Athos supposed that he should be grateful that his friends at least held their peace until they had taken their leave of the Comtesse de Larroque. Nothing was said until they were walking through the relative anonymity of the Parisian streets.
"You were gone for quite some time." Aramis began.
"The Comtesse's house contains several rooms," Athos answered blandly. "I was merely being thorough."
"So, she took you into every room?" d'Artagnan was grinning. "Nothing was off limits?"
"The Comtesse led me to believe that she had shown me the entirety of her residence. I have no reason to doubt her word." Athos did not rise to the obvious implication that he had been in her bedchamber. For good measure he fixed d'Artagnan with a quelling look. "I presume that is all you meant?"
"She's a fine woman alright, proper quality, educated, intelligent, a quick wit," Porthos wasn't easily put off, as he bumped shoulders with Athos with a wicked grin. "And beautiful with it."
"Gentlemen," Athos huffed, as he came to a halt. "And I use that term advisedly. It's hardly the first time a woman has paid me a compliment in your presence. I fail to see why you feel the need to drive me to distraction over it."
"Ah, but this ain't just any woman." Porthos put in with a hint of glee.
"Did you know that the King invited her to walk with him in the gardens and she refused his company?" Aramis shrugged at the flash of surprise in Athos' eyes. "Treville might have mentioned it, in passing."
"Be that as it may," Despite himself Athos could help but feel somewhat flattered, which he knew had been Aramis' intention. "That does not adequately explain your excessive interest in this matter."
"Because, this time," d'Artagnan leaned across as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You like her."
"Indeed." Athos gave him a scathing look as he began walking again. "Since I am required to keep some infantile company being accused of mental vacancy will no doubt be the highlight of my week."
Back at the garrison Treville accepted the news that there was no sign of Fleur Baudin with resignation. Aramis wasn't really listening, as his focus was entirely on Athos, who seemed unusually discomforted, even as he spoke strongly in Ninon's defence, and when he caught Aramis staring at him he actually blushed before dropping his gaze to the floor.
Oh, Aramis realised, as he straightened up.
Athos would most likely scoff at the comparison but the same skills that allowed Aramis to plan the perfect seduction also saw to it that in short order the two of them were lying on a riverbank an hour outside of Paris, under the guise of exercising the horses, passing a bottle of wine back and forth. And Aramis considered every single favour he had had to pledge in order to achieve this little scenario to be more than worth it, if it encouraged Athos to talk more freely than he would, anywhere there was a risk of being overheard.
"So, the delightful Comtesse de Larroque?" Aramis asked lazily, as if it was of no account.
"She kissed me." Athos discomfort vied with his earnest desire for some guidance.
"Ah," Aramis said neutrally. He had thought it must be something like that. She kissed me he noted, not I kissed her but after five years of trying to encourage Athos to grant himself the smallest bit of female companionship he was happy to encourage the least glimmer of progress. "And how was that?"
"It was .. not an unpleasant experience." Athos allowed. "I am invited to dine with her this evening."
"Did you accept?" Aramis asked gently, knowing just what an enormous leap of faith this was for his friend.
"I said nothing," Athos admitted. "I found myself somewhat taken aback. She took my silence for agreement."
"Then, of course, you must go. It would be the height of bad manners to disappoint the lady now," Aramis encouraged. He felt Athos tense beside him and softened his tone. "It's just dinner. No doubt a decent vintage which you will enjoy and food of far better quality than you will be served if you sup with us at the Garrison. Albeit it with rather more silverware. But I'm sure you'll acquit yourself perfectly well."
"My table manners are hardly the part of the evening that disquiets me," Athos rolled his eyes, forgetting to feel awkward just as Aramis had hoped. "When I married I gave my heart entirely. Given how it ended, I am really not inclined to repeat the experience."
"Athos," Aramis tapped his hand. "Given her attitude towards marriage I do not think there is any danger that the Comtesse is in the market for a husband. And there is much to be said for enjoying the company of an intriguing woman without any obligation."
Athos knew that many might greet such a proclamation from Aramis with scorn or laughter. But he knew his friend genuinely enjoyed spending time with the fairer sex and the give and take of repartee. Aramis would happily pass an evening discussing poetry or religion. It was no lie when he said he always left it to the lady to decide if she wished to pursue anything more.
"You would be welcome to accompany me," Athos offered quietly. "No doubt the women of the Comtesse's circle could provide you with a congenial evening of debate."
Aramis was deeply touched by the request. Not only that Athos would ask for his support in such a personal matter, but also his absolute faith that Aramis would behave like a perfect gentleman and, despite occasional appearances to the contrary, he prided himself on living up to Athos' expectations.
