Thank you to everyone for the continued encouraging reviews and for not sending hate mail, given d'Artagnan's absence from the last two chapters. He's back now and I hope you enjoy.
It had been six days since d'Artagnan had made his escape and the men were on edge, waiting anxiously for some indication that Rochefort had held up his end of the bargain. Whether they liked it or not, a message would need to be sent to Treville's sister the following day and, if no resolution was forthcoming, the message would be to run. As those thoughts consumed Athos' brain, he couldn't help but be transported back to the night when he'd asked d'Artagnan to run for the first time. The look on the Gascon's face had been a mix of trepidation and disappointment, and Athos had nearly withdrawn his request in an attempt to wipe the expression from the boy's face. But it had been for the best, giving the three of them the precious time they needed to find the true killer. Granted, the solution they'd found was not quite as planned, but it would hopefully produce the same result and clear the Gascon's name.
They'd eaten their evening meal at the garrison that night and still sat outside, nursing their glasses of wine as things quieted down around them, the men's training finished for the day and many of the Musketeers retiring or leaving to find entertainment elsewhere. The sound of hoof beats reached them before the rider entered the courtyard and they were surprised to see a Red Guard dismount, making his way unerringly up the stairs to Treville's office. Without exchanging a word, the inseparables rose from their seats and followed in the man's wake, boldly entering behind the guardsman as he presented himself to their Captain.
"A message from the palace," the man said as he handed the parchment to Treville. With a nod, the Captain excused the man and waited until he'd left and Athos had closed the door behind him before he opened the missive.
"I've been summoned to appear immediately in front of the King. It seems there is news regarding d'Artagnan," Treville explained.
The note was ambiguous enough that it generated a spike of fear in each man's heart, since it was just as possible that d'Artagnan had been found and apprehended, as it was that the Ambassador's true killer had been identified. The Captain slipped the parchment into his doublet and reached for his hat, securing it solidly as he nodded toward the door, "What are you waiting for?"
Athos opened the door and led the way out, the men making short work of saddling their horses for the ride to the palace. For once, the King didn't make them stand on ceremony, waiting for hours before he deigned to speak with them, and they were led inside almost immediately. Rochefort was already there and Treville gave a short nod of greeting before standing in front of the King, bowing before him, his three men mimicking his actions behind him.
"Treville, Rochefort has news and was insistent that you be advised tonight," the King beamed, his pride evident by the smile on his face.
The Comte turned his attention away from the King as he explained, "My men apprehended a man tonight who admitted to the murder of Ambassador Perales. Apparently, he was a displaced countryman who found your man's weapons discarded in a back alley and he saw the opportunity to kill the Ambassador without having any blame attached to him."
Treville's eyes narrowed at the Comte's statement. "That is certainly good news, especially since d'Artagnan was innocent as I had stated all along. With your permission, I will go and question this man. I assume he's at the Chatelet?"
Rochefort's face turned apologetic as he replied, "Sadly, the man resisted and was killed while he was being transported. It was only luck that we got his confession before he passed."
"That was indeed fortunate," the Captain replied dryly. Turning to face the King, he asked, "Does this mean that d'Artagnan's no longer a fugitive?"
The King's head bobbed in agreement, "Yes, although he may be charged with desertion if he doesn't return to the regiment soon. I trust that won't be an issue?"
Treville smiled to himself at the King's perceptiveness, not outright accusing him but letting him know that he assumed the Musketeers' complicity in the Gascon's disappearance. "I certainly hope not, your Majesty. My men and I will put forth every effort to find the boy and return to him to duty post haste." It was an ambiguous enough answer that seemed to satisfy the royal while not admitting any wrongdoing, and the King waved a hand in dismissal.
With another bow, the Musketeers withdrew, Rochefort following several steps later. When the door had closed behind them, Athos slowed his pace, allowing the others to outdistance him while the Comte drew abreast. "Do not think that I will be quick to forget these threats, Athos," he hissed.
With an inherent calmness, Athos responded, "I don't think there's any chance of that, Rochefort. After all, I take any attack against my brothers very seriously." With a tip of his hat, the Musketeer turned and followed the others, content to leave Rochefort fuming at having been outmanoeuvered.
