Smoke and Mirrors

Summary: By order of the Cardinal, the Musketeers must do everything in their power to collect a young Spanish girl with vital information for the King and deliver her to Paris.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers. I just like to borrow them on occasion.

A/N: So I promised myself I wasn't going to post this until I had completely finished. I am breaking that promise right now because … well I am weak and hopeless and just simply wanted to post it. Please keep in mind that I do not know or speak Spanish and everything in this story is purely from the internet so I apologise for any bad Spanish in here.

This is set after d'Artagnan getting his commission and the end of Season 1.

So … here it is. Lisa, this one's for you. PS, Any mistakes are my own.

Chapter 1. Won't Let Go.

"I don't like this."

d'Artagnan looked in Porthos' direction. He couldn't disagree with his friend's sentiment. They'd been holed up in a small unused shack a few hours ride over the Spanish border. d'Artagnan couldn't say he'd ever been to Spain, even despite how close Gascony was to the border. His life up until his ill-fated trip to Paris had consisted of family and farming. "You don't like what? Being in Spain?" He queried from his seat by the lone table in the room.

Porthos glanced over his shoulder from where he was standing by the window, his features captured in the frown he'd had since they'd arrived at the shack the day before. "Bein' in Spain, bein' out of uniform; take your pick. It just don't feel right."

d'Artagnan looked down at his currently pauldron free right shoulder. He could understand Porthos' agitation. Though it hadn't been all that long since earning his commission into the Musketeer Regiment, he'd been fighting so long to be a part of the brotherhood that the loss of that piece of leather felt unnatural.

"I don't like it either," d'Artagnan agreed, shifting so that his ankle was resting on his thigh. He picked at a loose thread in the lining of his breeches. He'd never been one content to sit and wait. He hated being inactive. He felt restless. He glanced over at Athos who had claimed the other window. "Maybe I could head out for a bit, scout the area?"

"They should have been here last night," Porthos commented, glancing out of the window for what must have been the hundredth time.

"Given the nature of their trip, I think we need to give them some more time," Aramis joined the conversation from where he sat in the corner of the shack. His weapons were laid out in front of him. He was methodical in the care of his weaponry no matter what circumstances they were in. "At least until tonight."

Athos remained quiet for a moment, taking his own chance to take a peek out of the window. He glanced back at Aramis and then to both d'Artagnan and Porthos. "I agree with Aramis but ... it wouldn't hurt to scout the area either."

d'Artagnan was on his feet before Athos had finished his sentence. "Good." Buckling his scabbard belt around his waist, d'Artagnan then picked up his pistol, slipping it into place on his belt.

"Be careful," Athos ordered as he handed d'Artagnan his dark brown cloak. He missed his new blue Musketeer cloak more than he would have anticipated. "We're on foreign soil. If any of us are caught, especially out of uniform ..."

"We'll be in trouble," d'Artagnan finished for him.

"We'll be considered spies and likely hung for our crimes," Porthos told them, his tone serious and dark.

"Wait." Aramis stood, making quick work of arming himself before throwing on his own dark green, moth eaten cloak. "I'll go with you."

"Be extra careful," Athos warned, opening the door for them both.

"Athos," Aramis scoffed. "This is me you're talking about."

"Precisely," Athos deadpanned.

Aramis made an exaggerated show at grasping for his heart. Athos' lips twitched and d'Artagnan thought he almost saw a grin on his mentor's face. His own smile couldn't be held back as he shook his head, giving Aramis a slight shove towards the door.

The sun was out, its warm rays warding away the chill. The fresh air was something that invigorated him and much preferable to being stuck cooped up in a small run down shack with three other men, no matter how much he cared for those men. In fact it was possibly the one thing he missed since he'd moved to Paris – the fresh country air. There was nothing like it.

"What are you smiling about?" Aramis asked from where he was saddling his horse.

d'Artagnan took a deep breath and turned to smile at his friend. "Smell that. It's beautiful."

Aramis glanced around them, his eyes taking in the trees, the rays of light shining through the leaves. He nodded with a smile. "Particularly in this area. It always has been this time of year."

"You know this area?"

"I've travelled through this part of the country many times in my life. My mother came from a village not far from here."

"Your mother was Spanish?"

