Thank you, Guest, for all the reviews, especially the last detailed one.
This chapter is extra, extra long and my favorite one so far!
I have a reference here from The Fault in Our Stars, the part where they are talking about pain. I do not own that quote. It belongs to John Greene.
"Planchet! Planchet! Wine!" Porthos yelled as be barged into their living quarters.
"Sorry, sirs! I'm afraid there is no more." Planchet, a rotund, young fellow with honey colored hair entered the eating area, carrying firewood. "You've drunk the whole lot."
"What sort of answer is that?" Porthos glowered. "Well, go get some more, man! On the double! We have guests."
"Guests?" Planchet's eyes lit up at the sight of D'Artagnan and Felice.
"This is Planchet. Our manservant." Athos explained. "Planchet, this is Monsieur D'Artagnan, and...and…"
"Felice." D'Artagnan finished for him.
"Felice. They'll be staying for a while, and God help us all." Athos shook his head helplessly.
"Ohh! A pleasure, Mademoiselle!" Planchet smiled, bowing. "An honest pleasure! And what a pretty name for such a pretty lass. If you don't mind me saying so. It is a real honor. But, sirs? Where are they to sleep? Begging your pardon, miss, but we don't have sleeping quarters prepared for a lady!"
"She'll be taking your bed, Planchet." Aramis said in a dry business tone. Felice gawked up at him, mortified.
"What?!" She gasped. "And where is Charles to sleep?"
"And just where am I to sleep?" Planchet asked timidly.
"D'Artagnan shall have my bed." Athos offered. "Not like I use it much anyway."
"That is all very well, sir, but might I ask again, where am I to sleep?"
"You, Planchet, shall take the balcony." Aramis smirked.
"Aye." Porthos added.
"Tha balcony?" Planchet echoed him miserably. "Right under the birds doing their business all night?"
"Naturally." Porthos said casually. "Where else?"
The cads! "No!" Felice said firmly.
"Pardon me?" Porthos sputtered.
"No one is sleeping on any balcony." Felice declared. "Planchet, my good sir, there is no need to give up your bed. My brother will take Monsieur Athos's bed, and I shall take a cot on the floor beside him."
"That, my dear young lady, is out of the question." Athos protested.
"Indeed! We cannot allow a lovely lass as yourself retiring on the dirty floor!" Aramis added.
"But you will turn your manservant out in the cold, as if he were a complete waste of space." Felice pursed her lips. "Puh, some heroes. Chivalrous to the death but no respect for their fellow man."
"Thank you, miss!" Planchet bowed again in relief.
"Shut up, Planchet." Porthos groaned.
"Yes, sir."
"Nah, Felice. You take the bed, I'll sleep on the floor." D'Artagnan offered.
"I can sleep on the floor, it's no problem." Felice shook her head.
"No. They are right. You take the bed."
"You are sure?"
"Yeah." D'Artagnan nodded. Felice shrugged in agreement.
"Planchet! What are you staring at?" Porthos huffed. "More wine, man! At once."
"Very good, sir. Except I can't, sir. You see, we've run out of money." Planchet responded meekly.
"Planchet, what are you?"
"Errand boy, and cook, and housekeeper, and chamber maid."
"And?"
"An absolute toad, sir, but I can't work bleeding miracles, sir!"
"Planchet? There you are." D'Artagnan handed him a coin.
"Ahh, well! Thank you very much, sir!" Planchet rambled. "That is mighty generous coming from such a handsome, gallant young man such as yourself. It will be a real pleasure having you about, sir."
"Wine! Wine! Wine!" Porthos chanted impatiently, shoving the shorter man out the door.
"He could break his neck falling down those steps." Felice commented icily.
"Don't worry about him, lass. He's used to it." Porthos waved her off. "Well, I do not know about the rest of you, but I'm starved!"
"Aramis, show them to their room." Athos said. "See that they have all they need."
"Of course." Aramis said. "Just follow me." He led them past the small kitchen up the stairs around the corner, and down the hall. "This is Athos's room, but consider it yours now." Aramis told them, opening the door to wide chamber with a large bed, a writing desk in the corner, and a wash basin beside the wardrobe. "I think you'll find it comfortable."
