Chapter Text
"I'm looking for Athos!" d'Artagnan called as he entered the Musketeers' garrison. There was but three Musketeers gathered at the bottom of a set of stairs that led to the up-stair barracks of the compound.
"You found her."
The pronoun didn't quite register with the Gascon, not until the black leather clad Musketeer turned to face him. d'Artagnan's pistol wavered slightly as he was unexpectedly faced with a woman. Confusion clouded his brown eyes at the blue-eyed lady. The challenge to the man that had murdered his father, that he had readied to issue from his lips, died as he found not only one beautiful woman in front of him, but three.
"You— You're— You're a— " he stammered.
"Yes?" She raised a brow at him from under her hat.
"Careful what you say next, kid." Advised one of the other women that stood behind Athos, leaning against the railing of the stair. She had dark brown hair with little curls in it tucked under a hat, with a light brown leather frock coat, high boots, an easy lilt to her lips and dark alluring eyes.
"Depends on if 'e wants to keep 'is parts exactly where they are and not at 'is feet, eh, Aramis?" A tall, dark-skinned woman elbowed her friend next to her, with a long black braid down the center of her back, a bandana tied around her head, and scar that cross sectioned over her left eye—but it did nothing to take away from her beauty, but perhaps added to it.
Aramis smiled in amusement. "Oh, Porthos."
"A woman." d'Artagnan finished lamely. He'd never known women to be Musketeers before, and clearly these three were. He could see each of their pauldrons with the clear markings of the Fleur-de-lis. "You're Athos?"
"That's what I said." She replied, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she eyed him and the pistol now lowered at his side. "Who are you, if I might ask?"
"Uh... Charles d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony." d'Artagnan replied slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it. His father had been killed by a man, he'd been sure of it. He'd heard the bastard laughing as he rode away, leaving his dying father in his arms, gasping his killer's name with his last breath. In the pouring rain, Alexandre d'Artagnan's empty body in his arms, he had vowed to get revenge upon the man who had murdered his father in cold blood, and his grief was layered under his anger and guilt.
But a woman? He couldn't understand it. For some reason, it just seemed unreasonable. Why would a woman want to kill his father? How could a woman do such a thing? But as he looked across at Athos, he realized that this wasn't just some farmer's daughter from Gascony, this was a battle hardened woman, the three of them were. He could see their scars. The faint line drawn across Aramis' forehead, half obscured by her curls. The thin curve on Athos' top lip. And the very visible scar across Porthos' eye.
Woman or not, it did not matter if it was a murderer or a murderess. If she was the one that killed Alexandre, than d'Artagnan was going to be the one to kill her— or die trying in honour of his late father hardly three days past.
His anger and vengeance burned through the confusion.
Athos started, "Why—"
"You killed my father!"
"Now this is interestin'." Porthos murmured, straightening.
Athos' brows twitched in surprise. "I did what now?"
d'Artagnan threw his pistol to the side and drew his rapier. "You murdered my father. One of us dies here today."
"Listen," Athos said calmly, even as she was forced to draw her sword in mirror of d'Artagnan. "I usually remember it when I kill someone."
"So you deny that you murdered Alexandre d'Artagnan not three days ago at an inn a couple hours outside Paris?"
"You're are mistaken. I am not the woman you're looking for. That name means nothing to me."
The denial of his father's name felt like a physical blow. He gritted his teeth. "Murderess!" and he charged at her.
His attack was head-on, and Athos was able to easily parry the downward strike. He instantly struck again and she stayed willingly on the defensive for the moment, hopefully able to tire the young man out and reap more information.
But it wasn’t long before Athos tossed her hat aside, it flying through the air like a disk as she forgot herself for a second in the fight. For someone so clearly green, he had great skill—a diamond in the rough.
"I'm impressed." Aramis instantly took notice of the subtle change in Athos, leaning against a support beam to both move out of the way and get a better view. "He's keeping up with Athos."
"Rubbish!" Porthos shook her head in denial, her arms crossed over her chest. "She just doesn't want t' hurt the lunatic."
Aramis chuckled at the sentiment. While she was sure that part wasn't exactly true, it was obvious he was taken by grief and anger; there was an energy in the lad that was almost startling.
d'Artagnan backed off a step, a bit breathless. She was an amazing swordswoman, he'd never encountered someone so skilled before. But he guessed she had to be, if she was a Musketeer, and probably more so because she was a woman. He hated that he was impressed by the murderess of his father, though he'd be remiss to underestimate her. The twinge in his ribs were an annoyance he couldn't afford with an opponent, but one he was stuck with.
"Your seem to be a liar as well! To deny his killing to my face is a grave insult."
She narrowed her eyes at this second accusation, and this time, when he came at her, she decided this play was over. She had lost herself in the fight long enough. He was a fool to accuse her of false crimes and she had better things to do with her time. She drove his back against a beam with several successive blows, and relinquished him of his rapier. Despite being petit she pinned him back against it with her sword arm across his chest (noting the grimace).
Any other time a woman was pressed up against him like this, his head might have turned into a tomato of blush, especially someone as attractive as her, but as it was, the dagger jabbed into the post behind his neck didn't elate the feeling.
"That's enough!" She told him, before she drove her main gauche into the wood next to his throat. "That could have been your throat. Don't make me kill you over a mistake!" She spat, her eye narrowed as his brown eyes burned with anger and hate. She couldn't deny his potential. It was there, behind the hot anger that made him sloppy and open. Maybe if he wasn't such an idiot, but that could be attributed to the loss of his father. She released him and turned her back, heading towards her friends. The fight done. "I did not kill your father."
