Authors Note: So my laptop has crashed back in November and I am in the process of saving up for a new one, but life has been having me shovel money at unexpected things lately, so it may be a little while before I'm able to purchase a new one and be able to post "regularly" again. I've only been able to write while at my local library and I'm only allowed 30 minutes a day on the computer, so naturally it's taken me longer to get this chapter posted.

I hope that you all are well. As always I'm so grateful for the reviews, and all favs and follows I've received since the last chapter was posted. Thank you for the positive feedback… I know it was pretty bloody and some weren't so fond of that, but fear not help is just around a stone wall.

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of The Musketeers, as much as I'd love to own the rights to canonically whump them, alas it is not to be.

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Chapter 8

Old Enemies, New Problems

Athos could hardly stand as he dismounted from his steed. His legs had lost almost all feeling about 10 miles ago, but he could not stop. All of his focus was on getting to Treville. Once he stopped at the steps of the Palace a Red Guard tried to stop him, but Athos pushed right through him, not even stopping to catch his breath. He walked briskly down the hallways to Trevills office, and members of the court, jesters the lot of them, stood in silence. All shocked to see the Captain of the Musketeers in such a state of urgency.

Finally reaching his destination, Athos burst through the doors not pausing for ceremony or protocol. Treville, having stood from his desk at the sudden appearance of his former pupil, released the grip he had on the musket ever present on his belt after seeing there was no immediate threat.

"Athos what is the meaning of…" but he stopped short, the urgency was written all over Athos's face.

"Am I correct in assuming that this has something to do with the torn letter that I received yesterday?"

"I apologize for the abruptness of my entrance Minister, but you are correct in your assumption."
Treville looked behind Athos to the guards that had been posted outside his office, of which Athos hadn't even noticed, and sent them back outside to their stations.
Taking a few shaking steps forward Athos placed a hand on Treville's desk to steady himself.
Treville opened his mouth to tell the barely standing Captain to sit down before he did so unwillingly, but before he could get a sound out Athos blurted,

"The Kings half-brother Cesar is a traitor to the crown. He is the spy Aramis was sent to Spain to discover."

Treville stared blankly at Athos. Trying to grasp the enormity of what had just been said.

"Is this absolutely certain?"
"I'm afraid so." Athos sighed, taking a few steadying breaths as he was finally able to do so.

"Did Aramis bring proof, there is no way that we can bring this news to The King without proof of some kind. Especially with his family! Is there no one he can trust?" The last being said almost to himself.

"There is a letter, or rather, a partial one." Athos admitted

"Where is Aramis, I would have expected this report to come from him." concern was growing in Treville's mind. There were only a few reasons that Aramis wouldn't be the one delivering the report, and none of them were good.

Athos took a steadying breath, "Sit, it is a somewhat lengthy tale."
Treville sat slowly, not liking where this was going.

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D'Artagnan, Porthos, and Raul were crouched in the underbrush, hidden well in the denseness of the forest; while close enough to see the sentry and smell the smoke coming from the fires, hidden behind the crumbling had left their horses about a mile back, well hidden from any passers by. There was little doubt in anyone's mind that this was where their missing friend had been taken. The problem came with figuring out EXACTLY where on the grounds he was being kept.

"It makes sense for them to be keeping him the cellars of the house right?" Raul asked.
Porthos seemed to disagree, "It looks like a strong wind could make that whole building crumble, I think that it would make more sense for them to be using somewhere else. I doubt that they'd want to risk killing any prisoners, or their own men for that matter."
D'Artagnan nodded in agreement, "There are probably some outbuildings on the grounds that could be used as a holding cell. It looks like they're only using that crumbling pile of stone as a shield to hide themselves behind."

Both Porthos and D'Artagnan exchanged glances at one another at the mention of collapsed buildings, as a flash of their own recent encounter with one came to mind. With no desire to reacquaint themselves with being buried in rubble the best option seemed to be to sneak around the side of the walled in estate. Hoping that if the house was this destroyed maybe there was a collapsed wall in the stone barrier. Porthos lead the way around to the side, careful not to be noticed by the guard on duty. They crept along the left wall, none saying a word, and making as little noise as was humanly possible.