"It looks fine, better than I expected in this part of town." D'Artagnan approved.
"Well, I think I will leave you two to get settled. Come down for a bite when you feel ready." Aramis smiled, closing the door. Felice exhaled with relief. They were finally alone!
"Check out the bed, huh?" D'Artagnan threw off his cloak and hat and plopped backwards down onto the bed, bouncing off the mattress like a cork on water.
"Honestly, Charles," Felice laughed. "You are acting like a six-year-old."
"Come. It's quite comfortable!" D'Artagnan grinned. Felice sat down next to him.
"It is very comfortable."
"I'm beginning to regret my offer to sleep on the floor." D'Artagnan moaned dramatically. "I don't suppose it's too late to ask if you would be willing to trade…" He gave his sister his best puppy dog look with his big baby blue eyes.
"If you want it that much…"
"No. I wouldn't dream of it. Father would have my hide if I did such a thing!"
"Well, good to know you haven't lost all your faculties."
"Oh, very funny." D'Artagnan laughed out loud, then he winced, hugging himself.
"Charles?"
"It's nothing. Just that...with all the excitement today, I didn't realize how much those war wounds actually feel." D'Artagnan grimaced. Now that all the adrenaline from today had dissipated, he began to truly feel his multiple injuries.
"Is it bad?" Felice asked. She herself had some scrapes of her own from being thrown to the ground.
"I'm fine. Don't worry about me." D'Artagnan said. He sat up but fell back, wincing again, holding his side.
"You could be hurt worse than you know!" Felice exclaimed.
"Quit fretting. I am fine. Just need some cleaning up, is all."
"You can barely get up from the bed!"
"You exaggerate. There, see?" D'Artagnan boasted, standing up, gritting his teeth from the fast movement.
"Your arm is bleeding again! I am surprised you haven't bled out by now after all that happened today! You need help."
"I do not." D'Artagnan rolled his eyes.
"I promised Mother I would keep a sharp eye on you. And I'm not going to break it, today of all days!" Felice warned him. She hurried out the door.
"Felice, just-ugh.' D'Artagnan threw up his hands helplessly.
Felice hurried through the hall, and peeked down the stairs. "Something you need, lass?" Porthos asked curiously, munching on a small slab of cheese.
"It's my brother, sir. He's hurt." Felice answered. "I think he needs help." Athos straightened up. Aramis immediately rose to his feet from his chair.
"I don't." D'Artagnan argued, coming in behind her. "She's just being overly protective, Mother Hen." He nudged her in the side.
"Oww." She groaned, crossing her arms.
"If that's true, then why are you protecting your side like that, boy?" Athos asked. D'Artagnan's eyes widened and he quickly hid both hands behind his back, trying to act nonchalant. "You arm is bleeding."
"Have a seat, lad. I'm going to take a look at you." Aramis said seriously.
"Come on, fellas." D'Artagnan muttered.
"Sit down, boy!" Porthos grunted. D'Artagnan scowled at his sister.
"Now see the mess you got me into?" He groaned.
"If it wasn't for me, you'd be walking like a stubborn mule all over Paris, boiling with fever and oozing gangrene, insisting it was only a little scratch!" Felice retorted. Porthos coughed up a snicker. From what they had already seen of D'Artagnan and his headstrong temper, he could easily see the boy doing that, no matter how dangerous it was. Even Athos managed a whisper of a smile.
"I'm not that stupid." D'Artagnan retorted right back.
"Ha!" Felice crossed her arms. Porthos nearly choked, trying to stifle his laughter. Aramis elbowed him in the back of the head as he came beside D'Artagnan with his kit of medical supplies.
"Give me some credit here! I mean, come on!" D'Artagnan pleaded.
"Just shut up, little sh-." Porthos told him. "Have a seat, miss." As Aramis helped the boy remove his shirt, Athos pulled out his flask of whiskey. By the sounds of things, he was going to need it!
