Chapter Text
Twenty years ago was when Treville finally knew what happiness was, it was when he finally felt that relationship between man and woman and it was when he finally knew what love was. This moment in his life was when he felt that relationship between father and son, that overwhelming urge to protect his precious bounty as he held him for the first time. His son's birth was not without consequence though and his poor mother had suffered greatly from the child birth. She was no longer alive to see their bounty, but it was fine, Treville would look after him as best as he could with the situation that he was in.
Looking down at his beautiful baby boy, he could see his mother all over him; from the tanned skin to the dark hair. Though his bounty's eyes had not yet opened, he could only imagine that he would inherit the beautiful caramel brown color that his mother had. Treville felt a sense of pride swirl within his stomach. He was a great swordsman, sure, he was noble and full of honor, but it was his beautiful partner who had the strength and the beauty and the will to survive throughout her pregnancy, with being on the run and suffering through what was a very hard and stressful pregnancy. Treville was surprised and full of gratitude that she had managed to stay alive long enough to give birth to their son before succumbing to death that had so willingly waited for her.
His baby started crying softly before wailing loudly and Treville rocked him side to side in his bloody hands as he tried desperately to get him to hush. The love he had for his newborn son was tremendous and he would proudly put his life on the line to protect him, but if he did not stop crying he would alert the enemy to them and then they both would not live to see another sunrise. Eventually the newborn cries soften to that of whimpers, breaking Treville's heart in two. He couldn't stand to hear the small whimpers and his heart went out to his infant, he hadn't had a feed yet and was probably hungry.
Wrapping his son up in a thick woolen blanket to brave the cool weather he pulled him closer to his chest and even wrapped his own cloak around his son too as he sat on his horse. It was raining softy and he cursed the God above. His precious baby should not have had to put up with this disgusting weather; as it was, he fashioned his hat so the rain would not his son's face as he set forth for the nearest town. He had to get there as a quickly as possible for two reasons: to evade the enemies clutches and to get his son a wet nurse as soon as possible so he could live longer than a day and a half.
It took a half a day to reach the nearest village; a small village that was full of farms. Gascony, Treville thought it was called. He didn't care much for the name of village, he just wanted a goddamn wet nurse to feed his son.
There was a tavern that he came by and though it was not the best place to go for help, he was desperate. So crazily, idiotically desperate. But with his bounty whimpering he needed to do something. His heart was breaking into two as he listened to the small whimpers of his child. Treville was a strong man, but right now he felt incredibly weak and useless. He wanted to do the right thing by his baby, but already he was failing in his duty as a father.
He put his horse in the stables before walking into the tavern, he found great comfort in his precious baby and thanked God for giving him such a huge blessing in what appeared to be a small form.
"Oi!", a man behind the bar cried out, his expression incredulous as his baby squirmed within the blankets. "a baby don't belong in 'ere".
Treville stepped forward, an apology already on his lips, "I beg your forgiveness Monsieur, but this was the first place I have come across in half a day and I need help"
"We all need help, but we don't always get the help we need, do weh?"
Treville was seriously frustrated by now. All he wanted was for his baby to be okay, to be fed and maybe be safe from the enemy, but it seemed as though he was not going to get the help he needed right now. With a look of sadness on his face he turned to leave, his baby was now wailing loudly once again and all Treville wanted to do was breakdown and cry. Just as he was going to walk out the door he was stopped by a man. This man had dark brown hair and tanned skin, he looked young but his skin looked haggard, probably from hours of working on a farm.
"Monsieur, is your son alright?", the man was nice and caring and Treville could have broken down and cried right there if he didn't remember his duty as a father.
Treville shook his head, "not in the slightest. His mother died after giving birth and he hasn't been fed yet. I fear if he does not eat soon, he will starve to death"
The man looked solemn, "I know someone who can help"
"Really? Monsieur, I will forever be in your debt if you take me to this wet nurse"
"Oh", said the man with a sad smile on his face, "she isn't a wet nurse, she is my wife".
