Porthos thanks everyone for their concern and well-wishes after the last chapter. The boys finally make some progress in this next one which is, sadly, without d'Artagnan, who is still enjoying Madame Tremaux's hospitality.
It was late by the time Athos and Aramis left the tavern where they'd eaten their evening meal and consumed several glasses of wine. Over his shoulder, Athos could see their perpetual shadow in the form of two Red Guards who had unluckily drawn the short straw and been assigned to follow them around. He couldn't imagine what they'd thought of the day's activities which had included a trip to the market to look at the various wares available for sale, a stop to pick out cloth and order two new shirts, and a visit to the Luxembourg Gardens. They'd walked everywhere that day and the older Musketeer could feel every step in the soreness of his feet, but it had been worth it to spite Rochefort's men and keep their attention away from Porthos' activities. They'd decided to head back to the garrison now, doubting that Porthos would be back, but knowing that he would meet them there eventually, once he'd finished in the Court of Miracles.
They'd only travelled a couple of streets when a woman moved away from the building where she'd been leaning, obviously ready to proposition them. As they approached, Athos' breath caught in his throat, recognizing Flea as the woman who waited for them. Aramis threw a concerned glance at his friend even as Flea moved closer, making an offer to provide them with an evening of entertainment. Aramis smiled as he took her in his arms, keeping up the ruse for the men who followed them. As she leaned into him, she tipped her head upwards, whispering, "Porthos has been hurt. Follow me."
He allowed Flea to remove herself from his embrace, keeping an arm around her waist as they walked, "Come, Athos, this lovely lady has made us a proposition we can't refuse." Athos merely offered a short nod and followed along as Flea and Aramis continued their flirtation. As they passed by an abandoned storefront, she pulled Aramis inside, Athos following immediately on his heels, and as soon as they were clear of the door, two men shifted boards to cover up the entrance while Flea led the way to an exit at the back. From there, they navigated through a series of alleys and back streets as Flea guided them deeper into the Court. When they arrived, Flea pointed toward the bed that sat along the far wall of the room, a familiar head full of dark curls resting on the thin pillow. "Porthos," Aramis breathed out, crossing the room to his friend's side as Athos followed more sedately, allowing the medic the opportunity to examine the injured man.
Aramis sat on the side of the bed and loosened the bandages that bound Porthos' shoulder, wincing at the still slowly seeping wound. Turning back to Flea he asked, "Do you have any wine or brandy, and more clean bandages?"
"Yes," she answered as she moved away to collect the requested items.
Aramis was already shrugging out of his doublet and rolling up his shirtsleeves, pulling a small leather packet from a pouch at his waist, opening it before laying it out on Porthos' chest. Athos stood at his shoulder and peered at Porthos' wound, recognizing that it would need to be closed before the man lost any more blood or succumbed to infection. When Flea returned, Aramis took the items she'd brought and moved to douse his needle with wine, while Athos took his place and attempted to wake the large Musketeer. Placing a gentle hand on Porthos cheek, he tapped it, calling his name, "Porthos, can you wake up for me. It's Athos and Aramis; we're both here with you and you're safe."
He watched as Porthos drew a deeper inhale and then opened his eyes, his lips quirking slightly as Porthos offered him a slight grin. "Athos," he breathed out.
Athos gave a small nod and moved his hand to his friend's chest, unwilling to break the contact just yet. "What happened?" he asked.
Porthos gave a half-shrug with his good shoulder, "We were followed after we found Christophe. I sent Flea and the boy ahead while I took care of 'em."
Athos raised an inquiring eyebrow at Flea who nodded, confirming the Musketeer's story. "There were four of them," she added, and Athos could have sworn he detected a hint of pride in her voice.
Turning back to face Porthos, he explained, "Your wound needs to be stitched. Can you handle it?"
Porthos grimaced but nodded, "Yeah, I'll be alright."
Athos relinquished his seat as Aramis returned, the medic grinning broadly at seeing his friend awake. Holding the needle up so Porthos could see it, he confirmed, "Are you certain you don't want Athos to knock you out?"