"She was. God rest her soul." The marksman reached for the ornate cross that rested on his chest and pressed his lips to it. He looked skyward as he released the crucifix and then went back to his task.

d'Artagnan paused. He rested a hand on the blanket he'd laid over his horse as he watched Aramis tend to his own, tightening the straps of the saddle. Aramis was probably the most light-hearted of their small circle but in reality, there was a whole lot about Aramis that the man didn't share. He'd never heard Aramis talk about his family, although it did explain his knowledge of the Spanish language. It heightened his curiosity. "Can I ask you a question?" he asked.

Aramis continued readying his horse, slipping the bridal over its ears with practiced ease. "Any time."

"Is it difficult?"

Aramis finally stopped what he was doing long enough to meet d'Artagnan's curious gaze. "Is what difficult?"

"Having your loyalties split like that ... between Spain and France, I mean."

Aramis seemed to consider the question for a moment before answering. "Don't let my Spanish heritage fool you, my friend. My loyalties have and always will be to France. I am French."

"Of course," d'Artagnan agreed. He ran a hand through his hair, hating that his query had come out sounding like he was questioning his friend's loyalty. "I didn't mean to imply..."

"Relax, d'Artagnan," Aramis chuckled. "I know what you were asking."

"I'm sorry. I've just never heard you speak of your parents."

Aramis sighed, the motion almost wistful. "She was ... a beautiful woman." He paused and then for a second d'Artagnan thought he'd been caught, lost in a memory. The quiet moment ended as soon as it had begun. Aramis brought his eyes up to meet d'Artagnan's, a mischievous glint hiding in the brown orbs. "In fact there are a many beautiful things that are of Spanish descent. The Queen herself is Spanish..."

d'Artagnan laughed softly, turning back to his unsaddled horse. "You are incorrigible."

Within minutes the horses were ready and d'Artagnan was just about to mount when he paused. A sound filled the small area. Aramis had clearly heard it too as he stilled, his hand going for his pistol. He looked at d'Artagnan. "Someone is coming." He stated, softly.

Aramis whistled, alerting their friends inside that something was happening. He moved away from his horse and headed for the nearest tree to his right. d'Artagnan automatically headed to his left, silently slipping in between a bush and a tree. They would wait out the arrival in hiding, allowing some element of surprise in case their visitors meant any danger.

Waiting was the hardest part. He knelt, moist dirt dampening through his breeches. He placed one hand against the tree, realising belatedly that he hadn't yet put his gloves on. His hands were freezing. He risked rising a little over the leaves hiding his position. Two horses were headed down the small narrow path that lead to the shack they had been calling home for a night. Upon the horses rode a man dressed in black pants and a green shirt, his long dark hair was tied back. On the second horse rode a much smaller person, a large hat obscured the person's face and a large cloak rested on the person's shoulders.

d'Artagnan adjusted his balance on the ground, catching Aramis' gaze from across the path. The Spaniard shook his head, silently telling d'Artagnan stay put. As the riders past their positions, d'Artagnan moved around the tree slightly to keep them in view. From his hiding spot he could now see Athos and Porthos. The pair had exited the shack, weapons all in place and at the ready should this be some kind of attack ... or trap.

"Hola?"

Porthos and Athos shared a look.

"Are you Mr De La Fuente?" Athos asked, hand resting on his rapier.

"Sí Sí. Yo soy el señor De La Fuente," The man said. He reached out and gripped the smaller rider's shoulder. d'Artagnan's knowledge of the Spanish language was limited. In fact he was at a total loss. But he was fairly certain the man had just agreed that he was the man they were waiting on.

"Sus nombres , señor? ¿Eres de los mosqueteros del rey ?" The man spoke fast, keeping his grip on his companion. Once again d'Artagnan was left having no idea what was being said. At a guess the man seemed to be saying something about musketeers but he was starting to wonder whether Aramis should make himself known. He was the only one that spoke Spanish fluently.

By the confused looks on both Athos and Porthos' faces, d'Artagnan could see that he wasn't the only one who was unable to completely decipher what the man was saying. Aramis whistled once more. This time it was a warning for him and d'Artagnan was ready. With fluid motion and weapons drawn, d'Artagnan and Aramis exited their hiding places.

"Hemos sido enviados para escoltar a un espía español al Rey." Aramis spoke quickly, the language flowing easily from his tongue. The arm holding his pistol didn't waver as he moved further up.

"¿Cómo sé que usted no es bandidos ?"

d'Artagnan looked to Aramis to translate. His friend kept his eyes directed at their visitors as he spoke. "He wants to know how he can trust us."