The lady was lovely and she greeted him somewhat happily but Treville could tell she was unhappy. The way her eyes fell upon his bounty with a almost wistful expression on her face and the way her hands rubbed at her round stomach almost absentmindedly.
"What a beautiful boy", she cooed at the baby, "what is his name?"
Treville froze. In the rush to get his son to safety he didn't think of a name for him, "Charles", he eventually replied, smiling down at his now sleeping son, "his name is Charles". It fit him perfectly.
"That's a beautiful name", the lady continued, "my husband tells me he hasn't been fed yet. Do you mind if I wake him to feed him?"
"Please, do", Treville replied earnestly, relief flooding through his veins, "Thank you so much".
---
The lovely lady was now feeding Charles in private and Treville finally collapsed in the chair that the man had told him to sit on, the past months were catching up to him and he felt incredibly fatigued. The nice man, whose name Treville learnt to be Alexandre, was at the stove, serving up some warm stew.
"You look like you need this", was what the man said before setting some down in-front of Treville.
He dug right in, his hunger getting the better of him. He had been so worried about his bounty's nutrition that he had completely forgot about his own health, but he supposed this was what parenting was about and he was immensely thankful for the opportunity to be a father. Despite many things going astray in his life right now, he would insist that he was the luckiest man alive.
After finishing his stew, he looked up into the smiling face of the man who had helped him a great deal, "Monsieur", he began slowly, unsure of where to begin, "your wife appears to have given birth but there is no baby. What happened?"
"The baby didn't make it", the man replied solemnly, his eyes shining with tears before he blinked them away, "it happened yesterday so it's still new".
Treville nodded sympathetically. He understood grief better than what most people do, "I am very sorry to hear that"
"There's one good thing to come out of the situation though", the man smiled, "we get to help your baby."
---
The D'Artagnan family had taken a liking to him and Charles and allowed them to stay in the guest room for as long as they needed. Though Treville wouldn't stay there for long, it was far too dangerous as it was and he could not endanger their lives as well as his son's.
As it was, Charles was sleeping comfortably on his bare chest, with the only noise in the room being small, even breaths coming from both him and his son. Looking down at his baby boy, he felt a sense of belonging and duty, something he had felt on a smaller scale being a musketeer, but now was different. He was holding his son, he was looking at the future. It was the greatest feeling in the world and for a small moment, Treville humored himself. he imagined that no one wanted to kill him, he imagined that he could go to Paris with his baby and be a musketeer as well as a caring and devoted father. It truly would be the best of both worlds.
He fell asleep that night imagining a world in which he could raise his son and be a musketeer, he imagined that after a long day, he would go home and be greeted by his baby boy either sleeping or running a muck. Treville imagined a life where he could raise his son without the constant threat of his enemies. With his son sleeping on his chest, Treville understood why musketeers rarely had children: it was just too dangerous for them and the children would always have to look over their shoulders in fear of being used in a sick, twisted game of cat and mouse, simply to get back at the musketeer father.
It was safe to say Treville only had one option and though he didn't like it, he would have to go through with it, because if he did not, his child would have to suffer.
Treville woke up the next morning with someone trying to take his baby and he quickly grabbed his sword before realizing it was Madam D'Artagnan.
"I am so sorry!", Treville exclaimed in horror.
"Don't be", the kind lady assured, "I heard Charles whimpering so I thought I would feed him".
Treville nodded and thanked her once again for her hospitality. With a sigh he laid back down on the pillows, trying to even his breathing. He was too worked up and he felt exceedingly shameful at pointing his sword at a lady...a trusted lady that was.
He spent a quite and uneventful day at the D'Artagnan residence, helping with the farm and running errands for them. It was a small payment for them helping his son, but at least it was something to show his gratitude towards the couple. It was when he heard of strange folk running a muck through the town two days since arriving to Gascony he knew he had overstayed his welcome. He had to leave, he had to go back to Paris and get help from the other musketeers otherwise he, his son and many others would die.