It was like the ultimate insult, to turn her back on him during their duel. Like she didn't think him worthy enough. It didn't matter if she was a woman. If she killed his father, then she deserved the fait he gave. He pulled a dagger and released it.
"Athos!" Aramis' warning gave the other woman just enough time to dodge the coming dagger, which embedded itself into the wood next to Aramis' hand.
"And that could have been your back!" d'Artagnan returned as the woman turned back to him with a cold expression. "Now fight me!" he retrieved his fallen sword, "or die on your knees! I do not care which." Athos continued to glower at him. "No?" He charged at her anyways.
He thrust his sword, but it was parried by another as Aramis stepped in between the pair. "She said that was enough."
d'Artagnan narrowed his eyes at the intruder. "This is not your concern."
"When you accuse my friend of murder, I dare say it is, Charlie." Aramis said, just as intense.
"It's Charles." he ground out. "And I'll fight both of you if need be!" He pushed Aramis' blade away and faced the two women.
Athos tsked in annoyance and with a lightning fast strike, pinned d'Artagnan's blade against the table next to them, Aramis quickly locked her blade a top as well.
"Oi, don't leave me out." Porthos protested, putting her sword on the top of the pile. "So, you give up yet?" d’Artagnan seethed. "For God's sake, put up your sword!"
His lips twisted in contempt at the suggestion. "You'll have to kill me for it!"
And to the three Musketeers' surprise, he threw off their swords, jumped back and faced against them.
"Lively little bugger, aren't you?" Porthos grinned. She was always in for a fight. She loved the excitement and the exertion. Sometimes, depending on the opponent, it could be better than sex (though she knew Aramis would not agree). It was something that Athos, Aramis and Captain Treville had talked to her about on more than one occasion—but she couldn't help it. It was like the sky being blue, or blood being red. It just was how she was.
He held the three women at bay for several minutes, but even as skilled and youthful as he was, these were experienced swordswomen. Their number and their skill overpowered him and with an unexpectedly powerful blow from Porthos, he was driven back against the stairs, and found three sword-tips at his jugular, keeping him in check.
"Should we 'ave a little fun with 'im?" Porthos traced the tip of her blade against his bobbing Adam's apple as he swallowed. Aramis smirked in contemplation.
d'Artagnan glared at them defiantly. He hadn't been lying when he had said one of them was going to die here today. Though he felt shame at not being able to avenge his father, it was something that he'd tried and perhaps it was just that he died by the same hand. But anger made him grit his teeth as Athos withdrew her blade and turned away. He tensed, pushing forward despite the two swords still at his throat. He wouldn’t let her get away! If she murdered his father, he would have vengeance.
"Stop fighting, all of you!" a already familiar female voice called. d'Artagnan could see her through the gap between Aramis and Porthos, Athos in the same shot as the red-haired woman.
"We weren't going to kill him." Athos remarked plainly.
"We weren't?" Porthos glanced back at Athos before she looked aside at Aramis. "Did you know 'bout this?"
"No. Next time, let us know, hm?" she said over her shoulder to Athos.
Reluctantly it seemed, both women sheathed their swords and stepped back. They would have to have some kind of blood lust if they wanted to be soldiers, after all—though in truth, he'd prefer it not to be his own, but beggars can't be choosers, and d'Artagnan was anything but a beggar.
"Madame Bonacieux, what are you doing here?" Athos enquired politely.
"I followed him because I knew he was going to do something stupid." Constance pushed through the trio of Musketeers. "I was right, wasn't I?"
She was his savoir several times now since his arrival in Paris and in this single day no less. First, against his pursuers from the tavern he had stayed the night in and the results of his encounter with a dark-haired, green-eyed woman whom he'd taken to bed in a stint to drive away his grief and anger; when he'd passed-out and she'd taken him home and wrapped his bruised ribs from his esape; and now—which was assuredly the more embarrassing of all.
d'Artagnan climbed to him feet. "I don't need a woman to protected me." He hissed, his face hot with embarrassment. Yes, he realized the irony of it.
"Oh, shut up. Don't say another word." Constance told him outright. "If only people would think, then there might be more good ones left."
"Amen, sister." Aramis nodded. "Him, I'm not sure about, but you I like."
Before Constance could retort, Treville walked into the garrison, a grim expression on his face and the two Red Guard trailing him obvious.
"What's goin' on?" Porthos asked.
"Never mind." Treville stopped in front of the group and looked to Athos. "Did you find Cornet?"
"He never made it to the monastery." Athos answered. "Give us twenty men and we'll—"
"Athos, I'm sorry." Treville stopped her with regret. "These men are here to arrest you," he indicated the two Red Guard, "You are to appear before the King on the charge of robbery and murder." Aramis and Porthos spoke in protest, but Athos was silent. "I promised there would be no trouble."
d'Artagnan felt his heart pound. Though he would not get to avenge his father personally, Athos was being punished in another way. So why did his gut twist so unsatisfactorily?
Athos nodded in agreement, but she had to try one last time before she went. She looked back to d'Artagnan solemnly. "I am not the woman you are looking for."
d'Artagnan stepped forward desperately. "Then why did my father name you as his killer?"
"I don't know." She admitted her confusion as the two Red Guard flanked her and led her from the garrison.
