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*Captain Treville’s office*
“No! Absolutely not!” Athos’s face resembled a thundercloud he was so furious.
“Yes, Captain,” Aramis snapped, “whatever happened to your previous order that d’Artagnan would only go out on missions with us from now on?”
“You goin’ back on your word?” Porthos growled.
Treville counted silently to ten and then stood up to face his men. “I argued with the comte for over thirty minutes about this and was overruled,” he didn’t mean to shout but that’s what happened. “If my protests continued any longer how would that have reflected on the trust I’ve put on d’Artagnan’s shoulders or the Musketeers for that matter,” he shook his head. “I didn’t want Rochefort to think we were coddling the lad or that he couldn’t handle himself whenever he wasn’t surrounded by you three.”
Porthos looked oddly at Athos and Aramis. “Thought we were coddling the boy,” he grumbled as Aramis rolled his eyes and Athos seethed quietly.
“Where are they to go?” Athos was arguably annoyed.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” Treville hung his head down briefly. “Rochefort wouldn’t provide any details.”
“Of course not,” Athos scoffed. “He doesn’t want to discover us trailing behind them.”
“We are, aren’t we?” Aramis toyed with his pistol.
“Damn right we are!” Porthos fingered his sharp dagger.
“If I find out that any of you have suddenly disappeared from the garrison after Rochefort and d’Artagnan depart,” Treville banged his fist on his desk, “I’ll throw you lot in the Bastille myself!”
Athos stiffened at the rebuke and suffered in silence as a good lieutenant should, but his blue eyed gaze took in the defiant features of his other brothers.
“Now get out of here and don’t you dare cause any trouble!”
++++
*Garrison courtyard*
“I don’t like any of this.” Porthos watched as his fellow Musketeers wee practicing.
“Apparently we can’t do a thing about it,” Aramis added cooly but regarded his friend Athos with curious eyes. “Right? We can’t do anything?”
Ignoring Aramis’s question, Athos’s attention was caught by two figures over by the stables. “And there they are,” he pointed out as he noticed Rochefort and d’Artagnan coming back out with their horses. Not bothering to glance behind him to see if his friends followed, Athos strode over before the pair departed on their journey.
Saddling Zad, d’Artagnan was about to mount when a heavy weight fell on his shoulder. Turning around he saw Athos grimly staring at him. D’Artagnan couldn’t manage to look his best friend in the eye.
“I know you couldn’t get out of this assignment without losing Treville’s respect,” Athos tried to smile for the boy’s benefit, squeezing d’Artagnan’s shoulder in encouragement.
“I’ll admit to a slight case of nerves since I’m going into this mission blind and with only the comte for company.” D’Artagnan’s gaze drifted over to the blond haired man who just mounted his horse. “I have to go.”
“Be vigilant in all things,” Athos whispered to the youngster as he gave d’Artagnan a slight boost into his saddle.
“Comte Rochefort, may I ask why d’Artagnan?”
“You may ask, Athos” Rochefort snorted, “but you will gain nothing in the attempt.” He looked at the boy’s uneasy face. It was evident to him the young Museketeer was worried that Athos may provoke a fight on his behalf. “I’ll make sure no harm comes to him if that eases your mind.”
“And if I say it doesn’t?” Athos snapped, clearly caring not one whit that Rochefort carried a title. He did as well so they were on equal footing in that regard.
A quirk of one eyebrow was the only indication on the comte’s face, along with a casual shrug of his shoulders that Athos’s message came across. Rochefort turned his horse around and rode away with d’Artagnan staring after Athos rather pathetically as the boy quickly followed in the comte’s wake.
“I have a terrible feeling about all this,” Aramis muttered crossing himself, earning twin scowls from both Porthos and Athos.
++++
*On the road*
“May I ask our destination?” d’Artagnan hated being kept in the dark. His companion wasn’t exactly the talkative type. Rochefort reminded him of Athos in that respect. Though he doubted either man would thank him for that comparison.
“We are headed for Malakoff.” Comte Rochefort was not in the habit of explaining his actions to anyone beneath his rank but took pity on the boy for he knew what it was like. Having suffered under the stupidity of other officers that didn’t know what they were about.
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but are we on the king’s business or your own?”
“Well, well,” Rochefort chuckled, “you do like to get to the heart of things, d’Artagnan. I like that in a man."
“Thank you, I think.” D’Artagnan didn’t know how to take that remark but he assumed it was a compliment of sorts. Still, his question remained unanswered. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”
Sharing an exasperated look with the young man, Rochefort snapped his attention back to the road they traveled on. “What do you think?”
