gently teased by his friends about being the only one among them with light-coloured eyes. The Gascon turned his attention back to Porthos. "That's really all I can tell you about him, other than the fact that I thought he'd be more familiar with the streets in the Court of Miracles than elsewhere."
"It's a shame that no one else saw the boy," Aramis commented.
d'Artagnan's brow furrowed, "But they did. There were a few men eating a late meal and they saw us talking near the gates."
Athos' face turned cold as he realized that there had been witnesses among them who could have offered valuable information to aid in their search. "Who saw you?" he asked, his tone steely.
"I, I'm not sure. I don't really remember," d'Artagnan stammered, surprised by the venomous look on his friend's face.
Aramis placed a hand on Athos' shoulder, a quiet warning to remain calm. He knew that Porthos was no happier about the news the Gascon had just shared than he was, but also trusted that none of their brothers would have intentionally withheld information while the three of them had so desperately searched. Athos huffed out on an exhale and then dropped his head for a moment, Aramis spotting the action as the older man's way of letting him know that he'd reined in his emotions. Retracting his hand, he assured the boy, "I'm certain it's of no consequence now. The important thing is that you're back."
Drawing a steadying breath, Athos questioned, "Earlier you said that you didn't escape. Is that true?"
The Gascon thought for a moment and then gave a shaky nod. "I tried to get away – twice – but they caught me both times. The first time was when I got these," he pointed to his chest, "and the second time I didn't realize there was another man. He caught me from behind and knocked me out."
The three men shared a look of silent communication that d'Artagnan could not decipher, and he waited for several moments before interrupting them. "What?" The men looked at him innocently, pulling a huff off frustration from the Gascon. "Don't give me that. What aren't you telling me?"
Aramis and Porthos held Athos' gaze, silently pleading with him to be honest with the young man. Finally Athos spoke, "Fine. We believe that you were taken and then returned intentionally. However, the motive still eludes us."
d'Artagnan fell silent at the suggestion that his kidnapping was part of some larger scheme. When he spoke, it was with determination, "Then we need to find the men who took me and get them to explain why." He began to push himself upwards from the table, Aramis grasping one arm while Athos caught the other, pulling him back down into his seat. "What?" the young man looked at them in confusion.
"I'll be heading out to talk with my contacts now that I've got a description of the child who lured you away," Porthos stated as he rose.
"And you will eat something and then return to your bed to rest," Aramis declared, refilling the young man's water cup. "Don't think that I can't see that your head's hurting again."
d'Artagnan looked to Athos for some support, but the man's face indicated nothing but complete agreement with what the others had just said. "Fine," he grumbled unhappily, putting another piece of bread into his mouth.
"d'Artagnan, you must understand that we spent every day of your absence searching the streets for you, and last night the Captain had to declare you presumed dead. Please, allow us some latitude now that you have been returned to us," Athos requested sombrely.
d'Artagnan ducked his head sheepishly, realizing that until that moment he'd been so preoccupied with trying to escape his captivity that he'd given little thought to how his friends had been affected. While he'd been confident that the men would be trying to find him, it hadn't occurred to him that the garrison's resources were finite and eventually the Captain would be forced to call off the search. That thought scared him more than he realized, not because he was afraid for himself, but because he was afraid of what would have happened to his brothers if they'd had to live without knowing what had happened to him. Swallowing thickly around the emotion welling in his throat, he gave a short nod, promising that he would allow his friends the opportunity to coddle him for a while, until they were satisfied that he was well and would not be disappearing from their midst again.
Porthos gave his friends a quick wave as he turned to leave, promising to return later to update them, while Aramis nudged d'Artagnan's hand to have another bite. As the door closed behind him, Porthos could hear the medic's words, "Did they feed you at all? I can practically count your ribs." The large Musketeer snorted at his friend's predictable nature as he headed for the stairs, determined to find some answers.
The Captain was doing his best to maintain a neutral expression, the lack of sleep he'd gotten causing his head to throb mightily and the King's comments drawing on his last reserves of patience. He kept a calm façade as he watched the King bring a hand to his head, apparently in physical pain because of the news Rochefort brought. The fact that the Spanish Ambassador had been killed didn't overly bother Treville on a personal level, the man having been a scoundrel of the worst kind and clearly doing everything in his power to undermine the King while blithely lying to his face. On a professional level, the soldier in him knew that the Ambassador's death could raise difficult questions and further strain the already tenuous peace between the two countries. The only option was to identify the Ambassador's killer quickly, exacting justice before the King of Spain decided to exact his own through a formal declaration of war.
"Rochefort, we must find the man's murderer before Anne's brother gets it in his head that this was my doing," King Louis whined.
Rocherfort gave a serious nod as he assured the man, "I am certain we will be able to apprehend this vile murderer and have him in irons before the sun sets."