-xxxx
d'Artagnan didn't really remember how he ended up back at the Bonacieux residence with Constance, but he knew that it hadn't been a good idea to stick around the Garrison as Athos was arrested, so he'd allowed the woman to lead him away.
"d'Artagnan? Are you alright?" she asked in concern, setting a cup of wine in front of him that he didn’t drink.
He stared at it with a furrowed brow, his blunt nail picking at the outside edge. "Do you know that Musketeer? Athos?"
She wasn't exactly expecting that question as she sat next to him at the table. "A bit."
He looked over at her. "Do you believe she could have done this?"
"I don't know her that well," Constance reminded him, but she felt that she owed the truth of her thoughts, hoping that she might ease whatever was causing the young man such trouble. "But from what I know, she is honourable. Truth be told... I don't think that she would just cold-bloodedly murder your father."
d'Artagnan sighed, heavy-hearted. And while he appreciated her honesty, it did not quell the churning in his gut. "I came to Paris to kill the person that murdered my father," he said mournfully, "but all I seem to be finding are more questions."
"Funny how we seem to be in a similar situation, kid."
d'Artagnan was on his feet in an instant, standing between Constance and the door which stood both Aramis and Porthos entered the kitchen, his hand grasping the hilt of his sword, ready to draw at a moments notice.
He knew it would be only a matter of time before Athos' friends came for him, though he didn't expect it to be this soon, this way. He couldn't deny the symmetry. He'd burst into the garrison for Athos, and now they burst into the kitchen seeking him.
Aramis held her hands up peaceably as Constance slowly rose behind him.
"We're not here for a fight." Porthos said.
"We're here to ask of your assistance." Aramis nodded.
"Why should I help you?" he scoffed. "Athos murdered my father!"
"The conflict in your eyes is clear. You have doubts, and they're right. Athos did not kill your father, she's being set up. We just don't know why or by who, nor do we have proof just yet." Aramis reasoned. "That was why we came,"
His hand released the hilt of his sword at his hip after a charged moment, the gears in his head turning. The doubts in his heart were to hard to deny. He couldn't have Athos' blood on his hands if she was the wrong person. He couldn't condemn an innocent and have the real killer still out there, free to keep doing to other people what was done to him. "Alright."
Aramis and Porthos shared relieved looks, because the truth of it was, they had no leads themselves, and there only hope of saving Athos would be d'Artagnan. Both women were glad that they were right about the Gascon‘s disposition.
"What?" Constance was incredulous. She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "You were at each other throats an hour ago, and now you're best friends?!"
He could do not but shrug his shoulders and leave her unsatisfied by the answer as he remembered something. "At the inn," he swallowed the lump in his throat at the remembrance, "I was attacked by a couple men."
"So?" Porthos wondered.
"So... I killed one of the men. There's a chance that the body's still around."
"I knew we came t' you for a reason!" Porthos grinned.
"Charlie," Aramis said.
"Charles," he automatically corrected, "but d'Artagnan is fine."
The Spaniard nodded her assent. "There's no time to waste—Athos is to be executed in the morning."
d'Artagnan nodded and turned to Constance. He bowed light to the woman and kissed her knuckles. "Thank you, Madame. For all you have done for me," and he left with the two Musketeers, leaving her with rose coloured cheeks and a worried mind.
-xxx
The closer they drew to the inn where his old life had ended, he could feel the grief fresh as if his father's blood was still on his hands, the old man's weight in his arms, it tried to swamp him as they rode their horses hard. He gritted his teeth and forced it back into a box sealed tight and to be opened later. When this whole mess was cleared with, he'd allow himself to find some place alone and let it take him. Whether he would be crushed under the full weight of it was yet to be seen.
As luck would have it, d'Artagnan had been right that the body of one of the men who had tried to kill him in the barn—his body was still there. The ground frozen from the cold, the innkeeper had to wait for the ground to thaw a bit before he'd be able to dig a shallow grave for the bastard.
Aramis and Porthos knelt by the body and d'Artagnan stood a step back, a disgusted twist to his lips. It just felt wrong that this man was in his grave alone, Alexandre's murderer should be right in there next to him. The only thing, he realized, that when he thought of his father's killer, he could no longer picture Athos as the perpetrator.
"That ain't right," Porthos was saying, drawing him back to the present. "'E's no Musketeer I've seen before."
d'Artagnan forced himself to focus as he looked down at the man over the women's shoulders. Something tickled at the back of his mind as he stared at the dead man, but it took him a moment to realize why. "There are two pistol wounds."
"Yeah, so what?" Porthos shrugged.
"I only shot him once."
Aramis and Porthos both looked back at him before turning back to the body with a new light in their eyes. Porthos fingered the two holes in the leather with gloved fingers before she peeled back the flap, revealing the man's chest and the single wound that lay there.
"Two shots in the leather, but only one on him..." Aramis remarked, sharing a look with her friend.
"Two men died in these leathers."
"What?" d'Artagnan wondered.
"This uniform, I recognize it." Aramis said slowly.
Porthos nodded and said, "Cornet."
He furrowed his brows. "That man that Athos mentioned to your Captain? The one that's missing?"
"'xaclty."
"Those Musketeers just didn't disappear, they were killed."
-xxx
Now that they were looking for the sight of an ambush, the place presented itself on the path that the Musketeers would of had to of taken to deliver their message—and so did the striped bodies of the five missing Musketeer men.
