Of all the heroic entrances we could have deployed, this was possibly not our most glamorous moment. Still, the ploy had been effective. By using a seemingly unmanned wagon to directly enter the Rue Saint-Jacques without being immediately shot down. We were covered in a thick tarp, keeping ourselves still and hidden until Porthos had dropped himself from underneath and begun to fire. The sudden rush of confusion was our moment to emerge, throwing back the cover where immediately I pulled the bowstring taut to my cheek and released the readied arrow into the first armed man I saw. He fell with a shudder to the ground, plumed arrow sprouting from his chest.
Ahead of us, I saw Constance standing in the middle of the street, trembling with fright until d'Artagnan bellowed for her to get down. Knocking another arrow, my eyes shifted from crevasses to doorways and windows. Any sign of movement and I released an arrow, often finding my mark. If I could not manage a death shot, then I settled for limbs. An arrow through the arm often deterred a man from picking up a gun a second time. I stayed upon the wagon, using the elevation to give me a better vantage for shooting. A steady stream of arrows left my hand, flying silently through the air like deadly assassins until their angular heads found flesh. I paused when my brother lit the fuses of the few bombs he had brought, quickly ducking down to cover my head as they burst with a powerful expression of sound which startled the horses, making them cry out with their ears flat against their necks.
When Aramis slapped one of the horse's rumps, they immediately dashed forwards with me still upon the cart. Out of instinct I pulled the tarp back over my head, disappearing under it as the wagon delved into the smoke from explosives and gunfire. It trundled vibrantly, sending smooth vibrations through my body as I waited a few moments to allow the wagon time to pass through the street unhindered. I let the wagon continue, but I slipped free of the covering and noiselessly touched the ground.
I had yet to be noticed, but I had managed to get myself behind the enemy lines. They all had their backs turned towards me, and so I smoothly reached for another arrow. Ahead, my brother and the others were advancing their assault, shooting at anyone within their line of sight until with a rush, the remaining men rallied their spirits to charge them directly, swords in hand. My arrows flew, whistling unheard amongst the shouts, gunshots and clashes of metal upon metal. They fell with every strike, my pace increasing until I only had to knock an arrow and shift its position minutely to strike another target.
There were so many of them that I soon emptied my quiver, hand reaching back and finding only empty air. Several heads turned towards me, having realised from where the mysterious arrows were coming from and finding only a woman standing alone. The men did not take long to change their minds and select me as their preferable opponent. Baring their teeth, most of which were yellowed or even entirely missing, they raised their swords and barrelled towards me. I sighed. It appeared they believed me to be the easier target. I had best show them how misinformed they were.
Before their watery, sunken eyes had time to follow the movement, the sword at my hip was in my hand, courtesy once more of the captain. It flashed in the sunlight which fought to reach through the smoke, and in two swift movements I had disarmed one of the men and cut a line across another's face, drawing a crimson curtain of blood. They froze in their tracks. Flicking the sword to the side then bringing it close to my body, I readied myself for a fight. "Gentlemen," I intoned, waiting for them to make the first move. "I do believe it is your turn." They blinked stupidly at me. "No? Very well then, allow me." Not giving them the time to change their minds, I lunged forwards.
My sword moved effortlessly in my hand as I fought several men all at once, pushing them back as I kept them at the end of my blade. Everyone was locked in their own ferocious fight, but I was searching for Constance. I could not see her, so I hoped that she had found an opportunity to escape. The men who faced me attempted to use their brute strength to overwhelm me, but I was far too quick for their senses. In addition, my skills were far more exemplary compared to their rudimentary abilities, if I may so boast.
