Note:
Expansion of the s03 episode 'We Are The Garrison'. Some dialogue was taken from this episode, written by Simon Allen, and some parts of the story were inspired by parts of the script's final version.

Chapter 1

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„Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

- William Shakespeare: The Tempest

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"Have a rest, Sylvie. You've been on your feet for hours," Constance said attentively.
The two women were tending to a young cadet sitting on the ash and dust-covered ground of the destroyed garrison yard and leaning against a wall. She had noticed her friend's tired face and occasional moments of taking deep breaths to steady herself when she thought no one was watching her.
"So have you," Sylvie replied, putting a fresh bandage on the cadet's arm.
"Yes, but I am not…" Constance's voice faded as she cast an eloquent look at her friend.

Their eyes met, then Sylvie stopped working, her eyes immediately searching for Athos; the Captain was helping d'Artagnan and Porthos put out a few remaining small fires further away from them. Aramis was looking after the seriously injured Clairmont, lying on a provisionally made stretcher, while Brujon was anxiously watching them. The young woman sighed, then glanced around, seeing the few survivors being looked after by someone, mostly her friends she brought from the camp immediately after the explosion in the garrison. Some of them were tending to the musketeers injured in the explosion in the tavern at Treville's wake.
"All right, but only for a few minutes," she said then and stood up, stepping away. Constance smiled and turned her attention to the young man again.

Sylvie walked away from the yard and chose a resting spot on a small barrel standing at the wall in the underpass leading out of the musketeers' base. She sat down and leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees. Only then did she notice that her hands were shaking.
It had been a few hours from the moment she rushed to the garrison, terrified of the thought that Athos and her friends were in danger or worse, and her body was running on empty by now. She hadn't even had the time to fully process what she had witnessed. Casting a look into the yard again, the full realisation of the devastation in front of her eyes finally hit her – her eyes welled up. Trying to hide her weakness, she buried her face in her hands and let her silent tears run.

All those innocent lives… For what? For hatred and revenge? Is this ever going to end?

The years of her vocal fight for equal rights for all people had often put her in uncomfortable, even dangerous situations, she even had to flee from war, but Sylvie had never witnessed anything so utterly devastating. This is how she always imagined a war-destroyed land - a giant rubble of fire, ash, darkness and lives lost in vain. She thought of all the familiar faces, smiling at her every time she had visited the garrison to meet Athos, faces young and old, making her always feel welcome. She would never see most of those smiles again.

The tears started to choke her, and quiet sobs made their way out into the smoky darkness of the world, hurting her more than an open wound. And then she felt a hand gently landing on her shoulder. Suddenly ashamed of her breakdown, she hastily tried to wipe her tears and looked up – Athos watched her silently, his eyes filled with pain.

"I just… needed a minute," she said, trying to sound casual, forcing a smile at him and already standing up. "I should help Aramis. I fear for Clairmont. He is…" Her voice faded as she looked past him; water stood in her eyes again. She only managed to take a step forward when Athos's voice and hand stopped her.
"Sylvie…"

She took a deep breath, desperately avoiding his gaze, knowing she would lose even the last bit of composure she still maintained. His penetrating eyes had always been her undoing, and she knew this would be no different. However, the tenderness in his voice and the gentlest hold of his hand on her forearm broke her anyway. She turned to him and with one look allowed him to comfort her. Her arms went around his waist at the same time as his arms wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

I should be the one comforting him… He had just lost almost all his comrades… He had lost his home…

The tears were flowing again, and although she hated the lack of self-control, she let them fall anyway. Her emotions had been triggered much easier lately.

Athos, finally getting a minute to rest as well, closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of her head. Only then did the memory from a few hours earlier step forward, as he remembered his horror when seeing the garrison on fire right after the explosion. His mind was on all the cadets, everyone who had created the extended family he grew to love and who lost their lives in the flames and smoke. He also remembered how he stood in the yard and felt his heart sinking to the pit of his stomach when d'Artagnan started desperately calling for Constance and Athos suddenly realised there was another woman in the garrison…

The memory of the dread that gripped him and robbed him of words as his eyes searched the yard for any sign of life suddenly made him sick all over again. The relief when he finally saw her running to help them loosened the clamp gripping his heart, and her ability to act so quickly and mobilise any help she could impressed him yet again, filling him with pride. He took a deep breath and tightened his hold on Sylvie. What were the chances she would decide she wanted a walk before returning to the garrison instead of joining Constance and Brujon, helping them bring more wine to the tavern? Luck was a fickle thing, but for the hundredth time that night, Athos thanked Providence that it kept her out of harm's way. She might not have been as lucky as their friends…
"What has become of men?" Sylvie pondered quietly, breaking the brief silence between them. For the first time in her life, she felt true despair creeping into her bones. "What can we do in a world where hatred and greed for power are stronger than anything?"
Athos pulled back a little to see the dim outline of her face, and his hand gently cupped her damp cheek, his thumb wiping away a little smudge of ash.
"We fight them with love," he stated, determined, and a small smile reached his wise eyes.