"d'Artagnan, the men who did this killed your father as well. If you want justice, help us find them and clear Athos' name."
But the Gascon didn't need Aramis’ words to convince him that this was the right path.
The Spanish gold that Porthos found led the trio to another clue—it pointed them right towards the Red Guard. Of course, he couldn’t help but raise his brow at exactly how she got her hands on her own gold doubloon. She showed no shame as Aramis might have pointed out that she was gambler and cheat.
They headed back to Paris, and d'Artagnan waited impatiently in an empty barn with Aramis for Porthos to return with the Red Guard Dujon, with whom she had gambled with the other day.
"Are you sure she'll be alright to handle him on her own?" he asked.
Aramis laughed. "Don't let her hear you say that, she'll lay you out fast enough." She sighed at his still concerned expression. "You don't need to worry about Porthos, Charlie. You crossed swords with her briefly, she'd no sissy."
d'Artagnan sighed and relented, stopping in front of Aramis with his arms crossed over his chest. It was true, Porthos bore an unexpected strength that he was sure had cut down many men before him. "Can I ask...?"
She followed his gaze to where it rested on her pauldron, bearing the mark of the Fluer-de-lis. "Ah. Well, Captain Treville his a very open-minded and intelligent man. He saw that a well-trained woman could be as effective (and at times, more so than/) as a man. There are places that a woman can get that a man can't, hm?" she gave him a wink. He blushed at the implications behind that gesture, and she chuckled. "Men underestimate women, they can be idiots like that—present company excluded of course. You didn't even hesitate."
"Well, I fought against each of you, remember? There was no room for underestimating you—I'd be dead otherwise."
"True." She allowed. "Did you know that I was in the process of becoming a Sister before I convinced Treville to take me on?"
"Really?" he gaped in surprise. That seemed to be the last thing he would have though about when he looked at Aramis.
"Before I discovered my passion for people and excitement, that is. It just wasn't the path I was meant to take at that moment in my life. After a career in the Musketeers, that will be my road, but for now... the garrison, Porthos and Athos, that's where my home is." She told him pleasantly.
The Gascon felt wistfulness clench his heart at her words. Aramis knew what she wanted from life, where she was destined to end up. He didn't even know where he was going to be tomorrow. What was his life going to be now that his father was dead? He supposed after he brought Alexandre's killer to justice, he would go back Lupiac, and tend the farm. It was his now, now that his father was dead.
Before d'Artagnan's thoughts could really delve too deeply into the future of his own life, someone knocked on the barn door and Porthos called out. Aramis quickly let her in, dragging with her a stumbling Red Guard with a bound hands and a sack over his head.
"Look what I found!" She shoved the man onto his knees in front of the Spaniard.
"Just what was on my wish list! How did you know?" Aramis mock-gasped in delight.
Porthos grinned wickedly. "And I know just what to do to 'im, too!"
d'Artagnan watched them in amusement and resigned control of the interrogation over to the women. They knew Dujon more than he did, they would know what buttons to push. And it would be interesting to see how they worked.
With a nod from Aramis, Porthos snatched the hood from the Red Guard's head.
"Huh?" Dujon looked around him dumbly at d'Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos.
"Time to pay the reckoning for Cornet." Aramis said.
Porthos narrowed her eyes. "And I bet 'e's going to say, I have no idea what you're taking about."
"And then we'll have to hurt him." She followed her friend line of thought.
Porthos rolled her eyes. "At which point, he'll suddenly remembered 'e killed 'im." They shared a look. "Why wait?" Aramis shrugged. "Let's just hurt 'im now."
Aramis smiled at the man. "It could go like that. Or we can just skip to the confession part. It would save us time, and you pain... a lot of pain."
Dujon insisted, "I was just following orders."
"'E was just following orders." Porthos reiterated to Aramis.
"We'd better let him go then."
Dujon sighed in relieve taking them at their word, before Porthos grabbed him up tightly. "I... I can't tell you! They'll kill me!"
"No need for that now," Aramis chided and pulled them apart. "We're not bitches... We'll just shoot him."
Porthos chuckled in glee, and Aramis went to retrieve her musket.
"What? No, listen, you can't, please..." he turned a pleading gaze to d'Artagnan on the side-lines. "Don't let them..."
The Gascon's handsome features twisted in disgust and his expression darkened in anger towards the despicable man. "There's not a chance in hell I'm going to stop them. You think you're scared now? You don't know anything. These two will hurt you worse than any man could."
Dujon paled further at his words, if that were possible.
Porthos grabbed Dujon and shaved him back against a beam at the edge of the barn—d'Artagnan would fit in with them just fine.
"You know. People say I'm quiet good with these." Aramis remarked, coming back to her original spot, her harquebus in hand.
"Good?" Porthos chuckled. "She'd the best. She's so modest." She retied Dujon's wrists around behind the beam.
"But..." Aramis continued, "The musket isn't the most relievable weapon. From a 100 yards, I'll probably miss as often as I hit." She cradled the weapon in one arm and poured a little packet of gun power down the barrel. "From 50, well, I rarely miss. But from 10? It's just a matter of, which vital organ do I choose to hit first?"
Dujon stammered, "No, no, no, please, listen, listen..."
"Heart?" Porthos wondered, ignoring his gibberish.
"Too swift." The markswoman disagreed, packing the powder down. "The liver, perhaps." Porthos chuckled, enjoying seeing Dujon squirm. "Or a stomach shot." She put the gun under her armpit as she got out the ball. "Death is inevitable, but you'll bleed for hours first."