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The pounding of his own heart was the only thing that Aramis could hear, he'd long lost his fight to stay stoic. All he could do now was try to keep breathing without throwing up from the pain his body was in. After his flogging, or maybe it was during, Aramis had lost all sense of time. It had been mid morning when he had been dragged into this hell hole, but with no windows and his loss of consciousness at least twice, there was no telling how much time had passed. It could have been twelve hours or twenty minutes, but with no way to confirm, it seemed a pointless task. Thinking back to when he'd first fallen unconscious the number of lashes on his back had been eighteen, when he'd awoken again he could tell instantly that there had been more.

He could hear the sound of muffled voices coming from in front of him, his head had been hanging down to where his chis was almost resting on his chest. A hand appeared in his blurred vision and he involuntarily flinched at the sight of it. The hand came up to grasp Aramis' jaw enough to tilt his gaze upward at the face of his tormentor. The man continued to speak but Aramis couldn't make out a word of it, and at this point he really didn't care to know what was being gloated about. He drifted towards the darkness once again, not caring anymore what would happen to him. Suddenly there was a flash of blinding sunlight, and movement of shadows across the wall. Aramis's head was dropped which only caused his vision to be sent spiraling once again. There was a muffled conversation, which sounded more like an argument if the tone of voice had anything to say about it. The new voice, however muffled, sounded slightly familiar to Aramis, and he could feel dread growing in his gut but was unsure arguing stopped and footsteps grew closer to him.

The figure came to a stop in front of Aramis. Somewhere within him, the exhausted musketeer found it in himself to raise his head on his own to stare into the eyes of the newcomer. His eyes immediately narrowed, and curses flowed through his mind thinking to himself.

"Of course he's involved. How could he not be?"

He had a stern look on his face, which wasn't unusual for him, but it slowly morphed into a smirk of victory, as he spoke to the beaten and bloody captive.

"So here we are again Musketeer," taking a step towards the suspended figure, "only this time," he gripped Aramis' jaw and stared him directly in the eyes, "this time I will get what I want from you."

Quickly releasing Aramis from his grasp, Lucien Grimaud turned his back to Aramis and started to walk away.

Aramis, not wanting to let this vicious beast leave without showing some form of resistance, cleared his throat as best he could,

"If you think that you are going to win Lucien, then you really have learned nothing over these last few months." Aramis's voice grew stronger as he spoke and Grimaud had stopped in his tracks.

"There is no outcome in which you will be successful, even if I die here. It will push my brothers even harder, and you WILL lose."

Now turned towards Aramis, Grimaud stepped back towards his captive, eyes locked, neither of them wavering in their convictions. Finally after an extended staring contest of sorts, breaking into a genuine smile, Grimaud spoke

"You are the most amusing of your little group, I will give you that. But you are missing one thing, musketeer, you are assuming that I am going to kill you."

He turned and left the room glancing back to the torturer saying. "Take him back to his cell. Give him time to think about his limited options."

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It took almost a half an hour to sneak around to the other side of the house. The border of the property had mostly been a large stone wall until it cut off behind the main house and turned into dense overgrown hedges and an overabundance of trees. They had probably once been trimmed and cut to fit an elegant garden fit for a noble family, but time had turned them into the perfect cover to conceal their movements from anyone on the other side. Once they had found a well covered position that also allowed for a concealed view of the camp, they started to take stock of the soldiers and movements.

They could spot about twenty men going about their evening events. As the sun was slowly setting behind the Musketeers, it made observing all the easier. They looked to be beginning their evening meal. Stoking their fires, putting pots on to make some form of stew or another, and general banter that comes from a group of men at war could be heard. They all looked comfortable in their surroundings. There was no indication from anyone that they were being watched. Which was excellent for the three men hiding in the bushes.