The couple watched sadly as Treville packed his belongings, choosing to leave behind a small wooden horse he had carved for Charles months ago at the news of the pregnancy."Monsieur, are you sure you really want to do this?", the kind lady asked sadly and Treville almost started crying, but he remained as stoic as possible.
"A musketeer life is not suited for someone so innocent. I have enemies from my years as a musketeer and they will stop at nothing to kill me and those I care for. I can't put Charles at risk."
Treville didn't bother to hide his tears as he held his precious cargo close to him. He couldn't believe he had to leave his child behind and a part of him now wanted to be selfish and take his son with him back to Paris, but he couldn't and he knew that, but still, he just never wanted to let his baby go. He wanted to see him grow, he wanted to see his child fully open his eyes, he wanted to be there for when Charles took his first steps, but of course, he couldn't be. Life could be unkind.
Charles started crying and Treville swore that his child could feel what he was feeling and that was why he was crying. He was crying, too. It was hard not to and the only thought that he had as he gave his precious bounty was that he was see him again on his twenty-first birthday, when he was no longer a boy but a young man.
With one last kiss to Charles, and a curt nod to the D'Artagnan's, he left on horseback, letting the cool air dry off his tears. Life was never easy, but life as a musketeer was near impossible.
---
D'Artagnan groaned loudly as he was roughly pushed to the ground in the king's chambers. The man standing over him was smiling at him as the tip of his sword rested upon his chest, making it clear to the young musketeer that he any minute could be his last.
As he looked at the king standing in the corner of the room with pure fright on his face, he felt new-found strength course throughout his body. He couldn't fail in his duty to the king or to the captain and he certainly couldn't leave his friends alone in this world; if he did, who would look after them when they were drunk and couldn't see straight?
With a grunt, he grabbed his dagger and stabbed the man in the leg, throwing him off his game. With the advantage, D'Artagnan jumped back up and wrestled the man onto the floor, with a strong grip on the intruder to ensure that he would not be going anywhere any time soon. "My lord, get Treville!", D'Artagnan shouted at the king, wincing at the tone he was using to address the king. In any other situation that would earn him a whipping, though the young musketeer assumed that given the fact that the palace had been intruded by at least 30 unknown men, he would get away with it. There was always a positive in a negative situation.
"let me go!", the man yelled in a childlike manner and D'artagnan only tightened his grip furthermore and waited until back up was here to detain the man into custody.
D'artagnan had to move quickly to avoid an elbow in the face and his patience was wearing thin."Enough!", he yelled angrily, struggling to hold the man down. At the man's second attempt at hitting the young musketeer, his patience had ran out and he grabbed the man by the hair and hit his head onto the hard floor, knocking him unconscious.
The young Gascon only had to wait a few more minutes before Porthos, Treville and Harold (a thirty year old with a bad temper) entered the chamber with hard expressions on their faces. "Is he dead?", Treville asked cautiously, moving over to where D'Artagnan stood.
The Gascon shook his head, "I thought it would be best if we kept him for questioning."
"Right you are", Treville mused, before indicating for the other man to help get the intruder out of there and down into the dungeons. "Get Charles to the medic", the captain said to Porthos and in his fatigued state that he was in, it took a while to register the fact that the captain called him by his first name.
Apparently he had gotten hurt during the many battles he had endured during the night, though it had come as a surprise to him due to the fact that he was so immersed in his fighting that he hadn't noticed getting wounded. It was mostly small cuts and bruises, though there was a cut on his upper arm that required stitching and a head wound that the medic was sure had caused a concussion, but still, he got lucky. It could have been a lot worse. He supposed training with the three best musketeers had really paid off.
