AN – So sorry for the long delay. It was quite unintentional. In compensation it is the longest chapter I have ever written, just a reminder that we are still in flashback territory, in the early months of Athos and Aramis' relationship. More notes at the end.

When the door finally opened Aramis surged to his feet, anxious for his first glimpse of Athos. To his irritation his view was initially blocked by a trio of henchmen and when DuPont was finally revealed in the doorway he was quite alone. Aramis clenched his fists so tightly he could feel his nails biting into his skin. If Athos was dead DuPont was going to suffer.

"Gentlemen, I do hope my men have treated you well?" DuPont greeted them as cordially as if they were suddenly honoured guests at his table, rather than men who had been held prisoner in his abandoned dog kennels for the last few hours. "Rest assured that anyone who has shown you the least discourtesy will be severely punished. Please let me show you to accommodations more suited to your rank and status as an escort of King's musketeers."

"Has he completely lost his reason?" LeBrun murmured.

"Who cares if it means we can get out of this stinking hole?" Renard retorted, as he moved to follow.

"Did he just say an "escort" of musketeers?" Aramis had a very bad feeling about this. He knew most people saw Athos as the sensible, dependable sort, a man all about honour and duty. His skill with a sword was justly famed. But it was his unorthodox brilliance as a tactician which so often left their enemies reeling. Aramis had learned never to underestimate what Athos might be prepared to do in order to accomplish a mission. "Well, I'm sure this won't end badly."

"You don't think Athos ..?" LeBrun trailed off, looking worried.

"Honestly?" Aramis sighed. "I have no idea."

They were led towards the main house, glancing between themselves as they took in the broken windows in the stable block, the weeds growing up through the courtyard, the crumbling stone steps and patches of fallen plaster on the walls. As they entered the mansion and were conducted up flight after flight of stairs Aramis was automatically cataloguing the positions of the guards and potential escape routes. He glimpsed one room with its elaborately carved four poster that was obviously DuPont's own bedchamber. Aramis sniffed, he always believed any man who had to surround himself with that much ostentation was clearly compensating for something. At last they were shown into a shabby, but well-appointed, room up in the eaves with two small dormer windows. From the pictures on the wall it had clearly once been a nurse or governess' sitting room, there was a fire burning in the grate, a side table already laid with wine, cheese and breads, a pot of stew simmering over the fire, and a scattering of comfortable furniture.

"Do you think it's a trap?" Renard looked anxious. "Maybe the food is poisoned?"

"There are two guards on the only door, with two muskets apiece and a fall from the window would certainly kill you," LeBrun pointed out, despite the more salubrious surroundings they were clearly still prisoners. "I think if DuPont wished us dead there are simpler ways of accomplishing it."

"But just in case we'll let you eat first." Aramis grinned at him.

"There are things we could use as weapons," Renard pointed out eagerly. "We could throw the burning stew at the guards, or break the bottles and use the shards of glass to cut their throats. Or .."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Aramis raised a brow.

"There are always more guards?" Renard hazarded. "One of us might die in the attempt? The whole enterprise is futile if we can't find weapons and horses? DuPont has Athos at his mercy? We don't even know if Athos is still on the property?" He made a face. "All of the above? Perhaps, I didn't quite think it through."

"They're not bad ideas," Aarmis patted his shoulder consolingly. "Maybe later."

"Lord help us, I hadn't even thought of that last one." LeBrun murmured.

Aramis hadn't either. The thought that DuPont might have taken Athos elsewhere chilled him to the bone. Still he wasn't going to worry about it until he had no choice.

"Good thing Athos isn't here," He forced himself to sound cheerful as he checked the label on one of the two bottles of red. "There wouldn't be a hope of any wine for the rest of us if he was."

They ate enough to keep their strength up, tried to get a little rest and resolutely did not talk about where Athos might be or what might be happening to him. After the trials of the day Renard swiftly fell asleep sprawled bonelessly across one of the couches and LeBrun was soon snoring quietly in one of the armchairs. Aramis alone maintained his vigil, his eyes fixed on the door.

