Summary: It came down to two decisions, let it be and wait for justice or take revenge in your own hands.
Author Note: So this is my first ever entry for July’s Fête des Mousquetaires – “Beware! Revenge…”. Enjoy!
The streets of Paris were slick from the day’s rains, the air biting with the oncoming winter, the moon full and casting her silver light. These things caught his attention, accompanying the smell of filth seeped in mud and rotting food.
These thoughts clashed with the blinding rage and internal screaming for revenge. He was the wolf tonight, hunting its prey in the urban forest. He would not rest, would not stop nor calm until the monster that had put two of his brother’s lives in jeopardy was served the pain three fold.
He could still feel the blood upon his hands, the acrid taste of bile upon his tongue. This was not how today was supposed to end; it was supposed to end in the four of them dining together back at Athos’s rooms but instead he is out on the streets of Paris hunting and his two brothers are near death.
That thought alone brought a fury upon him like any other; it is what drove him to seek his vengeance. Because of this he could not tend to his brothers, to sooth their aches and help his brother.
“Watch it!” A drunk hissed as he crashed into him but he took no mind, dared not utter a word as he finally spied his victim.
The man had no shame, bragging the downfall of two musketeers as he drank freely. Sharing and laughing as he told those around him that he had pushed the two from the balcony and into the harsh ground below before escaping. But the harsh ground was not mud nor rock but a wagon of barrels. His brothers had landed harshly, some of the barrels shattering and piercing through their flesh and draining their life force.
Broken ribs and other fractures, thankfully the spines were not damaged but they still remained unconscious.
“…they didn’t even see me comin’!” The victim, the monster, roared loudly. Wine sloshing from his cup as he swung sideways in his mirth and staining the ground, soon a darker red would be joining it.
Roaring laughter of his friends and drunkards around his victim, cheering and toasting the supposed death of the two musketeers, they too would join the monster, not in death but extreme pain. He would forsake his vows and maim them grievously; he will teach them a lesson. Thankfully he left his musketeer blue and pauldron back at the garrison.
Gloved fingers stroked the butt of the arquebus pistol hidden beneath his borrowed brown cloak, his farmer’s hat tugged low to conceal his features. He had one shot, but one shot was all he needed. With a dark smirk he strode forward, by passing his victim and to an empty chair and table near a darkened corner but in view of his intended target.
He could wait all night if he had to, no matter how impatient he felt to strike his revenge, but he could not risk the innocents nor put himself in the light, he could not be spotted or tonight would all be for naught.
Rage built within him as the man described in detail all he had done once again, wine sloshing and staining the table and cloth even further. He could have killed the man many ways but he chose the way that would test his patience and give him close range, where he can see the light of the man’s eyes before him and fade.
When the noise died down and the bar began to close, the man rose unsteadily and tumbled from the door, followed by another, a man clad in brown and grey. Dark eyes followed the fool, hand twitching around the trigger of his hidden arquebus once more.
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…” The words slipped off the hunters tongue as he raised his pistol and took aim.
A tanned hand shot out and grasped the shooters arm in a surprising tight grip, dark eyes met dark eyes for a split second before the newcomer moved and shoved the shooter into the darkness of the alley.
“What do you think you are doing?” The newcomer hissed to the shooter, dark eyes flaring with fury that went hand in hand with the desired urge for vengeance he was feeling.
With a twisted snarl the shooter shoved at the newcomer but blinked when he didn’t shove. “I am doing what should be done! He hurt our brothers; he laughed and told everything about it! What else am I supposed to do d’Art?”
“ARAMIS!” d’Artagnan snapped sharply and for a second the Spaniard saw Athos before him. “This is not the way, this is not you. Your place is by our brothers’ sides with me, caring for them and helping with their pain.”
“That’s rich coming from you.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them but d’Artagnan didn’t let that get to him. He knew that he lecturing Aramis about how Vengeance was not the way, how revenge was not the way. After all he had come in pistol drawn for Athos’s head, but he had learnt and right now he knew that what that monster did to his brothers would not go unpunished.
With a soft sad smile he pulled Aramis into his arms quickly before pulling him from the alley, away from the drunk who had passed out at the other end of the alley and towards the garrison.
“I… I just…” Aramis stated, cutting off in a choked sob as shame built up in him. “I am sorry d’Art, I just…”
D’Artagnan smiled and continued to lead his brother towards their home. “I understand Aramis, I truly do but let Treville deal with it, he and our brothers will seek justice. Our place right now is not revenge; it is to support Athos and Porthos…”
“I know. How did you find me, I thought I covered my tracks well.” The Spaniard asked, causing the Gascon to laugh.
“I have been following you from the rooftops since the third street detour you took, this is near the Court, and Porthos has been teaching me when I cannot sleep. I came to make sure you did nothing you’d regret, I cannot look after them myself and I need you, we need you Aramis and try not to drug them to oblivion in a few days like you do me when they get bored.” d’Art stated with a chuckle, smiling wide as Aramis huffed out a laugh.
“At least it’s not you this time pup, Porthos is manageable and Athos will pretend to be fine and drink himself to oblivion.” Aramis chuckled before pausing as they reached the gates of the garrison in record time, Treville standing before them with a blank face.
They waited as their Captain assessed them, his eyes flicking from the Gascon to the Spaniard and back in a silent question, nodding in dismissal when his youngest Musketeer nodded to say he got there in time.
“Athos woke for a brief time, Porthos is still asleep and the doctor ensures he will be till morning. We managed to get some broth into them but as you might guess, it did not go well.” Treville chuckled.
“I take it our brooding leader objected to being spoon fed?” Aramis asked with a teasing smile, all signs of his anger and dark thoughts forgotten.
Treville chuckled. “Yes, you better go and make sure that he didn’t pull any stitches.”
Aramis nodded before making his way back to the infirmary with their youngest on his heels, coming to a complete stop and turning to face the Gascon with an unreadable face. “I thank you d’Artagnan, you stopped me from doing something foolish. You are right, Revenge was not the way.”
“You are my brother Aramis; you’d do and have done the same for me. All for one and one for all, now let’s go take care of our brothers.”
Author Note: I am not exactly sure how this would turn out but it turned out okay, something different.