Sylvie smiled through tears, warmth melting the sudden cold in her chest. Only a few hours ago, she watched Athos sit at the table, surrounded by his comrades honouring Treville's life. She helplessly watched a broken, lost man who was unable to find words to comfort his friends in their darkest hour. Now, she watched and listened to the same man speak as he made hope return to her veins. At that moment, nothing could have made her love and admire him more.

Athos kissed her forehead and after one last look at her walked back to the yard, joining d'Artagnan and Porthos at work among the rubbles again. Sylvie's eyes followed him for a moment longer before she took a deep breath, wiped away the remaining tears from her face and determinedly set out to offer her help to Aramis.

A dark day had ended - hopefully giving way to a brighter one.

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Athos hastily unfolded the paper he had just found.
"If we don't get to the camp by noon, Grimaud's going to execute the refugees one by one…"
No… After everything that had happened… Please, anything but this…

The Captain was staring at the hand-written note in his hand, his heart hammering in his chest with anxiety. He had always prided himself in remaining calm under neigh-on any dangerous circumstances, but now he felt he was losing, the ground shifting beneath his feet. He found himself standing on one side of an imaginary abyss, seeing the woman he loved with all his being standing on the other side, dangerously leaning forward. He stared at the familiar handwriting and begged in his mind that he was hallucinating. How was it possible? She was standing by his side only a little while ago… How could he have let this happen? How could he have not foreseen it?
Absently, he let the paper slip through his fingers as Aramis took the note from him, wondering about his friend's frozen, distressed expression.

Aramis lifted his eyes from the note, fully understanding the horror in Athos's stare, pinned to the lifeless body of the old woman, the dead messenger lying in front of him. Wordlessly, he passed the note to Porthos, unable to finish reading the note out loud.

"Starting with Sylvie…" Porthos read quietly, frowning.

Athos squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth in an attempt to stay composed.
Focus… You must stay focused…
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

"Well, we know where he is now," Aramis said, "although we've fallen for that trap before."
"This time we have the advantage," Porthos remarked. An intrigued frown appeared on Athos's face as he stood up to face his friend, with a question in his eyes.
"This note's addressed to the three of us," Porthos continued. "Grimaud thinks D'Artagnan's dead."
His friends nodded, suddenly sensing a real chance of a rescue mission, probably their only chance.
"We go in; d'Artagnan follows us from a distance, keeping hidden from Grimaud's view. He can quietly get rid of as many of Grimaud's men as possible, while their eyes will be on us. That gives us a real chance not only to save Sylvie and the others, but to be done with Grimaud once and for all," Porthos concluded.
Athos and Aramis exchanged looks, hope lifting up their spirits.
"Get d'Artagnan. We'll meet at Christophe's tavern," the Captain said to him, resolved.
Aramis left, leaving his two friends alone. Athos's face was still paler than usual, tension set around his eyes, but he seemed focused and determined to see their plan through, no matter how extremely difficult and unpredictable it was.
"It will work," Porthos said reassuringly, knowing what was going through his friend's mind. He loathed promising anything when they were so clearly outnumbered, but the distress in his comrade's eyes convinced him to do so. "We will get her back."

Athos exhaled loudly, nodding slightly. He didn't seem to find any words; a pat on Porthos's shoulder would have had to do. He hoped against all hope that the musketeer was right. The dark clouds of worry were gathering over his head yet again, making him feel all the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he was not going to let them cloud his judgment or determination.

Another battle was ahead, and the soldier in Athos was ready to fight - more than ever before.

