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Chapter 3

Athos tried to get between Porthos and d'Artagnan, but he was too late. d'Artagnan knelt beside Porthos, studying the wound with wide eyes. "Porthos?"

"d'Artagnan, move," Aramis said briskly, dropping to sit behind Porthos.

"Watch Bonnaire," Athos told him, and when d'Artagnan was far enough away he hunkered to join the others in conversation.

Aramis glanced up at him. One hand was plastered to the back of Porthos' neck. "I need to take care of it one way or the other. And quickly."

"d'Artagnan saw the wound," Athos reminded him. "Bonnaire, too."

"He'd turn you in, Bonnaire would." Porthos' voice was clear. Aramis must have been blocking the pain.

"Don't care," Aramis said shortly. A hundred different lectures on Aramis' Ability passed through Athos' mind; blocking pain but doing nothing to heal the injury went against all of Aramis' instincts, and he couldn't fight it for long.

"We'll find a village."

"No time." Aramis looked up again, voice strained. "Sew or heal, fast."

Athos pushed to his feet. He'd have walked away, but he caught d'Artagnan's eyes as he turned away. The boy looked confused and scared, and Athos felt himself give in.

d'Artagnan's expression altered, but he didn't speak. Athos turned back to the others. "I know a place. Get it stabilised and we'll go. It's not far from here."

Returning to the house was harder, and easier, than he expected. Easier because the house was shut up and empty; it was so unlike his old home that it might as well be another building entirely.

Harder, because he knew that once Porthos was dealt with, he'd be facing some questions.

He locked Bonnaire in the empty pantry and sent d'Artagnan to take care of the horses. By the time he got back to the dining room, Porthos was already sitting up, talking quietly as Aramis sunk a neat line of stitches into the back of his shoulder.

"This should be enough to fool d'Artagnan and Bonnaire," Aramis said without looking up. "Come around here and hold him steady for me."

Athos obediently came around to Aramis' side, letting the other man position his hand where he needed it. Aramis pressed his own hand flat against Porthos' lower back, concentrating intently.

"You'll have to pretend to be hurt," Athos pointed out.

"Pain I can fake," Porthos murmured. "Where's the boy?"

"Taking care of the horses."

"How'd you know this place was here?"

Athos took a deep breath. "I own it."

Aramis faltered, lifting the needle away from Porthos' back. "You are the Comte de la Fere." Athos bowed. "A son of the nobility."

"And you gave it up for the Musketeers?"

"It seemed the thing to do at the time."

d'Artagnan tapped on the doorframe, staying just outside the door. "Horses are dealt with," he said quietly.

"Thank you," Athos said, stepping slightly to the side.

d'Artagnan smiled. "Porthos. How are you feeling?"

"Fine and fit."

"It wasn't as bad as it looked once it was cleaned up," Aramis said briskly. "He'll be fine in a day or two." To Athos, he added, "You can let go now, thank you."

Athos stepped away to join d'Artagnan. "We should see what supplies we have. We'll have to feed Bonnaire something, as well."

"I brought the saddle bags in, but I've no idea what's in the cart."

"Let's go and find out. You two," he added to Aramis and Porthos, "take a rest."

The next morning Maria Bonnaire arrived, feigning weakness to try and draw them in. d'Artagnan shook his head, holding Bonnaire back with one hand. "She's faking. Climb down, madame."

"Maria!" Bonnaire protested as she dismounted, scowling, and handed her weapon to d'Artagnan. "How could you try and fool our hosts?" More quietly, he added "And fail so badly?"

"How did you know?" Aramis murmured to d'Artagnan.

"If that woman told me grass was green I would check for myself."

They escorted the couple inside, and promptly had to wrestle Porthos off Bonnaire. d'Artagnan missed most of the conversation, trying to deal with the waves of rage without succumbing himself.

