Anne listened to the sounds of men in agony. Cries of terror, sinister laughter, and the clanging of chains that seeped through the walls like water through a grate. She could hear the soft-spoken words of monks as they spoke quietly to those less fortunate, offering comfort and sometimes discipline as the actions of the ill grew intense. Anne wiped a stray tear from her eye. She leaned against the wall, seated on the floor with her legs tucked beneath the folds of her skirts.
"I've never known you to be a talkative man, Athos," Anne said with a hitch in her voice, "but I'm begging you to speak… say something. Tell me a story… Drown out the nightmare beyond these walls?"
The room was dark and only a scant light emerged from the window that allowed the moon's rays to peer in. Athos could barely see Anne's outline. She had hidden her fear behind the façade of noble royalty. Threats against herself and the king had been a constant. A Spanish bride married to a French king, she had been forced to hold her chin up in the face of criticism and, at times, blatant hatred. Athos respected her for that, for hiding her fear, her solitude, and her sorrow.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Athos said. "I don't know many stories."
Anne winced and then wiped again at her cheek as another stray tear fell. She didn't believe him. Anne bit her bottom lip like she had as a girl, before the habit had been corrected and disciplined out of her. "What's it like?" She paused and furrowed her brow in curiosity. "What's it like having friends? Friends that love you, friends that make you laugh… make you worry," she chuckled softly, "friends that make you angry?"
The question surprised him and he cleared his throat nervously.
"I admire you all," there was a smile in her voice as she spoke, "all of you." She paused when she heard several screams and shouts. She shifted to sit sideways along the wall and looked toward Athos. Anne could barely make out his profile as he sat against the wall, his legs stretched before him. She had seen the bruising on his face earlier, the swelling near his eye and lip and she quietly wondered how many times each of them had faced such torment. Anne thought about the scar on Aramis' face, the one on his shoulder and side. "What's Aramis like to work alongside?"
Athos scratched his jaw, looked toward the door, and said, "He's a solid soldier… He's determined." He glanced at her and faintly saw the edges of her skirt in the moon's light. "Aramis would lay down his life for you… King Louis…" he inhaled deeply and then said, "for any one of us."
"It took me by surprise when he saved my life at the châtelet and then when he threw himself on the explosive… Has he always been so… willing to sacrifice himself for others?"
Athos licked his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and said, "Aramis loves life… he loves in abundance and he loves in mass… it's who he is and who he'll forever be." There was a slight hint of envy, remorse, and despair in Athos' tone. "He's free with himself, Your Majesty. And like I said, he would lay down his life for you."
Anne quirked her lips into a gentle smile and ran her hand along her skirt. She shivered as the cold nipped at her skin and she listened again to the shouts through the door. "And Porthos?"
Athos chuckled and said, "He's as strong as a bear and more determined than the cardinal is hungry for power."
Anne snorted and then chuckled.
"My apologies, Your Majesty. I know the cardinal has France's best interest at heart, regardless of his actions toward the Musketeers."
"Had it not been for the four of you," she said and suddenly grew somber, "Gallagher may have killed me."
"But he didn't," Athos glanced toward her.
The light of the moon shifted and, for a moment, Anne caught the flicker of Athos' green eyes.
"But he could have."
"But he didn't," Athos said once more. He licked his bottom lip and then cleared his throat. "One of our first assignments together," he said and then took a deep breath as though confirming he would complete the story, "was waiting for a dog to… empty its bowels."
Anne chuckled and said, "Why would you need to do something like that?"
"The poodle — if I remember correctly — was one of the Duke of Verdun's prized hounds."
Anne giggled. "I remember those dogs — unruly beasts."
"Yes," Athos said, "very unruly. So much so that one of them swallowed the cardinal's prized ring —"
"No," Anne said with a gasp.
"The very ring that many kiss after his rare, but well attended, religious events. We followed the dog for days… It was Aramis who finally spotted it and… Aramis who dug it out and then washed it to give it to Treville, who then returned it to the cardinal."
"Did he know where it had… been?"
It was Athos' turn to chuckle, and then he said, "Yes."
"He still wears that ring," Anne said.
"And it's frequently kissed."
"I don't think I'm ever going to look at his hand the same way again." She snorted, cupped her hand over her mouth, and said, "Thank you, Athos."
The room grew quiet again and Anne jumped when she heard a clamoring, a desperate roar, and then a sudden bang. Angry shouts were soon followed by scuffles and cries. Anne's hands shook as she pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. The moment the lock on the door squeaked, Athos quickly pushed himself to his feet with a groan, and stood in front of the queen. When the door suddenly swung open, Anne shuddered, but forced herself to her feet. She would not die a coward, nor would she allow fools and traitors to see her weakness. Despite the racing of her heart, the pounding in her head, or the shaking of her hands, she stood strong and determined. She admired Athos as he stood protectivly in front of her, admired his willingness to keep her from harm, his willingness to sacrifice himself to save his queen. It wasn't just Aramis who was a soldier, who was determined, who would lay down his life for his queen. It was all of them.
Anne clenched her jaw, raised her chin, and watched two men enter the room. Three others stood near the doorway. The haunting lights of several lanterns hung from the walls behind them and highlighted their forms while darkening their features.
"Your Majesty," the tall man said. He dropped a bucket of water and it splashed up and over the sides. The ladle shifted and slowly came to a rest. "Given your stay is expected to be longer than we thought," he said, "I've brought you some water."
"She needs something to eat," Athos said and narrowed his eyes as he tried to identify their faces, but the darkness, in contrast to the light behind them, made it difficult.
"Where is His Majesty the King?" Anne said. She swallowed and glanced at each one of them.
Nobody answered.
"I am your queen," Anne said. "Answer me." Her voice grew more determined, and she tightened her hands into fists.
Another man stepped forward and Athos blocked his path. Their eyes met: two men stood opposing one another, just as determined; one out of desperation and the other from devotion. Equal in height, the man with long blond hair, was broader through the shoulders, with a thick neck, and a brand that deformed his right cheek, upper lip, and nostril. The burn had forced the skin to pucker and twist.
"You might mean something to someone outside of these walls, Musketeer. In here," the man said, "you're no better than the animals tied with chains or caged behind me. Interfere with me again… you'll be tied alongside them."
"Athos," Anne said. "Please."
"Is he alive?" Athos remained standing between the queen and their captors. With one hand on his ribs, the other at his side, he clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
The man chuckled, looked over his shoulder at the others, and nodded. "Yes," he said. He spit to his left, wiped his mouth with his fingers, and pushed Athos a step back. "We bruised you up pretty good… How strong will you need to be to protect her," he pointed to the queen, "from all of us should we decide to —"
"Pierre!" The shout came from behind the men, who all turned and looked at Souder. "Give them the water and get out!"
Athos swallowed, looked toward Souder, who stood with his hands on his waist, and his right hand twitched as if to reach for the dagger tucked within his belt.
"Next time, Musketeer," Pierre said with a chuckle. He stepped back, slammed the door, and the lock latched.