Athos lent his flask to Aramis as he tried to clean the gunshot wound on D'Artagnan's arm. D'Artagnan hissed painfully at the burning sensation but bit his tongue. "Remember when you decided to surprise Mother with some honeycomb from the hive we found?" Felice spoke softly to him, to take his mind off his pain. "And you wouldn't wait for Father but insisted you knew what to do?"
"How could I forget?" D'Artagnan grimaced, doing his best to sit still for Aramis.
"And Mother had to cake you in mud for 2 days?"
"Those bee stings hurt much more than this." D'Artagnan said, trying to be brave. He was slightly pale.
"Fortunately, there does not appear to be any infection." Aramis told him.
"How is that possible with the swordplay we found ourselves in?" Athos asked.
"I do not know. But this boy is very lucky that there is none, or this would turn much more grievous."
"I told him when he was shot that he needed to see a doctor!" Felice exclaimed. "But would he listen?"
"I had...ahh." D'Artagnan winced hard.
"Sorry, lad." Aramis said kindly.
"I had...more urgent matters on my mind at the time." D'Artagnan said.
"There. The bleeding has stopped." Aramis approved. "But I am afraid I shall have to stitch you up." D'Artagnan swallowed hard. He'd had his share of patch-ups before, in his mother's loving care from his adolescent shenanigans. But he always hated them.
"Might I have a drop more of that whiskey, Athos?" He prayed he didn't sound like he was begging.
"Certainly, lad." Athos said soothingly, and handed him the flask. D'Artagnan took a large gulp. By that time, Planchet returned.
"Got the wine as you demanded, sirs." He said, carrying two large crates inside as he tried to swivel his very round torso through the smaller door.
"It's about time." Porthos grumbled.
"Your timing couldn't be more perfect." Aramis told Planchet. "The wine will be stronger, and may perhaps dull the pain much better."
"I hope so." D'Artagnan said.
"Here, Planchet. Let me give you a hand!" Felice rose and took one of the crates from him.
"Thank you, miss! You are most kind. But it's a gentleman's job to carry for a lady." Planchet said.
"Where do you want it?" Felice asked.
"In the store room up the steps. First door to the left in the hall." Planchet explained.
"Very well." Felice nodded. That did it for Porthos. The girl's defensive kindness of their singular, put upon manservant was making him fidget with unrecognizable guilt. He strode over to them.
"I'll be taking that, lass." He insisted, easily scooping up the box from her hands.
"I've got it."
"It's much too heavy. We won't have you breaking your pretty neck on those stairs for our benefit." Athos told her.
"I was raised on a farm." Felice sighed. "I'm used to hard work. Besides, you can't expect poor Planchet to carry both of those up the stairs and not break his neck!" Porthos face drooped. Aramis and Athos were chuckling.
"I beg you, please, don't argue with her! My ears can't take it right now! I am in enough discomfort as it is." D'Artagnan whined to Porthos. Porthos grunted and marched up the stairs to the store room. Planchet began to follow but before he even made it halfway, Porthos returned and grabbed the other box from him! Planchet stood there, gawking.
"I don't know what kind of spell you have cast over him, miss, but I am grateful. That is the first time Monsieur Porthos has ever volunteered to assist me as such!" He exclaimed.
"Most likely he wants to get his hands all the faster on the wine than from the goodness of his heart." Athos said sarcastically.
"I wouldn't be surprised." Aramis whispered. Porthos loudly marched back to the dining area with a jug of wine. "The lad needs that more than you do." Aramis told him.
"Just so." Porthos shrugged. Handing the jug to D'Artagnan, the boy took several hefty gulpfuls.
"Good heavens! What has happened to the poor lad?!" Planchet gasped, bracing himself against a beam on the wall. He was quite squeamish.
"Cardinal's guards." Athos said, too tired and sore himself to explain the whole thing.
"Ohh, oh my," Planchet swayed.
"Supper, Planchet." Porthos said. It was obvious that the short man was either going to vomit or pass out any moment. Giving him a task would keep him busy.
"R-right, sir!" Planchet nodded, scurrying out of the room.
"I shall help him." Felice said, about to follow.
"Sit down, child." Athos told her. "You've done enough for one day."
"Is that a statement or an insult?"