The figure that eventually appeared bore little resemblance to the man that had been taken from them two hours previously. Flanked by two henchmen, Athos stood as straight and tall as if on parade, his usual inscrutable expression giving nothing away. But to Aramis' astonishment he was dressed in a richly embroidered doublet teamed with a lace trimmed concoction of a shirt, a pair of black breeches and he now wore soft velvet gloves. Most strikingly his face had been dusted with chalk power and his colour heightened with a touch of Spanish paper after the manner of the court.

"In you go, yer Lordship."

One of the henchmen pushed Athos hard on the shoulder, causing him to stumble forward and land heavily on his hands and knees. For a heartbeat Athos did not move, his head hung low and his arms trembling with the effort of supporting his own body. But as the door slammed shut behind him he began to slowly lever himself to his feet.

"Athos."

Aramis rushed forward intent on taking his arm to help, only to have his hand shaken off with a pointed glare.

"I can manage, thank you."

Aramis blinked, the words were stiff with formality, as if he was a servant who had overstepped his bounds. Regrouping he went to the table and poured a glass of wine and brought it back to where Athos had perched on the edge of the couch, feet on the floor and back so straight it put Aramis in mind of his sisters' deportment lessons. Perhaps it was the clothes. In different circumstances Aramis might have been amused by the notion that Athos' habitual slouching was an act of deliberate rebellion against the manners learnt in his own childhood.

"Here," He offered the glass.

To his astonishment Athos barely glanced at it, or him.

"Thank you, but no."

"Athos, you've been gone for hours," Never let it be said that Aramis was easily rebuffed, even as he set the wine aside. "At least take a few bites of food. There's a particularly good Brie I think you'd enjoy?"

Athos shot him a slightly surprised look which clearly said he had not expected the other man to remember his favourite cheese. Aramis rolled his eyes. This was the man who would march through a Parisian brothel without blinking and haul him out by the scruff of the neck because he had overslept and then lie to Trevillle about the reason for their tardiness, but any small overtures of friendship on Aramis' part were greeted with mild astonishment. Remembering how he had felt when he thought Athos dead, Aramis sat down beside him and gripped his shoulder fiercely.

"Your company was sorely missed, my friend." He vowed.

With a distinctly pained look Athos pointedly moved out from under his grip and shifted until there was clear distance between them. Aramis felt as if he had been struck. Athos' dislike of casual physical intimacy was well known but he and Porthos had become very much the exception to that rule, the two of them engaging in friendly completion to encourage that little quirk of his lips that was Athos for smiling or the way his eyes softened when he was particularly pleased by something. Aramis' stricken look must have stirred Athos' conscience somewhat because he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I fear DuPont wouldn't agree, he found my company somewhat lacking. Although to be fair I also found him to be a less than genial host."

"You would say, if he hurt you?" Aramis enquired carefully.

"Of course." Athos' bland response discouraged any further discourse on that matter.

"So, does your present attire have something to do with DuPont's new found hospitality?" Aramis tried to keep his tone light. Seeing Athos without his pauldron was unsettling. He vividly remembered the day his friend had received his commission. He could not imagine he would have surrendered it easily. "Or is this new fashion simply the whim of a man teetering on the edge of madness?"

Athos suddenly looked a little shamefaced, as if he had actually forgotten what he was wearing, Aramis found that oddly endearing. In truth he could not imagine a man less suited to the pomp and frippery of court fashion than Athos.

"DuPont hopes for a ransom," Athos sighed. "This estate is not in good repair and the costs of maintaining such a retinue and furnishing so many men with weapons would be a heavy burden on any man's coffers. He is lured by the prospect of easy riches."

"Treville is a fine Captain but he is first and foremost a solider of the Crown. To give in to Dupont's demands would put a price on the head of every man in the regiment. We would all be targets for kidnap and ransom each time we left the Garrison." Aramis worried.

"Indeed," Athos agreed. "But DuPont has no interest in lowly musketeers. He is obsessed with the idea that I have the wealth and status to oblige him."

"Do you have anyone who would meet a ransom demand for you?" Aramis asked carefully.

"None living." Athos said dryly.

"Ah," Aramis made a face. "So, unless DuPont is content to be paid in barrels of honey brandy, this is going to get interesting."

"I have told him that I will pay. It is merely a convenient ruse to ensure news of his activities reaches Treville's ears. I have no intention of actually meeting his demands," Athos paused. Almost in spite of himself he raised a curious brow. "Honey brandy?"

