Authors note: For those that need to know...this is probably marginally Athos centric. Whump for Athos and Aramis (mainly Aramis), angst for all.

Chapter One

The nights were drawing in, Athos looked up, the moon was already starting to stand out starkly against the darkening sky. The full moon would provide enough light for them to make it all the way to Paris if they had wanted to ride through the night. They had already been riding for several hours, which when added to the several days of riding meant that all four of them were exhausted and ready for a break.

They had discussed pushing on but had unanimously decided a couple of hours before that they would stop in the next village and get some much-needed rest and sleep before the final leg of their journey. If they could return to the Palace at least alert and able to give their report efficiently it would give a better impression than four tired and haggard-looking Musketeers appearing before the King.

The village was small but did have a tavern, Athos knew it had a couple of rooms for travellers. He had not stayed there but had passed through a few times. The place was nothing special, a collection of haphazard buildings of varying quality and size around a central clearing with a well. A large tree with widespread branches stood at one side of the clearing. A couple of benches and tables sat under the tree, no doubt in a position that they would be shaded from the sun in the summer months.

Athos looked around as they slowed their horses to a stop. He could not see any villagers about. He thought it odd that no one had stepped out of their home to watch the four soldiers go past. It would not have been unusual to have people passing through, but at the time of night they had arrived, they might have caused a bit of interest. Most villages had two or three gossips who were ever alert to all and every occurrence.

The stables at the side of the tavern were small, but as there were no other horses the Musketeers had their pick of the six stalls. A boy of no more than ten appeared. He looked at them wide-eyed for a few seconds before d'Artagnan indicated that they were not a threat. The boy collected hay and water for the horses. His apprehension of the soldiers soon changed when Aramis dropped a few coins into his hand. The boy stared at the money for a few seconds before looking up at the four of them and beaming. He thrust the coins into the pocket of his slightly worn and oversized doublet before grabbing a pile of blankets to throw over each horse.

Satisfied that their mounts were going to be taken care of the four tired soldiers made their way to the tavern.

'Yes messieurs?' said an older man who greeted them as they entered.

The man, in a brown apron, with a damp cloth slung over his shoulder, looked them up and down for a few seconds before continuing before he got an answer.

'You'll be wanting a couple of rooms,' he said. 'And a good meal, no doubt.'

The man glanced around for a few seconds before spotting what he was looking for.

'Sarah, show these men the rooms and then sort them out with some food and wine.'

'Thank you, monsieur,' said Athos as he held out some money.

The tavern-keeper took the money with a nod of thanks before making his way back to the busy bar area. Several people were sat near the bar with drinks in front of them. Mostly men, but several women were dotted about the room. The villagers were watching the Musketeers. The room had not become silent and awkward as could happen when they entered a tavern that was not in the centre of Paris, but they were certainly the focus of attention. Athos guessed that the late hour and the somewhat travel-worn dishevelment of the four of them would make people a little wary.

Sarah, a young, typically buxom woman, led them up the stairs. She spent some time looking coyly at d'Artagnan who had to make it quite clear that he was not interested much to Porthos and Aramis' amusement. With a pout and a flick of her blonde hair, the young woman flounced away. They could hear her shoes clacking on the wooden stairs as she returned to the main room of the tavern.

'You need to learn to let them down gently,' said Aramis, as he put his arm around the younger Musketeer with a sage nod.

D'Artagnan brushed his brother off with a shake of his head.

'How she was interested in you is a wonder,' said Porthos as he returned from putting his and Aramis' saddlebags in the room opposite.

D'Artagnan looked a little hurt at the remark.

Athos said, 'I think he is referring to the fact that we all look a little worse for wear.'

'When was the last time we were able to have a proper wash,' asked Aramis with a slightly disgruntled sniff of the air.

Porthos huffed out a laugh, 'why? You plannin' on going after young Sarah?'

Aramis winked at him before saying, 'to be honest, my friend, I think I would rather have a good night with that bed than with a woman at the moment.'