"I would be honoured, my friend."
For once Aramis could not think of a word to say to make this any better. As they watched the Red Guards escort the Comtesse and the girls from the building Athos had cast him one, sharp, pained, glance and then completely shut down. When Aramis had touched his arm to gain his attention, Athos had simply moved away to retrieve his hat. We must inform Treville he'd said, avoiding eye contact entirely. Aramis had no choice but to reach for his own hat and hurry to catch up. All the way to the Garrison Athos had kept his gaze averted and strode forth determinedly, every line of his body discouraging any further discussion.
"Wait here." Athos ordered curtly as he headed towards Treville's office.
Aramis briefly considered arguing, but decided it was better to pick his battles. Still, that didn't stop him sweeping off his hat and watching Athos' retreating back with worried eyes.
"What's wrong with him?"
Instead of answering d'Artagnan's question, Aramis sank down into a seat and poured himself a large glass of wine, drinking it down in full, before re-filling it with the sort of single minded determination that caused his friends to glance at each other in consternation. Behind him Athos' boots stomped heavily up the stairs.
"Aramis, you're scaring me," Porthos reached out and caught his wrist, halting the ascent of the second glass before he could drink again. "What's happened?"
"The Cardinal happened. He sent his Red Guards along to tear the Comtesse's house apart looking for the missing girls," Aramis paused before delivering the worst of it. "And then they found them."
"She was hiding them all along?" d'Artagnan sat up a little straighter. "But she gave Athos her word Fleur Baudin wasn't there."
"She lied to him," Porthos sick realisation coiling in his gut like a snake. He looked at Aramis and saw his own dismay reflected in his eyes. "He took it hard, didn't he?"
"He did seem pretty angry." D'Artagnan winced.
"He's not angry. He's hurt," Aramis corrected wearily. He considered for a moment. "And maybe a little angry, if she had confided in him, he would have helped her. The good Lord knows he tried, he even took her to the morgue."
"He took the Comtesse de Larroque to the morgue?" d'Artagnan blinked. "That's his idea of courting?"
"He was concerned that she was blind to the consequences of her actions." Aramis supplied.
"He doesn't approve of what she is doing?" d'Artagnan sounded surprised. He had thought Athos more enlightened.
"Now don't start thinking like that," Porthos chided. "What 'ave we taught you about looking at the bigger picture? It's not wanting women to have an education he's worried about. It's the way she's going about it. It's downright dangerous."
"The Comtesse has been rather vocal in her views," Aramis explained. "And she is rather blind to the fact that she is heading towards disaster. To so publically challenge the conservatism of the Church is bound to invite retribution, especially when there is a Papal envoy lodged at court."
"I just hoped she might make him a bit happier," d'Artagnan looked upset. "This really isn't going to help matters."
They all fell silent as Athos' boots echoed along the walkway and down the stairs. To their collective surprise he did not even glance at their expectant faces, but kept straight on walking until he had made his way straight of the courtyard.
"I'll go," Porthos rose to his feet, despite the situation, he managed a wry smile. "It's my turn."
"Let him be, he's not fit for company," Treville's voice ordered sharply from the balcony. "You three, get up here now."
"There wasn't any shouting." D'Artagnan murmured, as he obeyed.
"That's not necessarily a good sign." Aramis replied, sotto voice, as they made their way upstairs. "Often, it means things are particularly bad."
"Will somebody please tell me what's got into him?" Treville demanded as soon as they entered his office. He leant forward to place his palms down on his desk as he gave each of them a searching look. "This morning he was the Comtesse's greatest advocate, now he seems ready to wash his hands of her."
"He's a little upset," Aramis allowed, rocking back on his heels. "But he won't abandon her."
"He's just taken the whole thing a little bit .. personal." Porthos tried to be delicate.
"I should have seen this coming," Treville berated himself. "Her philanthropic ways are so like his brother."
Thankfully he was too busy shaking his head to notice the startled look that passed between the three men standing in front of his desk at that particular revelation.
"Well don't this just keep gettin' better and better." Porthos muttered. "That'll be another reason he's so keen to save her."
"Besides the obvious one." Aramis murmured.
"When you gentlemen are quite finished?" Treville glared, causing both men to hurriedly avert their gazes. "Given the Comtesse's rank the Cardinal will have no choice but to bring the matter before the King. I'll go to the Palace in the morning to see what can be done. Get some rest. And stay away from Athos. That's an order. The way he is right now he's liable to punch you and I'm in no mood to explain to the King why his Musketeers are fighting among themselves."
Dismissed they trooped down the stairs and across the courtyard. Under the relative privacy of the archway d'Artagnan stopped.