Dujon was wild-eyed. "You can't. This is murder!"
"Well, we won't tell if you won't." Porthos said.
Aramis lined up the shot in the quiet and d'Artagnan shifted on his feet. Her breath whispered across the fuse, letting it burn.
Dujon whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.
The Spaniard pulled the trigger.
"Bang!" Porthos spoke in Dujon's ear, making the Red Guard jump like a little girl.
"Oh!" Aramis made a face and winked over at a surprised d'Artagnan. "I forgot the ball!"
The Gascon couldn't stop the smile that twitched at his lips. It was frightening, these two women. Though he hadn't quite known it, he'd been on the mark when he said these women could hurt worse than any man.
Dujon exhaled in relief at still being alive. She showed him the ball and tossed it in the air, catching it easily. "Next time..." she whispered and slowly lowered the ball to the tip of the barrel mockingly, never taking her eyes from the poor excuse of a man.
The two women worked together seamlessly. It was just evidence of how close of friends Porthos and Aramis were. They hadn't even needed to speak beforehand, a few shared looks was all that was needed between the pair. It reminded d'Artagnan of how close he and his father had become, especially since his mother died when he was a child. His heart clenched in the chest at the reminder and the gaping losses he had in his life. He'd never have that again, he'd—
"It was Captain Gaudet!" Dujon said quickly, and the three of them stood at attention.
"Of the Red Guard?" Porthos questioned.
"He told us to do it." He fast-talked, information spilling from him like a bucket with a hole, "He said he wanted a few men fro a special mission. Something unofficial. An ambush to steal the King's letters. But Gaudet went mad. He killed them all!" d'Artagnan stepped forward intensely at this. "None of us knew it would be murder." Dujon insisted.
Porthos stepped to him, holding the gold doubloon. "You took this from Cornet."
"His saddle bags were full of Spanish gold. Gaudet said were could share it between us. I just—"
d'Artagnan had stood back long enough. He wanted some answers of his own. He grabbed a handful of Dujon's greasy hair in one hand, pushed his forearm against his windpipe with the other. "Who murdered my father?" he hissed. "Who?"
"Gaudet! It was Gaudet." Dujon wheezed desperatly.
Porthos quickly had to jerk the Gascon off the Red Guard, lest he'd of killed him. Any other time, the woman might've let him. It was the least he deserved. But despite her own feelings, she knew that they still needed him. She pushed him back towards Aramis, who put a hand on the Gascon's shoulder both to keep him from going back to the weasel and comfort him.
"He did it to blacken Athos' name." Dujon insisted desperately, gasping, "I'm not like him. I'm not a killer. I'm a solder, like you."
This time around, it was Porthos who grabbed him round the throat and nearly lifted him off his feet with her anger and unnatural strength.
Aramis stepped up next to her friend as d'Artagnan paced impatiently behind them. "Where is Gaudet now?"
"He's camped in the old ruins, outside the city gates." He cried. "I'll show you where, just don't kill me!"
"There, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Aramis murmured pleasantly and Porthos released the scum; he crumpled to the ground.
-xxx
After Dujon led the trio to the ruins, Porthos knocked him out as they squeezed all they could from him about how many men were with Gaudet, and bound him like a hog.
"One guard at th' bridge. It's th' only way in or out." Porthos said quietly.
"Gaudet doesn't know that we know." Aramis mused next to her from where they lay under cover. "It's best to keep it that way. Surprise is our biggest advantage."
"So we just have to take out the gaurd quietly." d'Artagnan agreed next to the Spaniard. They were quiet for a moment. "I have an idea." He said slowly and turned on his side to smirk at Aramis.
"What?" Aramis worried at that look alone. She was no going to like this at all. Her eyes narrowed when d'Artagnan told them his grand plan and Porthos almost split her gut trying not to burst out laughing at the prospect.
"What? He's a guy. This'll work!" d'Artagnan was sure of it. Under different circumstances, he could totally go for Aramis.
"Oh, he's a real mans-man, alright!" Porthos gasped, finally able to get herself under control.
d'Artagnan furrowed his brows . "Wha—?!"
The two woman could see the instant he caught onto Porthos' meaning. "You don't mean...? You're jerking my chain!" he was sure.
"Naw." Porthos shook her head. "That's Meeqs, ain't it?"
Aramis nodded. "Real piece of work. So?" she raised a brow at d'Artagnan.
"No. I am not!" he protested as he realised the implication of that raised brow.
"It was your idea," she grinned, now that she wasn't the main player.
d'Artagnan made a face and shook his head. "I don't think this plan will work, we should come up with another one."
"Oh, no you don't!" Aramis disagreed. "This was you idea. And for lack of a better one, it's good."
She and Porthos shared a looked and before he knew it, the two women relieved him of his weapons belt, opened the collar further on his doublet, and mussed his dark locks lightly.
"Go get 'im, killer!" Porthos clapped him encouragingly on the back and pushed him from hiding and into the open.
"No. What? Wait!" he tried to dive back under cover, but it was too late.
"Oi! Who're you an' what are ye doin' out here, eh?"
He'd been spotted.
d'Artagnan swallowed and turned towards the bridge and his target. It was too late now, he was going to have to go through with the plan. His brilliant plan, he remembered. This'll teach him to keep his mouth shut, especially when it backfired on him like this did. He was in it neck deep now.