Eyes darting to where Flea stood, he shook his head again, a bit of frustration bleeding into his tone, "I'm fine, Aramis, just get on with it." Aramis dipped his head to the task, hiding the mocking smile that threatened at Porthos' desire to appear strong in front of his former love. After he'd cleaned, closed and re-bandaged the wound, Aramis allowed Flea closer and she wiped at Porthos' face with a wet cloth, removing the sheen of sweat that sat there.
Aramis and Athos moved several steps away, Athos looking expectantly at the medic, "As long as infection doesn't set in, he should be fine."
"Can he be moved?" Athos asked, uncomfortable with the idea of leaving their friend where he was.
Aramis gave a nod, "Yes, but he won't like it. Although he'd never say anything, he's hurting and will be weak from blood loss."
They repositioned themselves next to Porthos' bed, Aramis indicating to Flea to stay where she was with a hand. "Where is the boy?" Athos enquired.
It was Flea who replied, "I have him next door with several of my most trusted men. I promise, no harm will come to him."
"What did you learn from him?" Athos continued, needing to know that Porthos had put his life at risk for good reason.
"Rochefort," Porthos answered, a small huff of laughter coming from his chest. "The boy called him stinky cheese."
Athos looked confused but Aramis' face lit up as he said, "Ah, Roquefort cheese. A simple enough mistake, I think."
"All the evidence points to him although the question remains, why would he want the Ambassador dead?" Athos mused.
"Time enough to think about that once we're back," Aramis interjected. "Porthos, do you think you can manage the trip back with our help?"
"Yeah," Porthos confirmed, already trying to sit up, Flea reaching for his arm to help him accomplish the task.
"Do you have his clothes?" Aramis asked and the woman left the bed to gather the Musketeer's bloodied shirt and doublet. The two men helped Porthos dress, the large man sitting unsteadily on the edge of the bed, Aramis fashioning a sling for his arm afterwards to alleviate some of the pain caused by the weight of his arm. When they'd finished, they pulled him to his feet and Aramis steadied him while Athos took his weapons from Flea and attached them at Porthos' waist. "Just lean on us as we go, Porthos," Aramis advised and Porthos nodded in understanding, his head already hanging heavily from his neck. "If anyone asks, we'll say you had too much wine."
That drew a small grin from the large man and he mumbled, "Can hold my drink better than you."
Aramis snorted in amusement as he agreed, "Yes, you certainly can, my friend, but not tonight."
Athos and Aramis both gave Flea a look of gratitude as they guided Porthos outside, one of the men leaving his post at the door to lead them out of the Court. They moved slowly, Porthos' feet leaden and uncoordinated, but between them they soon had him safely ensconced in Athos' bed, his rooms being the nearest to where they'd been. Porthos had been nearly unconscious by the time they'd arrived and they'd efficiently stripped him down to his braies, Aramis pressing a cup of water on his friend before he was allowed to rest. The medic now sat next to the bed to watch over the man, while Athos prepared to go out again, intending to return to the garrison to update Treville.
Without turning, Aramis called out, "Stay sharp out there, Athos. There's no telling what depths the Red Guards will stoop to as Rochefort grows more desperate." Athos gave a nod even though he knew his friend would not see it. "Oh, and stop by my rooms and bring my bag – you know the one. I want to have my supplies at hand in case they're needed." Aramis heard the door open and close as he settled in to wait, confident that Athos would report to the Captain and bring back his medical bag.
Athos was gone longer than Aramis had expected and, by the time he actually returned, the medic had been starting to consider what he would do if something had happened to Athos while he sat at Porthos' side. When the Musketeer arrived, Aramis released a long exhale, sending a quick prayer of thanks for keeping his friend safe. Athos merely lifted an eyebrow in his direction but didn't comment, walking to the table to sit and pour himself a glass of wine. Aramis took a last look at Porthos before joining him, waiting expectantly. Athos pushed the requested bag of medical supplies over to him and Aramis took it with an appreciative nod. "The Captain and I discussed strategy so it took me longer than I expected to get back." Aramis knew the words were for his sake and he gave another short nod of understanding. "I've advised him of Rochefort's involvement as well as Porthos' wound. We have tomorrow for ourselves and then we're on duty at the palace the following day. It will give us the opportunity to get away and search Rochefort's rooms while he's occupied with other matters."