Athos nodded his agreement; they were all tired. A good meal, a couple of hours relaxing in the tavern followed by several hours sleep would be welcomed by them all.

They returned to the main room to find the tavern keeper had made a table available for them. The other patrons were still watching them. The group were made up of farmers and older men and women. Their hard-wearing clothing and weather-beaten appearances enough to show the tough lifestyle they all lived.

The blonde serving girl reappeared. She set bowls or a spiced stew down in front of each of them making sure to spill a little of d'Artagnan's as she thumped his down. Athos watched Aramis and Porthos smirking as d'Artagnan used a cloth to wipe the spilt food away from the edge of the table. As Sarah walked off, pausing to talk to a couple of the younger customers the tavern keeper arrived with two jugs of wine and four cups.

'Thank you, monsieur,' said Athos as he poured the wine.

'Dennel,' said the tavern keeper. 'We can't have France's soldiers going hungry or thirsty.'

Dennel made a polite bow before retreating to his bar and his locals. A couple of the burlier men were looking over. Athos suspected they were trying to decide if the Musketeers were a threat or if they might be able to take them out in a fight. Athos knew they would not.

As they ate the food, which Athos found was better than most small village taverns offered, they listened to the conversation that was engrossing most of the patrons.

'…and I'm tellin' you, Paul,' said an old woman who was smoking a pipe as she spoke, 'the beast is affected by it. You mark my words. Keep your children in. And get them goats locked up.'

The man she was addressing, one of the burly men, laughed, 'there ain't no such thing, Mill' ain't no such thing.

'Emilie knows what she's talkin' 'bout,' said one of the other older villagers. 'She's lived here longer than you youngun's.'

The old woman sucked on her pipe for a few seconds her gaze wandered to the Musketeers who were still eating their stew.

'You boys made a good choice to get off the road,' she said. 'That their moon will be full tonight. Ain't safe out there on nights when she's full.'

Athos glanced at his brothers. D'Artagnan looked vaguely amused, Aramis was feigning interest and Porthos was paying more attention to his stew. They were used to locals in small villages believing in things that were clearly impossible. The old ways were more prevalent the further from the larger towns and cities they were.

D'Artagnan humoured the old woman, 'why?' he asked. 'What is it that frightens you?'

The burly men scoffed and puffed out their chests a bit. Athos looked away, catching Aramis' eyes, they were both struggling not to react to the act of bravado from the men.

'The beast,' said Emilie.

The old man nodded, 'she knows about the beast. And that poor lad, half-dead he was, he knew about the beast.'

Athos turned back to the villagers; his curiosity finally piqued.

The old woman noticed that she had their attention, she leaned forward a little, pulling her dull green shawl tighter around her bony shoulders.

'Young Denis, he'd gone to get the sheep in, only a short distance from his home. But it was dark. Four weeks ago, it was the last full moon. When they found him the next morning, they knew he wouldn't last more than a couple of hours. He mumbled and moaned.'

Emilie paused to take a few puffs on her pipe, the tension in the room had gone up steadily as she spoke. Athos noticed that everyone was paying their full attention to the old woman, even Porthos had put his fork down.

'All that he said as he faded away was that the man-beast had attacked him. He talked of a walking wolf. Walking on two legs like a man.'

Porthos scoffed, 'poor lad must've been confused,' he said.

'Mark my words, young man,' said Emilie, using her pipe to point at Porthos, 'you wouldn't be so flippant if you'd seen what the beast-man can do to a full-grown sheep.'

One of the middle-aged men said, 'couple of months ago I lost three sheep to the beast. Ripped to shreds they were. My oxen were attacked as well…I was lucky not to have to put it out of its misery.'

Aramis shook his head, 'it's wolves,' he said. 'there must be someone you can hire to hunt them or scare them off?'

The farmer looked at Aramis, 'you city dwellers don't understand,' he said scornfully, 'you don't know what it's like to work a farm.'