"Take your pick." Athos shrugged, drinking his whiskey.
"You are going to make one lucky chap a fine little wife someday." Porthos said. "I envy him, wish I were twenty years younger!"
"Do you always refer to everyone you meet as 'little'?" Felice asked.
"Big mouth comes from his big head." Athos teased his partner.
"At least I don't mope around like an old bullfrog all the time!" Porthos corrected him.
Aramis had begun stitching D'Artagnan's arm. The boy stiffened, and squeezed his eyes shut several times. He dared not cry, not in front of these living legends! "Breathe, D'Artagnan. Just breathe, slow and easy. It will help." Aramis encouraged him gently. D'Artagnan tried to follow his instruction, but a couple stray tears. Felice stood nearby and squeezed his other hand.
"I'm...alright…" D'Artagnan whimpered.
"This won't take long, D'Artagnan." Aramis assured him. "Luckily, it was only a flesh wound." The boy nodded, his eyes shining with small tears that he tried so hard to blink away.
"Perhaps your sister can cheer you up." Porthos said. "That is, lass, if you have any sage words of feminine advice."
"Actually, I think that his response is very appropriate." Felice whispered, rubbing her brother's uninjured shoulder. He leaned his head on her hand and tried to wipe his tears away. "Father sometimes says that 'the thing about pain is, it demands to be felt.' And sometimes, that you just need to let it."
"Wise man." Aramis murmured. Athos didn't make any comment. He became deeply lost in thought as he drank some freshly poured wine. About five minutes later, Aramis was through with the stitching and had bandaged the wound. D'Artagnan breathed heavily in relief, brushing the sweat from his brow. "The hard part is over, D'Artagnan. You may relax now." Aramis smiled. Porthos passed the boy some more wine.
"Are you alright?" Felice whispered to D'Artagnan.
"Yeah. I am now." He smiled wearily. Felice went back to her chair. Aramis had washed his hands and now came back to tend D'Artagnan's other hurts. Felice's scrapes stung as she looked at her brother's battered torso.
"Some nasty bruises, lad. Considering the source, you are quite lucky." Aramis said solemnly as he checked D'Artagnan over. Felice sat closely behind her brother, keeping a safe berth between herself and the three older men who had welcomed them here. Porthos chewed on a healthful chunk of cooked ham, one of his bulky legs stretching out across the table. "How did you end up in Rochefort's black list in the first place?" Aramis asked.
"I told you, he insulted my horse." D'Artagnan answered, wincing as the churchman lightly dabbed cold water on his bruises.
"So, Monsieur Brilliant here said that if the bilge rat didn't apologize to Buttercup, that he'd kill him." Felice shook her head. All heads turned to D'Artagnan.
"What?" He asked oh so innocently.
"You didn't!" Aramis gaped.
"I imagine he didn't take too kindly to that!" Porthos belted out laughing heartily. "I'd have liked to have seen the look on that ugly face of his!"
"Of all the idiotic, pig-headed, suicidal notions. I've never heard of anything so utterly dimwitted in all my life." Athos cringed. How the heck had he gotten stuck with these stubborn, chatty, Gascon juvenile delinquents under his roof? What in the world had he ever done to deserve this?
"You have more guts, lad, than I first took you for." Porthos praised. Felice shot him a warning look.
"Don't encourage him." She said through gritted teeth.
Aramis couldn't hide a grin as he continued to doctor the young man. "Your ambitious spirit will be the death of you, you know." He spoke alarmingly calm.
"Maybe." D'Artagnan sighed casually. "It might be worth it though, once I catch him."
"God save us." Felice shuddered.
"Not only did he insult my horse, but he also stole my letter for Monsieur de Treville. He threatened my sister, and tried to kill me! So, yes, I am inclined to seek him out for revenge."
"That's the best I can do for now." Aramis stood up. "You best exercise more caution, lad. Next time, you might score more than a few purple welts. I suggest you take it easy and rest for the duration of the day. No more fights!"
"Yes, momma." D'Artagnan quipped coyly. Aramis gawked at him then shook his head in resignation.