“That perhaps I should ride quietly beside you and let the chips fall where they may.”
Laughter burst forth from the comte as he gazed in startled amazement at the boy’s brashness. “You sounded like your friend Porthos just now.”
“I’ve learned the best from each of my friends,” d’Artagnan retorted in defense of his brothers.
“Peace, d’Artagnan,” Rochefort’s voice still held a trace of laughter in it as he decided to explain part of his plan. “You and I are going to have to be less formal with each other when we reach Malakoff.”
“Oh really,” d’Artagnan replied smoothly, “why is that?”
“We’re to be brothers when we arrive there,” Rochefort answered casually. “And by *brothers* I mean blood related.”
“Who’d believe that?” d’Artagnan scoffed. “We look nothing alike.”
“True but we’ll claim we’re half brothers.”
“Why the subterfuge?”
“I have it on good authority that a person or persons as yet unknown are plotting to destroy his Majesties fleet of ships.”
Whistling through his teeth, d’Artagnan now understood why only two people were undertaking this mission. Too many would arouse suspicion. But he still didn’t understand why he was chosen specifically. “I wonder you didn’t pick on someone with more experience than me to aid you in this endeavor.”
“Oh come on now,” Rochefort was truly surprised that the youngster even had to ask. “Most of the other Musketeers are older than you by at least ten years. I needed to have someone younger than I to pass for my brother.”
“Aramis is just under thirty years and would have done just as well as me.”
“Yes, but he is a seasoned soldier and I couldn’t rely on his good sense to follow my orders.”
“I take offense on Aramis’s behalf that you said that!”
“Oh Mon dieu!” Rochefort reigned in his horse to take time to look d’Artagnan face to face. “You’re young, grant you that,” he sighed, “but you have a good head on your shoulders. I didn’t want to admit this to you but for the sake of your tender feelings for the inseparables I will explain myself,” he held up his hand to forestall questions he could see on the tip of d’Artagnan’s tongue. “You are one of the finest young men I have ever seen handle a blade and I wanted the best guarding my back,” he turned away and kicked his heels into his mount. “Remember that,” he threw over his shoulder, “I won’t ever repeat it again to your face, boy!”
Stunned by Rochefort’s revelation, d’Artagnan realized he better start following the comte lest he lose sight of him.
++++
*Back at the garrison*
“I’m bored,” Aramis barely concentrated on the job at hand as he cleaned his musket.
“I can tell,” Porthos grunted, “that’s the third time you’ve cleaned the same musket.
Staring at the weapon in his hand, Aramis placed it back down on the table. “Care for a game of cards?”
“What? And beat you every time,” Porthos snorted. “D’Artagnan gives me more a run for my money than you ever did.”
“Athos, did you hear how Porthos insulted me?” Not getting a reply, Aramis twisted around in his chair only to find the older man starting down into his wine glass. “I say, how much have you had?”
Holding his empty glass in the air, Athos said, “Clearly not enough.”
“Ya know we can’t go on like this. Worryin’ every day about our youngest,” Porthos started pacing the room.
“If Treville finds out we have left for any reason you know what he threatened us with,” Athos’s stated flatly.
“Yes but this is *us* we’re talking about,” Aramis added. “I think the captain’s all bluff and bluster."
“It has only been a matter of one day,” Athos reminded them. “What can happen in that limited amount of time?”
“Plenty!” Porthos stopped in his tracks to stare at his two close friends while missing d’Artagnan’s boyish face teasing them all.
“Gentlemen, I repeat, for now we can not do a thing.” Athos stood up and quietly left the room.
“That went rather well don’t you think, Porthos?” Aramis looked up at his dark skinned friend.
“We’re still here ain’t we?” Porthos had his hand back on the hilt of his dagger. “I don’t hear Athos telling us to saddle up.”
“I say, are you planning on using your dagger on me?” Aramis stood up, musket in hand.
“Oh for pity’s sake! Shut up!” Porthos shoved Aramis back down in his chair. “I’m going stir crazy worryin’ about d’Artagnan!”
“Between you, me and the fly on the wall,” Aramis grinned mischievously, “I give it another day and we’ll be on the road after our young one.”
Grinning, Porthos nodded his head. “Now you’re talkin’!”
++++
*Malakoff*
“This is the place,” Rochefort made sure d’Artagnan followed him to the stables where they left their horses in the care of the owner.
