Thank you for all the awsome reviews, they are so lovely and I'm so glad you're enjoying my series. Thanks especially to Rhesa (would have PM'd but you're a guest so...) thanks for the words of confidance and understanding, my error last chapter should have been corrected and it was unintentional. D'Art is gorgeous and I was rather distracted by him at first too. Glad you're still reading at for taking the tme to review every chapter (along with the rest of you lovely, brilliant, fantastic, amazing people!). If any of you wanted to see Aramis' and Athos' reactions to dicovering him alive I'm afraid that you may be disappointed. I'm heading to Kenya on Tuesday (which is why I've been posting an already written story in the days before to satiate any hungers you may have for fluff and whump from me for two or so weeks) and so if I read your stuff (I'll have reviewed if I have because I believe in giving as good as you get)you might not hear word of me for awhile but I will wait to read with baited breath! I'm still posting the last chapter tomorrow which will kind of be my goodbye send off piece filled with hugs and brotherly cuteness (I hope) but then I have to get packing! Anyway, enough of me rambling on about how much I love you guys, please enjoy!

The Captain had sent the four to escort a very important letter from the King to Duke Comtois of Franche-Comte, a province in eastern France on the border of Switzerland. It was a beautiful region of France, with both flat, grassy land perfect for agriculture and rolling hills dotted with magnificent houses and villas. The weather had been just as idyllic; if the four Musketeers had been on a leisurely stroll, but instead the ride had been hellish in the warm climate, with little time for food, water or rest and it had taken its toll on even the toughest of soldiers. When they had finally reached their destination, the architectural beauty of the old with its trimmed topiaries and neat gardens, had been lost on the exhausted Musketeers as they staggered into the shade of the entranceway, panting and sweaty.

The Duke himself had greeted them, looking rather nervous to having received a notice from the sovereign on such unexpected circumstances, had hastily offered his rooms to the four so they could rest before setting off back to Paris at dawn with a reply. D'Artagnan dreaded the upcoming journey and found himself daydreaming of a hot, steamy bath to wash away the grime and perspiration that clung to his skin. The quiet conversation between the nobleman and Athos was of little importance and d'Artagnan found his tired mind distracted by the sophisticated and ornate furnishings within the marbled walls as they ambled toward the stairs. Finally, their host turned to all of them with a pleasant smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm afraid I must excuse myself as there are matters I must now attend to with the deliverance of this letter. Please rest, my servants will escort you to your rooms and I will have the cooks prepare a meal; you must be hungry after your arduous journey."

Beside d'Artagnan, Porthos' stomach rumbled in agreement and d'Artagnan was unable to hold back a quiet snigger as Aramis fought to keep the smirk off his face. The Duke and Athos seemed unaware of the source of their amusement as Athos politely thanked him for his generosity. The Duke nodded once, turned, then left with a click of his heels on the polished stone. Athos turned and raised a rather unimpressed eyebrow-which made d'Artagnan blush under his gaze and Porthos grin-before the servants interrupted the silent scolding, gesturing with their heads respectfully bowed towards the upstairs.

The guest bedrooms the Musketeers were assigned were fortunately dotted along the same corridor towards the back of the house; each room accompanied by its own private toilet facilities, a blessing that d'Artagnan had yet to experience given his upbringing and his home in the garrison, as both had required d'Artagnan to share. The rooms were quaint but had little character, with anodyne hues and motifs to match the bland, tasteless beds and cabinets and overall the rooms lacked the comfort and cosiness that d'Artagnan cherished. However, it mattered little when he dropped down onto his mattress with an exhalation of pure, unadulterated bliss as the soft fabric moulded to the contours of his body. The other three watched his collapse with fond smiles before bidding him goodnight and retreating to their own havens with the safe intention.