"If our mother's advice didn't sink in by now, then I wouldn't hold my breath for that kind of miracle." Felice said. She was teasing her brother, he knew that. But deep down, she was frustrated with him. His complete hotheadedness today had nearly gotten them both killed, twice! She loved D'Artagnan to death. She adored him and wanted to be the skilled fighter he was. But today, he had acted before thinking of the consequences, and now they were in a load of trouble. The most feared swordsman in France didn't take kindly to them and would find them again sooner or later. Fighting with the Cardinal's guards had to be looked on as a major crime in this city. She'd...she'd been almost raped! She could push the other problems from her mind, but that was making her chest ache as she was reminded of it.
"Well, what shall we drink to?" Porthos asked jovially.
"How about the king?" D'Artagnan suggested.
"He's a child." Athos muttered. "Cardinal rules in all but name, might as well drink to him."
"To France then." Felice said quietly.
"We served it, fought for it, bled for it. Look where it got us." Athos complained.
"Okay...friendship? Love?" D'Artagnan spoke eagerly.
"One word of advice, young ones: trust no one. You live longer."
"There must be something you still believe in."
"This." Athos held up a coin from his pocket. "And this." He tossed the coin in the air then thrust his sword straight through it, sticking in the ceiling. "And this." He took another sip. "Anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or trying to sell you something." Athos finished, then left the room.
"He's not exactly the outgoing type, is he?" Felice shrunk down into her seat.
"He's just warming up." Porthos chided.
Aramis shook his head as he read a religious pamphlet."I know Athos may seem cold and unfriendly, but don't let it fool you." He said confidently. "Deep down..."
"He really is cold and unfriendly."
"What happened to him?" D'Artagnan asked sadly.
"What happens to any man? A woman." Aramis moaned.
"Good grief." Felice muttered quietly. What did she do to him? Did she use him? Did she pledge herself to him then break his heart by giving herself to another? He doesn't strike me as the type of man who can be easily fooled or bought! Must be some very bad blood between him and that woman for him to still be grieving or brooding over her!
D'Artagnan sat forward in his chair. "I don't want to offend anyone," He said nervously, "but I thought you'd all be a bit more...heroic." Porthos laughed boisterously.
Aramis set aside his pamphlet and removed his glasses."What my esteemed colleague is trying to say in his own way is that, we are obsolete." He told them. "We're warriors, but there is no war for us to fight. So we drink, we brawl, quarrel with the Cardinal's guards, and then we drink some more."
"Most depressing. You all need a hobby." Felice sighed dramatically.
"I've got hobbies." Porthos bragged. "Eating, drinking, spending, duchesses and princesses drawn to my dashing looks, then more drinking! Full life." Felice shook her head.
He's hopeless.
Aramis couldn't help laughing a little. "What we need is a great cause. But there are no great causes left." He murmured sadly.
"Which is why I keep telling you, it's not too late to do that priest thing again. Beats working for the city. Free booze at wakes and weddings. And then there's the nuns!" Porthos rambled.
"That's not the way it works. Nuns are not allowed to have suitors. It's forbidden." Felice frowned at him.
"You were a priest?" D'Artagnan asked.
"Until I realized that being a man of God, and a man of the cloth aren't always the same thing." Aramis said.
"And yet he still says prayers for those he kills. Old habit." Porthos teased.
"On the contrary, the man I killed deserved to die. But he also deserved peace. After all, he must have believed in something. We all do, even the worst of us." Aramis said passionately.
"I'll drink to that." Porthos agreed.
"Hmph." D'Artagnan shrugged. "Maybe."
"You say that Rochefort also went after you, Miss." Aramis mentioned. Porthos's face darkened.
Felice instinctively drew in a breath, her hands shaking. Her stomach tightened again as she looked down at her feet. "My brother said it, not me. They...roughed me up a little. Th-that's all." She answered cautiously. D'Artagnan reached under the table and squeezed her hand warmly.
"And you came out unscathed?" Porthos sputtered incredulously.
"Obviously. The same c-can't be said for my clothes." Felice hugged herself, avoiding their faces. Charles, please make them stop! She looked pleadingly to D'Artagnan.