Walking toward the inn, d’Artagnan glanced around him with shrewd eyes. He noticed several shady looking characters dotting the area. “I’m not sure this place is safe.”
“I never said it was,” Rochefort countered with cool calm.
The comte’s reply did nothing to stop the churning in d’Artagnan’s gut. But he kept his mouth shut as he followed Rochefort inside.
Sitting down at a vacant table Rochefort held up a hand so someone would wait on them. A young woman sauntered over and gave both of them the once over. “Two glasses of your finest wine, Mademoiselle, along with your specials for the day.”
“All we ever have is lamb stew,” she sniffed. "And it ain't the best."
“Well, that will have to do,” Rochefort eyed her with disdain as he watched her walk off. "It seems we'll have to suffer upset stomachs tonight."
"I don't know how you can jest at a time like this," d'Artagnan was feeling quite agitated. Ready to take on anyone that looked at him cross-eyed. The fact that he wasn't in uniform weighed heavily on him and Rochefort wasn't dressed in all his finery either. But he understood they had to go into this incognito. “How will you recognize your contact?” d’Artagnan whispered. He didn’t like this place at all and wished he were back home with his three friends trading insults and laughter.
“I passed along a message describing both of us. Our contact only has to repeat a certain phrase for me to recognize him thus,” Rochefort too had the uncomfortable feeling that all eyes in the house were watching their every move. His hand wanted to reach for his sword but he stayed it and waited.
It wasn’t until they finished their meal that an older gentlemen made his approach. The man’s gaze locked with Rochefort’s as he introduced himself. “I am Francois Molyneux.”
“It is a pleasure, Monsieur,” Rochefort said. “I’m Auguste Wibert and this is my younger brother Eugene.”
“Hello, Monseiur,” d’Artagnan murmured, wondering if this were their contact. But he appeared extremely old to his young eyes for such a duty. But then again, what did he know. Contacts came in all shapes, sizes and ages anymore. He could attest to that fact by some of Porthos’s court friends.
“I understand that Calais is beautiful this time of year,” Monsieur Molyneux waited anxiously for a reply from Monsieur Wibert.
“Ah! Sit down then my friend. We have much to discuss.” With a wink at d’Artagnan, Rochefort had found his man. “What news have you?”
“It is as you feared, Monsieur,” Molyneux whispered. “A man that goes by the name of Amaury is the one in charge. He has many men working for him,” he paused in speaking as the young woman came back to see if they needed anything more then after she left he continued. “Are there only the two of you?”
“Qui!” d’Artagnan supplied.
“Sacre bleu! You don’t mean to tackle all those men on your own?”
“Non! I just needed to verify the information first and then I’ll go back for my men,” Rochefort replied easily. “Where is this Amaury working out of?”
“He manages to dole out orders from here,” Molyneux said.
“Here as in *this* establishment?” d’Artagnan’s voice rose a notch. Then spotting something in Rochefort’s face made him want to box the man’s ears for he knew, just knew that the comte did not plan on getting reinforcements once he learned that this Amaury was right under their noses.
“Do you know what room Amaury’s in?” Rochefort’s hands itched to go around his adversary’s throat.
“Room seven,” Molyneux replied cautiously, his eyes darting back and forth around the room.
Handing the old man a pouch, Rochefort thanked him and sent him on his way. Standing up, he looked down at the boy’s angry face. “Not one word, d’Atagnan. Not one! Understand me?” Not realizing how hard that command would be for the youngster, Rochefort was taken aback when d’Artagnan disagreed with his decision.
“You don’t really mean to go up there with this place surrounded by Amaury’s men and tangle with him on your own?” D’Artagnan didn’t wait for the comte’s response, so angry was he. “And they call me impetuous!” he snarled. “You’re an idiot if you do this!” Realizing he just called the man an idiot, his heart plummeted wondering if he just earned himself a demotion. Instead his head snapped back up at Rochefort’s quiet laughter.
“You have guts I’ll give you that, d’Artagnan! I haven’t had anyone dress me down since I was a boy of your age,” Rochefort watched as the young man blushed profusely. “I’ll forgive you this once. And yes, I intend on going upstairs to arrest this man.”
“But that wasn’t your original plan,” d’Artagnan tried to remind him. “How are we going to get out of here with our skins in tact?” he huffed.
“Well now I did forget for a moment about my promise to your friends,” Rochefort shrugged. “It’s to be hoped that you won’t come afoul of someone else’s blade in defense of your king and country.”