When the opportunity arose, I fettered them with fresh wounds aplenty. At first I was hesitant to kill them, only doing so when absolutely necessary and it could not be avoided, but gradually more of these brutes seemed to be gathering towards me and running away from the others in the hope of winning an easier victory and perhaps escaping with their lives. "Madeleine!" The familiar resonance of Porthos burst into existence, an expression of shock and horror to see me so vastly outnumbered. D'Artagnan was still locked in his own battle, but Athos and Aramis seemed to be rapidly ending their own contests. I noticed Porthos began to barrel forwards, bellowing in preparation to ram directly into the throng of my assailants, only for Athos and Aramis to waylay him.
"Wait a moment, you will want to see this," promising him that I would be alright, Aramis sat back and prepared himself to watch me fight. How ungentlemanly, allowing a woman to do most of the work herself. I shall have to scold him later. However, with all three of them now watching me in rapt attention, I could not help but feel a little encouraged. My strikes became faster, my movements more controlled, everything moving as per my will as I danced through the men and cut them down like they were mere blades of grass underneath my feet.
When my blade was occupied in one direction and an attack came from behind, I struck back with a kick which met the assailant in the face, sweeping my leg upwards to crack their teeth together, knocking out the few that remained. It was an effortless dance, moving cleanly and precisely until finally the last men fell with a flourished slash, ending their miserable existence and sending them to God. For a moment I remained in place, requiring time to catch my breath. It seemed d'Artagnan had ended his own battle at the same moment, for everything had grown vastly quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic noise of before.
Pulling myself upright as my chest heaved, I looked to where Porthos gaped at me openly, his slack jaw expression betraying his pure and utter shock. Meanwhile, both Athos and Aramis were smirking proudly, also looking a little smug. I shook my head at them. Men. Electing not to focus upon them but rather search for Constance, I looked to the archway which led towards the end of the street, the only other way out of here. Constance must have gone that way, and I had a daunting suspicion that the final piece in the game was still in play. Milady.
Sheathing my sword I started towards the archway. No sooner had I taken a few steps, the others fell into rank beside me. We moved together, silent and resolved as the smoke began to clear and rise from the embittered street which lay embracing the corpses of the dozen or so men we had killed. We found her, as we expected, Milady. She held Constance in a tight grip by her hair, a gun pressed to her head as the woman reeled in the sense of her loss. She had lost the game. "One more step and she dies." Fearing for Constance, I tried to keep my own feelings in check.
"Anne…" speaking softly and raising a hand, I stepped towards her, feeling that she may not feel threatened by me. "Please. She does not deserve this." Moving to my side, I felt my brother's familiar hand rest itself upon my shoulder.
"Stop this Anne," he agreed. "You've hurt enough people." A flash of what I could only describe as pain grimaced upon Milady's features. The gun moved from Constance to point at my brother. I stiffened, my hand snatching at his sleeve and curling my fingers into the cuff as his own hand tightened its grip upon me.
"You dare to talk to me about hurt?" This move was perhaps Milady's ultimate downfall. In a spur of bravery, Constance thrust up her hands to throw the gun up and point it away from any of us, allowing her to break free and rush directly into d'Artagnan's arms, sobbing.
"I'm sorry, what I said! I didn't mean any of it! None of it! None of it was true!" Despite knowing that Constance was now safe, I did not allow myself to relax as Athos had flung himself towards Milady the moment Constance was clear. The gun fired, a wild shot striking stone which echoed through the tunnel as my entire body jumped violently against the sound. My grip upon Athos's sleeve was wrenched away in his motion to capture Milady, whilst Aramis and Porthos had dived towards me. They grasped me by the arms and pulled me back into the safety of their presence, away from Athos and Milady who my brother held in his arms.
"Enough," I heard him say. "It's over." Was it? Was it finally over? Now I released my breath and sank against Porthos, suddenly feeling overcome with exhaustion. My entire body felt as if it had turned to lead, dragging me towards the ground and promising to swallow me hole. Thank God for sweet, dear Porthos. Feeling me swoon against him, his strong arms effortlessly bore me upright. Perhaps he had simply become well practiced at it, since it always seemed to be upon him I chose to rest myself, knowing that I could depend upon his strength.