Taking a deep breath, his loosened up and sauntered across to the bridge—a flirtatious smirk quirking his lips.
He didn't have much experience with this, he'd only ever slept with three women before, but he'd seen prostitutes before—even in Lupiac there was a scattered few at the inn.
He pushed the embarrassment from his head and just dived in head first—he’d kill the two Musketeers afterward.
"'Ow 'bout I take you fer a ride, big boy?"
"Eh?" Meeqs eyed him suspiciously, but with obvious lust.
"I'll do whatever you want for 50 sous." He continued
"Ten sous," he said, licking his lips wetly.
d'Artagnan just nodded, feeling degraded beyond belief and allowed Meeqs to push him back against the railing of the bridge.
Where the hell were they? This had gone on long enough, they should have gone through with it by now. He honestly didn't know why he just wasn't knocking him out on his own. But when Meeqs groped him, the Gascon had enough and had a literal knee-jerk reaction.
The Red Guard grunt in pain. "Why ye—!"
All d'Artagnan could do was bear the sudden dead weight of Meeqs as he collapsed against him. He grunted at the weight and Porthos suddenly loomed out of the darkness in front of him.
"What took you so long?!" he hissed angrily.
"Oi!" a passing guard stalled the woman's response. "Let me get in on some o' that, eh, Meeqs?"
Hidden behind the bulk of both men, Porthos grabbed the dead man's arm and waved it in a come-off-it gesture towards the other guard.
"Whatever, you hog." And the second guard vanished with a chuckle and a scoff.
"Having fun with your new boyfriend, I see." Aramis appeared, grinning.
"Get him off me already!" he ground out through clenched teeth. The two Musketeers dumped the man over the side on the bridge and to the dried canal underneath. He took his belt and sword back from Aramis and he felt much less ruffled with its presence. "What took you so long?"
"It's a pretty long distance from there to here, I would say." Aramis said innocently and Porthos snickered.
He glared at her, not buying in in the least.
They made their way across the bridge and to a broken stone archway that lead right into the demon's den. Hidden in the shadows, between both woman, the three were unnoticed.
"That's Gaudet." Aramis pointed to a tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven man
His eyes alit on the man. This was the monster who had taken the young man's only family away from him, had torn his heart from his chest. d'Artagnan felt rage wash through like it was fresh. It had been nearly four days since Alexandre's murder, but it had done nothing to tamper his grief and anger.
He wondered why this man was still breathing.
"We still have the element of surprise—"
"GAUDET!!" He screamed and ran from the shadows, straight into their camp. The Red Guard around the came shouted out the alarm and quickly took up arms, pistol fire sounding.
"Never mind." Aramis and Porthos returned fire.
All pistol fire spent, the two Musketeers charged into the fray.
d'Artagnan quickly dispatched the few men who dared get in his path to Gaudet, before he was finally about to force the scum in a duel.
"What do you want, boy?!" Gaudet demanded as the two circled each other.
"You killed my father!"
Gaudet laughed at him mockingly. "Did I, boy? Then he must have deserved it... just like you!"
d'Artagnan swung at him, anger fuelling his strikes and driving Gaudet backward, until he did a sloppy thrust, losing his upper hand and allowing the bastard to go on the attack. The only thing that kept d'Artagnan's arm from being cut open was his thick cloak, which more than hindered him as Gaudet ran as he righted himself and a faceless Red Guard was on him. A simple slash to the abdomen solved the problem and d’Artagnan immediately gave chase to the coward.
He was not letting the man get away!
Swords drawn, the women went their separate ways and started kicking ass—making the Red Guard wish they'd never messed with the Musketeers. They took no mercy on the men, because they deserved no mercy. Their near thirty men had nothing on these skilled women. Aramis was elegant, even as she slaughtered. And Porthos held nothing back in her brutal attacks.
d'Artagnan skidded around the corner of a broken down wall and slipped in the frozen mud in his hast—just as a musket fired. A swift throw of his main gauche ended his would be killer. He had no time to think on the close call as he jumped to his feet, grabbed his weapon embedded in the body, and continued his pursuit of Gaudet.
A huge, muscled man approached Porthos with a smug look. But the women grinned right back at him as they faced off. If he thought that he could beat her because she was smaller than him, he was going to be in for a surprise. Of course, he got in a few good punches that were enough to make her ears ring and ribs ache, but she made him bleed worse.
d'Artagnan finally caught up with Gaudet along the length of crumbled wall, exchanging a few strikes before he was on the run again.
Aramis almost felt a bit of concern as three men converged on her, but they lacked cohesion as a group in their attack, and that was what led to their downfall. She crossed herself, sending up a thankful prayer and grinned across the grounds when she caught sight of her friend. They clasped arms just as d'Artagnan and Gaudet circled back, duelling into the center of the ruins.
d'Artagnan had the upper hand once more, his slashed brutal and constant, driving the other man back. Gaudet managed to lock swords, but d'Artagnan quickly grabbed his sword-wrist, and drove his own hilted fist into the man's face, driving him to the ground. He snatched up the man's sword, and with a feral cry filled with hatred and grief, he drove the bladed X at the man's throat.
"d'Artagnan!" Aramis' cry barely stopped him. This bastard needed to be dead at his feet. "We need him."