“Sometimes you sound just like Athos!” d’Artagnan spat in disgust, following the man up the stairs and into God knows what!
++++
*Upstairs inside the inn*
“This is the room,” Rochefort whispered. “Be ready, d’Artagnan.” As the comte quietly entered he spotted a man in his early thirties cleaning an array of weapons laying neatly on a table.
Feeling a pistol suddenly against his head, Amaury calmly turned around in his seat. “I can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Cool customer aren’t you,” Rochefort snapped and waved his pistol in the man’s face indicating he wanted Amaury to stand up.
“Don’t tell me you and the boy are all that came to arrest me?” Amaury folded his arms. “How very confident of you or perhaps should I say foolish."
“He doesn’t appear to be very cowed by us,” d’Artagnan heard Amaury snicker at his words.
The comte too felt slightly out of his depth and started to think that the boy had the right of it and they should have left to go back for reinforcements. Too late now. He’d already shown his hand. “You are under arrest for crimes against the King and France.”
Waving his hand in the air, Amaury laughed in their faces. “I know the drill, gentlemen and I’ll do you one in turn,” he smiled. “Take a look around you.”
When both d’Artagnan and Rochefort glanced behind them it was to see the room filling up with Amaury’s cohorts. D’Artagnan didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised as he threw Rochefort an *I told you so* look.
“Men, take these fine gents to the barn and tie them up good and tight. I’ll deal with them later. Amaury sent them away with a cocky grin.
++++
*The barn*
“I don’t want to hear a word, d’Artagnan!” Rochefort snapped as he tried to wriggle his hands free.
“Wasn’t going too,” d’Artagnan fired back. “Figure once we get home Captain Treville would deal with you and that’s if we make it out of here alive,” he added and since he was on a roll continued for good measure. “Oh and I’m sure Athos, Aramis and Porthos will have a few words to say to you as well.”
“Are you quite done?” Rochefort was not in the mood.
Looking up in the air and thinking about it, d’Artagnan with eyes as innocent as a lamb nodded his head yes.
++++
*Musketeer garrison*
“Where are they!” Treville bellowed to the Musketeers below in the courtyard. Suddenly everyone dispearsed, there wasn’t a man below to answer his question. “Mon dieu! I should have you all thrown in the Bastille!” He marched back inside his office and reached into his desk to pull out a flask. This was as good a time as any for a stiff drink. His nerves were frayed at both ends and needed it.
++++
*On the road to Malakoff*
“How did you manage to find out where they were goin’?” Porthos rode on Athos’s right with Aramis on the left.
“Let’s just say I have my ways,” Athos grinned slyly.
“You do realize that Treville’s going to want our heads over this,” Aramis grinned.
“Yes and I’ll take full responsibility for our slight case of mutiny,” Athos grunted.
“You got that one wrong, Athos,” Porthos said. “We all take the blame.”
“I just hope we’re in time before Rochefort gets d’Artagnan hurt or worse,” Aramis voiced his concern out loud and then thought better of it after seeing Athos’s face turn white. “My apologies.”
“You just had to say it,” Porthos growled at his friend.
“Sometimes my mouth runs away with me,” Aramis tried to appear chastised.
“Forget about it,” Athos said. “D’Artagnan’s learned from all of us and we should not worry so.”
“If that’s the case... why are we doing this again?” Aramis felt Porthos hit him on the back of the head for asking that. “You do realize that hurt.”
“Don’t care!” Porthos rolled his eyes.
“If you two would be quiet perhaps we could concentrate on cutting our time in half,” Athos suggested.
All three Musketeers managed to make the rest of the journey in silence. Each with his own thoughts to keep him company. And those thoughts were all on d’Artagnan.
++++
*The barn... again*
“I think I’ve worked my bonds loose,” d’Artagnan muttered.
“Good boy!” Rochefort was pleased.
“Though Aramis will cluck when he sees what I’ve done to my wrists again.”
Knowing there was a story behind the youngster’s remark, Rochefort figured he’d learn about it later.
Once d’Artagnan freed himself he made quick work on Rochefort’s bonds. “Now let’s find our horses and get out of here.” But he should have figured it wouldn’t be that easy as suddenly there were four of Amaury’s men inside the barn with them.
“Escapin’ were ya,” one man said. Tossing a dagger in the air and catching it with his hand.
“What da ya say to a little sport?” another man with a patch over one eye stared at d’Artagnan with glee.