"What about Athos?"
"You heard the Captain's orders," Aramis reminded him. "He's not fit for company."
"And if one of us shows up for roll call tomorrow with a black eye," Porthos pressed the point. "We'll all be in a whole barrel of trouble."
D'Artagnan looked at them carefully. He genuinely couldn't tell from their expressions if they were going to obey Treville or not. Whichever it was, he knew he wasn't about to leave his best friend to his own devices, not when he was hurting this badly.
"We're not company," He spoke with quiet determination. "We're his brothers.
The first thing Athos was aware of the next morning was the steady rumble of Porthos' snoring in time to the rise and fall of the firm pillow behind his back. The second was how dry and gritty his eyes felt as he tried to prise them open.
"Here, let me." A familiar voice spoke quietly.
A damp cloth was gently wiped across his face, paying special attention to the stickiness gluing his eyes shut. This time as Athos blinked he found he could open them and the world swam into focus. Aramis was crouched down on his haunches, looking at him fondly. The way his hair was sticking up at all angles and his shirt was draped loosely around his shoulders, suggested that he had only just extricated himself from the nest of blankets they had made on the floor.
"It's still early," Aramis answered the question before he could ask. "Let the others sleep a little longer."
Athos realised that he was lying in between Porthos' legs. The man himself was sitting propped against the edge of the bed, his arms loosely wrapped around Athos as he cradled him against his chest. D'Artagnan was a strip of warmth pressed all down his left side, his head tucked under Athos' arm and one hand curled in the folds of his shirt.
Athos pressed his lips together tightly.
"He's not going to think any less of you because you're human," Aramis read his thoughts. "He loves you because you care. It was his idea to come here even when Treville ordered us to keep our distance."
"Really?" Athos regarded him fondly. "He's never been short on courage."
"Or loyalty," Aramis agreed. "Like a true Musketeer."
As he dressed Athos recalled snatches of the night before, Porthos holding him tight and murmuring comfort into his hair as he sobbed, Aramis taking away the sour wine and replacing it with the smooth warmth of good brandy, and then threatening to hold his nose and pour the soup down his throat if he didn't take just a little, d'Artagnan chattering away, telling embarrassing stories from his childhood stop Athos losing himself inside his own head.
"So, I bet Pierre that I could make it across the brook in a single leap. My father had cut some poles to make new fencing and I thought I could swing across with a bit of run up."
"The pole snapped and dumped you in the water, didn't it?" Porthos guessed.
"You missed your footing and landed in the mud," Aramis decided.
"Worse," d'Artagnan shook his head. "The pole wasn't bendy enough to carry me over. It got stuck fast and I was left clinging to the top in the middle of the water. It was only then I realised that a recent storm had made the current much deeper and faster than usual. So, there I was stranded up there holding on as tight as I could so I didn't fall in and get swept away. Pierre had to go and get my father and it took a boat and half the farm hands called away from the ploughing to rescue me."
"Bet that made you popular." Porthos laughed.
"Once when Thomas was sick I had tried everything I could to make him feel better but he had no appetite for treats and he was too restless for stories. So, I thought a visit from his pony might cheer him up." Athos paused as he realised he hadn't told this particular tale in years.
"I remember doing that once," Aramis encouraged him. "We brought my pony right into the kitchen and set him a place at the table. My mother was not amused."
"Did you take it upstairs?" Athos asked, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world.
"You tried to take a pony upstairs?" Porthos was beaming.
"My brother's room was on the first floor," Athos shrugged, as if it was obvious. "The main staircase was out of the question of course. But the back staircase had quite broad steps, made out of stone. The pony had been mine before he was Thomas' so it only took a few apple slices and he followed me willingly enough. Thomas was overjoyed to see him as I recall."
"How did you get him out again?" d'Artagnan wondered. In his experience horses would generally go up steps relatively well. But convincing them to walk down again was asking for trouble.
"It was more challenging than I had expected," Athos admitted. "It took several men, no small amount of rope, some large pieces of wood and the best part of a day."
"Are you ready?" Aramis' voice brought him back to the present.
"Of course," Athos turned to face his friends.
"If you even think about apologising I'm going to punch you." Porthos spoke in a perfectly even tone. On either side of him Aramis tipped his head in agreement and d'Artagnan hooked his thumbs in his belt and regarded him with a placid smile which suggested he would hold Porthos' hat for him.
"I was merely going to thank you for knowing me better than I know myself," Athos looked everywhere but at them. "Your presence last night was greatly valued."
"We know." Aramis smirked.
"He means, you're welcome." d'Artagnan amended.