"Do you know why they're shackled?" Porthos was saying when d'Artagnan started paying attention again. "To stop 'em jumping overboard. That's better than watching your friends, your family, your children die of starvation and sickness…"

d'Artagnan backed away, swallowing against the rage and misery pouring out of Porthos. First this house, making Athos so complicated, rage and fear and guilt and love all bound up together; now this, making Porthos angry enough to kill and hurt enough to die.

He lost himself in the grounds for a while, eventually finding Athos under a single tree on the edge of a field. The guilt and grief were so sharp he was afraid to get too near; he called from a distance instead, relying on Athos' unwillingness to show emotion. "What are you doing?"

Athos turned, forcing a semblance of calm. It didn't hide much, but it made things a little easier for d'Artagnan. "I need to see someone in the village."

"Let me come with you," d'Artagnan offered, suddenly very sure Athos shouldn't be left alone. "You haven't been yourself since we got to this place."

Athos ignored the offer, striding away. "Keep an eye on Porthos. Don't leave him alone with Bonnaire."

"At least tell me where you're going," d'Artagnan tried again.

"Just get back on the road as soon as you can. Get Bonnaire to Paris!"

He vanished into the distance. d'Artagnan grimaced, running a thumb over the beads at his wrist, allowing himself a minute to calm. It wouldn't be enough if Porthos was still worked up, but it would help.

He headed back to the house and passed on the orders, ignoring the Bonnaires as best he could. He hadn't much liked either of them before the revelations of his true business; now he thought he could almost see something dark and uncaring seeping out of them, reaching out for someone else to infect.

"We should wait for Athos," Porthos said quietly.

Aramis shook his head. "He'll meet us when he's ready."

"Porthos is right, we should wait," d'Artagnan said, one step above begging.

"You should trust Athos to handle his own affairs." That was one step above chiding. "We're leaving now."

d'Artagnan trailed the others out, staring back at the house. He wasn't precognitive, never had been, but this – the thought of leaving Athos alone here chilled his blood.

"d'Artagnan, let's go," Aramis said firmly. Reluctantly, d'Artagnan mounted and followed them towards Paris.

Athos stirred after a long time, unsure of where he was and what was happening. Smoke from the house was still drifting past, but he couldn't hear any flames; either they were far enough away that it didn't carry, or it had burned itself out.

He couldn't remember much of what had happened. Anne had been there, and there was fire, and then d'Artagnan – d'Artagnan, who should be in Paris, but was somehow there to pull him out of the burning house. Athos was lying on a rough pallet in the shelter of a row of bushes, and that had to be d'Artagnan's work too.

Athos sat up, cradling his head. The brief rest had been enough. He was exhausted and filthy and heartsick, but the burnt bruise on his jaw was gone as though it had never been and his hangover had cleared.

d'Artagnan was huddled at the base of a tree some distance away, cloak pulled tightly around himself. He must have seen Athos move, but he didn't react; not until Athos reached towards him, and then he pulled back with a flinch. "Don't."

"Are you injured?" Athos asked quietly.

"No. I'm fine."

Athos looked around. They were on the edge of the grounds, as far from Anne's tree as they could get without leaving the property. The house was a ruin. If it hadn't burned out yet, it would soon. "How did we get here?"

"I dragged you." d'Artagnan's voice was flat and empty. "We needed to get out of the smoke, and you stopped walking."

"Thank you," Athos murmured. He should have been sore, but the rest had taken care of that, too. "d'Artagnan –"

"I'm not hurt."

"I don't believe you."

d'Artagnan unfolded himself in one movement, climbing to his feet. "Your wife's alive."

"Yes," Athos agreed, trying to remember exactly what he'd said after d'Artagnan pulled him from the building.

"She tried to kill you."

"Yes."

d'Artagnan took a breath. "I saw her leaving; I didn't chase her, I was worried about you, but I saw her. And I think – I think I've seen her before."

"Seen her," Athos repeated. "Where?"

"The first night I spent in Paris. There was a woman, at the inn – she murdered a Spaniard and framed me for it."