Athos noticed d'Artagnan about to put the farmer right. He caught his brothers' eye and subtly shook his head. D'Artagnan bit his tongue. They did not need to rile the already concerned villagers up by trying to tell them that they were not as naïve as they thought.

The Musketeers left the locals to their conversation. D'Artagnan leaned forward and spoke quietly.

'I remember we had a run-in with some wolves near my father's farm,' he said. 'We scared them off. A few of the neighbouring farmers and some of the men from the closest village. We got together and managed to shoot a couple of them. That's all they need to do.'

He nodded towards the villagers who were swapping stories of the 'man-beast'.

'Why do they think it's got something to do with the moon?' mused Porthos.

Aramis frowned, thinking for a few seconds, 'perhaps it's simply coincidence,' he suggested. 'The poor lad that was killed was four weeks ago and that farmer was the victim of an attack four weeks before that.'

'Superstition and old wives' tales,' muttered Porthos.

'They are our hosts, we should try not to wind them up,' said Athos.

The last thing they needed was to annoy the villagers. They were strangers passing through. Their ways of life were very different.

MMMM

The four of them looked at each other for a few seconds. The villagers were deep in their own conversation, the old woman continuing to regale them with stories of the man-beast and the fact that the phases of the moon affected it.

Porthos went back to his stew, he had been enjoying it before the old woman had drawn his attention away with her nonsense about walking wolves.

'I suppose the phases of the moon might affect the animals,' mused Aramis. 'The tide and the seasons are affected by the celestial bodies.'

Athos nodded, 'a shame these people do not understand that,' he said.

As Athos had spoken Porthos noticed that some of the locals were listening to them. One of the men shook his head as if annoyed at what Athos had said.

Athos was not finished, 'if they had more of an education, they might not be so easily picked on by their landowners and ultimately the King.'

'I grew up on a farm,' said d'Artagnan with raised eyebrows.

'Present company excepted,' said Athos. 'I do not mean all farmers, just some.'

Athos subtly nodded towards the villagers who were ordering more drinks from Sarah who, Porthos noticed, was busy glaring at d'Artagnan.

They continued their meal for a few more minutes. The tavern had grown busier since they had arrived. Porthos watched as more people filled the empty tables and gathered around the older villagers. The community seemed to have a good sense of belonging, none of the people who had entered the tavern were alone. They were all welcomed. The man that had been paying attention when Athos was berating the villagers was still sat near the bar, listening to the stories that were being told, but he was also watching them. He looked away when Porthos made a point of staring back at him for a few seconds.

The man wore a dark brown jerkin that had seen better days a clean rip in it where it had been caught on something sharp meant that the left side dangled a little. Porthos wondered why the man had not had the rip repaired. The man looked across at their table again when Athos rose and collected the empty bottles. Porthos could see the man following Athos' every move as the Musketeer made his way towards the bar.

As Athos reached the bar the man moved to stand behind him, the man appeared to already have a drink. Athos spoke briefly to Dennel as another bottle of wine was prepared for them. As Athos stepped away from the bar the man made sure that he bumped into him. The result being that the man's drink was spilt. Athos stepped back; he was about to speak when the man spoke first. Porthos could tell the man was angry but could not hear what was said over the noise of the now busy tavern. Dennel said something to the man, Porthos guessed to calm him down. Athos put the bottle of wine down and shook his hands, splashes flying off as he did so. The Musketeer pointed at the man's cup and indicated something to Dennel who nodded and took the cup, refilling it for the man. Athos pushed a couple of coins into the tavern keeper's hand. The man looked at Athos for a few seconds before putting his cup down on the bar and walking off, brushing past Athos as he did so. Athos watched the man go, a look of confusion on his face. Dennel said something to Athos but Athos shook his head, picked up the bottle of wine and made his way back toward their table.

'What happened there?' asked Aramis as Athos sat back down.

'He bumped into me,' said Athos with a shake of his head. 'I think he has had a bit too much to drink, he said it was my fault. I offered to replace the drink, but he got himself rather worked up and left.'

'I think,' said Porthos, 'that we won't stay here again. And we won't recommend the place…even though the food is good.'