"That's not much of plan," Aramis countered. "What if Rochefort leaves?"
"Treville will be there as well. He will engage the man in conversation about the attention we've been receiving from the Red Guards since d'Artagnan's escape. Rochefort will have no choice but to remain and defend his actions to the King," Athos explained, taking a drink of his wine. "How is Porthos?"
Aramis glanced over at the sleeping man, "He hasn't woken and is resting well."
Athos' shoulders released a little of their tension at the good news. "It's late. Why don't you go back to your rooms and get some sleep?" Athos suggested.
Aramis shook his head, a rueful smile on his face, "I think it best if we stay together for the next few days." Rising, he returned to his seat next to the bed. "Besides, I can rest here as easily as I can in my own bed." With that, he rested his feet on the edge of the bed, leaning back as he tipped his hat over his eyes.
Athos had expected nothing less and he finished his glass of wine before settling himself as comfortably as he could in his chair, waiting for the night to pass.
Their day of rest had passed quietly, Porthos continuing to improve as his friends ensured he ate and slept. Aramis had confirmed that the wound was free of infection, but it would be another couple of days before he was comfortable allowing the large man to move any further than a trip to the chamber pot. Porthos had protested, as they knew he would, but the two men were adamant that he would stay where he was, regardless of the fact that he'd displaced Athos from his bed.
On the following day, Porthos' mood had darkened considerably, unhappy about the plan that would have two of them at the palace, with one of them in harm's way as they searched Rochefort's rooms. Aramis allowed an exasperated sigh to escape as he placed a hand on his friend's uninjured shoulder, "Porthos, everything will be fine. The Captain will be there to keep the man busy. What could possibly go wrong?"
Aramis cringed as he spoke the words, Athos coming to stand beside him as he repeated dryly, "Yes, what could possibly go wrong."
Aramis threw his hands in the air as he replied, "Oh, you know what I mean." Athos placed a hand on the medic's arm as their eyes met, letting him know he understood.
Turning to the bedridden man, he assured, "Everything will be alright and worrying will not help any. Rest and we'll be back to share our news later this afternoon."
Porthos was still unhappy, but there was little that could be done. He was not yet fit for duty and his presence at the palace might raise questions that they preferred not to have to answer. "Watch yourselves," he said, meeting each man's gaze in turn before they headed out.
The day outside was bright with sunshine, the residual coolness from the evening already beginning to burn off as they made their way to the garrison. Once there, they joined the others on duty that day and reported to the palace, the Captain efficiently organizing them into their various posts, both inside and outside of the royals' residence. Athos and Aramis remained close to Treville, waiting for Rochefort to appear so one of them could take advantage and slip away. Aramis had argued vehemently that he should be the one to go but Athos had overruled him, unyielding in his stance that he would not see any more of his friends hurt by Rochefort's actions. Finally, their opportunity arrived, Rochefort, Treville and the King all in the same room, and Athos glided quietly away as the Captain engaged his counterpart in conversation. As he left, Aramis drifted closer to the door, seemingly out of deference to the men's discussion, but in truth planting himself in the way of anyone trying to exit, should the need arise for him to delay Rochefort's departure from the room.
Athos made his way swiftly down the hallway and up a set of stairs, which he knew were most often used by the numerous servants who ensured the smooth running of the palace. He passed by one or two others, but the staff were used to seeing Musketeers around and no one gave him a second look. He was nearing the door to Rochefort's rooms when a voice called his name. He flinched at the sound and stopped, turning around with greater calm that he felt. Moving toward him was Constance Bonacieux, a curious look on her face.
When she'd drawn near, he greeted her, "Madame Bonacieux. Can I help you with something?"
Constance pursed her lips and she looked both ways down the hall and then spared a glance for the door that stood several feet away from them. "What are you looking for?"
Athos' brow furrowed at her question, "To what are you referring?"
Constance face turned impatient at his answer, "What are you looking for in Rochefort's rooms?"