"Why?"

"I was there, I suppose?"

"It certainly sounds like Anne," he muttered.

"I can't be sure," d'Artagnan said again. "She was too far, it was dark, I was worried for you – but I think it was her."

"Have you seen her since?"

"No. But…" He hesitated before continuing quickly, "There were flowers, on my bed at the Bonacieux house. Forget me nots. I think they came from her."

Athos turned away, concentrating hard to keep from punching the tree. "They came from her," he agreed, "and she is my wife. Those were her flowers."

d'Artagnan nodded. "If I see her again…"

"If you see her again," Athos said quietly, "play her game. Find out what she wants. And bring it to me. Please."

"Of course."

Athos studied him for a minute. Whatever was wrong with him a few minutes ago had cleared; he was calm and clear eyed, and there was certainly no pain when he moved. "Can you ride?"

"Yes. I took your horse out of the stable; I'll go and get him."

He turned away; Athos halted him with an outstretched hand, careful not to touch him. His touch issues seemed to come and go, but they'd gotten in the habit of not touching him if they could help it. "d'Artagnan. Thank you for saving me."

d'Artagnan smiled faintly. "Always."

Sometimes, standing as Captain Treville's guard during his meetings with the king was a quiet, easy job. Sometimes it was a long, tedious exercise in self control. Today's meeting had been the latter. The Cardinal was determined to score every point he could, challenging everything Treville said, drawing the meeting out far longer than he needed to; the sun had almost set. If Louis hadn't become bored, they might still be there now.

Treville took pity on Athos, dismissing him without making him return to the garrison first. Athos thanked him politely and headed for his rooms, looking forward to the chance to rest. Aramis and Porthos wouldn't be expecting him tonight.

As far he knew, only Captain Treville, Porthos and Aramis knew where his rooms were, so he was surprised to find d'Artagnan leaning against a stall halfway along the road. He'd probably been there for a while, if the glares he was ignoring from the stall owner were any indication.

Athos didn't stop or slow down, but he nodded as he passed. d'Artagnan pushed away from the stall, flipped the owner a coin and fell into step with Athos. "Was it awful?"

"Moderately awful. The Cardinal was in a good mood. How did you know where I live?"

"Porthos told me." Athos turned away to open his door, and d'Artagnan continued "Should I – I can leave."

"No." Athos firmly squashed the irritation he was feeling. "Few people know, but you may come as you please. Is there something you need?"

d'Artagnan hesitated. "You're tired. It's nothing important."

"Come in," Athos said firmly. "Let me get changed, and then we can talk." d'Artagnan obeyed, perching warily on the edge of the bed while Athos cleaned up and changed.

"Now." He found an unopened bottle, offering it to d'Artagnan. "What's on your mind?"

d'Artagnan shook his head at the bottle, which surprised Athos. The Gascon rarely got drunk, but he usually joined in, at least a little. "Is something wrong?" he asked, setting the bottle aside unopened.

"No," d'Artagnan said, too quickly to be honest. "No, I just – I was curious, but this isn't the time."

"Curious about what?"

"About de la Fere. I've never been in the home of a Comte before."

"Stay with the Musketeers, you'll see plenty," Athos murmured, trying to contain the confused emotions the thought of his former home always brought up.

d'Artagnan looked away. "I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."

"If it were still standing I would tell you you could go and look to your hearts' content. Someone probably should have been enjoying it these past years."

"Five years."

Athos nodded. He badly wanted a drink, but he wouldn't if d'Artagnan wasn't. "Five years."

"What was it like, growing up there?"

"What was it like growing up in Gascony?"

d'Artagnan reached for the bottle, opening it and taking a couple of sips. "Hard work, mostly."

"Hard work, mostly," Athos echoed, accepting the bottle and taking a long drink.

d'Artagnan nodded. "It's not as cold in the winter. More dangerous, though, I think; if you're outside when the weather gets bad…"

"Not a danger one often faces in Paris," Athos agreed. "There are always people here."