Athos reached inside his doublet and produced a letter. It was proof of their validity, sealed with a mark that none of them recognised. The Cardinal assured them that his contact would. Athos stepped forward and handed the letter over to the Spaniard. De La Fuente broke the seal and looked over the letter. Whatever the man had found inside seemed to calm him as his whole body relaxed and he released his grip on his charge. "Y mi pago?" he spoke directly to Aramis now as he tore up the letter.

Aramis for his part rolled his eyes but lowered his weapon slightly. "He wants payment for his delivery."

"Late delivery," Porthos added, but also lowered his weapon.

Athos reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag full of coins that the Cardinal had provided for them. "With compliments from the Cardinal," he stated as he tossed the bag to the man. Aramis translated Athos words and De La Fuente smiled, slipping the bag into his own pocket.

De La Fuente dismounted from his horse with a grunt as his feet hit the hard ground. Following Aramis' lead, d'Artagnan lowered his weapon completely and re-clipped it to his belt. He kept his attention to their surroundings on high alert. The last thing they needed was to fall into an ambush at the very start of their mission while they were still on foreign ground.

De La Fuente moved around to the second horse and reached up for its small rider. He gently lowered his charge to the ground and brought the small person around to stand in front of them. Delicate hands reached up and removed the massively floppy hat. Underneath the wide brims was a young girl. She looked to be all of twelve years old as far as d'Artagnan could see. Her long dark hair was tied back in a low braid and her large brown eyes looked up at them all, each in turn, seemingly taking in the strangers before her.

"Es para mí un placer presentar mi hija , Juliana."

d'Artagnan glanced from the young girl in front of him and his brothers who all had equally stunned looks on their faces. When they had been told to pick up a spy from over the Spanish border they had not expected a child.

"Uh ..." Aramis began, looking at Athos. "This is Juliana. De La Fuente's daughter."

xxxxAll4Onexxxx

As all five horses crested the highest point of the road, Athos resisted the urge to nudge his horse into action.

The sun was falling low, illuminating the sky and surrounding the area with a beautiful serene atmosphere. From their high vantage point it was quite a scene to behold. But Athos was on edge. They were not on a leisurely ride through France – although thankfully they were back on French soil - they were on a mission from the king. Athos was very anxious. He was anxious to get back to Paris and hand over their burden.

Athos looked ahead to the young girl in question. Juliana De La Fuente was a thirteen year old – not twelve as she had so quickly corrected d'Artagnan - Spanish girl who'd been in the unfortunate position to overhear some information that was very important to King Louis. This was information that they were not privy to as they had been so reminded upon collecting the girl from her father. Athos shook his head as he thought back to the exchange. It had saddened him that the man was so eager to hand over his daughter for a pay check. In fact it disgusted him. Athos had pretended not to see the tears in her eyes as she watched her father ride away. What did he know about how to deal with teenage girls tears? Still, he had to commend her because she hadn't let them fall.

Juliana for her part was quite animated once she got a little more comfortable with her four musketeer guards. Thankfully she spoke enough French to not make their journey as frustrating as their meeting with her father had been. It was definitely an advantage having one of their team fluent in Spanish but frustrating when all conversation had to go through that one person. He trusted Aramis with his life but Athos had never been comfortable not knowing exactly what was going on.

Juliana turned to look over her shoulder at him as she sat upon her horse, wedged in between Aramis and Porthos. She smiled at him, like she had been periodically through the ride in this formation. It hadn't taken long, once on the road, for Juliana's fear and uncertainty to be replaced by curiosity. Her broken French had flown from her mouth with question after question. All of her enquiries had been sent in his direction but it wasn't until Juliana had commented on his 'manly beard' that Athos had decided that a change in formation was warranted. Porthos was now in his place by her side with Aramis and d'Artagnan had been given lead while Athos covered their rears.

The beauty of this arrangement was that he was now avoiding the constant smirk from Aramis. His friend was finding it all too amusing that their young charge had seemed to take a particular liking to him. Now he was faced with Juliana making obvious attempts to give her attention to him. Athos nodded back, doing as much to acknowledge the child without encouraging her ridiculous infatuation with him.