Time passed by and the sky grew darker. Raul had just retreated several feet back near D'Artagnan to get some rest, as Porthos took second watch. The whole time Porthos had been observing, he had been hoping for some sign of where Aramis was currently being held. Keeping both his eyes and ears open, he could only hear the noises of the camp and saw no indication of any guards posted outside doors. It had been little over an hour of taking over the watch, when Porthos spotted movement at one of the buildings. As the sun had almost completely set at this point it was difficult to see, but two people had exited the small building closest to where he was observing. One wore a suit of armour that Porthos was thankful for the darkness, because even with limited light the shine on the metal was almost blinding. The other man was hooded, his face completely obscured by shadow. While the man in armour spoke with his hands flailing ridiculously, the other stood still with an air of menace. He only moved with purpose and never unnecessarily.

Porthos watch their argument until the hooded figure grasped the other man by the collar and shoved him back against the side of the building. He held him there for a few moments before roughly releasing him with a shove. The armoured man turned and went back into the building with a humiliated posture, and the other headed in the opposite direction. Porthos' view was being slightly obstructed by the number of trees on the grounds, but could see him stop at another building about thirty pases from the first.

From what he could see, which was only the bottom left half of the doorway, the inside was dimly lit. As if the only source of light was coming from a single torch. Porthos could make out the faint sound of another argument, although this one was much more heated. Alas once again no words could be understood, but when the hooded man entered the little hut, Porthos could see a pair of bare feet, suspended in the air. Before he could gain any more details the door was closed as if they knew he was there wanting to see more.

At this time Porthos thought it a good idea to tell the other men what he had seen. Sneaking back to where they had set up for the night, he found Raul sleeping as D'Artagnan stood watch over him from a seated position by a tree. The young man stood ready for action at the sudden appearance of his companion, musket primed and ready to fire. Porthos raised his hands in mock surrender,

"Easy...I'm on your side."

"Sorry." D'Artagnan replied slowly lowering his weapon.

"No, I'm sorry." Porthos replied quickly, thinking back to a time not so long ago when the two of them had been surrounded in enemy territory with no way out.

"What is it," the younger man questioned, knowing there must be a really good reason for Porthos to abandon his position.

"I think I know where they're keeping him."

"You saw him?"

"Possibly, I saw...something. But if I had to guess, it's where he is being kept."

"Show me!"

D'Artagnan followed Porthos back to their makeshift viewing spot.

"See that second building there?"

Porthos indicated the building he had seen the men enter.

"Yes, but how do you know that's the one he's in?"

Porthos was about to reply when the door opened revealing the hooded silhouetted figure from before. He was saying something to someone inside, then turned and headed in the direction of the mansion. The other man, who had been in the hut, shouted for several men to come and help him. They counted four of them who had stood from their fire. As they stepped inside the door Porthos and D'Artagnan' view was obscured by the bodies of the new group of men. They waited, and about three minutes later they were exiting the building. Two were following closely behind the three in front. As the first group cleared the doorway, Porthos noticed how one of the number was sagging in the middle. His bare feet dragging behind him on the stony path.

It was in that moment Porthos knew who it was, and by the sound of the quiet intake of breath beside him, it was clear that D'Artagnan had figured it out as well. Their slumped comrade was being dragged with his arms wrapped around the shoulders of the men carrying him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Porthos was thankful they weren't dragging him across the ground "Small favors" he thought to himself.

They watched as their good friend was dragged further away, towards the other end of the once elegant gardens. Helpless to do anything in these moments, Porthos just gritted his teeth. He felt lost, now he knew where he was, and he was in obvious pain, knowing that there was no way to get to him to help in this moment made him feel like he was being punished for some terrible crime. They watched long enough to see him be carried into a building that was once a stable of sorts.
Taking a steadying breath, Porthos turned to D'Artagnan, a pained look in his eyes,

"One of us needs to head back to lead reinforcements to us."