The hour was late by the time they returned to the garrison and, as they dismounted, Treville gave them all a hard look. "Get some rest tonight," holding up a hand to stave off any protests, he continued, "that's an order. We'll leave first thing tomorrow to visit my sister. There have been reports of bandits along the road and I'll need men I can trust to accompany me." The three ducked their heads in acknowledgement as the Captain strode off, content that the following day would have them reunited with their missing fourth.
d'Artagnan had surprised himself by falling back asleep after his conversation with Madame Trémaux. When he woke, he felt restless and, despite the continued ache in his ribs and head, he was desperate to get out of bed. The process of getting up was made somewhat easier by the fact that he was still propped partly upright by several pillows and he braced himself with his arms on the mattress, pushing himself further forward, the motion pulling a gasp from him at the sharp pain in his flank. Flipping the blanket off, he shimmied his body until his legs dangled off the side of the bed. He grimaced as he looked down the length of his body, just now discovering that he was naked, save for his braies. The thought made him flush with embarrassment as he realized it was likely Trémaux who'd undressed him. Pushing the thought aside, he scanned the room, looking for his clothes and spotting them neatly folded in a pile on a chair by the large picture window.
He attempted to draw a deeper breath, stopping at the stab of pain in his side, the hitched inhale causing him to want to cough and he swallowed desperately to prevent it. When the need to cough had passed, he took a careful breath, and then pushed up to his feet. The change in elevation made his head pound and for several seconds, his vision dimmed. When it had cleared, he set his sights on the chair that stood across the room and gingerly took his first step, pleased when his legs held him without too much difficulty. He placed a hand on the table that sat next to the chair and braced himself as he slowly bent forward enough to snag his clothes so he could sit. Moments later he was sitting in the chair, his breathing still labored and shallow but a look of satisfaction adorned his face at having successfully made it there on his own.
Dressing while favoring broken ribs was a challenge that d'Artagnan hoped never to have to face again, and he'd managed to pull on his breeches and was struggling with his shirt when a knock on the door startled him. As he was deciding what to do, the door opened and Madame Trémaux entered, carrying another tray of food. She was surprised by the empty bed, spying him almost immediately by the window and she put down the food she carried before walking over to help. "Denys," she scolded, "you shouldn't be out of bed." As she talked, she deftly slipped the shirt over his head, helping him thread his arms into the sleeves. "How are you feeling?"
Her expression was full of genuine concern and, for a moment, d'Artagnan was reminded of another who'd looked at him in the same way. A flash of confusion showed on his face as the memory disappeared as quickly as it had come and the woman placed a hand on his shoulder at his reaction. "Is everything alright," she asked.
"Yes," d'Artagnan dredged up a smile, feeling guilty about having worried her. "You just reminded me of someone."
Trémaux's face lit up at his words, ""That's wonderful. Does that mean your memory is returning?"
d'Artagnan shook his head as he answered, "I don't know. There was a glimpse of a face and then it was gone. I've no idea who she is."
Trémaux made sure she kept smiling as she tried to reassure the young man, "I'm certain it will all come back to you in time. Now, I've brought lunch. Would you like to eat here?" d'Artagnan gave a nod and she rose from her chair, bringing the tray over and seating herself across from him. As she placed a plate in front of him, she noticed how closely he was observing her. Meeting his gaze, she said, "You have more questions for me. Please, feel free to ask and I will answer what I can."
d'Artagnan ducked his head shyly for a moment at how obvious he'd been, but his face was serious when he looked back up at her. "I realize that I don't even know your name."
Trémaux gave a small laugh as she placed a hand on his and gave it a gently squeeze, "I am Brigitte Trémaux, your cousin, remember?"
d'Artagnan gave a nod, recalling what she'd told him earlier about being family. He ate slowly as he listened to her explain about her husband's work, and that he had graciously offered to come and help out while her husband was travelling. Next, she told him about how Gilles had praised his skills with the horses and how sad they would all be to see him leave. d'Artagnan listened attentively, focusing on taking careful bites in between measured breaths, finding it a challenge to manage both while his ribs ached.
When they'd finished eating, d'Artagnan made another request, "Would it be alright if I went outside for a little while?" Brigitte looked torn, recognizing the boy's need to get away from the confines of the room in which he'd laid for several days, but still worried about him being seen by too many of the staff. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and she hurriedly called, "Come in."
Gilles stood in the doorway and his face broke into a broad grin when he saw d'Artagnan out of bed and sitting upright. Striding forward, he said, "Denys, it's good to see you up. How are you feeling?"
"Better, thank you," d'Artagnan answered politely as he racked his brain, trying to place the man who so obviously knew him.
Brigitte saved him by introducing Gilles, "Denys, this is Gilles. Remember, I spoke to you about him. You probably don't recall, but he was the one who found you and brought you back to the house after your accident."
d'Artagnan gave a nod, "Thank you, Gilles. I'm grateful for your help."
"No need for thanks. If that hound hadn't gotten out, you wouldn't have been thrown from the horse in the first place," Gilles explained.