D'Artagnan couldn't remember much after seeing the medic, all he remembered was Porthos leading him away from the hustle and bustle, eventually running into their other friends. But he couldn't greet them properly as he was too fatigued. He and the others were woken up in the middle of the night after only getting back from a mission a few hours earlier. The lack of sleep the past week had finally caught up with him and on the way to where ever the hell Porthos and the others were leading him, he slumped to the floor and fell into a slumber that was unintentional, but oh, so needed.
---
His throat was almost painfully dry when he woke up and his body ached tremendously. The Gascon almost wanted to stay in this warm bed all day before he remembered the previous night and he jumped out of bed, only wearing his pants, in a panic. He had to get up and go to the courtyard with the other musketeers and find out all that Treville knew. However, D'Artagnan was stopped in his tracks by a chuckle.
"Athos!", he exclaimed, "What..."
"After you so eloquently collapsed to the ground last night, we brought you here. It was closer."
"You were worried about me?", D'Artagnan asked with an amused but thankful expression on his face.
Athos simply smirked in response, knowing full well that the boy knew he was worried about him, though he would never admit it. "You should get ready and eat something. The captain has allowed us and the rest of the regiment to gather our wits after last night, but we still shouldn't keep him waiting."
With a curt nod D'Artagnan did as he was told, though he took extra care not to aggravate his shoulder any more than necessary. It wasn't hurting too bad, but he still didn't want to feel any unnecessary pain.
---
The courtyard was eerily quite when he and Athos walked in. There were only twenty or so musketeers and in a normal morning everyone would be training and/or discussing tactics, but today there were no training sessions, no discussion about strategy. Everyone was far too solemn and tired, and were sitting around waiting for Treville -who was still in his office- to give orders or just to talk about what happened the previous night. No one knew a lot, but what everyone did know was there was an attempt assassination on the king and queen's life last night and that was cause for panic.
The two of them sat down at a table where Aramis and Porthos were sitting, neither of them speaking but looking deadly whilst they cleaned the dried blood off their swords. It was clear to D'Artagnan that if anyone so much as made a threat they would be dead before they even hit the floor. It was just that kind of morning.
"How are you?", Aramis asked him, looking up from his weaponry.
D'Aartagnan smiled kindly, trying to lighten their moods up. He had never seen them truly angry before and he didn't want to now. "Much better", he assured, taking out his own weapon and sighing at all the dried blood on there. It would take forever to clean. Putting it back in it's sheath, he decided he would clean later when he had the energy to. Instead, he took out his danger and expertly started flipping it through his fingers out of a way to ease his boredom. Athos looked at him questioningly but the Gascon didn't cease his action.
The musketeers only had to wait another half hour before the Captain walked out of his office, looking as though he had aged ten years in a matter of ten hours. He ran a hand over his haggard face as he indicated the musketeers to stand in formation. By then at least twenty more had shown up so the courtyard looked more lively than it had a mere half hour ago.
"As you know", the captain started, "the palace was raided last night, endangering the king's life. First of all, I am proud of the conduct in which you handled yourself last night. You have shown that not only are you faithful to the king, but also smart and diligent as well. We have nine men in custody and we are currently questioning them at the moment, so men, be proud of all that we did last night. As it is, we need to move the king and queen away, it's not safe for them anymore.",Treville stopped for a moment as he stared at the musketeers and D'Artagnan felt uneasy as the captains eyes stayed on him for a few seconds.
"The king and queen are safe for now, but tomorrow I need thirty men to transport them to Versailles. It's twenty kilometers out of Paris, so it should be an easy trip, but everyone needs to be on high alert. I will keep the remaining musketeers here so we can try to intercept the intruders. Dismissed."
---
Athos, Aramis and Porthos were in Treville's office, waiting patiently whilst the captain finished off a letter. Athos looked to his two other friends and shrugged to indicate that for once he didn't know what Treville wanted. To say that Athos was shocked when Treville spoke would be an understatement.