Treville forced himself not to roll his eyes at the Comte's outrageous promise, a statement which only drew a delighted chuckle from the King, making him seem even more like a small child instead of the ruler of a great nation.
"How do you propose to accomplish such a feat?" Treville asked politely, forcing the disdain he felt deep into his belly so it wouldn't color his words.
Rochefort graced him with a smirk and the Captain felt his insides turn to ice with the realization that the Comte had once more been conspiring against him in some manner. "It's quite simple, Captain," his smile grew as he explained. "I have a witness who was able to provide a description of the killer." The Comte began to pace slowly, savouring the moment as he forced Treville to wait for him to continue. Even the King sat forward in his chair, eagerly waiting for Rochefort to go on. "He was a man of slender build, olive-skin and dark hair." He stopped and held Treville's gaze as he asked, "Sound familiar?"
The Captain forced himself not to tense, exuding a calm demeanor that he did not feel. It was too much of a coincidence that the man who'd been missing for several days now fit the description that Rochefort was offering. "That description applies to half the men in France. Surely you don't believe that will be enough to convict someone for murder."
The Comte allowed an easy chuckle to escape, giving his head a shake. "Of course not, I would never presume to end a man's life on such circumstantial evidence as an eyewitness account." Treville felt the knot in his stomach ease a little at the man's confession that the information he had was insufficient to arrest, let alone convict anyone. Rochefort stopped his pacing, his expression hardening as he continued. "Luckily, we have the man's weapons as well." He extended a hand and a Red Guard moved away from the side wall where he'd been standing, walking forward with a belt that could undoubtedly belong to only one man. As Rochefort took the item from the guard, he drew the blade from its sheath, holding it up to light as if examining it. "A fine sword," he commented, pinning Treville with his gaze, "worthy of a Musketeer."
Treville went on the defensive, having no other option than to convince the King that it would be impossible to prove ownership of the weapons held in Rochefort's hands. "That's a preposterous accusation," he stated, turning to appeal to the King. "Your Majesty, I know that the relationship between our two regiments has been difficult at times, but to accuse one of my men of such a crime is surely overstepping."
The King was leaning forward again, and the Captain could see that he didn't like the Comte's allegation either, the Musketeers his own personal guard and, as such, typically above reproach. "Rochefort, Treville is right. This is a serious charge and you have nothing more than a vague description and someone's sword. Is this even the blade with which the Ambassador was killed?"
Rochefort sheathed the blade smoothly, handing the belt back to his man. "No, actually, the murderer chose a more personal approach," he moved closer to Treville as he spoke, demonstrating the meaning of his words. "You see, he came up behind the man and sliced his throat open with a dagger." He walked behind the Captain as he explained, Treville forcing himself not to react to the Comte's dramatics. Completing his circuit, Rochefort moved a step away again as he pulled a main gauche from the back of his belt, "This one, as a matter of fact." Holding it up as he'd done with earlier with the sword, he read, "CD." Returning his gaze to the King, he said, "That's what's engraved here; CD. I believe those initials match those of one of your men, Treville."
The Captain swallowed, his eyes on the King to gauge the man's reaction and from the look of horror on his face, it was clear that he believed the Comte's claims. "Your Majesty, the man to whom the Comte refers is d'Artagnan, the same man who was missing for the last four days. He was found early this morning outside of the gates, wounded and disoriented. There is no way he could have done this."
The King looked uncertain and turned back to Rochefort, the man obligingly adding his thoughts, "Your Majesty, it is obvious to me that he disappeared in order to make his plans and returned upon completing his mission. As you know, the Ambassador was killed just shortly after midnight, leaving plenty of time for this Musketeer to make his way to the garrison afterwards."
The King sighed unhappily, the Musketeers having disappointed him consistently over the last while and Rochefort's words seeming reasonable under the circumstances. "This is all highly irregular and it troubles me greatly. Treville, we cannot risk war over the Ambassador's death so you will turn your man over to the Red Guards so he may be taken to the Chatelet." The Captain moved to protest, but Louis raised a hand and continued, "He will receive a fair hearing but, if found guilty, he will hang for his crime."
"Majesty, is there no way I can convince you to allow my men to look into this. I promise to keep d'Artagnan under guard at the garrison until such time as proof of his innocence can be found."
"My decision on this is final, Captain. Rochefort, you will take men to the Musketeer garrison and arrest d'Artagnan. He will have his trial in two days' time." The King rose from his seat and swept from the room, Treville and Rochefort both bowing as he left before moving toward one another.
"Captain, I have men waiting outside. We shall accompany you and see the King's orders executed at once," Rochefort stated, a half-smile on his face.
Treville gave a curt nod, turning away from the man and leading the way out. He would have preferred to return to the garrison alone, taking a few minutes to speak with the inseparables and prepare them for what was to come. As it was, he only hoped his men didn't choose to shoot first and ask questions later, or it would be more than one of his Musketeers facing the hangman's noose.