"Always," d'Artagnan repeated, and something in his voice made Athos look up sharply. He looked normal, though, accepting the bottle for another sip.

Athos took the bottle back, sighing. "De le Fere is not especially large, as estates go. We had between fifteen and twenty staff. My valet was also the equerry, the stable boy helped the groundskeepers, Anne's maid also served at table if we were hosting."

"My father employed a headman, four field workers, a dairy maid and a boy to help where needed."

Turn and turn about, they talked about their past. Athos lost track after a while; several times d'Artagnan said gently, "You've told me that already." The bottle disappeared, followed by a second.

"You were drunk," d'Artagnan said softly, playing with the third bottle. "After we left with the Bonnaires, you went to town. You came back and you got drunk."

"Remi was dead," Athos agreed vaguely, reaching for the bottle.

d'Artagnan let him take it. "Did you pass out?"

"Maybe. Not for long, though." He looked up expectantly.

"I've never drunk enough to pass out."

"Never?"

"I don't drink enough to get drunk."

Athos considered the bottle. "I may be drunk now," he announced.

"Yes, I think you might. What happened when you woke up?"

Athos frowned, trying to think past the haze of alcohol. "Is this important, d'Artagnan?"

"It doesn't have to be now."

In other words, yes. He concentrated, scrubbing his face. "The house was burning when I woke. Anne was there. I thought – I'd seen her everywhere, the whole time we were there. I didn't know she was real, at first." He shook his head. "I remember little of what we said. She was angry, hurt. And then you, outside."

"And then me," d'Artagnan echoed softly.

"Is that what you need?"

d'Artagnan flinched. "I can't tell you why."

"I don't need why. I need what. You'll tell me why, eventually. I can wait."

"Athos…"

"I can wait. Tell me what you need."

He swallowed, visibly. "The house; tell me about the house."

d'Artagnan waited until he was sure Athos was asleep, dragging a blanket over him and stacking the empty bottles out of the way before leaving. It was late; he'd have to sneak back into the Bonacieux house, M Bonacieux would not be amused to see him. Or he could go to the church Aramis had shown him. He'd been back several times now, most of the priests simply ignored him.

He was already running fingers over his rosary, he realised suddenly. That answered that, then. At the end of the street he turned to head towards the church.

It matched. Everything Athos said, the way he described the house at de la Fere, it was almost exactly the way d'Artagnan would have. All the feelings, tied up in that house, tied up in his wife. It was all the same. How could it possibly...

He'd still been able to sense Athos for a while after they left. He often kept himself aware of Athos, and of Porthos and Aramis; it helped, the same way the beads did, helping him keep his mental footing when the noise of Paris got to be too much for him. But he thought he'd been too far from de la Fere when he felt the urge to return, the pain and uncertainty that left him sure Athos needed help.

And everything, everything Athos described he had already sensed.

How was it possible?

Treville loved his men. They were the best in France, they fought with honour and determination, he trusted each of them with far more than just the king's life. There were no men in the world he'd rather align himself with.

He found he had to remind himself of that before he could continue the conversation.

"The plan," he said carefully, "was to train the boy and then find him a place in another regiment. One without our – particular requirements." Even here, alone in his office with the man he trusted more than any in the world, he had to be careful what he said.

Athos nodded. "That was the plan."

"It was your plan."

"Yes."

"I tried to say no, and you and your friends camped out here until I agreed."

"Yes."

"And now you want a different plan."

"Yes."

Treville loved his men.

"Why, exactly," he said carefully, "do you suddenly think he might be able to meet our requirements?"

Athos moved, wandering around the office, poking at damp spots on the wall. "The boy has a gift for reading people. He's intuitive."

Treville eyed him. "And rather touch shy, I understand."

"That seems to come and go. It's mostly when he's tired. Or overstressed."

Of course Athos would recognise that. Aramis went the same way, sometimes; it was common among those with active mental Abilities.