They could not hear the conversation about the attacks on the livestock as the general hubbub of the tavern was drowning out the old woman's words. They caught the odd few lines about mutilated goats and ewes losing lambs, all the attacks happened on a full moon.

'Perhaps,' said d'Artagnan, 'the wolves attack when the moon is full because they can see better- '

He paused and smiled.

'But that's ridiculous because they obviously hunt the rest of the month as well,' he concluded with a chuckle.

'I doubt we shall get to the bottom of the mystery,' said Aramis. 'I hope that they can sort it out though. The fact that a villager has been killed is bad.'

They all agreed on that point. It was one thing to make fun of the villagers and their simple ways but another to mock them when they had lost one of their own.

The door to the tavern was pushed open, a cool blast of air circulating the tavern as the man with the ripped gilet returned. He glanced around the tavern for a few seconds before crossing to their table.

'Perhaps he wants his drink after all,' said Aramis before the man reached them.

The man stopped by Athos who looked up at him but did not say anything.

'I… er… wanted to apologise,' he said. 'I was wound up. I'd had an argument with the wife…'

'There is no need to apologise, monsieur,' said Athos calmly.

'Thank you,' said the man before looking up suddenly across the room.

The four Musketeers all followed his gaze, Sarah was pushing one of the locals off her, but she seemed quite capable of dealing with the drunk customer. They returned their attention to the man who was standing rocking on his heels, his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

'I'll… er… let you get on then,' he said before walking off back the way he came.

They watched him go, he did not make eye contact with anyone as he went, disappearing out of the door within a few seconds.

MMMM

'How odd,' said Aramis as the door to the tavern clicked shut behind the man.

'Let's try to forget it,' said Athos as he went back to sipping his wine.

The locals continued to talk about the livestock attacks, it seemed to be the only topic of conversation. A couple of the farmers had left, either laughing at the advice of Emilie or to lock up their animals and check their own homes were secure.

Dennel and Sarah were kept busy with the comings and goings. The wine flowed, food was served, and man-beasts were the topic of conversation.

Aramis watched d'Artagnan trying to catch snippets of conversation as Porthos enjoyed a second helping of the stew. Athos, who was always quiet, seemed unusually so. He had put his cup of wine down and sat back in his chair. The Musketeer looked flushed.

'Are you alright?' asked Aramis after he had observed his friend for a few seconds.

'Actually, no,' replied Athos. 'I think I'll take a moment to get some air.'

Athos rose from the table and made his way to the door of the tavern.

'I'll go and see he's alright,' said Aramis, 'he might need protecting from the beast...'

He winked at his brothers before following Athos. As he walked to the door, he tried to think what could have caused Athos to feel ill. They had all eaten and drunk the same things, they had all been together over the previous few days. Aramis could not think of anything that Athos had done differently to the rest of them.

He reached the door and stepped out into the rapidly darkening night. The street and clearing were much the same as when they had arrived. Aramis could not see anyone apart from his friend walking away from him. Perhaps the busy tavern had become too stuffy for Athos although he had never been affected before. Aramis guessed Athos would turn at the end of the road and walk back.

As Aramis started to walk towards his friend, he was surprised to see the man that had caused Athos issues in the tavern step out from between the last two houses. Athos turned towards the man who went to strike him. The trained soldier was quicker. Athos blocked the initial blow, but, thought Aramis, his reaction was a little slower than it would have been normally. If Athos was ill, he might not have been able to fight back. Aramis broke into a run, closing the gap between him and the fighting men in a matter of seconds. Aramis had not drawn his guns or sword, confident that he could subdue the man without them. Athos had pulled his main gauche as Aramis reached him. The man backed off slightly as Athos turned towards Aramis.

Aramis knew what was going to happen and knew it was his own fault. Athos swung around; his parrying dagger twisted in his hand as he turned. Athos punched out, not realising he was hitting his friend.

The last thing Aramis knew before the blackness consumed him was a woman screaming from somewhere near the tavern.

MMMM