Looking past Juliana, Athos could make out d'Artagnan taking up the lead in their small group. The boy had proven to be a good scout and Athos had no problem letting him take lead, knowing he had a keen eye. He was always watching, always ready for business. He was proving to be a good Musketeer. Athos found himself inwardly smiling. d'Artagnan wore his pauldron proudly. He'd come a long way from the reckless boy who'd stormed into the Musketeer garrison intent on killing him.

Glancing behind him, Athos shifted in his saddle. There was nothing but un-kept road, trees and a rising cliff-face from the way they'd come. There was no sign of anyone following them but for some reason Athos couldn't keep his unease at bay. Rushing water could be heard from somewhere below, indicating the stream they had been following had continued as they'd climbed higher on the road.

Giving in to his paranoia, Athos nudged his horse with his heels, jolting the animal into moving forward and falling into line with Aramis.

"Once we get down from this ledge we should find somewhere to stop."

Aramis glanced at him, a smile sliding easily into place. "Athos, my friend, Juliana was just regaling us with camping tales from her childhood."

"I'm sorry I missed it," Athos stated dryly, twisting to look over his shoulder. The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Something felt off.

"I have other stories, Senor Athos," Juliana piped up, leaning forward in her saddle to peer around Aramis at him. "I would be ... pleased to tell you more."

Aramis leaned over towards the young girl. "Senor Athos ama una buena historia fogata." He winked, causing the girl to giggle.

Athos frowned at his friend. The Spaniard had taken great delight in giving secret messages to the girl leaving Athos completely unawares as to what was being said. It made him uncomfortable. Porthos met his gaze with a shrug. The big man wasn't any more aware than he was.

Aramis straightened himself in the saddle and grinned at Athos. "I just said that you love a good campfire story." He was quite proud of himself.

"Our Athos isa great talker," Porthos stated from the other side of Juliana.

Athos fought the urge to roll his eyes. "If you two are done spreading vicious rumours about me, can we pick up the pace? I'd like to set up camp before nightfall."

Aramis sighed dramatically. "A great talker and completely no fun ... at all."

"Someone has to be the adult," Athos concluded.

The three men tensed as a bird flew out from the trees overhead. d'Artagnan paused, his body language screamed alertness. Aramis and Porthos both straightened in their saddles, all jokes forgotten.

"What is wrong?" Juliana asked, clearly picking up on the unease of her escorts.

"Possibly nothing," Athos stated, still not entirely convinced. "We should ..." his next words were cut off as Musket fire blasted its way through the trees beside them.

Athos watched in horror as Juliana's horse took a musket ball to the head, dropping the beast quickly, taking its small rider with it. "Aramis! Get her out of here!" Athos shouted as Aramis was already dropping to the ground and racing to the frightened girl.

Another musket ball flew past him, barely missing his head as bandits rushed from the trees. His horse bucked backwoods, not at all happy with the chaotic noise that had erupted around him. Another blast sounded and this time one of their enemy dropped, his arm still outstretched, pistol dropping from his fingers as a dark red stain blossomed on his chest.

Looking back at Aramis, Athos noted that the marksman had indeed hit his mark in true Aramis fashion – one hand holding a smoking pistol while the other was attempting to pull Juliana free from her dead horse. He shouted for d'Artagnan as he pulled her free.

Trusting Aramis and d'Artagnan to handle Juliana's protection, Athos kicked his horse into action. He charged one of the attackers, jumping onto the man from the side as his horse made a quick getaway. The pair crashed to the ground hard and Athos knew he was going to be nursing a massive bruise on his hip once they were finished.

Athos tumbled to a stop with his attacker landing on top of him. Porthos' war cry and a litany of shouts in French were the background noise to battle as his heart raced in his chest. French. They were being attacked by their own people. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he saw a fist hurtling in the direction of his face. Athos' reflexes caused him to lift his arm and block the attack, following up with his own left-handed jab to the man's jaw. Using his legs as leverage he flipped and rolled with his opponent, taking back the advantage.

"Athos!"

The scream from Aramis was enough to make him duck low, a blade being slashed through the air sounded from where his head had just been. Athos was in action immediately, his right fist finding purchase against a cheekbone of the man underneath him, knocking him out cold, before he launched himself to his feet. He knocked his second attacker away, giving himself time to pull his rapier free. His blade clashed against the steel of another. Athos pushed forward, forcing his new opponent back as he witnessed d'Artagnan leaving a trail of dust behind, taking Juliana out of the equation.