"And you believe he could meet our requirements?"

"I believe there's a chance, yes."

"Your friends?"

"I haven't spoken to them about it. I wanted to get your approval first. And if I'm wrong…" Athos shrugged. "It's not a thing to bring up unless one is sure. I don't want them treating him any differently."

Treville loved his men.

"Is the boy here at the garrison?"

"Training with Porthos. His hand to hand is substantially weaker than his other skills. Perhaps for obvious reasons."

"Call him up."

Athos stepped out of the office, reappearing a few minutes later with d'Artagnan. The boy was flushed. Porthos obviously wasn't going easy on him.

"d'Artagnan," Treville said, shuffling some parchment on his desk without looking at it. "Athos and I have just been discussing your training."

"Yes, sir?" d'Artagnan said politely.

"He feels you are on your way to meeting our requirements."

d'Artagnan shot a quick look at Athos. "I'm honoured he thinks so, sir."

Treville put the parchments down, looking up to meet d'Artagnan's eyes. "The Musketeer regiment has a requirement no other regiment does, one that no man is told about until he passes it. Less than one in five hundred men will pass it. Failing to do so is no reflection on your skills or determination, and those who fail are found places in other regiments. Do you understand?"

"I do," d'Artagnan agreed.

"Good. Say nothing of this conversation to anyone else. Athos will continue to observe you on my behalf."

d'Artagnan tipped his head towards Athos. "Thank you. Both. I'm very grateful for the chance."

"Return to your training," Treville said briskly. d'Artagnan faltered, and Treville said patiently "Yes?"

"Captain..." d'Artagnan took a deep breath. "What if I don't wish to join another regiment?"

"There's no negotiation on our requirement," Treville warned him. "No exceptions, not for anyone, not for any reason. You pass it or you are not a Musketeer."

"I understand that," he said quickly. "But I would rather be an apprentice Musketeer all my life than captain any other regiment."

Treville had to hide a smile at how earnest the boy was. Athos, behind him and out of his field of view, had no such restraint.

"It's a fine sentiment," Treville said kindly. "But you're young, d'Artagnan, and such words come easy to the young."

"I mean it," d'Artagnan insisted.

"I'm sure you do. Now, here, in this office. In two years, five, twenty..." He shrugged.

"This is not a matter that needs solving right now," Athos pointed out. "You have other requirements to meet yet, d'Artagnan, and I believe Porthos is waiting to help you with one of them as we speak."

"Yes," d'Artagnan said obediently. "Thank you, Captain." Treville waved him off and d'Artagnan bowed, grinning at Athos on his way out.

Treville watched Athos watch him go. "You're sure about this?"

"Very." Athos was still watching the door. "I wish I weren't."

"Wish you weren't?"

Athos glanced over at him. "It's not an easy life."

"Better with others who understand you."

"Perhaps."

Treville rolled his eyes. "Go observe, Athos."

"Sir," Athos agreed, tipping his hat and heading out.

Treville managed four minutes of work before someone else knocked on his door. Sighing, he sat back in his chair. "Yes?"

Aramis stepped in, closing the door behind himself and taking his hat off. "Captain."

Treville loved his men.

"Aramis. How can I help you?"

"I wanted to speak with you about d'Artagnan."

"Did you."

"I believe he might have a place here."

"Do you. What makes you say that?"

"Call it healer's intuition."

"I can think of some things to call it," Treville said under his breath. Louder, he added "I will take your words under careful advisement, Aramis."

"The boy is skilled, Captain," Aramis pushed.

"Under. Advisement. Aramis," Treville repeated evenly. "Your observations are appreciated, and I certainly hope you'll come to me with any other insights you might have."

Aramis studied him for a moment. "Has someone else spoken to you on this matter?"

"Don't you have training to take part in?"

Aramis nodded slowly. "Of course." Pulling his hat back on, he nodded once before turning away.

Treville sighed, pulled his parchment back towards himself and continued his work.