A gentle croon reverberated from his chest as Porthos shifted my weight to rest more comfortably against him, arm wrapped around my front whilst his other hand found its way to my hair. I really do think he quite liked my hair cut short. He seemed to have a genuine fascination with it. I allowed him to caress at my hair as I watched Athos have Milady kneel in front of him, the sound of his sword singing as it was drawn. "Do you have anything to say?" Glaring unreservedly at my brother, Milady ripped away the dark necklace she wore tightly embracing her throat, revealing a clear scar nestled there, the mark of a hangman's noose.
"Go ahead." She challenged. "Finish what you started." My stomach twisted, in revulsion or anticipation, I did not rightly now. Seeing Milady like this…Anne…I could only think of everything she had done. She had murdered my brother and committed innumerable acts of violence and sin thereafter. She had conspired to hurt my brother, to tear these men apart and in doing so, revel in their misery. Yet there she knelt, portraying herself to be the victim. I loathed her. Yet, I could not help but look to Athos. I could not see his face, and I was almost glad I could not.
"You don't have to do this," speaking gently but with reason, Aramis had moved towards Athos, towards his friend.
"Leave this to the proper authorities, Athos." Standing so close to Porthos, I felt his words as they vibrated against my back. My fingers gripped into him tightly, scarcely able to draw breath.
"I made her what she is," Athos reasoned simply, and his words were like daggers in my heart. "Her murders are on my head."
"It is you who should be on your knees." In comparison, Milady's words only invoked anger and rage. What exhaustion I had felt swiftly vanished so I straightened, standing upon my own feet but Porthos did not release me. Once again he held me back, keeping me from interrupting whatever decision might make. "Now kill me…and do a better job of it than last time." All waited in tense apprehension. Athos held his sword against Milady, the blade pressed over her heart. Whatever torment he was enduring, I wished I could ease him of it, but I dared not speak. I did not wish to break the silence which was building into something paramount.
Finally, my brother released his breath and dropped his sword from Milady, lowering it harmlessly to his side. Bile crept its way into my mouth as I felt every sickening sensation claw into my gut. Athos lifted Milady to her feet. "Go to Spain. England. Anywhere. I don't care," he ordered her plainly, "but if you ever show your face in Paris again, I will kill you." He vowed vehemently. "Without hesitation." One last mercy. I should have expected as much from Athos. He always did have the kindest of hearts. Breathless, Milady touched my brother's face earnestly.
"You know there can be no peace for either of us, until we are both dead." I knew that she meant it, but I prayed to God that it was not true. I hoped that one day yet, my brother might be free of her clutches and learn to truly love again. Such a day would be cause for great celebration. Yet as of right now, I felt hollow and unfulfilled. Milady would live because of my brother's mercy, yet all I yearned to do was draw my pistol and put a bullet into her retreating form.
"I'm glad you saved her," d'Artagnan spoke, a small voice piercing my dark reverie. I raised my head and looked upon my brother, who for the first time in a very long while, looked to be at peace.
"Perhaps I was saving myself." Gradually, the nauseating sensations decreased. His gaze turned to mine. "Madeleine?" Now they all looked upon me, and perhaps I looked as disturbed and sickened as I felt, because they all looked dreadfully concerned. I bore myself up as best I could, mustering myself into a smile.
"It is your decision," I finally answered. "And I will respect it." As my brother and the one I loved most in the world, I owed Athos that much. Perhaps I did not agree with him. I felt that letting Milady go was a reprehensible mistake, but I did not say so. For now it was enough that Athos had freed himself from her by choosing to let her go. It was the first step before many more, I felt, until he might be more like his former self. The man I remembered when all was right in the world. I turned my gaze upon Constance. "I am glad you are safe, Constance." This seemed to be the final thread to snap, for Constance released an agonising wail and flung herself into my arms where she sobbed and wept until a new lake could have been made from the flood of her endless tears.