"My father's only legacy," Aramis explained. "He produced it. We were always comfortable but I have a large number of sisters. All of his money went on securing their dowries. It was always expected that I would make my own way in the world."

"Many would envy you that freedom. I always wanted to be a soldier but my father would not hear of it," Athos sighed.

"Really?" Aramis perked up. That was a story he would love to hear, Athos as a rebellious youngster. Somehow he had never imagined Athos as anything but dutifully obedient as a child. Although, the way he was frequently prepared to try Treville's patience did rather suggest otherwise. "Do tell?"

Athos seemed not to have heard him, abruptly he stood up and crossed to the table, picking up one of the bottles of wine and gulping down almost half in one go, inexplicably grimacing as if it was vinegar rather than a good burgundy. The opportunity for fond reminisces was past and he was all business again.

"DuPont's men's loyalty sensibly does not extend to placing themselves in musketeer hands. Therefore he has agreed that the three of you should return to Paris under the guise of delivering the ransom note. The road between here and Paris is long and dangerous and he does not want to risk one or two of you being overtaken by bandits before his demands can be met. Appraise Treville of DuPont's activities and await his orders. Given DuPont's status no doubt he will have to consult with the King."

"That's your plan?" Aramis was on his feet and crossing over to the table to confront Athos before he had even thought about it. "That we just leave you here?"

"DuPont must be stopped," Athos would not look at him. "He has clearly been terrorising the people of this district for some time. Treville will convince the King that his atrocities cannot stand. As long as he has hopes of riches I will be quite safe until you return."

"You don't know that," Aramis' voice was dangerously calm. "The man is clearly unstable. It will take days to reach Paris and even longer to return with a full company of men. Not to mention how long it could take for the King to agree to DuPont's arrest."

"Nonetheless," Infuriatingly Athos stood with his back turned, as if Aramis' concerns were beneath his notice. "You have your orders."

"Orders be dammed," Determined to make his point Aramis spun Athos around, seizing him by the lapels of his doublet as he shook him firmly before pressing him up against the wall. "This plan is suicide. What am I supposed to tell Porthos? Have you not realised that he loves you like a brother? Would you repay that loyalty by causing him to weep at your funeral? And you taught me to trust again when I thought I could not after Savoy. What kind of brother would you be to turn your back on me now?"

"I am not fit to be any man's brother!" Athos retorted hotly. "My brother put all his trust in me and he died because of it. I will not allow that to happen to you!"

"And I am not Marsec to abandon you here and leave you to die!" Aramis retorted.

"Aramis, stop this!" LeBrun was suddenly beside him, his tone sharp with disapproval, Renard hovering at his shoulder ready to intervene. "You're hurting him."

Aramis blinked. Athos had indeed gone as white as a sheet, sweat standing out in beads of pain on his forehead and actual tears in his eyes. Aramis felt his blood run cold. DuPont clearly had hurt him and badly too, and Aramis had not only been blind to his injuries, he had now added to his pain. Utterly mortified, Aramis could not even meet Athos' eyes as he turned away. Pacing frantically he ran his hands through his hair as he issued his instructions to LeBrun.

"Any open wounds will need to be washed out with wine. His ribs may need binding. I have needle and thread if anything is deep enough to require it."

"Do you always carry needle and thread about your person?" Renard's voice asked curiously.

"And salve," Aramis nodded distractedly. "Each item is small enough to evade all but the most rigorous of searches and a stitch in time has saved many a life."

"And what should I do for burns?" LeBrun enquired.

"Burns?"

Aramis spun around to see that LeBrun had guided Athos to straddle a plain wooden chair. The velvet gloves had been removed to reveal three broken fingers and two missing nails. No wonder Athos had struggled to hold either wine glass or bottle. Renard had been pressed into service to carefully wipe the paint from Athos' face, revealing the stark pallor of total exhaustion below. The two spots of fever explained why he had been so reluctant to let Aramis touch him. LeBrun had also removed his shirt and doublet and Aramis' eyes widened as he saw, not the welts of a beating as he had expected, but back and shoulders littered with burns, red and blistered circles and trails of molten liquid, a precise deliberate cruelty, the product of a truly evil mind.

