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Chapter 2

„I am strong against everything,
except against the death of those I love.
He who dies gains; he who sees others die loses."
Alexandre Dumas: The Man In The Iron Mask

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Athos, Porthos and Aramis continued walking through the streets filled with people and occasionally lined with market stalls. Athos thought how surreal it was that everybody behaved as if it was an ordinary day when nothing ever happens, oblivious to the great evil lurking just behind the tall wall separating the city from the place where the refugees found their anything-but-glamorous asylum.

At last, the three musketeers reached their destination.
"Well then," Aramis remarked, attempting a small smile as they stopped at the camp entrance. "Time to face our Nemesis."
"We fought Grimaud by our code of honour, our rules." Porthos frowned. "And we know who we need to be. No etiquette. No mercy."
"No rules," Aramis added.
"No honour," Athos concluded, as all three exchanged earnest looks.

As expected, the Captain was the one to make the first steady but slow steps and entered the refugee camp, followed by his comrades. Their eyes roamed the space around them, looking for any sign of movement. In vain – the camp that usually hummed with activity like a beehive seemed deserted.
"Grimaud!" Athos called out, challenging the enemy. His interior remained calm and cool, but on the inside, his impatience was growing.
He didn't have to wait long, for only a moment later, they saw Grimaud appearing from behind a house, with the former Red Guard Captain and his men dragging a few refugees into their sight. Marcheaux roughly pulled Sylvie by her arm. If he was expecting panic in Athos's face, he was disappointed – his facial expression remained unchanged.

"Were you really foolish enough to come here alone here, Captain?" Marcheaux mocked him.
"You left us with nothing," Athos stated.
"Then we're almost even," Grimaud replied, his eyes peering from under his dark eyebrows.
He had waited for this moment ever since he brutally beat the Captain in the very same camp not long ago. He didn't manage to finish his mission then - the woman in his captivity now thwarted his plan - but Athos's resilience and skills made him a worthy opponent. However, his death was inevitable; no one would stand in Lucien Grimaud's way.
Grimaud glanced at the other two musketeers; Porthos and Aramis appeared more than eager for a long-awaited showdown, their eyes blazing fires at their opponent.
"Weapons," Grimaud demanded.
"Hostages," Athos replied calmly, his face relaxed - too relaxed to Grimaud's taste. He scoffed and glanced at Marcheaux, giving him a silent order.
Marcheaux pulled out a pistol and pointed it at Sylvie's head.

For the first time, Athos showed a hint of emotion. He inhaled sharply and couldn't suppress a tiny wince of his eyebrows. Sylvie held her head high as their eyes locked; her look at him was austere but unafraid and defiant. Her unspoken message was clear – she would not break under the enemy's hand. In one moment, Athos felt both fear for her life and pride in her unwavering courage under even the worst circumstances. He glanced at Grimaud and, knowing he had no choice, started detaching his sword from his belt and throwing away his other weapons. Aramis and Porthos followed his example without blinking. Marcheaux pulled Sylvie back.

"Which one of you started the fire?" Porthos teased the men, intentionally biding the necessary time for d'Artagnan. "I'm interested. Come on!"
He looked at one of the former Red Guard members pointing a pistol at him.
"Why don't you fight me, huh? Man to man!" Porthos challenged, with a smirk. "You, was it?"
The man stepped forward but Grimaud stopped him, bored of Porthos's pointless teasing, then he ordered.
"Execute Porthos and Aramis. Bring the Captain to me."
A couple of Marcheaux's men grabbed Porthos and Aramis.
"I never took you for a coward, Grimaud!" Porthos teased again.
"You said your mother was weak!" Aramis added his bit before being taken away along with his friend.

Athos didn't speak; his face was as cool as ice, his eyes pinned to Grimaud. He had expected this course of events and was hoping d'Artagnan managed to eliminate enough of Marcheaux's men to help Aramis and Porthos. Without resisting, he let himself be led away from the yard to the underpass between the two houses where Grimaud and his men were standing.

Here goes nothing then…

They stopped, and one of the men was putting handcuffs on his wrists. Strangely, Athos thought of a memory from not long ago, a memory that brought him into Sylvie's room…

They had just spent another night together, a night full of conversation, sensual tenderness and passion, leaving him not only physically fulfilled, but especially even more in love with her than he thought he could ever be. Just her nearness was something he was almost addicted to, even without the love-making aspect. Once, a long time ago, he felt the power of being intoxicated by love. This felt different, though – comforting, mature, deeply moving, healing... He felt helpless and unwilling to deny the fact that Sylvie filled the cold and empty hole in his heart that had been like a gaping wound for a too long time. He knew that the scar would always be there, but at last, he was ready to give in and finally live again.
In the morning, they made love again, just before he was reluctantly about to return to the garrison and start a new working day. This time, it was Sylvie who initiated his prolonged stay, and for the first time since their relationship developed, Athos suddenly felt the need to surrender fully to her and decided to bare himself like never and to no one else before – he asked her to tie his hands up on the beam above their heads.
He wondered whether his request would surprise her, but her reaction amazed him, although he should have expected it by then: wordlessly, Sylvie searched his eyes for a long beat, and then, a tender, understanding smile appeared on her face. She took a scarf and did as he asked her to…
As he lay next to her later that morning, watching her still asleep with her head resting on his chest, he couldn't resist gently stroking her cheek and pressing a kiss on her forehead. Watching her so close, as if she was another, inseparable part of his body, he realised one thing – he wanted her in his life forever. To hell with complications; she belonged with him and he belonged with her with all of his years-long-tested heart…

Standing next to Grimaud now, with his hands tied up once more under much more dramatic circumstances, he felt mixed emotions: fear for Sylvie's life, regret that he had pushed her away before twice and wasted precious time to be with her, and anger that he didn't protect her from the storm of his arch-enemy's vengeful mission. And still, she stood in front of him, tied up like he, courageous and strong as ever. However, her eyes spoke of something else, too.