"Gilles, Denys was just asking if he could spend some time outside. Would you be willing to accompany him?" Brigitte asked.
"Of course," Gilles replied eagerly. "It's a warm day, but I think you'll want your boots before we go."
d'Artagnan correctly read the amusement in the man's eyes as he teased, and the Gascon smiled at the comment, leaning over to reach for his boots, but stopping abruptly at the pain that flared in his head and side. Gilles was moving immediately and he crouched down in front of the boy, pushing him back upright slowly with a hand on one shoulder as his other hand reached for the boots. "How about you just sit there and I'll handle these," he suggested.
d'Artagnan gave him a grateful nod, not yet able to speak as he battled to control his pain. Gilles eased the young man's feet into his boots and then helped him stand, holding his arms for several seconds as his eyes closed against the dizziness. Trading concerned looks with Madame Trémaux he asked, "Are we sure this is a good idea?"
d'Artagnan's eyes popped open, a determined look on his face, "I'm fine. Please, I just want to get out of this room for a while."
Brigitte saw the need in his face and nodded reluctantly, "Promise me you won't go far and you'll turn back if you need to." d'Artagnan gave her a disarming smile of thanks and Brigitte was reminded of her brother's words about how much trouble his men could charm their way into. "Alright then, go. I expect you back in no more than an hour."
"Thank you," d'Artagnan breathed out softly and Brigitte nodded in acknowledgement, watching as Gilles led the way out, the young man trailing carefully behind him.
d'Artagnan had wanted to see where he'd been hurt, hoping it might pull some further memories from his fractured mind, but Gilles had been hesitant to allow him to walk such a distance. The young man's pleading had convinced the older man to at least begin walking in that direction, after providing an additional promise that he would turn back if it became too much. Gilles kept their pace slow, concerned at the guarded inhales the boy was taking, not missing the breathless quality of his voice when he tried to speak and walk at the same time. No matter how slow their pace, d'Artagnan was determined to cover the distance to the manège and stubbornly pushed himself to continue forward, happily bracing himself against a fencepost when they arrived.
Gilles pointed to a newly-repaired section of fencing as he explained, "That's where you landed. You'd been working with one of the newer horses when Madame Trémaux's dog startled it." His eyes clouded over for a moment with the memory of the young man's body lying motionless, the hound licking at the blood that trickled from his temple. "It could have been much worse, I suppose." d'Artagnan nodded absently as he looked around, willing his memories to return, but only succeeding in making the throbbing in his head worse. "Do you remember anything?"
"No," d'Artagnan breathed out, disappointment clear in the slump of his shoulders as he continued to cradle his ribs with a hand.
"It can't be comfortable to be moving around with two broken ribs," he motioned at the boy's flank. "Perhaps we should head back so you can rest?"
d'Artagnan seemed ready to argue but he gave a small nod and pushed away from the fence, beginning the trek back to the house. They were within 50 feet of the door when they heard the sound of approaching riders and both men stopped to look at the gate. The Gascon was gripped by an unaccountable fear as they waited but Gilles' posture was calm and curious, suggesting there was no need for alarm. d'Artagnan's body ached and he motioned to Gilles toward the house, indicating his intention to return. Gilles gave him a quick nod before returning his gaze to the courtyard entrance, and the young man moved away, shocked at how much the short outing had drained him. In addition to the relentless ache that consumed him, he was feeling increasingly lightheaded as his body reacted to the lowered levels of air he was taking in.
When he reached the bottom of the stairs that led to the front door, he stopped, needing to collect his waning energy before ascending. As he leaned against the handrail, he looked back to see a half-dozen riders approaching. The men stopped in front of Gilles and he could hear the men talking although they were too far away to make out any of the words. A half-minute passed and he watched one of the riders point to him, Gilles looking over his shoulder and then turning back to the man he'd been speaking with, shaking his head.
As d'Artagnan watched, one of the riders pulled a pistol and shot Gilles, the man dropping to his knees with a howl as he gripped his thigh tightly. The young man found himself trembling with the shock of the brutal act and was frozen in place, one part of him wanting to move forward to help Gilles while the other part was telling him to run away. Seconds later three of the men dismounted, two of them walking toward him and he could hear a strangled shout from Gilles, which was abruptly cut off as the third man backhanded him, making him topple sideways to the ground.
d'Artagnan gasped as Gilles fell and his hand automatically moved to his flank, trying to push away the pain that sat there. A voice from the doorway called to him and he saw Brigitte running toward him. In a panic, he shook his head and waved a hand at her to go back, but she was beside him seconds later, pushing something into his hands. It was a sword and d'Artagnan gripped it automatically, not stopping to question why it felt so right in his hand. "Please, go back inside," d'Artagnan pleaded, pushing the woman behind him as he turned to face the approaching men, his earlier weakness temporarily overcome by anger and adrenaline. He was aware that Brigitte had moved to stand two steps higher, but had stopped there and d'Artagnan was resolute in his desire to keep her safe, standing off against the approaching bandits. One of the men drew his sword, placing a hand on his companion's chest to stop his forward movement, as he stepped forward to engage the fugitive they'd come for.