"Rochefort isn't the kind to play fair. As a matter of fact, he's downright dirty." Porthos pointed out. Felice wished they hadn't even brought up the subject. The more she thought about this morning, and Rochefort's creepy face, the horrible helplessness that she'd been forced to endure, the more nauseous and close to tears she felt.
"Have you been injured, child? Did he hurt you?" Aramis asked, very concerned.
"No!" Felice yelped harshly. She had no intention of being handled again by any man, except her brother. Not even the gentle priest. These men seemed alright, and like they actually cared, but they were still strangers to her. And they were...soldiers. Her heart-rate escalated and her head was beginning to spin.
"I am sorry, lass. I was not trying to upset you." Aramis quickly apologized in a soft voice.
"I'd rather not talk about it! Excuse me!" She abruptly stood and hurried up the stairs, trying to hide her tears. An awkward silence nearly choked the room.
"I'm afraid I spoke out of turn." Aramis said fervently.
"No, you didn't. Just that, it was not an experience either of us would wish to repeat." D'Artagnan explained grimly."While Rochefort was getting ready to kill me, he ordered his men to...to assault her." He clenched his fists, setting his jaw. His normally gentile blue eyes flared with righteous anger."Then he was going to join them after he'd finished me off! We...barely escaped." Aramis and Porthos listened quietly, their countenances dark and sorrowful. "She tries not to show it, but I know it really effects her. She's never been this far from home, neither of us have. And the first time we run into a group of men in uniform…"
"Well, she shouldn't worry about us, lad." Porthos said. "You can be sure that we shall have a thrice-fold score to settle with Rochefort when we see him next!"
"I'll drink to that!" D'Artagnan nodded.
"You are sure she is not hurt?" Aramis asked. No lady should be forced into suggestive behavior against her will, and certainly not one so young and innocent. And he could not believe that any girl could escape Rochefort, still intact, once he had them in his clutches!
"Not physically. Much." D'Artagnan answered. "She's still shook up about it. I strongly suggest you tread carefully around the subject, sirs. It gives me no pleasure seeing my sister disturbed like this."
"Of course. I shall strive be more discreet next time." Aramis sighed meekly.
"It's not your fault, Aramis. You didn't know. Your intentions were good. Don't hold that against yourself. I appreciate you gentlemen looking out for my sister. She needs something stable to cling to while we adjust to our new lives."
"That is not hard to do. Well, I shall make one statement." Porthos smiled. "You youngsters have livened things up around here considerably!"
D'Artagnan chuckled. "If you will excuse me, I best see to my sister."
"Certainly!" Aramis insisted. D'Artagnan made his way to Athos's room. As soon as he was gone, Porthos banged his enormous fist down on the table in anger.
"I say we ride out of here, and track down that skunk, and give him what for this minute!" He growled vehemently.
"As much as I share your angered emotions, it won't do any good." Aramis hung his head. It all became clear to him now, his small observations of Felice's behavior, particularly her freezing in mid-fight back at Cooper's Yard when that guard had cornered her. Her anxiety of having to lodge with himself, and his friends: completely surrounded by men she hardly knew. Her agitation every time D'Artagnan brought up Rochefort attacking her. And her adamant attitude towards himself about whether or not she was hurt. She must be, he'd noticed her wincing from time to time. He understood now though that even if that was the case, she didn't trust him or any of them enough to tell the truth about it.
The poor girl is truly afraid of us, afraid we may pull the same vulgarity! Aramis thought with horror. Of all the things he and his fellow musketeers had been accused of or despised for, this was a new one. She is only here because she has to be, and if it wasn't for Rochefort's roaming in the city, she would gladly rather be in a boarding house than here.
I should've guessed! But it is hardly the subject that decent people go around talking about. That is why she looked at me with such shock after I killed the scoundrel who went after her! She didn't know what to expect next. I am convinced now that she was not sure whether I would claim her for myself, and put her through the same kind of torment. Poor child! Ahh, dear Felice. What will it take for us to help you believe that we truly are honorable men, that we would never consider committing such a violation? I pray you will come to peace about this, sooner rather than later.