"You shouldn't have come," she said quietly to Athos, glancing at him. He lifted his eyes, noticing her voice was a bit shaky. He studied her face for a beat before turning his attention to Grimaud.
"Let her go. You have me where you want me," he said.
Grimaud stood right in front of him, enjoying every second of his triumph, his vengeful eyes piercing the Captain's. "Not yet."
He turned back to Sylvie, coming to stand beside her and lifting his dagger to her throat.
"I want you to watch… as she dies," he stated with pleasure.
Athos couldn't help a small smile. You have no idea who you're dealing with.
"She's no more afraid of death than I am," he replied.
"She may not be afraid of her death," Grimaud didn't give up, decided it was time to bring out the trump card.
Athos noticed a little quiver of Sylvie's chin, then watched Grimaud's dagger slowly moving down and stopping near Sylvie's tummy. His brain processed the information immediately - horror struck his heart, bringing it almost to a halt. His eyes widened and slowly went up to meet Sylvie's pained gaze. The despair he found in it confirmed it – Sylvie was expecting a child… his child…
He registered her slight nod and the apologetic expression in her eyes, welled up with unshed tears. Athos didn't think about why she would apologise. All he could think of was that his world was turned upside down, on the verge of collapsing. Before, despite having all faith in d'Artagnan's skills, he feared for Sylvie's life. Now, he was absolutely terrified, feeling the drum of his heartbeat in his mouth when he thought about another life also under threat from his Nemesis, the life of his own son or daughter…

His head was spinning, the freezing winter air suddenly choking him as he couldn't stop water from gathering in his eyes…
Dear God… Please, don't let them die, please…
Grimaud watched Athos's broken expression with satisfaction. For the first time in a while, he had a real upper hand on the Captain and couldn't get enough of the feeling of victory. He was certain that this was finally the day when he would wipe out all the musketeers for good; nothing would stand in his way to power anymore.
Athos looked back on the spot where his unborn child would rest and just as the emotions threatened to overwhelm him, the sound of two gunshots pierced the air. He looked up again and waited in agony; Aramis and Porthos…? Or d'Artagnan?

And then it came: the third shot, hitting one of Marcheaux's men standing next to Sylvie. All heads turned in that direction and saw d'Artagnan appearing and running towards them.
Sylvie immediately reacted and kicked Grimaud with her elbows, freeing herself from his grip. Her hands still tied up, she ran a few steps away, keeping herself out of harm's way, while spotting Aramis and Porthos joining d'Artagnan in the furious battle with Grimaud and his men.

Athos used Marcheaux's inattention while aiming his pistol at d'Artagnan, and disarmed him, then launched himself at one of the Red Guard men. His tied-up hands didn't seem to prevent him from fighting. With the sudden strength of a wild beast and blood boiling in his veins, he fought his way through several men trying to stop and eliminate him. Each hit of his fists left a painful handcuff mark on his wrists but he neither noticed nor cared, as he finally knocked down the man who previously handcuffed him. He grabbed the keys from him, freed his hands and only half-noticing his comrades' heavy fight with their enemies, he ran over to Sylvie.

As he hurriedly kneeled by her side, his eyes frantically searched for any signs of injuries, fighting hard the urge to take her in his arms. Their eyes locked for a second, communicating wordlessly like times before. They both knew the fight was not over yet, and Athos moved behind her to cut her ties. That was the moment when he noticed Marcheaux running away from the scene.

"Get Marcheaux!" he roared at d'Artagnan, who was about to run after the fleeing Grimaud after he had previously stabbed him with his dagger. He turned on his heel and followed his Captain's order without question.
Athos cut the last tie binding Sylvie's hands and hesitated for a glimmer of a moment.
"We're fine; we're safe. Go. Go!" Sylvie ordered him.
He was immediately on his feet and started running after Grimaud, who had just fired a shot at Porthos, injuring his arm, and vanished behind one of the houses. On his way, Athos grabbed a sword lying abandoned on the ground and ran… As fast as his legs allowed him, he was trailing the enemy in the narrow streets of the camp. Once or twice he spotted a shadow of a black cloak in the distance in front of him but then, he ran merely by instinct. By the time he ran out of the camp and found himself back on a busy street, filled with market stalls and people who still acted as if nothing was happening, there was no sign of Grimaud. Paris mercifully decided to allow him to escape justice yet again. Athos's eyes eagerly searched the space around him but saw nothing. The only visible trace was the black cloak lying on the muddy ground like a trademark of the ghost he had been chasing for so long.

The enemy had escaped once more.

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