The sun had set by the time the Gascon emerged from his bathroom, body sweet-smelling and muscles relaxed as he tightened the towel around his waist and grinned at the intense, rich redolence of dinner, positioned neatly on the dresser. After absorbing the entire bowl of savoury stew, the warmth in his belly left d'Artagnan feeling drowsy and he languidly toppled into bed and curled into the sheets to fall into an earnest hibernation.

D'Artagnan's return to consciousness was so slow and lethargic that he was almost convinced it was a dream. The vividness of the hallucination though convinced him otherwise as heavy, calloused hands gripped his body and there was a moment of weightlessness as he was lifted onto a meaty shoulder and hung painfully there. The deadness in his limbs refused to lift and it took him almost an age in his stupefied state to realise he had been drugged. Even with the startling conclusion, his body remained unresponsive as he was carried out of the room in the half-light, his eyes unable to see anything but the back of his captor's jacket. The pungent body-odour of sweat and decades of unwashed filth made his eyes mist and his nose twitch as the man slowly descended a small staircase at the back of the house, moving remarkably stealthily for a man of his size and stature.

"Is he awake?" a timid voice inquired as they reached the bottom and d'Artagnan managed to roll his head limply round to see the Duke cowering in the doorway, a chink of moonlight filtering from the back window to light his chin.

"Does it ma'er." the baritone note made the man's body shake, the vile sound making d'Artagnan's blood more like ice water "Kid's not gonna be alive much longer anyway. You paid us to make 'em disappear, we'll make 'em disappear."

Comtois nodded nervously, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe as if he expected d'Artagnan to leap up and attack him as though he had just been playing possum "What are you going to do with them?"

"Better ya don't know. Then ya can deny it later." d'Artagnan could practically see the smile on the man's face and wished he could fight back but his body remained motionless.

"Gaston!" a fierce whisper echoed from the top of the stairs and both men swivelled to look up the stairs, d'Artagnan's head nearly colliding with the bannister.

"Wha' is it, Thierry? Be quiet an' getta move on!"

The angry retort barely restrained below an unobtrusive level "The big one's gonna be a problem;can't carry 'im on ma own!"

"Alright!" Gaston answered with a frustrated growl, arm tightening around d'Artagnan's waist almost imperceptibly with his foul mood as the drugged young man's heart skipped a beat with fear "Let me dump this one in the cart and I'll be up!"

Grumbling to himself, Gaston stormed through the open back door into the chilly night air, his path revealed under the silvery shine of moonlight, footsteps crunching on the gravel as he hurriedly walked to a large wooden cart and thoughtlessly discarded d'Artagnan's body like a child bored with its toy. D'Artagnan gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs by the force before he was rolled unceremoniously onto his back and his hands were grabbed roughly, thick rope coiling around his wrists and biting into the sensitive skin. The oppressive shadow lifted with the receding crunch of stones underfoot as Gaston returned to the house and d'Artagnan was left, paralysed, staring at the navy blue sky embroidered with glittering argentine stars that shone with the combined beauty of a thousand priceless diamonds.

The bite of the cool breeze through of his thin clothes stung and the splintered wood pressing into his back was uncomfortable but the worst was the overwhelming flood of hopeless that threatened to drown the Gascon, crushing him with its unrelenting weight. The frustration and his lack of movement combined with the potent drug left him feeling drained and betrayed as his pitiful attempts to gain control of himself failed him. His thoughts drifted to the life not yet lived, the birthdays he would miss, the woman he loved and the brothers he might die beside. Pain flared deep in his chest and he was faintly aware of a light tear rolling down his numb cheek, the smiling faces and joyous memories seeming to crumble and fade before his eyes. This may be his last night on Earth, his last night shared with the men he admired, loved and cherished like family, like brothers.

A noise cut through his sad thoughts, the distant sound registering as a gunshot before there was a pained shout from somewhere outside his vision. The sound of running feet on the gravel made him freeze in terror and his heart thudded in his chest, blood pounding in his ears.

"D'Artagnan!"