"They're not after the king and queen, they're after me."
"Who?", Athos asked.
"Leon, I....we...twenty years ago the musketeers were sent on a mission to apprehend Leon and his team. They were assassins and they were going to assassinate the king. It was either them or the king and we chose them. It was me who killed his second and third in charge and by mistake I killed his wife. He was after me for quite some time after that and I honestly thought he would finally catch up with me and kill me."
"Then why move the king and queen?", Athos asked.
"I need them out of the way"
"By making them believe any day could be their last?", Porthos asked with an incredulous expression on his face.
Aramis snickered, "I suppose it's a good way to ensure they don't get in the way."
Athos watched the slight tremble in Treville's hands as the man took a sip of his wine, it was so unlike Treville that Athos was slightly taken aback. To anyone else it would look like the captain needed a good nights sleep, but Athos was good at reading people. He knew the captain was hiding something from them and whatever it was, it was making him unsteady.
As the three musketeers walked out of the captains office and into the yard, the sun shone brightly on their faces, which made for a welcome change from the cold and dreary weather they had been having lately.
"What do we do now?", Porthos asked once they settled down on a bench.
"I suppose we question the men, get them to talk", Athos replied.
"Maybe we can find out what Treville is hiding from us", agreed Aramis.
"Now that", Porthos began, "sounds like a plan."
---
D'artagnan walked side by side with Porthos, their shoulders bumping occasionally as they walked down to the dungeons to where the prisoners were. His eyes were straining against the darkness and on more than one occasion he stumbled over his own feet, causing him to feel slightly embarrassed. Eventually Porthos lit a torch up, illuminating the dark tunnels with an orange glow. It gave an eerie feel and the young musketeer shivered slightly.
"Alright", Porthos whispered, stopping a few steps away from the prison and facing D'Artagnan, "let me take the lead 'ere. You just keep your 'ead high and look confident."
"I know how to deal with people like this, Porthos."
"I know you do, but just do as I say. Sometimes these interrogations can get out of hand".
D'Artagnan just nodded his head before following the older musketeer into the prison, where there was a man tied to the chair, awake but looking immensely dazed. He recognized him from one of the men he fought the night before. Looking at the man's smug smile he wished he did more to him than knock him out.
He stayed behind Porthos as the elder took the mans face in his hand and gripped tightly. His voice was almost unrecognizable as he spoke next.
"Oi, wipe that smile off your face", Porthos growled angrily, staring vehemently at the man. The man only smiled even more."Right, you're going to tell me what you were doing in the palace last night. I know you weren't there for the king and queen so answer me truthfully and your life might be spared".
"You're a smart man, you tell me what I was doing there or better yet, ask your captain", the man pulled against his restraints and tried to move closer to Porthos, "or better yet, ask that little bastard".
D'Artagnan frowned when the mad nodded towards him; what had he done to warrant these men raiding the palace last night? "What do you mean?", he asked, stepping closer to the man.
The man only laughed maniacally in response but instantly stopped when Porthos roughly punched him in the cheek. "Answer him", Porthos growled.
"No. Why don't you ask the captain? I'm sure he will be willing to share what he knows".
D'Artagnan frowned before following Porthos out of the dungeons. His breathing was shallow as he walked into the sunlight. "What was that man talking about?", he asked Porthos as they walked back to the Garrison, "and why did he call me that?"
"I don't know, lad, but we'll figure it out, eh".
That was all that was said on that matter, but the Gascon couldn't help but feel nervous. He had a feeling things were going to get worse, that this, right now, was the calm before the storm. If they were after the king then why was there attention focused of the captain and himself rather than the royals? It just didn't add up and it infuriated D'Artagnan. He needed to get down to the bottom of this.