In three confident strokes, Athos was running his sword through his opponent. He pulled his sword back but not quick enough as air was robbed from him with a well placed blow to the ribs. Another bandit – enraged by the death of his friend – hit him from the side. Athos faulted, falling to his knee as he raised his sword. The weight behind the next attack forced him to the ground. He rolled, as the man he'd punched in the jaw had recovered and joined the fight. He forced himself up onto one knee again, trying to ignore how close the ledge was at his back. He attempted a parry while narrowly avoiding an attack to his side.

The attacker in front of him suddenly gasped, arching forward as a blade plunged out of his chest. His face was a mask of surprise and pain as the sword was yanked back, disappearing as his body slumped to the ground. Aramis stood there in his place, blood dripping from his blade.

Athos had no time to contemplate, Aramis' presence. The other bandit swung his blade causing Athos to stumble back further, unable to avoid the man's boot as it connected with his jaw. The world tilted as the earth crumbled beneath him and then disappeared. On instinct he released his grip on his rapier and scrambled for purchase as he fell backwards. Someone screamed and followed him over. Athos' hands grabbed at grass and roots, anything within reach as frantic hands of his attacker clung to his breeches. Athos felt panic seize his heart as the combined weight jolted him and any tangible hold he had faltered and came away in his hands. This was it. He was weightless and he mentally tried to gage how long it would take to reach the river at the bottom.

He was jolted again, his wrist almost snapping as his descent was abruptly stopped. As he dangled by one arm Athos heard his ragged breathing loud in his ears. Confused as to why he wasn't plummeting to his possible death, Athos looked up to find Aramis staring back at him, the man's hat falling from his head hit him in the face before it made its journey to the river below. His friend's gloved hands were wrapped tightly around his wrist, his upper body lying dangerously halfway over the edge.

"Athos!" Aramis called, his voice tight and strained with the effort of holding the weight of two people. The man attached to his legs kicked wildly in a panic, causing Aramis to slide forward slightly. He gasped and Athos couldn't miss the panic mirrored in his friend's eyes.

"Aramis!" He called up, terrified that his friend would be dragged over with them.

"Get rid of him!" Aramis grunted, sweat collecting on his forehead. "I … I can't hold you both."

Athos silently did as he was told, trying to dislodge his passenger, his heart was beating so hard he thought it might beat right out of his chest. He grunted. His attempts at removing the man from his legs only served to swing their bodies more. Earth crumbled under his friend's chest. Aramis increased the pressure of one hand around his wrist while simultaneously letting go with the other to reach blindly for something to hold onto.

"Porthos!" Aramis screamed. There was a real terror in the sharp-shooter's voice that Athos wasn't accustomed to hearing. Athos felt them slip another inch forward, the man clinging to him from below yelped and held on tighter.

"Aramis! Aramis, let me go!" Athos ordered.

"What? Are you mad?" Aramis asked incredulously.

Athos glanced down quickly, noticing for the first time that there was a ledge below him. There was no guarantee that he'd land on it and it was still a decent fall but chancing it was better than being the cause of his friend's death. He looked back up at Aramis, beseeching him to listen to him. "Listen to me! I won't have you falling because of me! Let go!" Athos growled. He could feel his glove shifting, Aramis' grip on his wrist slipping. "Let go, Aramis!"

"NO!" Aramis shouted angrily, a droplet of sweat fell from his forehead. The marksmen growled as he attempted to pull Athos up. All his effort gained them was another precarious inch forward.

"Aramis!" Athos cried out feeling himself drop another inch as Aramis struggled to keep them all from falling.

"Do not ask me to do something that I cannot do, Athos!" He growled through gritted teeth. "Porthos!" he called once more over his shoulder, desperation screaming from every pour.

More dry crumbly dirt gave away from the ledge under Aramis' chest. Athos met Aramis' gaze, both musketeers realising in the same moment that they were out of time. Athos attempted to wriggle his wrist out of his friend's iron glad grip. His last act would not condemn his friend, but give him the best chance of survival.

The last thing Athos heard was the marksman's panicked cry as all three men slid forward and over the ledge. Athos felt himself falling and then suddenly his feet hit the ledge below. Pain lanced up his shins at the impact. He fell; the momentum of his fall sent him careening off the second ledge, time speeding up. He just hoped that Aramis hadn't followed him to his death.

TBC …

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope to post once every 1-2 weeks depending on my Real Life Schedule :)