"Rochefort will show up soon enough, there is no doubt." Aramis said dryly.
"D- him when he does! To h- with him, and all his d- cronies!" Porthos spat.
D'Artagnan quietly entered their bedroom and shut the door. Felice had let down her dress and was in her light shift. It was modest enough where her brother did not see anything inappropriate, but thin enough where she wouldn't want to be caught out in public in it. Felice was crying, using a wet rag to wash her own cuts. She whimpered as the cool water hit them.
"Here, let me help." D'Artagnan said gently, dabbing the wet cloth on her scrapes. She hissed out a breath but remained still.
"You-you should rest. You're hurt much worse than I am." Felice sniffled.
"I'm okay." D'Artagnan argued. "Aramis didn't mean to hurt your feelings, you know. He was only making sure you were alright." Felice let out a small cry that she couldn't contain, clutching her necklace. "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt." He reminded her, squeezing her wrist. "Nothing major here, but we don't want to risk these getting dirtied. I can ask Aramis for some bandages to keep these clean."
"No! Charles, please don't do that!" Felice begged.
"Darling-"
"I don't want him to know! He'll want to see for himself."
"He's only trying to help, Felice. Why do you have such a difficult time with him being kind?"
"Because I...he...they…it makes me feel..." Felice sobbed, unable to speak coherently.
"Slow down." D'Artagnan held her by the shoulders.
"Please don't hold me like that…" Felice pleaded icily. D'Artagnan quickly removed his hands, stunned by her aloof and frightened manner.
"Hey, it's me here." He said. "Felice, what is it? Please talk to me!"
"I...I...Charles? I...I...I can't." She said defensively, hunching her shoulders. D'Artagnan backed away and whirled out of the room. Felice leaned against the wall, hugging herself, weeping, and dropped down to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest. I never should have left home! I should've stayed there! Ohh, Mother, I wish you were with me right now! I need you so much! I miss you and Father. I need both of you!
D'Artagnan spotted Planchet in the hall, carrying an armload of potatoes. "Planchet!" He hailed.
"Sir? Yes, can I get you something?" Planchet smiled eagerly.
"Uhm...where do you keep the bandages around here?" D'Artagnan whispered.
"Bandages, sir? Oh, good l-! Do not tell me that you have ripped your stitches out!" Planchet went pale.
"No, no. Nothing like that, I assure you." D'Artagnan laughed. "I'd...just like to have them on hand, so that I don't need to bother Master Aramis every time I feel unwell."
"Are you sure that is a wise idea, young master? What with you not being a medical man of sorts, no offense, sir."
"Please, just tell me where you keep them so that we will not need to bother the man of God." D'Artagnan insisted, growing impatient.
"In the back room, sir. In a brown leather satchel."
"Merci, Planchet." D'Artagnan bowed gratefully.
"You are sure you do not need Master Aramis's services?"
"I'm sure. Please do hurry along and start supper. I'm famished!"
"Coming right up, sir!" Planchet beamed and exited. D'Artagnan snuck into the back room and to his relief, easily found the satchel. He opened it, grabbed what he needed and went back to his room. He closed the door behind him and sat beside Felice on the floor.
"Here." He smiled, taking her small arm and gingerly wrapping it with small white bandages over her cuts.
"Thank you." She whispered with trembling lips. "You didn't tell them, did you?" She cried anxiously.
D'Artagnan frowned at her petrified countenance. "No, I didn't." He rubbed her shoulder.
"Charles?" Felice blubbered.
"Hmm?"
"Do you suppose we did the right thing, leaving home?"
"I thought we did."
"You did. I never should have come to this place!" Felice trembled.
"Hey, the musketeers are not unsavory fellows. They're heroes. They came to help us, did they not?"
"Y-yes."
"They haven't so much as even looked at you wrong, have they?"
"Not yet. It doesn't mean they won't." Felice shuddered, looking into his eyes.
"Come here." D'Artagnan whispered. She dipped her head against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. "It's okay. I'm sorry I wasn't able to protect you, Felice. I will never forgive myself for that!" He let her have her cry and gave her his handkerchief when she finally started calming down. He brushed her hair away from her face. "Felice, I promise you that we're safe here. I trust the musketeers. I don't believe they would ever hurt you. Will you trust me on that? Please?" His tone was grim, but he threw her his best puppy dog eye look.