Treville's voice boomed throughout the Garrison as they arrived, and the musketeers were watching their captain and listening with the utmost respect. "Whatever these men tell you are lies. They are not to be trusted", his stern voice said, "any thing they tell you are merely lies". There was a pointed look toward Harold before he continued, "due to this stressful times, I will only allow a handful amount of musketeers to be on this mission"
"And what are the rest of us meant to do?", a harsh voice called out.
"Guard the city, continue with your duties. Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'Artagnan, follow me to my office."
D'Artagnan shared a look with Porthos before following the three into the captain's office, where they were each fixed with harsh stares from the captain. "Porthos, how did the interrogation go?"
"It didn't go", Porthos replied, with a frown. "Though he was hell bent on you knowing what was going on"
"And me", D'Artagnan supplied, "he seemed intent on blaming me and you"
Treville paled and for a moment the Gascon was wondering if he had something wrong, but no, he hadn't. So why was Treville overreacting?
"Did he say anything else?", the captain inquired.
"Nothing", both Porthos and D'Artagnan replied at the same time.
"Athos, Aramis, did the man say anything to you?"
Athos was the one who spoke, as Aramis bit his bottom lip in worry. "Nothing useful, I assure you". Treville raised his eyebrows, and Athos breathed a long sigh, "he threatened you and your son", Athos finally said, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"You have a son?", Porthos asked, looking at the captain in shock.
D'Artagnan was too stunned to speak, so instead he studied Treville and the way the older man was acting. He was fidgeting and there were beads of perspiration on his forehead. He was nervous and he flinched slightly at the mention of his son. Something bad may have happened to his son and that was why he was behaving so oddly, D'Artagnan thought to himself.
"My son isn't of concern", the captain dismissed.
"With all due respect", Aramis began, "if it's something that concerns your safety as well as other musketeers then surely it is of concern"
"These men are just trying to distract us from our purpose"
"What exactly is our purpose"?, Athos drawled, "you send us to talk to the men without a sole purpose"
"We need to find out where their leader is and you need to apprehend Leon."
D'Artagnan was surprised by the captain's knowledge, but he didn't say anything, choosing to listen first before asking questions later.
"They won't tell us", Aramis put in.
"They will", Treville said with finality and the four musketeers left the office and planned their next move.
---
D'Artagnan slept fitfully that night as he tossed and turned as his dreams took him to the man in the dungeons. In his dreams the man kept smiling at him as he blamed the Gascon for everything, then it escalated. The man escaped from his binds and punched Porthos in the face, effectively making him fall to the floor with nothing but a grunt. The man smiled cruelly at the Gascon before grabbing D'Artagnan's sword and stabbing him in the chest.
Then, the scene changed. Instead,he was dreaming of when he was a little boy and his father was giving him a lesson in weaponry and sword-play. "Because you're so small, a dagger would be best suited for you. You can get in real close and stab the enemy where it hurts", his father told him, kneeling down in front of him and staring at him in the eyes, "If you conceal the weapon properly, then the enemy will have quite a bit of a shock"
"I don't want to kill, father", young D'Artagnan said, "only bad men kill"
His father sighed, but smiled kindly, "one of the bravest and nicest men I met killed men. It didn't make him a bad man, but a man who fights for honor and there is nothing wrong with that"
"Father", the young boy began, looking almost wistful,, "I think I would like to be honorable"
"I would hope so, my son, I would hope so".
---
D'Artagnan sat up in bed, sweating and shivering as his dreams still plagued him. The sun had barely came up and the air was still fresh and though he suspected that most of Paris would be sleeping, he wasn't tired anymore. Getting out of bed proved difficult, however and his body was sore and stiff from the other night at the palace. He made a mental to clean his wounds after, but as of now, he needed to go back to the prison and interview that man again; something wasn't right and he would find out what it was.
Washing his face and changing into a clean attire, he made his way to the prison, trying his best not to wake anyone up. Only a few musketeers were up and training in the Garrison and only Harold gave him a nod of acknowledgement. As it was, he preferred not to get noticed. He couldn't afford to get slowed down and he wanted to do this on his own before his friend's woke up and insisted that one of them go with him.