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"Does it change things, risking your life when your life is no longer your own?"
"It changes everything… It's the greatest cause you'll ever have. It makes you want to fight harder…"

D'Artagnan's words in the tavern resonated in Athos's mind even as he walked steadfastly and resolved with his three friends toward the refugee camp. Within the last few months, his life had changed dramatically. The once lonesome musketeer was lonesome no more, and his life was no longer his own to be responsible for. Before, he didn't think about the danger of possibly finding death through an enemy's sword or bullet; he accepted the possibility as part of his job. He was still unphased by the danger posed to himself, but there was a difference now – he truly wanted to live, because he finally had something precious to live for. D'Artagnan was right; the thought of the one who had filled his broken heart with love again made Athos want to fight even harder now.

"This is where we separate," Porthos stated, making them stop at the large wooden construction of staircases and platforms, built at a tall wall and leading to its other side.
D'Artagnan remembered the place immediately. It was here where Marcheaux arrested him when he protected the refugees from the angry Parisians shortly after his return from war.
"Of course!" he pondered aloud. "The other access to the camp…"
"I doubt Grimaud or Marcheaux would cover this. It's rarely used, certainly not for official purposes."
"Only the refugees sometimes use it," Athos remarked, remembering how Sylvie led him through the web of staircases a while ago after one of their nightly meetings.
Porthos looked at d'Artagnan. "You take this way. We will take the usual entrance. You know what you're doing."
The Gascon nodded. "Good luck," he said then before exchanging looks with all of them, and started climbing the wooden stairs.
Athos's eyes followed him until he was almost level with the wall top.
"D'Artagnan," he called after him.
His friend turned around, with a question in his eyes.
"Be careful," the Captain said, his voice coloured with sudden emotion, his bright eyes clouded with worry.
D'Artagnan smiled at this unguarded moment, touched by his friend and mentor's care as always. Then he turned and a moment later, he quietly disappeared behind the wall.

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He mustn't come… He will never make it alive from here if he does… But if he doesn't come, no one in the camp will live to see another day…

Sylvie's brain was on fire, her mind in conflict with itself as she was sitting against the cold wall next to a group of other refugees. Her hands were tied tightly at her back; a few more minutes and the rope would tear her skin. But Sylvie barely registered the dull ache in her wrists. She had endured much worse pain not long ago, and after the horror she had seen the previous night, her mind's attention was on more important things. Her eyes wandered around, seeing the anxious faces of people huddling on the cold ground next to her. Most of them were people she had known since she arrived to the camp years ago. The thought of their lives being extinguished like a candle flame without a reason was making her stomach turn.

How can you choose one life and abandon another?

She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. The nausea she had felt a few minutes ago seemed to have disappeared.

Why didn't I tell him? I should have told him…

Suddenly, she had a nasty foreboding about Athos finding out about her secret from someone else, the last person she would want to reveal it to him… It made her stomach turn again.

"So? Will he come?" A sharp voice interrupted her brooding sardonically.
"That is for you to find out," Sylvie replied, holding her head high and looking into the distance. Even when sitting, she refused to bow down to her captor.
Grimaud briefly observed her expressionless face, then grinned.
"I think he will," he remarked. "Unfortunately, he let his feelings obscure his reason. Love always breaks people."
"You know nothing of love," Sylvie said with gritted teeth. Whatever tiny bit of compassion she might have felt for him before, it was non-existent now. "You never knew one."

Grimaud's grin vanished as his cold, dark stare pierced her distant eyes. For the second time that day, he felt momentarily caught off-guard. Yet again, he felt a strange sting in the place where his heart was.
"Why would you want to bring a child into this world?"
"Don't you know? Oh, you don't… do you?"

What took him so aback when she asked him that before? Why did he suddenly feel like something was wrong with him, the reason for which lay way back in his dark past? This woman saw through him way too easily and he didn't like it. No, there was nothing wrong with him; it was the world that was wrong and he was there to fix it to finally have a life that he deserved… He would make sure her demise would be slow and painful, right in front of the grief-stricken eyes of her dear Captain. And he would reveal her secret to him to deal the final blow…
"Maybe you're right," Grimaud said then, "but I at least have a choice. Athos doesn't. And because of his weakness, you'll both be dead soon." He turned and started slowly pacing.
Sylvie felt a shiver going down her spine. She wasn't afraid of her own death, but imagining Athos and their unborn child being so cruelly taken away from the earth made her heart start hammering with anxiety. Her face remained expressionless, though. She would not grant Grimaud the pleasure of seeing her fear.
"You have been dead for a long time," she remarked knowingly.

Grimaud stopped pacing and his icy stare found her face. Their eyes finally met, and her resilience and defiance would have impressed him had her words not annoyed him.
Yes, slow and painful…

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