Athos' eyes darted to the door, realizing that the woman had figured out his intent. Deciding to trust her, he lowered his voice as he replied, "If I can find the Queen's letter to her brother, it will go a long way to shaking the King's faith in Rochefort and may give us the leverage we need to clear d'Artagnan's name."
Bonacieux nodded, the same thought having crossed her mind already. "Alright then. You keep watch out here and I'll go have a look."
As she made to move toward the door, Athos gripped her arm, a look of alarm on his face. "I do not think d'Artagnan would approve of me allowing you to take such a risk."
Constance narrowed her eyes at him and Athos could see the inner strength she possessed and which had drawn his protégé to her. "If you think that I'm going to stand by and allow d'Artagnan to hang, then you're sorely mistaken." She looked pointedly at her arm where Athos' hand still sat. Reluctantly, he released her and she cracked the door open, slipping softly inside as Athos positioned himself in front of it. It would still be awkward to explain their presence, but perhaps not quite as difficult if he were discovered in the Comte's rooms. Taking a steadying breath, he prayed that Constance would be quick.
When Athos was re-entering the room where the King was holding court, he could clearly hear the somewhat raised voices from within, reassuring him that their ruse had worked. Aramis moved aside casually when he caught the movement of the door and positioned himself next to Athos once his friend was inside. With a questioning look, he received confirmation from Athos that he'd at the very least remained undiscovered, but anything more would need to wait until they were within the garrison walls. The Captain turned his head slightly, noting his lieutenant's presence and wrapped up his conversation, voicing a last warning to the Comte to stop interfering with the Musketeers' ability to carry out their orders.
Taking his leave, Treville strode quickly toward the two friends, the men parting and allowing their commander to lead the way out. Silence reigned as they collected their horses and departed the palace grounds, navigating the streets toward the garrison. When they arrived, all of them handed their horses off to the stable boy and the Captain ordered them to gather food from the kitchen, indicating they would be retreating to Athos' rooms for dinner. Mildly surprised but grateful, the two men did as he asked and then set out once more, eager to not only hear what Athos had found but to confirm that Porthos was no worse for his day alone.
When Athos pushed open the door to his room, he was pleased to see Porthos sitting at the table, gently working to clean his dagger with his uninjured arm. Aramis and Treville followed him in, the former heading directly for the large Musketeer, intent on checking his wound. While he did so, Athos and Treville laid out the food they'd brought, the older Musketeer augmenting their repast with a couple bottles of wine from his personal stock. Once Aramis had satisfied himself that Porthos was doing well, they all sat down to eat.
"So, tell me already," Porthos beseeched between bites of stew. "I've spent the whole day by myself, worrying, so don't make me wait any longer."
Athos looked up from his food, a smile playing on his face at the knowledge that none of them were yet privy to what he'd found out. Setting his bowl back on the table, his hand slipped inside his doublet and he withdrew a piece of parchment, Treville reaching for it before it could be set down. Aramis and Porthos watched as the Captain read the message, folding it up again when he was done. "It's the Queen's letter," he confirmed with a sigh.
"The question is, will the King and Queen believe that Rochefort held onto it or will he again twist the facts in his favour?" Aramis wondered out loud.
The recovery of the letter was fortuitous, but how they should proceed now that they had it was a different story altogether. The men continued eating in silence for several minutes until it was broken by Athos. "I believe our best chance is to confront Rochefort and convince him that the evidence we have is sufficient for the King to question his loyalty. We may be able to bargain with him to help us clear d'Artagnan's name in return for our silence."
Treville watched his lieutenant carefully as he mulled over the plan. Aramis and Porthos were both silent as well, but it was obvious they were leaning towards agreeing with Athos' suggestion. "Alright, let's try it. But," the Captain cautioned, "we cannot keep this letter around for too long, lest it either fall into the wrong hands or be used against us. Also, you must be certain that whatever Rochefort proposes permanently proves d'Artagnan's innocence. We cannot have this rear its ugly head again in the future."
The three men nodded their agreement. "I'm lookin' forward to havin' a talk with Rochefort about this," Porthos stated, a wicked grin on his face.
Treville and Athos both glanced at Aramis to see what he thought about Porthos' involvement. "You'll keep that arm in a sling for now and let us take the lead on this," Aramis warned. "I'll not have you undo my fine needlework."