Like yesterday, there was an eerie feeling walking down into the prison, and it unnerved D'Artagnan to see the prisoner's awake and staring at him like he was a piece of meat. Finally reaching the same prisoner as yesterday, he opened the cell and faced the man, hoping his nervousness didn't show on his face.
“Well, well, look at what we 'ave ere”, the man taunted, smiling up at the Gascon.
“Yesterday”, the young musketeer started, “you seemed to think the captain and I knew why you and the men raided the palace. Why?”
“Why should I tell you, boy?”, the man spat.
“Because if you don't, I'll make sure you're the first to hang”
“Either way I'll hang. Doesn't matter to me, none”, the man smiled, one of his teeth were missing and the others were rotten.
“If you don't tell me, I'll be sure to drag out your suffering”
The man laughed loudly, making D'Artagnan jump. “You ain't nofin but a boy. But I'll tell you one thing, eh, come closer”
D'Artagnan moved closer to the man, his hand on the hilt of sword just in case the man tried something, “What?”
“Go to your captain and ask him about your mother”
D'Artagnan flinched away, a questioning look on his face before he locked the gates and walked back to the Garrison. A million thoughts and question's were running through his mind. What did Treville have to do with his mother? How did he even know his mother? And if he did know her, then why did the prisoner keep taunting him about the captain? There was something more to it, and he was determined to find out, though he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to go about doing it. He couldn't exactly go up to the captain and ask him what he knew, that would be rude and as a musketeer new to the regiment, he didn't want Treville to think he was disobedient.
Aramis was at the table, eating breakfast, whilst Porthos and Athos were sparring. Athos was moving slower than he normally would, so D'Artagnan suspected he was suffering from a hangover. Porthos had to have known that as well, probably why he was smiling so much.
“Athos, you really got to stop drinking”, Aramis chided from where he sat down, “if this was a real fight you would be dead by now”
“If this was a real fight”, Athos panted, only just managing to deflect a blow from Porthos, “I would win”
“Yes, yes”, Aramis said almost absentmindedly, smiling at the Gascon who sat beside him. “You got up early, everything alright?”
D'Artagnan shrugged, “couldn't really sleep last night, so I just went for a stroll”
Aramis raised his eyebrows, “A stroll? I guess out of excuses go, that's not the worst one, but you could always say you saw Constance instead or went to the market's”
“Aramis, I...”
“Relax, D'Artagnan. If you don't wish to tell me where you went, that's fine. It's your business”
D'Artagnan felt relief course throughout his body, “Thank you”
“Just promise me one thing?”
“Anything”
“If you need help, don't hesitate to ask”, Aramis said sincerely and D'Artagnan knew, without a doubt, that if he needed help his friend would be willing to help him. It was just the type of person Aramis was.
---
D'Artagnan was training with Athos when it happened.
They were both adamantly fighting, D'Artagnan on the defensive against Athos as the man struggled to win this fight. The Gascon had approved vastly and it was noticeable with the way he deflected the man's blows and forced the older musketeer to keep up with him other than it being the other way around. It was when D'Artagnan finally swiped Athos' sword of his hand that the explosion happened, sending both men and other musketeers flying to the floor as the explosion shook the ground.
The Gascon groaned as his hand landed on his sword and started bleeding profusely. He was momentarily blinded with pain but as he heard a nearby musketeer groan, he grabbed his sword and rose, searching out for his friends. He spotted Aramis and Porthos, but he couldn't see Athos in all the dirt that was flying around. Just as he started searching for the man he greatly admired, there was another explosion. It was even louder and more powerful than the one before and as D'Artagnan fell to the ground, he saw the structure of the Garrison fall apart. The last thing he saw before blackness consumed him was Treville running out of his office and looking down at him with fear on his face.