Vengeance

Vengeance

by pally

It’s 9:00am on Monday morning; Aramis and Porthos were clashing their swords during a heated training session, while Athos sat at the table, leaning his back against the bench behind him. He held his head low; his hat covered his eyes to block out the morning sun. He groaned as each clank of the blades, made Athos’ hangover much worse for the pounding echoed and throbbed with each strike.

Aramis takes a break, looking toward Athos then glances at Porthos, grinning as he gestures behind him with his head. Porthos grins mischievously then lunges toward Aramis, moving closer to Athos’ space; their swords clashed louder, and the two men wondered how long it would take before Athos lost his temper. It wasn’t very long; Athos slowly lifts his head leering at the two Musketeers then sets his eyes on Aramis, “Was that really necessary?”

Aramis smirks, “Yes, yes it was.” he sheaths his sword.

“So…” Porthos walks over, sitting next to Athos then leans his elbows on the bench, “what were you drinking in hopes of forgetting last night?”

“Does it matter?” Athos drawls dryly, giving Porthos side-eye then stands, looking down at the broad-shouldered Musketeer.

“Nah, I guess not.” Porthos shrugs.

“Mmm. Where’s d’Artagnan?” Athos asks then glances at Aramis who smiles with a tilt of his head.

“He’s probably still with one of the lovely ladies from the tavern last night, and lost track of time like some of us do.”

“But some of us know better.” Athos huffs, knowing he should be training himself. Even though he’s older than d’Artagnan by a few years, the young man seems to be sowing his wild oats more than a young man his age should be. Athos remained silent, leaving Aramis and Porthos wondering what his next actions would be. Athos, however, knew d’Artagnan was very much like him in some ways and it frightened him some, but pushing the thought aside, he focused on his own training, “If he’s not back in 10 minutes, go look for him.” he gives nod then walks away from the table toward the stairs and just as he took a few steps, a young boy, maybe 10-12 years of age, ran through the garrison gates.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the Musketeer Athos!” he huffed, “I have a package for him!”

Hearing his name mentioned rather loudly, Athos stops halfway up the stairs and glances over his shoulder toward the boy; Aramis and Porthos approach the messenger.

“I’m Athos!” he declares, descending the stairs quickly.

“Apologies, Monsieur…” the young boy muttered, “I was told to give you this!” he hands the Musketeer a package wrapped in white linen and tied with string.

“Who sent you?” Athos questioned, “Who sent this?”

“A man, Sir…a man with a scar so deep on his left cheek, it’s surprising his face is still whole.” the boy runs his finger down his face, indicating how the scar appears on the man’s face.

“His name?” Porthos gruffs, “Did this man give you a name?” he steps forward.

Knowing the Musketeer’s reputation and temper, the young boy backs away, “He didn’t give a name, Monsieur. He just told me to deliver this package.”

Athos looks at the package he held in his hands and thinks for a moment.

“May I leave now?” the boy asked.

“Yes, but before you go…” Aramis knelt in front of the boy that looked like one of the many orphans that would run errands for bandits and thieves that snuck about Paris, “what did this man promise you in exchange for the delivery of said package?”

“A bag of sweets, Monsieur…” the boy smiles widely, patting a satchel that hung around his back, “he said I could have it and share it with my friends, please don’t take it, Monsieur…”

Aramis smirks, messing the boys’ hair, “Go on…” he stood, gesturing toward the gates. Once the small child disappeared out the gates, Aramis turned to Porthos and Athos, who continued studying the package he was hesitant to open, “So why would a man with a scar on his left cheek send you a package?” but Athos didn’t answer, “Athos?”

Athos broods, “I…I don’t know.” he lays it on the table, running his hands across the top.

“Well, staring at it all day won’t give you any answers so go on, open it!” Porthos grumbles, “Because we’ll be here all day guessing what it is, no?”

Athos looks at the bulky Musketeer, who shrugs as if knowing his sarcasm wasn’t appreciated, “I shall, Porthos but right now I’m taking a few things into consideration.” Athos groaned then looked away.

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMart writing here…