Note: Some dialogue was taken from the s03 e08 'Prisoners of War', written by James Payne.

Chapter 1

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Let thy voice,
Rise like a fountain for me night and day."
― Alfred Tennyson, Idylls of the King

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Her body started shaking against her will, fear overcoming courage, facing something she had never experienced before. Always able to defend herself in the face of possible harm, standing bound and helpless, awaiting physical attack was something inconceivable to her. Yet, she still tried to keep a straight face, no matter what would come; she was innocent, guilty of nothing shameful, only being a victim of those for whom the desire for power over everything and everyone was greater than life itself.

She braced herself, resolved not to make a sound, but as soon as the first lash of the whip cut through her bare flesh, Sylvie couldn't suppress a shocked cry. With every next lash, her short sobs became more muted, the world around her turning into a haze of muffled sounds - the shouts of the many bystanders watching her torture, blinded by the false sense of righteousness, blended into the background of her mind. She couldn't see the figure of a man in black, desperate and outraged, hurriedly dismounting his horse and fighting his way through the crowd and members of the Red Guard.

"Stop him!" the angry shout of Captain Marcheaux vaguely reached her half-consciousness as she couldn't stop shaking. She didn't dare to hope, yet her mind couldn't help it. Her body was on fire, the open, raw flesh wounds feeling like nothing she had ever known.
"To defy the law of the King is treason," she heard Marcheaux's threatening voice again.
"To Hell with the law!"

Sylvie's racing heart skipped a beat; she closed her eyes, releasing a quiet sob, grasping for the lifeline she had just been given. That voice, albeit a scream of rage and despair that tore like thunder through the shouting mob, was one she would have recognised anywhere and anytime…
Suddenly completely aware of her surroundings again, she clung on to hope, the last resort of the hurt and desperate.

"Put it down," she heard d'Artagnan nearby, obviously referring to the whip. "Put it down!"
And then she finally saw by her side the face she was begging to appear – Athos was freeing her right hand by unlocking the handcuff.
"Put… it… down," Porthos's deep voice demanded as well.
"Animals!" Athos shouted, casting a look at the crowd, his eyes blazing fire. "You should hang your heads in shame!" he shouted again while setting Sylvie's other hand free.
After a heavy and angry glare at d'Artagnan, Captain Marcheaux understood there was nothing more he could do, given the situation, and walked away.

Sylvie's hands were finally free, her knees gave in and her body would have fallen on the floor if Athos hadn't caught her under her arm. They were both in an uncomfortable position, he half-kneeling, Sylvie half-sitting. The lashes robbed her of any strength and Athos didn't dare to move before she did. He couldn't properly embrace her because of her back injuries, not wanting to cause her more physical pain. But he would have endured anything for her, discomfort, danger, even death…

"I have you," he whispered, leaning his cheek against her head and gently stroking her hair, still holding her securely under her arm. "I have you…"
Upon hearing those words, spoken with such tenderness that brought tears to her eyes, Sylvie was snapped from the first shock into reality, for she heard so much more in them.
I have you… You're safe… You are a part of me now and I will not leave you again…
Her face scrunched as her mental resolve finally broke down and she started sobbing, her hand desperately trying to get a hold of Athos's arm.

Tenderness mingled with anger in him again, as Athos felt his eyes burning. He wouldn't cry, though, not when the woman he loved needed his strength. And when injustice still needed to be punished.
"Porthos, I need a cloak or a sheet for Sylvie, and my horse," he said to his friend who nodded and immediately left his side. Athos lowered his head back to Sylvie.
"I know this will hurt but I need to get you to the garrison," he whispered in her ear again. Her sobs subsided meanwhile, and she just nodded, her complete trust in him never wavering.

As carefully as he could, he helped her to stand up and slowly walk down the stairs. He knew putting Sylvie on a horse would cause her great pain but she was a strong and brave woman and would bear anything if there was no other way. She was still shaking but determination was written all over her face. Despite the ache in his heart, Athos had to marvel at her courage more than ever.

"Ready?" he asked her in a mere whisper.
Sylvie turned her head to look at him, seeing the worry and love in his eyes. She swallowed hard but nodded, fighting back more tears. After her ordeal, she wasn't sure of anything anymore save one thing – if there was one safe place on earth for her, it was in the arms of the man who had just rescued her. And that was worth every bit of pain she had to endure.

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"It's my fault, Athos," Constance remarked, her voice close to crying.
He looked up at her, reaching for her hand.
"It was Grimaud, not you," he said reassuringly.
"Athos…" a strained, shaky voice made him turn his attention back to the bed that he was sitting on.
He carefully leaned over Sylvie's bare, whiplashed back, lowering his head so she could see him sideways.
"I'm here," he whispered, his fingers gently stroking her arm. "I'll always be here."

As before, she didn't need to hear anything more. His feather-light touch and reassurance of his presence made her sigh with relief, and she slightly nodded. The aftermath of her shock was strong, her mind only half-present. Everything around her felt like grey fog in which she was groping and finding nothing. But hearing the whisper of the one voice that meant everything to her breaking through that thick veil lessened her anxiety and shed some light onto the darkness she had been walking through.

"Where does it end?" Constance asked, on the verge of tears, when she rejoined d'Artagnan and Porthos, standing at the door. "When they come for the ones you love?"
Neither of the men answered, but their faces were painted with pain as they watched the quietly suffering Sylvie being tenderly cared for by their dear friend. Wordless, all three of them left the Captain's room, leaving Athos with Sylvie alone.