Athos' voice was desperate and crystal clear in the silence of the night and d'Artagnan could hear his boots skidding on the ground as Athos spun round, searching for him, breathing ragged.

"D'Artagnan!" he cried again, more panicked this time as his footsteps became louder and the Gascon wished he could call out to him but his stiff jaw only responded with a slight gush of air "D'Artagnan!"

More noises joined the fray as the sound of dragging feet joined in and Aramis' strained voice, thick with obvious exertion, called out "Athos! Over there!"

Within a few moments, the familiar figure of the eldest Musketeer leapt adroitly onto the cart and Athos leant over d'Artagnan with a worried expression as he pressed his gloved fingers to his pulse.

"Can you hear me, D'Artagnan?"

Using what little energy the young man had, d'Artagnan managed to make an audible groan of affirmative as Athos sagged in relief, head bowing as he rocked back on his heels for a moment before meeting d'Artagnan's bleary eyes once more.

"You're going to be alright. Just stay awake." he commanded with a soft tone that betrayed his anxiety.

Athos turned and reached out, helping pull another larger shadow into the cart as Aramis clambered up after; gasping for breath and looking exhausted.

"I don't think I could have carried Porthos much farther." Aramis puffed out, leaning on his knees as Athos pulled Porthos slightly responsive body further up before climbing over to the seat at the front "I think he needs to lose some weight."

"I c'n still hear you, 'Mis. Jus' 'cause I can't punch you right now…"

Aramis grinned at him, turning his head around towards the manor "Let's get you two out of here and then you can threaten me to your heart's content."

The horse in front was already moving as Athos took control with ease born of practice, guiding the creature through the back gates and out onto the country roads. The medic fell to a crouch to balance himself, moving to d'Artagnan's side with his usual charming smile though his eyes relayed the concern inside.

"Hey, d'Art. Are you alright?"

The drained Musketeer managed to hum a positive reply and Aramis looked pleased by the response, placing a comforting hand on d'Artagnan's chest before gaze locked onto his bound wrists and his fingers rushed to undo the painfully tight knots.

"Tell the lad wha's h'ppening, 'Mis." Porthos drawled sleepily from his propped up position "Pr'bably drivin' 'im mad bein' unable to do anything."

Trust Porthos to know exactly what was going on in d'Artagnan's head.

"Right. It seems the letter the Duke received wasn't entirely to his liking and so he wished to remove the letter and its messengers-they of course being us- from the picture. I would call it escapism since the King's mysterious message would have eventually made its way here even had they disposed of u-"

"Focus, 'Mis. Rambling."

Aramis glanced away for a moment to glare at Porthos "The Duke drugged our dinners with some kind of sleeping draft that deadens the nerves. I have a…lady friend…who provided me with a delightful dinner before we left so when I tasted something off I decided to indulge myself. Athos…why didn't you have dinner?"

Aramis' head snapped up to look at their leader who called over his shoulder "I had my suspicions but since they were unfounded and based on my gut reaction I did not wish to ruin your own appetites and deny you a decent meal."

"N'xt time, don't bother with our feelings or our stomachs." Porthos groaned agonisingly, hand coming up to his head "S've me the headache."

"Anyway, Athos and I heard voices and came out of our rooms to find someone trying to kidnap poor Porthos here. We took him down and then then second one when he came in. That was when we discovered your door was open and your room was empty. Naturally we feared the worst, came running outside-with me dragging Porthos along-and you know the rest."

"Enough talking, Aramis." Athos stated from the front, quiet and laced with tiredness "D'Artagnan must be tired. Let him rest."

Aramis smiled at the suggestion and d'Artagnan could finally see the dark bags under his eyes as his fond gaze turned on him "Athos is right. Sleep now, we'll watch over you."

Despite the protest weighing heavy on his tongue, that simple reassurance made his eyelids flutter shut as if of their own accord and d'Artagnan floated off into a peaceful sleep.