Chapter 5

The Sun over Gascony

He hurt. Badly. When D'Artagnan opened his eyes everything was blurry and painfully bright. He moaned in anguish."Shhh, mon chou, it'll be alright." At the sound of her voice, a wave of calm washed over him. It would be alright. It had always been alright, once she had worked her magic and given him a kiss to make it all better. Sure enough, he felt the soft touch of her lips on his forehead. "It hurts, Maman" he sighed and opened his eyes again. Her face was washed out in the brightness, the darkness of her hair framing ...nothing...the shape of her eyes, her mouth...nothing... he couldn't see, couldn't discern... couldn't...His head hurt. So much. He reached both hands up to his forehead and felt warmth.

He looked down at his hands and dark stains swam into focus, Where had all that blood come from? How had he been hurt? Again he wiped at his forehead, feeling more liquid come off. Uncomprehendingly he stared at his hands again for a moment, then he raised his right to his mouth and licked his fingers. Bitter. Sweet. Chocolat. Why chocolate? He didn't even like it.

A scream rent the air and made him look up. The house in front of him burst into flame in absolute silence, as if a keg of gunpowder had blown up inside. He shielded his eyes in an instinctive gesture, cowering down to not have the blast sweep him off his feet, but there was none. The air was completely still, no sound was to be heard except for the deafening roar of the blood pumping through his own veins. They were still inside. He had to get them. He had to save them. But he couldn't move. Even though his heart was beating like a sledgehammer, his limbs wouldn't obey. He screamed his anguish and frustration at the blaze, every fiber of his being straining to move towards the flames that were distroying...killing...taking away from him... when a hand on his shoulder broke the spell and allowed him to turn around.

"I miss them, too." Alexander squeezed his son's shoulders affectionately. D'Artagnan raised his face to look at his father. Tears flowed hot over his cheeks and he felt a calloussed hand caress his face
"Never feel ashamed to love and show it, my son, or to hurt. It is what makes us appreciate life as we should." Both father and son turned again to look at the gravestone in front of them.
"Makes us appreciate how precious it is."
Two names. Francoise. Marie.
"How fragile."
Suddenly, his father's embrace became a vice-like grip.

The walls of the hole were crumbling earth on them as he moved, struggled. He felt his father's still body beside his own, dead arms still holding him fast. Cold. So cold.
"As we gather to commend our brother D'Artagnan to God our Father and to commit his body to the earth..." Richelieu was smiling wickedly far above him, the lines and wrinkles in his old face etched out by sunlight against a clear blue sky, far, so far above, as more and more earth fell from the sides of the grave, covering D'Artagnan's face until he shook his head again, making his eyes blink and burn, falling into his mouth that gaped in silent screams.
"As we take leave of our brother, give our hearts peace in the firm hope that he will be united with his familiy again in the place you have prepared for him in heaven."
Maybe this was it. The only way. D'Artagnan stopped struggling and fell still. To see them again. To see her face again.
"We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen."
More earth. Suffocating. Darkness.
If only death would make the pain go away.
His head hurt. So much.

"Shhh, don't struggle. It'll be alright." He felt a calloused hand caress his cheek.
"It hurts, Maman." His words came out slurred, and low, but she understood and laughed.

"I know. Be still, and don't touch it." The hand was removed and the voice moved away. D'Artagnan knew better than to open his eyes right away. He took stock first, as much as the pounding in his head allowed. He was lying on a soft surface, a bed most likely. He felt warmth on his face and one side of it felt positively on fire. His limbs were heavy, as if he had drunk too much and he had a bittersweet taste in his mouth. What had happened?

When everything came back to him, his eyes flew open and he sat up apruptly, instantly regretting the motion as light and pain hit him like a hammer. He cradled his head in his hands, which caused even more pain, grit his teeth and groaned. Instantly, hands were at his shoulders
"I told you to leave it alone."
The Musketeer froze under her touch, but fought his instincts to lash out and defend himself lest he hurt her.
"Where am I?" he ground out between clenched teeth and opened his eyes again, forcing them to focus on his hands. No blood. No stains.

"You're safe."

"Who're you?"

"My name is Marie."

At this, D'Artagnan looked up and at her. She was sitting on the side of the bed he crouched on and just calmly returned his gaze. Ebony hair framing a heart-shaped face, tan skin and dark eyes encircled by lines that spoke of love and laughter. She wasn't young anymore, a few years older than himself, but beautiful, especially when she smiled, D'Artagnan was sure of that even as his breath caught in throat.
It would be a smile as warm and radiant as the sun over Gascony. A smile he'd lost and almost forgotten.

So Richelieu had told the truth.

"Marie." he whispered, incredulous, but quickly gathered his wits about him and cleared his throat with a cough "Can I trouble you for some water? I am parched."

"Of course." She got up and turned away from him. D'Artagnan used the moment to look around the room, suddenly suspicious, and sure enough there was a man sitting in a chair on the far side of the chamber, next to the door. He looked completely relaxed, but his gaze betrayed his wariness, and a minute shake of his head confirmed what D'Artagnan had assumed. Don't try anything.
There was a rapier at his side, along with a main gauche and probably a pistol within easy reach. D'Artagnan's eyes widened when he realized that the man was wearing a Musketeer's uniform. His own uniform, to be exact. The guy had the audacity to flash a smug little grin.