Athos was focusing on using his gentlest touch while carefully washing the long, ugly wounds on Sylvie's back. He could hear her breath hitch now and then, seeing her body involuntarily shiver at times, her every nerve still stretched to the limit. She was exhausted, but her eyes were opened as if she was afraid to drift off into an eternal sleep, or worse – that he would leave her despite his promise not to…

It took Athos every bit of his mental strength to keep his emotions locked inside. The sight of Sylvie's skin marked by the inhuman cruelty of those in power was tearing him apart as if he himself was branded by the lashes. This woman, despite being an excellent swordfighter and a vocal defender of equality and a decent and dignified life for everyone, always strived for peaceful and non-violent resolutions of conflicts if possible. Still, she became the victim of atrocious violence herself, and he couldn't have prevented it. Or could he have? Perhaps by not having pushed her away, he could have protected her more. Perhaps Aramis was right, and if he had put aside his fear of being distracted from his mission and tried harder to find a balance between his life and work, everything could have been different. Perhaps not, but perhaps…

Where one thought ended, another appeared, and the frown on his face deepened even more – Grimaud… Athos had seen his face way too many times, even in his worst nightmares. His blood started boiling again, the taste of bile making him wince.
He'll pay for this… He'll pay for every evil deed he had ever done…

He briefly squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled deeply, chasing away the gnawing feelings of guilt and rage. Nothing could have changed what had happened. All he could do was to deal with the consequences and do everything in his power so that it never happened again.
Finishing the washing, he put the washcloth back into the bowl and carefully covered Sylvie's back with a large square of clean cloth that Constance had left him to prevent the wounds from getting infected. Then he slowly went down on one knee by the bed so that Sylvie could see his face better.

Her frightened eyes locked with his, and he saw that the light which had usually sparkled in those dark, deep pools and which he so loved was gone, covered by a veil of anguish and sorrow. However, he also saw a flicker of relief and gratitude, but above all, love.
Athos swallowed a tear and attempted a small smile. His hand went slowly into her hair, his tender caresses trying to soothe her pain. Neither of them had spoken, yet there were whole worlds of words filling the small space between them. One soul spoke to another, not needing anything else but the eyes, the windows to its very core.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sylvie's lips finally stretched into a small smile, while her tired gaze still bore into his, and a soft sigh escaped her throat. She unhurriedly and shakily reached for his free hand, resting on the side of the bed. Athos accepted her hand immediately, pressing a soft kiss on its knuckles.

"I'll be right back. Don't be afraid… You're safe," he whispered, stroking her hair one more time before withdrawing his hand. Only then, Sylvie seemed to have calmed down at last, as she nodded slightly, and her eyes closed as fatigue finally overcame her.
Athos raised himself and walked out of the room.

As he quietly pushed the door closed behind him, he remained standing at it for a few more moments, staring at the handle as he was trying to compose himself. The onslaught of various emotions coming over him in waves throughout the last few hours threatened to overwhelm him. His jaw tightened, as he turned and started walking, attempting to fetch some wine for Sylvie to warm her up and settle her nerves. But he managed to take only a few steps when his breathing suddenly got shallow, his legs betrayed him and he had to hold himself up against the nearby wall. Then helplessly, his body slid down the wall as he ended up sitting on the ground, holding his head in his hands. And then, the floodgates opened…

Why does it hurt so much? Why do I feel like my chest is crushed by a boulder? Why can't I just brace myself and keep going for her, for both of us?
Questions burdened his troubled mind to no end, only to be followed by simple answers.
Because it's real… Because you love her and she loves you, and whatever happens to either of you, happens to both… Because every time she gets hurt in any way, you feel like you have failed her… And because you want and need her in your life so badly, even though she respected your wish to stay out of it…

His body was shaking from quiet but painful sobs, which he was unable to stop for a while. Only the soft touch of a hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality, as he looked up to meet Constance's compassionate eyes. He quickly started wiping his tear-stained face, while his friend squatted in front of his sitting form.
"Sylvie will be all right, Athos," Constance said quietly but with conviction, pushing her own feeling of guilt aside for the first time that day. "She's a strong woman, and she has someone and something to fight for…"

He lifted his haunted eyes to her and the pain in them was undeniable.
"I failed her, Constance…" Athos said with a broken voice.
"You saved her," she countered, not allowing him any other argument. "You couldn't have prevented this even if you were together at that time…" She took his hand in hers, her feeling of guilt resurfacing again although she fought it back. Her voice softened.
"Athos, we cannot change our past, but we can shape our future. Sylvie is your future and you are hers, and I'm sure you both know it… Besides, she could do worse than with the Captain of the King's Musketeers," she added with a cheeky smile, raising her eyebrows.

Despite his misery, Athos couldn't help but snort.
"Some Captain I am, crying on the floor like a cadet after his first training and leaving her alone there," he remarked dryly, but a small, amused smile quirked on his face. "I just wanted to get her some wine."
"You are a musketeer, but one with a heart of the size of Paris, and there's no shame in that," she remarked knowingly, smiling. "Go back then," she squeezed his arm. "I'll fetch the wine. Here, take this clean sheet as well. You'll have to replace the one you put on her back in a couple of hours."

She helped him to stand up and nodded, seeing his genuinely grateful smile, then started for the kitchen. Athos walked back to the door, holding the sheet in one hand. He took one more deep breath, wiped away the last traces of his tears and entered his room again.

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