Panting, anger still riding through him, blades still at Gaudet's neck as the man glared at him defiantly, Aramis slowly approached, locking eyes with him. It wasn't just about him and his grief and justice for his father's death—it was about freeing Athos for crimes that she did not commit.
d'Artagnan seethed at Gaudet and with another cry, he slashed the blades across one another at the man's throat. "You're not worth the mud on my boots. I would rather see you hang!" And much like Athos had done to him, d'Artagnan turned his back on Gaudet.
"Charlie!" Aramis cried out a warning.
d'Artagnan spun on his heel just as Gaudet was on him. There was a wet grunting sound as he was ran through and the two women rushed to them as the Gascon pushed the Guard Captain from him and he crumpled to the ground at their feet. Red blood blended cleanly with the red material of his uniform, blood streaked out the corners of his mouth.
"Are you injured?" Aramis questioned him, even as she checked him over. She saw no wounds with relief, for a second there, when she'd watched the together, fear had gripped her.
"Athos!" he gasped in horror, looking from Gaudet's body to Aramis next to him. Guilt ripped through d'Artagnan, feeling as if Gaudet had really run him through instead. The man was dead. He felt no satisfaction, just dread.
She sighed sadly and patted him consolingly on the back. "We'll think of something. There's still time."
"No. There isn't." He shook his head. "The time that it would take to get back to Paris and show the evidence to the magistrate to get the pardon... we'd make it just in time, but we don't even have the evidence anymore!"
A shrill whistle filled the air.
"Oi!" Porthos called.
Both d'Artagnan and Aramis looked across the yard in surprise, not even having noticed Porthos' movement. She stood by a wagon and held up what was clearly a Musketeer pauldron. "Reckon this will be worth Athos' innocence?"
"And then some! With Dujon's confession, that's all the proof we'll need." Aramis grinned. "We'd better hurry." She wrapped a reassuring arm around the taller lad. "Nothing’s over until we say so."
And he believed her.
-xxx
"Don't shoot! I have her release, signed by the King!"
Athos was weak-kneed as Aramis pulled the hood that had kept her blind, from her head and the shackles around her wrists were unlocked. But she straightened her back and put her shoulders back as she looked into her friend's brown eyes. "And here I was, thinking I'd be rid of you this time." She remarked plainly.
"Not on your life, mate!" Porthos called, next to Aramis.
The pause in her step was hardly noticeable as she spotted d'Artagnan at the bottom of the stairs—he was the last person who she expected to see. She shot Aramis a look, who returned it with one of her own that promised to spill the beans at a later time before she headed up the stairs.
Athos and d'Artagnan locked eyes for a moment, and it was almost as if that single look said it all. She gave him a solemn nod, which he returned, and she went up the stairs and to her freedom. He smiled and followed after the three women.
As much as she wanted to go to the nearest tavern and drink after her near-execution, and not face the past that her imprisonment had dug up, she knew she had to report back to Treville and it would be a long night before her friends left her alone.
It was back at the garrison, after her meeting with Treville, that the four of them sat at the table near the kitchens in the yard.
Aramis already knew what the other woman wanted with thatsingle look her way. "It was Gaudet." She answered the silent question.
"Ugh! That cross-dressing rat!" Athos cursed in disgust—of all the people it could have been!
"I don't understand." d'Artagnan confessed. "Why he would target you like this in the first place?"
Aramis and Porthos shared an amused look and Athos glared at them as she caught it. Now that the woman was safe and sound, surely it was alright...
"You mean other than being a Musketeer and the Captain's second?" Aramis mused, a devilish look in her brown eyes.
"Keep your thoughts to yourself." Athos said through gritted teeth.
"What is it?" d'Artagnan wondered, looking between the trio, two-thirds amused, on-third not in the least.
"Athos 'ere got right pissed one night an' shagged 'im!" Porthos boomed, laughing.
d'Artagnan sputtered on his drink.
"Porthos!" Athos gave her a harsh look.
He looked at Athos and couldn't believe it. She must have drunken all the spirits in Paris to be so inebriated that she could even look at a man like Gaudet and not feel sick. He didn't know Athos well, but he was already sure that this was not a frequent occurrence. Maybe that was why Porthos and Aramis were milking it so hard.
Porthos looked nonplussed as she shrugged her broad shoulders. "'E totally fell in love with 'er." Athos' shame and anger continued to boil. "Came 'ere to th' garrison with flowers an' everythin'. Better than any play I've ever seen, that’s for sure! When she was done with 'im, 'is face was purple from the embarrassment and anger. I wasn't sure who t' feel more sorry for—" She shook her head.
"The things she said!" Aramis grinned.
"Like what?" d'Artagnan prompted.
Athos groaned. "Why do you insist on telling him all of this? The matter's closed, Gaudet's dead. We should all just put this sorry event behind us." She ran her hand through her long locks in frustration.
"'E's part of th' group now!" Porthos said.
"And he was going to find out anyways," Aramis continued reasonably. "So it might as well be from us, who will give him the accurate—albeit sordid—affair details. You know how the guys are around here, gossiping ninnies."
"Yeah," Athos deadpanned, "And I'm looking at their leaders right now."