"I hope you're right." She said timidly, leaning on his shoulder.
"I am. You'll see." D'Artagnan said confidently and kissed her hair.
Planchet had told Felice and D'Artagnan that it was time for supper, but he did not join them as he was instructed to see to the horses in the stable. Felice and D'Artagnan came to the small dining table, their mouths watering. "Ahh, there you are!" Porthos greeted. "I had thought you two rascals had snuck out of the window and gallivanted off to find greater fortunes!"
"Hardly." D'Artagnan chuckled. "I had thought by now that you had drained the cork dry from consuming all the wine."
"News!" Aramis exclaimed. "We have been summoned by order of the king to appear before his majesty on the morrow."
"The king himself?!" D'Artagnan squeaked.
"What for? Why would the king send for us?" Felice asked frightfully, gripping her necklace.
"Most likely to reprimand us for the skirmish today." Athos said. "Obviously, Captain de Treville had an interview with his eminence the Cardinal. Which then Treville had to explain our doings to the king, who wishes to hear our side."
D'Artagnan whistled. "Well, hopefully he will not be too severe with us." He shrugged.
"Relax, lass. The king is not an ogre!" Porthos grinned.
"And if what you all say is true about the Cardinal, then I'm guessing this isn't the first time this has occurred?"
"Of course not, lad." Porthos laughed.
"Well," Felice sighed with relief, "I hope you have a satisfactory meeting, sirs. I shall be content to tend Buttercup and keep Planchet company."
"The king has sent for you too. It is not an order to be disobeyed." Athos corrected her. Felice gaped with fright again.
"Me? What have I done?" She gulped.
"You were also seen fighting Rochefort's men." Porthos explained. "Hardly an every day occurrence! The king would like to know why. You've caused great excitement."
"Well, I shall have to tell him then that it is not as if I did it for sport! On the contrary!" Felice declared.
"I am sure he will find your explanation quite interesting." Porthos remarked nonchalantly.
"Seeing as the king has sent for all of us, I suppose that means we're stuck with the two of you." Athos groaned at the two teenagers.
"Indeed." D'Artagnan smirked.
"And, lass, I just wish to point out that you needn't be frightened of us." Aramis said soothingly. "I give you my word, we would never compromise you. You can count on that." Felice glared sadly at D'Artagnan. Why did he have to be such a blabbermouth?
"We may be on the shelf collecting dust as it were," Porthos smiled, "but we live by a code. A code of honor, a code to serve and protect the realm. We haven't forgotten it."
Aramis saw the exchange between the siblings and attempted to prevent them coming to blows. "Your brother only wished us to understand the situation, so we did not speak recklessly again." Aramis told her.
"What is this?" Athos cocked his head curiously.
She nodded quietly, patting her brother's arm, allowing herself to believe them. "Th-thank you, good sirs." She answered quietly.
"So, we are to meet with the king himself." D'Artagnan spoke eagerly.
"Aye. But you, lad, will be a sorry sight." Athos muttered.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Felice snapped.
"Do you not have better clothes?" Athos slightly grinned.
"Ahh, yes. I see your point." She sighed at her brother.
"I'm afraid not. They're the only clothes I've got." D'Artagnan said sheepishly.
"Fortunately for me, that is not the case. My mother insured that I had a few comely garments on hand. That's one of the advantages of being a girl." Felice boasted.
"Well, at least one of you has the sense to think ahead." Athos grumbled.
"You mustn't be too hard on my brother. He may act before he thinks the majority of the time, but you have to admit, he gets the job done!"
"Thank you." D'Artagnan threw out his chest.
"Ah ha ha, I think they have you cornered there, my friend." Aramis chuckled.
"After all, who was it that charged into a brigade of forty Cardinal's men while we stood on the sidelines like a pack of old ladies?" Porthos shrugged. D'Artagnan tried not to gloat at the high praise but the corners of his mouth nearly reached his ears.