"Come with us now and no one else needs to get hurt," the man called.
d'Artagnan's brow furrowed in confusion at the man's words. "Do I know you?" he asked.
The man let out a mirthless chuckle, "No, but we know you and we're takin' you back to Paris."
The man's comment was meaningless and d'Artagnan could hear Brigitte's words behind him, begging him not to listen. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
The man didn't wait any longer, simply lunging forward to swipe at the Gascon, d'Artagnan barely managing to bring his blade up to block the strike, the power of it reverberating through him. Another blow had him parrying again, gasping in pain at the strength of the hit. No matter how unwavering his will, his body was already beginning to forsake him, his flagging strength failing as it drained from him like water through a sieve. Trying to buy himself a little time, he took a couple steps sideways as he asked, "Who are you?"
The man grinned humourlessly, "I am the bounty hunter who will collect the price on your head, boy."
"Bounty?" d'Artagnan echoed, his attention dropping for a moment until a cry of alarm from Brigitte had his arm rising instinctively to block the sword aimed at his injured side. The blade he held seemed to be getting heavier and d'Artagnan realized that it was not the steel but his arm that was the issue, his muscles protesting loudly at the effort he was forcing from them. His attacker had slowed his attack and now seemed to be staring at him as he circled calmly, waiting for his strength to abandon him.
d'Artagnan took another faltering step back, trying to increase the distance between them, but he stumbled, going down to one knee, a low sound of pain escaping his throat as his injuries protested. The man was moving forward again, seeing his prey weak enough to be overcome and d'Artagnan battled to stand but his legs weren't cooperating. Two steps later the man was within striking range and, without thought, d'Artagnan's left hand flew upwards, catching the man's sword arm as it arced above his head, intending to strike him with the pommel. Mere moments later d'Artagnan's hand was already shaking as he refused to let go of the man's arm, his side shrieking with the agony of the hold he was trying to maintain. Shakily, he lifted his right arm and brought his blade up, driving it into the man's stomach. His attacker fell forward on top of him, and d'Artagnan was unable to brace himself as they fell to the ground, the force of the man's weight landing on him pulling another weak cry from his chest.
d'Artagnan knew he was finished, his body too weak and in too much pain to even move the man's body and he waited, resigned, hoping that the others would at least come for him quickly so he didn't have to endure laying beneath the dead man for long. He startled when the weight that held him was suddenly shifted, Brigitte rolling the man's body off him and tugging at d'Artagnan's arm. He blinked at her in confusion, not understanding the words coming from her mouth, but seeing her lips moving nonetheless. Somehow, she managed to get him to his feet and he found himself leaning on her heavily as she dragged him into the house. He caught a glimpse of the other men moving toward them as they passed through the doorway, Brigitte pushing it closed behind her but having no time to lock or barricade it afterwards.
The world was tilting heavily now and d'Artagnan swallowed against the nausea that churned in his belly, focusing on nothing more than placing one foot in front of the other. His awareness dimmed for several seconds and his next conscious thought had him looking at a set of stairs, Brigitte trying to get him to take the first step downwards. Again, he struggled to comply, still leaning on the slight woman but also placing a hand on the wall beside him to further steady his descent. At the bottom of the stairs, he lost the battle against his upset stomach, folding forward as he retched helplessly while Brigitte tugged at a solid wood door. d'Artagnan absently thought he should try to help her, but the message didn't seem to make it to his muscles and he watched her dumbly as she finally got the door open before pulling him inside.
d'Artagnan knew she was trying to be gentle but he almost slipped out of her arms as she propped him against the wall, disentangling herself from his hold to pull the door closed behind them before barring it. Brigitte turned from the door with a sigh of relief and watched as the young man's slid down the wall to sit on his backside, eyes rolling back in his head as he lost consciousness.