“Oh I don’t like that look,” d’Artagnan mumbled as he glanced around for some sort of weapon to use against them, feeling bereft without his sword in his hand.
“There goes my promise to everyone,” Rochefort muttered under his breath.
“If we get out of this alive, I’ll make sure no one hurts you,” d’Artagnan managed to smile at the look of shock on the older man’s face.
“My thanks,” Rochefort retorted dryly. “I would rather stay in one piece.”
“Well that remains to be seen as these men look like they want to use us for target practice,” d’Artagnan stared right back at the man with the patch, silently daring the criminal to do his worst.
Two other men that were with the criminals grinned, showing gapped tooth smiles. They all charged the two unarmed captives with relish.
Picking up anything he could find useful as a weapon, d’Artagnan managed to hurt two of the men who came after him. He knocked the one man unconscious as he rammed his head into the crook’s stomach making him trip over his own two feet and then hitting his head on a horse trough. D’Artagnan twisted around ramming his elbow into the man who wore the eye patch, unbalancing him which made d’Artagnan able to attain the crook’s sword, quickly ending the man’s life with a thrust to his chest.
Rochefort wasn’t as lucky with the two he fought as one landed a blow to his head which blurred his vision for a time. The other crook got in a good jab with his dagger to Rochefort’s shoulder.
Thinking to come to Rochefort’s defense, d’Artagnan only saw Rochefort fighting off one attacker and completely forgot about the other until he felt a stinging sensation in his side. Looking down he saw blood pouring out of a wound through his shirt. Hearing the cackling of laughter filling his ears, d’Artagnan glanced at the man who was about to end his life. Blessedly he passed out before that could happen.
Seeing the boy go down, along with the blood covering him, Rochefort felt sick. This is not how it was supposed to be. Finally managing to gain the upper hand, Rochefort killed his attacker with the crook's own dagger, turning it against him with a stab to the heart. Which left one more on the loose. The man who took down d’Artagnan. But he didn’t get to be the one to avenge the boy as he heard a startling cry of rage.
Running into the barn full tilt, were the three inseparables. Upon seeing d’Artagnan on the ground bleeding, Athos’s rage knew no bounds as he pounced on the last remaining criminal. He didn’t give the man a chance to defend himself so angry was he. With pistol in hand, Athos blew the man's brains out without remorse.
Aramis worked frantically on their youngest’s bloody wound. “Good thing I brought my supplies with me,” Aramis gazed at Porthos's worried face. "I never leave home without them." Observing Rochefort's white face, Aramis noticed blood on the man as well. “How bad?”
“I’ll live,” Rochefort announced gruffly. “I’m concerned more about d'Artagnan.”
“The boy will live if I have anything to say about it,” Aramis snapped.
"If you were so concerned about our whelp, why is d'Artagnan lyin' here bleedin'?" Porthos felt like punching the comte right between the eyes.
“You and I will have a little talk later about your interpretation of what *no harm* means,” Athos stood nose to nose with Rochefort. Noticing though that the comte wisely kept his own council.
“Athos, I’ll be all right,” d’Artagnan dragged the words out as he became aware of his surroundings again.
Bending down, Athos placed his hand on the child’s head. “I’m well pleased to hear that.”
“Think you could manage the ride home, d’Artagnan?” Aramis asked watching the boy closely.
“Stop coddling, Aramis!” d’Artagnan scowled at his friend. “You’d think I was made out of fine porcelain the way all three of you carry on so.” Muffled laughter came from where Rochefort stood. “Oh don’t you join in!” he huffed.
“You should hear yourself, d’Artagnan,” Rochefort kept on laughing til tears nearly pooled in his eyes.
“Yes, and you’re going to *hear* about this debacle from Treville shortly!” Athos snapped as he whipped his head around to pin the comte with a deadly look.
“Do you think Amaury got away?” d’Artagnan glanced at Rochefort’s suddenly pale face. “Guess that’s a yes then.”
“Who or a what is Amaury?” Porthos scratched his beard as he watched the glances exchanged between their pup and the comte.
Pointing at the wounded Rochefort, d’Artagnan was too tired to explain. “Let him tell you. I just want to go home and forget any of this happened.”
“At least I have the information I need now,” Rochefort observed d’Artagnan rolling his eyes.
“I hope your wound to the shoulder and the one to d’Artagnan’s side was worth it, Comte,” Athos went to gather their horses. He wanted to be done with this place as much as the boy and get their youngest back to where he belonged... with them.
The End