As he spoke they stepped back to where Raul had been sleeping, but had woken up at some point and was standing watch.
"I'll go," D'Artagnan said, "I can't sit here and wait, I need to be doing something."
Porthos nodded, knowing exactly how the younger man felt, but also knowing that if given long enough D'Artagnan would probably just run at them with no plan whatsoever. Yes sending him back to lead the others here was the best option. Besides, if the state of Aramis was any indication, Raul would be needed here.

"Alright, I'll expect you back at dusk tomorrow." knowing that it was well past midnight at this point.

"Porthos, don't do what I would do…. " D'Artagnan looked at Porthos with a mischievous smirk, "hold out as long as you can my friend. If you try this with just the two of you, you'll never get out alive. Promise me that you will wait until my return."

Thinking on that for a moment Porthos responded with, "I promise to wait as long as I can, just be quick, but careful, wouldn't do us any good if you got caught before you could get any help."

The two grasped hands and D'Artagnan turned and was gone into the night.
Raul walked up to Porthos, patting him on the shoulder, "Don't worry Porthos, he does know how to be quiet when he wants to. Even with the words of comfort from someone who had become a friend to him, Porthos couldn't help but worry as he stared at the blackness that D'Artagnan had disappeared into.

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Gabriel watched as the barely conscious prisoner was placed on the ground of his cell. While he knew that there was going to be torture, he had never been able to understand the brutality at which Abilo would go to. He watched the Frenchman struggle to sit upright with his ruined arms, and couldn't help but to felt pity for the enemy. It was something he had felt before with those who had been on the wrong end of Abilo's whip, but this was somehow different. Maybe it was because the victim looked Spanish and he saw himself in the poor figure, or maybe it was an entirely different reason. Either way Gabriel forced himself to be emotionless, this was his enemy, and he would remain that way.

The prisoner groaned as one of the men tried to grab his arms to bind him once again. Stepping in Gabriel placed a hand on Tomas' shoulder.

"I don't think that bindings are strictly necessary at this point Tomas."

They locked eyes for a moment and Tomas nodded, accepting the statement as an order, he headed back through the door. The prisoner caught his eye briefly, and bowed his head in silent thanks. He ordered Antone to bring in some food and water for the prisoner. The shirt that he had been wearing was no longer on his body, so Gabriel could see every injury that the man had sustained from hip and above. There was major discoloration around his shoulders and knowing at the angle at which the joints themselves were at, they were clearly dislocated. Having been on the receiving end of dislocated shoulders before, he knew first hand how painful it was to have them out of socket for such a long time.

"Will you need assistance in putting your shoulders back in place?"

With a look of surprise, the wounded man considered for a moment before nodding.

"Very well," Gabriel grasped his right hand and twisted the arm into the correct position.
"Ready?"

He gritted his teeth and grunted in approval.

Pulling as hard as he could the joint popped back in causing the already almost voiceless man to gasp out in an airy cry of pain. The Spanish captain guessed there was little voice left to scream, as he had been listening to it all day, getting raspier and raspier. Whimpering quietly the prisoner used is now resocketed arm to grasp the other and lift it towards the offered hand.

Unlike the first, this one took several tries to get back into place, and by the end of it, the frenchmen was left gasping for air as the exhaustion of the last few days.

As Gabriel turned to leave he heard a barely audible, "thank you" once again. When he turned to look at the somehow still gracious man, he had fallen unconscious. Antone was returning with a bowl of stew and a skin of water at this point,

"He's incapacitated at the moment. You can put the water in next to him, but get him a fresh bowl when he wakes up."

"Sure thing Gabe, er I mean, Captain."

With one last look and the tortured soul, Gabriel walked out of the stables, trying not to think about how bothered he was at the treatment of his enemy.

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And another chapter in the books! YAY… I know long time between updates again, but you guys know, LIFE. Hope write again soon. Love all the reviews, both good and critical. ;)

Please let me know if you have any questions. TTFN