"DuPoint was minded to send only one of us to Paris, wasn't he?" He realised quietly. "You held out and refused to agree to pay him anything until you had secured the release of all three of us."

"I am your leader. It is my duty and my privilege to protect those under my command by any means possible."

Aramis pressed his lips together tightly. He wondered exactly what Athos had been prepared to reveal in order to spare their lives. He was certainly astute enough to have told DuPont a convenient lie. But he was also sufficiently honourable to have chosen to give proof of his actual identity in order to be certain of their freedom.

"Although," Athos gave him a rueful look. "If you could kindly forebear from mentioning when you report to Treville that it required me to have my face painted like a dowager Duchess I would be obliged."

"That's the part that concerns you?"

Suddenly unable to speak Aramis clumsily wrapped his arms around Athos' head and embraced it fiercely against his chest, dropping a firm kiss on his curls.

"You are a most remarkable man."

With a nod of thanks to LeBrun he swiftly moved between Athos and the table collecting wine and napkins, apologising for his rash actions with each soothing touch as he carefully splinted the broken fingers by binding them to their neighbours, washed out the raw wounds left by missing nails with wine before gently covering them, then used his long elegant fingers to smooth cooling salve in small, careful, circles, across each of the thirty six separate burns on Athos' back. When he was finally done Athos stood up carefully and reached out a shaking hand to put the shirt forced upon him by DuPont back on.

"No," Aramis' hand gently closed over his wrist. "Take mine."

Athos stood stock still as Aramis shrugged out of his jacket and pulled his own shirt over his head. Swiftly concertinaing it in his hands, he slipped the neck hole over Athos' head and helped him place one arm and then the other in the billowing sleeves, before drawing it carefully down his abused back. Athos tipped his head back slightly, taking a shuddering breath as the soft linen, with its scents of spice and safety, still warm from Aramis' body, made him feel like someone truly valued for the first time since Thomas had died.

"Can you manage a few mouthfuls of stew?" Aramis asked kindly.

Athos was largely unmoved by the prospect of further scars on his back. But Aramis could see the relief in his eyes when he assured him that, once properly healed, his hands would be perfectly fit to wield a sword with his usual precision. But for now the damage was a serious hindrance. They tried with Athos attempting to balance the spoon across his palm, then cupping the bowl between his hands. In the end Aramis simply took over bowl and spoon and distracted him with a story about his first meeting with Porthos as he encouraged him to eat. Athos managed about half a bowl before exhaustion over took him.

"Ar'mis?"

The slightly slurred call stopped Aramis rather guiltily in his tracks. Having settled Athos on the couch he had assumed he was already asleep.

"Er, yes?"

"Your word, if you please, that you will return to Paris in the morning?"

Aramis didn't hesitate. After what Athos had suffered for all their sakes there really was only one answer he could give. He nodded once.

"Of course."

"And Aramis?" One baleful eye regarded him steadily. "Do not do anything reckless."

"Athos," Aramis rolled his eyes. "Please."

The thin dawn light was streaming through the windows when Athos awoke. He had slept far better than he could have imagined. It was no doubt merely a measure of his exhaustion and nothing to do with the sense of security provided by Aramis' cosseting.

"Good morning," Aramis' voice greeted him, sounding overly cheerful. "And what a beautiful morning it is."

Athos turned his head to see Aramis lounging in the armchair beside him, sporting a clean shirt, inspecting what appeared to be a newly acquired arquebus, and wearing an extremely self-satisfied expression. Looking around he realised that the two of them were alone on the room.

"What's going on?" Athos sat up a little faster than was truly wise, resolutely ignoring the flare of pain across his back. "Where are the others?"

"They've gone down to the stables to saddle the horses. We'll be leaving for Paris as soon as everything is ready," Aramis explained blithely. "Oh, and did I mention that DuPont is dead?"

"Aramis," Athos drew out his name in that way that either meant he was extremely impressed or absolutely furious. "What exactly did you do?"

"Have you ever noticed when people are guarding a building how infrequently they think to look up?"

It had been a tight squeeze to fit through the narrow dormer window. And scrambling across the roof and between the leads had been a little daunting, but the rope that they had fashioned from the curtain cords and drapes held fast to land him on a convenient balcony. Moving silent as a ghost it had been a simple matter break in through the window and make his way back to DuPont's bedchamber. Silencing the guard on his door by knocking him senseless, he had relieved him of his weapons and pressed a knife to DuPont's throat before he woke him.