Treville trusted Aramis' opinion and understood the men's need to confront Rochefort together about what he'd done to their fourth. "Very well. I'll expect a report once you've spoken with the Comte," he advised, rising from the table. Athos stood with him and walked him to the door. "I'll need to send word to Brigitte soon. It would be best if we were able to bring good news to her in person."
Athos smiled softly at the implication that they could ride out to his sister's and bring their Gascon home once he'd been cleared. "Yes, sir," he replied as he closed the door behind the Captain. He returned to sit with his friends, his eyes landing on the parchment that Treville had left, its presence proof of the faith he had in his men.
Aramis' eyes followed as Athos' fingers closed around the letter and he asked, "Any suggestions about where we should hide that?"
Athos played with the parchment absently for several moments, before laying it back down on the table in front of him. "We keep it with us," he replied, decisively. "And once we've cleared d'Artagnan, we destroy it."
Meeting both men's gazes, Aramis reached for the parchment and, when neither man protested, he slipped it into his boot. He and Porthos both knew that Athos would take the lead in the coming confrontation with Rochefort and they couldn't risk having him discovered with the letter in his possession. Athos gave him a nod of thanks which Aramis returned, and the two turned their attention back to Porthos.
"What?" the large man asked when he noticed that he'd become the centre of their focus.
"You were wounded and are still recovering," Athos stated, rising to help the other man to his feet.
Aramis went to Porthos' other side and grasped his upper arm, tugging slightly to get him to stand. "And I would wager that you spent most of the day out of bed, worrying and waiting for us to return."
"But it's still early," Porthos protested as he was guided to the bed. "The sun only set a little while ago."
"Hmm," Athos hummed as he pushed his friend to sit on the edge of the bed, already kneeling to remove his boots. At his head, Aramis was manoeuvering Porthos out of his shirt, a somewhat more painful process as his injured shoulder was jostled, reawakening the ache within it.
"I don't need a nursemaid," Porthos tried once more as Athos lifted his legs onto the bed, Aramis working to deftly turn the large man's body so he could lay down.
Aramis turned a serious look on his friend, allowing all the concern he had for the man to bleed through, "We know that you don't need a nursemaid but, if you're to be well enough to accompany us to collect d'Artagnan, you need to rest now, while you can. The ride will be uncomfortable enough as it is."
Porthos glanced from Aramis' face to Athos' and saw the same level of worry reflected in the older man's eyes. With a soft huff, he agreed, "Fine, but I doubt I'll be able to sleep yet."
Aramis smiled as he said, "That's fine. I'll just sit here with you for a little while and read, shall I?" At Porthos' nod, Aramis picked up the book that sat on Athos' bedside table, glancing briefly at the title before allowing it to open, reading from the first passage that appeared.
Athos retreated to his chair at the table and listened to Aramis' soft, even tones, lulling their friend into a more relaxed state, and making his eyelids grow heavy. Aramis continued to read even after Porthos' eyes had closed, his breaths evening out with sleep, and Athos sipped at his wine, comfortable to let the medic's voice roll over him. When he stopped, Aramis carefully closed the book without a sound, glancing at Athos who raised his glass in salute of a job well done. They both knew that Porthos would have pushed himself to stay awake, setting back his recovery as a result; fortunately, he was never able to keep his eyes open for long when one of them read to him, and it was an almost guaranteed method of coaxing the man to get the sleep he so desperately needed.
Aramis smiled back at Athos before standing to remove his weapons and doublet, preparing to sleep as well. He resumed his protective position at Porthos' bedside, as he had the previous night, and closed his eyes while Athos looked on. Scrubbing a hand across his face, Athos conceded to himself that he would need to get some sleep that night as well, not trusting himself to be sharp enough to deal with Rochefort the following day after two nights of minimal rest. With a resigned sign, he placed his wine glass on the table and lifted his feet onto the chair next to him, settling as comfortably as he was able before closing his eyes. As he drifted off, his last thoughts were of d'Artagnan, hope burning like a small flame beneath closed lids as his anticipation of bringing the boy home grew.