When awareness returned, the pain in his body almost overwhelmed his senses and his breath hitched uncomfortably, his hand moving instinctively to his side to quiet the ache. His hand was caught in another's and d'Artagnan's brow furrowed as he felt the soft skin. Eyes fluttering open had Brigitte moving closer, the relief evident on her face as she looked down at the injured man who she'd managed to lay out on his back. d'Artagnan blinked muzzily up at her as his senses slowly returned, cataloging the weight that seemed to sit on his chest, making it difficult to take a proper breath, and the cold that seemed to be seeping into his bones. "I'm glad you're awake," Brigitte said, startling the young man as his mind had already begun to drift elsewhere. "How are you feeling?"
d'Artagnan was quiet for several seconds as he considered what to share, his eyes roaming around, taking in their surroundings. He knew he'd lost some time, but he had a vague recollection of running away, making him doubt that they were in any position to do anything about his array of complaints. "Fine," he finally answered, making motions to sit up.
Brigitte placed a hand on his chest to stop him, alarm clear on her face, "I don't think that's a good idea."
d'Artagnan grunted, but didn't stop in his efforts, "Need to sit up. Ground's freezing."
With a rueful expression, Brigitte realized the truth of his words and shifted her hands to help pull him up, guiding him so he was leaning against a wall. d'Artagnan gave a short nod of thanks as he caught his breath. "Where are we?" he asked, eyes still closed against the pain that movement had reawakened.
"In the cellar," Brigitte replied. "It's the only place that has a solid enough door for us to hide behind." She looked uncertain now as she explained, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."
d'Artagnan opened his eyes at her apology, reaching a hand to squeeze hers, "There's no need for apology. Your quick thinking saved my life." Stopping to draw another breath, he asked, "Do you have any idea who those men were?"
Brigitte bit her lip nervously, noting the desperation in the young man's eyes and concluding that he needed to know the truth, if only to be able to deal with whatever happened next. "I haven't been entirely honest with you," she began. "Your name is not Denys, it is d'Artagnan. You are a Musketeer under the command of my brother, Captain Treville." She paused, detesting the idea that he would have to relive the events of his downfall, without any recollection of anything that had happened to him. "You were accused and convicted of killing a man, but my brother is convinced of your innocence. Three of your brothers helped you escape the night before your execution and sent you here to hide until they could clear your name."
d'Artagnan's expression was stricken and Brigitte watched helplessly at the turmoil of emotions that her words had wrought. Squeezing his hand, she tried to reassure him, "d'Artagnan, you are a good man. If my brother had not thought so, he would not have aided your escape nor sent you here to me. You must believe me."
The Gascon gave a small nod, clearly overwhelmed by the news that he was a convicted murderer. "That's why those men are after me," he breathed out and Brigitte nodded in reply.
She was startled to see him try to gain his feet, bracing himself on the wall behind him. As she stood with him, she asked, "What are you doing?"
He met her eyes and she was shocked by the depth of despair that pooled there. "If I give myself up, they'll leave you alone. You'll be safe."
"No," she moved to stand in front of the door, blocking his way to the exit. "I do not believe that. These men are cruel and do not care who they hurt. Otherwise, why would they have shot Gilles?" she countered.
d'Artagnan felt a pang of guilt at having forgotten about Gilles, but it was not enough to deter him and he moved forward once more, Brigitte still refusing to move. "I have to try. My life is not worth you losing yours."
Brigitte straightened her shoulders at his words and d'Artagnan had a vague recollection of someone else doing the same. "Charles d'Artagnan, I forbid you to give yourself up to these men. Their actions have proven their dishonour and I fear you would not reach Paris alive. We're better off waiting for my brother to arrive."
He looked at her in puzzlement, "How can you be so certain that he will come?"
"Oh, d'Artagnan," she stepped forward, placing a hand on his cheek. "If you remembered him and your brothers, you would not doubt." Removing her hand, she went on, "I expected a letter to arrive today or tomorrow at the latest. He will send one of the men from the garrison to deliver it as he always does. When there is no reply, he will get worried and come himself and I have no doubt that he will not be alone. We just have to give him some time."
d'Artagnan still seemed unconvinced, but he asked, "How much time?"
"Another day or two; no more than three," Brigitte replied confidently.
The Gascon gave a nod and stepped back from the door, his unsteadiness returning now that the adrenaline had faded. She helped him slide down the floor to sit again, "Do you want to lay down?"
"No, the floor's too cold and it's easier to breath when I'm sitting up," he replied. Brigitte frowned at his words but moved to look over the supplies that surrounded them. Most of what was there was various food stuffs, but she found some canvas sacking that could be used as a makeshift blanket. Coaxing d'Artagnan to get up once more, she placed some of the cloth on the ground underneath him before helping the young man sit again, and then covered him with the rest. She watched as he huddled into it, eyes slipping closed again as she looked on with concern, thinking to herself, "Please come quickly, Jean-Armand. I do not know how long he will last."