"So," Aramis continued cheerfully, looking back at d'Artagnan across the table from her and ignored Athos, "It was mid-day and everyone was in the yard practising. It wasn't hard to miss the sudden appearance of a Red Guard. It got quiet and every man just stopped practice—"
"I'm not listening to this again." Athos muttered darkly and left the table.
d'Artagnan looked after her in concern, but Porthos drew his attention back. "'E looked nervous as a little lad, but any man would concerin' Athos, and as a Red Guard should walking into the belly of the King's Musketeers. An' calls: I'm looking for Athos. Not unlike you, lad." She chuckled, "If it weren't for th' pistol in your hands, we'd of thought you were another of 'er conquests, eh?"
d'Artagnan's cheeks couldn't help but gain a twinge of warmth at the suggestion. When he'd come charging into the garrison that day, he believed it was to confront the man that murdered his father. If he had any notion that Athos was a woman, he might've gone about the whole thing differently.
"Athos' jaw practically drops to th' ground when she notices 'im. And you know her, nothin' get's past that hard exterior of hers—but this was th' last thing she expected, none of us would have. Expression sourer than a barrel o' lemons, she sees 'im, sees th' flowers—and goes ballistic! Th' other Musketeers start snickering as they realize what's happenin'. She storms up to 'im and tears the flowers from 'is hands and stomps 'em like they was rude to 'er mother... and she says—"
!!sploosh!!
"Oi!!" "Hey!! Porthos and Aramis both exclaimed in shock and surprise as they jumped to their feet, soaking wet.
"I warned you, didn't I?" Athos said, holding a now empty water bucket.
"You could 'ave just said somethin'!" Porthos protested, grumbling about her lovely outfit.
Athos glowered at the pair. "You're lucky this is all I've done. Next time, I won't be so generous with the contents."
d'Artagnan couldn't help but laugh good-naturedly as the two women trod away to see about drying off, the other scattered Musketeers sent them amused looks that were quickly quelled by the women's deathly glares.
"I'm never going to here the end of that story, am I?" even as he asked it and knew the answer, he didn't much care. The man that caused him and Athos' problems were now gone. d'Artagnan had avenged his father's death, and Athos was thankfully saved from the firing squad.
"Am I going to have refill this bucket?" she inquired as she sat on the bench next to him.
"No, ma'am!" he held up his hands in surrender and gave a small smile. "I like being dry just fine, thank you."
"Good." She paused. "Listen, I never really got to thank you for the part you played in killing Gaudet and finding the evidence to prove my innocence."
"Athos," he shook his head. "It was what any man would have done. It was the right thing to do."
"That's just it," she disagreed, "I don't know many people who would have tried to help the person who they though killed someone they loved." A broken look flashed through her blue eyes for a second before she was able to push it away. "I wouldn't have."
He couldn't testify to that, even though his automatic response was to deny that conviction, but he'd seen the grief that had flashed in her eyes and she'd lost someone very close her as well and that anguish was unpredictable. "I'm just glad to be of service." He whispered.
"We'll make a Musketeer out of you yet, d'Artagnan." She said quietly.
His chest felt warm at the Musketeer's words and realized that it was the feeling of his shattered heart starting to piece itself together, as he started his new life with the Inseparables as its centerpiece. He didn't know when he'd come to this conclusion, of staying—it might have been when he was out with Aramis and Porthos searching for evidence of Athos' innocence, or it might have been back at the Chatalet after Athos had been pardoned—but it just seemed right.
"d'Artagnan!"
Both he and Athos looked to the balcony to see Captain Treville at the railing, his order clear. d'Artagnan glanced at the woman next to him, who gave him a small nod and the Gascon rose and climbed the stairs to meet the man.
"Captian Treville, sir." He nodded respectfully to the older man.
"d'Artagnan," he said. "The Inseparables told me that your help in the investigation in Athos' innocence was exceptional."
"I assisted in what way I could. Though selfishly, in the beginning, it was for my own gain. I wanted the murderer of my father. But Athos was innocent, and she didn't deserve what was happening to her. So my effort doubled in regards to her." He didn't want to be deceitful and lie, and he didn't want to take credit where it wasn't due.
Trevilled sensed that about the lad easily enough and it was something that he could respect.
Aramis and Porthos returned to the table, but this time they came bearing gifts in the shape of a bottle of wine and four cups—Athos seemed to forgive them pretty easily after that.
"It takes a different kind of man to survive among those three," he said. "They're no angels, son."
"But they are, sir." He contradicted the man, looking over the railing at the gathered women. "These women are warrior angels, and they're beautiful."
Trevilled looked at d'Artagnan with a raised brow, before he looked down at his three best soldiers, and he could agreed to at least half of what the lad was saying. "Don't let them hear you say that," he advised, because whether he wanted it or not, the Gascon appeared to be sticking around. "They'll eat you alive—because most days, they do that to my own sanity."
Treville returned to his office and d'Artagnan tromped down that stairs and back to the table. He'd seen what Porthos and Aramis were capable of, he'd fought with Athos—he definitely wasn't going to tell the three women about his sentiments concerning them.
"What was that about, Charlie?" Aramis asked as he sat back down next to Athos.
"Can you stop calling me that, already?" he groaned. "I'm far from ten—"
"You sure about that?" Porthos laughed. "You look hardly that to me!"
d'Artagnan ignored her outright. "It's hardly my name anyways. Just call me d'Artagnan, please?"
Aramis laughed good-naturedly. "Sorry. But now that you so clearly told me how much it bugs you, that's hardly going to happen."
He glowered at her, but to them, it looked more like a pout. And it wasn't anger in his eyes, more like annoyance and the threat of a returned favour. Somehow, some when, the Inseparables gained a little brother, and he, three big sisters. This was his new family, his new home. And he was going to fight tooth and nail to keep them safe, whether they knew it or not.