"You should be grateful Monsieur Armand found you and brought you here." Marie held out a simple cup which D'Artagnan accepted gratefully.

"He did?" D'Artagnan sounded unconvinced. And told you he was called "Armand" of all possible aliases. The Gascon emptied the cup and held it out to Marie in a quiet plea for more. As long as she was around, and as long as he didn't know what her role in this was, he felt it safer to play along in whatever charade this was going to be. At the cool draught, his headache subsided a fraction.
"What happened?"

"I think you were accosted by some thieves. I found you not too far from here, unconscious and without any valuables...or proper clothes" explained "Armand" "You must have been running away from something or someone, tripped and hit your head. Or rather, your face."

At this D'Artagnan raised his hand to the side of his face again, but Marie caught his arm, and placed the cup in his hand instead.
"Again. Please try not to touch it. It is scraped and severely bruised, I had to remove dirt and small stones and put a dressing on it, but you're lucky you didn't break your cheeckbone. You must have been falling quite awkwardly, because this looks as if you didn't even use your hands to break the fall."
D'Artagnan gave an unhappy sigh at the description that hit so close to the truth and yet missed it completely.

"What can you remember?" She continued.

"How do you know how to patch someone up like that?" D'Artagnan turned to ask Marie instead of answering her question with lies. Whatever the Cardinal was playing at, he had felt it necessary to show him instead of just telling.

"My mother taught me." Marie moved away from the bed towards the door "Which reminds me that I need go look after lunch. Hungry mouths to feed." She smiled the smile D'Artagnan had thought lost and it did make the Gascon's heart miss a beat. "Will you stay and eat with us?"

"We'd be delighted." The fake Musketeer replied with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

D'Artagnan was out of the bed and had his hand at "Armand's" throat a bare second after Marie had closed the door behind herself.

"Tell me." The Gascon gave a good squeeze for effect, but had already lifted the main gauche from "Armand's" belt and used it to support his request "What. Is. Happening. Here."

The man remained quite calm at the threat of a livid D'Artagnan "I am here..." he rasped, struggling a little to get the Gascon to allow him enough air to answer the question "I am here to escort you and to ensure that noone gets hurt. My main concern is the safety of the ladies of the house."
D'Artagnan removed his hand from "Armand's" throat and placed the main gauche there instead. Ladies, plural.
"And why don't I dispatch you, tell them what happened and take them away from here?"

"Ah." The man was still completely relaxed, his hands on the armrests of the chair "You could in all probabiity achieve the first, but that would raise the question of why you'd kill a Musketeer. And even if they were to believe you after that, what makes you so sure our 'mutual friend' has not put additional safeguards in place - and let me assure you, where he is involved there'll always be those - to avoid such a thing from happening?"

Slowly, D'Artagnan let the weapon drop, leaving behind a minute cut and a few drops of blood.

"That's the smart choice." "Armand" got up and straightened his uniform. "We have another two hours I'd say, then we will leave. See what you have to see, learn what you need to learn. I trust you to remain...careful."

With that, he swept from the room.

D'Artagnan straightened and turned around. Through the small window came the light of a bright day, confirming what Marie had said. Noon. He had been out of it for almost twentyfour hours. At least. A few steps to the window further confirmed, that, although his headache was withdrawing, his knees still felt weak, and the room still blurred around him when he moved too quickly. Whatever had been in that devilish chocolat, D'Artagnan had no desire for another taste.

The view outside was a little unexpected, though truth be told, D'Artagnan didn't even know what he had been expecting in the first place. He found himself at least five meters above ground, so he had a good overview. The house was - at least on this side - surrounded by a stretch of field and then nondescript woodland. A sizeable wall separated the grounds from the fields, there even was a narrow parapet. Not a house, then, rather an estate. There was a garden beneath the window, too, not like the ones the King or other aristocrats favoured, but a useful one, with rows of vegetables and herbs, but also flowers and some shrubs that had been trimmed into fancyful shapes. Just at the edge of his view he could discern more buildings, lower to the ground, stables probably.
There were people moving about, there, at least three to four men, servants or other personel and probably part of the "safeguard" he'd been told to expect.

With an unhappy sigh he turned away from the view and ran both his hands through his hair, careful not to touch his injury. What was the meaning of all this!? What in God's name was the Cardinal playing at?! The Gascon felt dark dread settle in his stomach. He'd probably find out soon enough. The little conversation in the park had been nothing but a distraction of that he was sure now. The game had barely begun.

"Well, best stay sharp, then." D'Artagnan looked himself down. Fortunately, he was decent enough for company, though he'd been stripped of his cape, pauldron, doublet and belt. His boots stood next to the bed, but the hat was nowhere to be seen. What a mess.

I decided to do two chapters instead of one here to give you the first part right away and to not make the chapter to long. A lenght of about 2000 words per chapter is starting to feel quite comfortable, what do you prefer?

The second Genre might change in the course of this, I realized, but I am unsure as to what to put...Family (Quite possible, now XD) or Mystery (For you, poor reader - did I already say sorry? -being as clueless as our D'Artagnan).

Well, anyways, our Gascon still needs to meet someone else and I am sure he's anxious for the moment to arrive. Please let me know what you think!