"Do you make a habit of escaping out of windows?" Athos enquired mildly. "I merely ask to satisfy my curiosity?"

"It wasn't my first time." Aramis admitted modestly.

He chose not to tell Athos how he had lounged against the bedpost knife in one hand and musket in the other, whilst DuPont lay bound and helpless, ruminating on how exactly he was going to kill him and just how much it might hurt. He had deliberately drawn the moment out, wanting DuPont to feel a little of the agony his had inflicted on his friend. Nor did he mention any of the things DuPont had insinuated about Athos, his character or his lineage. It had taken all of his will power not to give the man a slow, agonising death by shooting him in the stomach, only the certain knowledge that a shot would raise the alarm more quickly than he could return to Athos to ensure he was safe, stayed his hand. Even as he slit his throat he felt it was a mercy DuPont did not deserve.

"And what happened after you had killed him?" Athos could not quite believe he had slept through all of this.

"Once Dupont was dead his men showed their true loyalty by ransacking his property of whatever they could carry and heading for the hills. We pretty much have the place to ourselves."

"They left us some breakfast I see." Athos observed.

Aramis grinned broadly. He knew there was a reason he loved this man so fiercely.

"You might want to get dressed first. Our saddle bags are in the corner and I found these."

Athos' expression when Aramis produced his own weapons, boots, breeches, jacket and even his hat was as vulnerable as Aramis had ever seen him. Not trusting himself to speak Athos merely nodded his thanks, as he slowly began to change, each familiar item gradually bringing him a little more back to himself.

"Don't forget this."

Athos turned to see Aramis holding his pauldron in his hands, an impossibly fond smile gracing his handsome features. Reluctantly he shook his head.

"This was all on me. DuPont's fascination with me led you all into danger. My faults are my own. I would never wish that my actions would bring Treville's judgment in recruiting a man like me into question or dishonour to the regiment. But perhaps I was a fool to think it could be otherwise. I will advise Treville of my decision to resign my commission as soon as we return to Paris."

"You will do nothing of the sort," Aramis chided, as he stepped forward, continuing to speak as he slid the pauldron up Athos' arm and buckled it securely into place with deft, careful, movements. "Firstly, we're musketeers, danger is our life blood. Secondly, I for one have no wish to face Treville if you decide to resign. You are fast becoming his favourite and he will undoubtedly find some way to make it my fault. Thirdly, you are my brother now. Mine and Porthos' You don't get away from us that easily."

"You must have questions," Athos could not look at him. "Ask whatever you wish. I will answer fully."

There was a great deal Aramis wanted to know. Not least why such a good man felt he had so much to atone for. Or how a man clearly raised to some great responsibility had found his way to be a lowly musketeer. But looking at Athos he knew a single question, any hint that this endeavour had eroded his faith in him, and he would be lost to him for ever.

"No, not a one," He spoke brightly.

Athos head came up sharply at that. When Aramis saw the raw hope warring with shocked disbelief in his eyes he knew he had made the right decision. He would not ask and he would ensure LeBrun and Renard did not ask either.

"If you ever wish to talk I will be a willing ear but I already know everything I need to about the type of man you are," Aramis allowed, as he slipped a hand around Athos' neck and squeezed firmly. "And I love you for it."

"And yet you should not," Athos looked him straight in the eye. "I am not worthy of such."

"Athos, my brother," Aramis moved his hand to place it on Athos' cheek. "I will follow your orders in all other things. But you do not get to decide whether or not you are loved."

After a moment's hesitation, Athos covered Aarmis' hand with his own.

AN – Many thanks to everyone for bearing with this. The next chapter will pick off where we left off in "Slight of Hand." But I needed to plant a few seeds for future chapters and also wanted to do this Aramis and Athos backstory justice. Although, it was surprising difficult for me to write them not instinctively knowing what the other was up and to take into account that whatever Athos may, (or may not), have told DuPont Aramis cannot know for certain who he is until "Commodities" which led to about a week of re-writes. I sincerely hope it works for you all in the end!

AN2 - Spanish paper is a sort of rouge according to a most interesting website I found on 17thC makeup.