"Although, you really oughta get some more furniture," Porthos pointed out. The others laughed and even Athos managed a smile. "I'm serious," Porthos protested, as they headed out the door. "What would be so bad about having another couple of chairs?"
Part of Aramis wondered if Treville was right to assign them to the company escorting the Comtesse to the Monastery of the Holy Cross. When she had tried to speak with Athos, she had been prevented from doing so by Captain Trudeau, although the way Athos had pointedly averted his gaze was a concern. The Comtesse could hardly be expected to understand why Athos saw her actions as such a fundamental betrayal. Still, given the way Athos' eyes softened, he was glad to see his words "She was protecting the girl. Not deceiving you," had not fallen on entirely stony ground.
Maybe there was hope for the two of them yet.
Aramis stood with his head tilted back towards the sun, keeping half an eye on the archway that led to the monastery stables. The Cardinal was staying here until he was strong enough to travel. But the Queen was preparing to return to Paris. And the former Comtesse was to be spirited away to start her new life in exile from Paris.
"And I'm telling you he loves her," Porthos was bickering with d'Artagnan. "That wasn't duty or honour driving 'im, that was proper feelings."
"He's only known her a few days," d'Artagnan protested. "And this is Athos we're talking about. He's not the type to be swept away on a tide of romance. He hasn't even kissed her."
"Know that for a fact do you?" Porthos challenged. "You managed to kiss Constance before you even knew her name."
"That was different, I was being chased," d'Artagnan paused, as his brain caught up with what Porthos had implied. "You really think they've kissed?"
"Not so loud," Porthos kicked him, as Athos' led his horse into the monastery courtyard. "He'll hear you."
His patience finally rewarded, Aramis detached himself from the wall and walked over to where Athos was checking over his horse and tack. He watched for a moment as Athos tied his water skin into place, waiting until the other man looked over at him before speaking.
"I hear the Comtesse had asked for you personally to escort her to her destination and the Queen, in her mercy, has granted her request."
"So, it appears."
"You know," Aramis stepped in a little closer, so as not to be overheard. "Even if you leave now, you may not get there before nightfall. You could be required to stay overnight at an Inn."
Athos stilled. But his voice gave nothing away.
"We are accustomed to accompanying all manner of personages in the service of the crown. This is no different."
"It is entirely different and you know it," Aramis scolded him mildly. "And if you try and avoid the issue she is likely to take you unawares again."
That got him the exasperated glare he had been hoping for, as Athos tugged a little harder than strictly necessary on his stirrup leather.
"I have already told Ninon that I was married once and now I am done with romance."
"What about kindness?" Aramis pressed. "Not every relationship has to be a grand passion. There is much to be said for the consolation of two souls coming together for a moment of mutual happiness. Ninon has narrowly escaped death, has been stripped of her status, land and wealth. Would you truly deny her the comfort of your arms?"
"No wonder your conquests are legion with some well-chosen words," Athos favoured him with a smile that was both fond and exasperated. "No, Aramis."
Aramis caught him by the collar of his jacket and turned him a little so they were face to face, pleased when Athos merely rolled his eyes at him, clearly willing to hear him out.
"Happiness is not a sin, Athos. Ninon knows her own mind and is not looking to trap you. She is offering herself with an open heart. This is not merely gratitude for saving her life, or solace for a desperate woman. Don't forget, this is the woman who told the King 'no' but who very much desires your company."
"I rather fear I would be a disappointment to her." Athos admitted ruefully, with a hint of vulnerability.
Aramis almost crowed with delight. Now they were getting somewhere. This was something he could work with.
"You do yourself a great disservice, my friend." He spoke warmly, making sure that Athos could hear the sincerity in his tone. "You are well read, with a sharp wit. How many times have you bested me when we have discussed philosophy? Hmm?"
"But I do not have your familiarity with romantic fiction," Athos spoke dryly, as close to a jest about matters of the heart as he was ever likely to make.
"You are a true gentleman, you have no need of such artifice and Ninon already cares for you. And you cannot tell me you do not have feelings for her. Not after the way you pleaded for her life."
"A fine woman facing a terrible death surely deserves my compassion," Athos unconsciously echoed Aramis' earlier sentiments. A slightly wounded look flashed across his features. "I have never claimed to be made of stone, Aramis."
"Indeed you have not," Aramis agreed sincerely. "I have benefitted from your infinite kindness too often to ever imagine such a thing, but such an impassioned plea came from the heart, my friend."
"Ninon is a remarkable woman." Athos smiled faintly.
Afterwards Aramis would freely admit that was his moment of overconfidence. He truly believed that he had convinced his brother to follow his own heart for once. Except that, as Athos walked around the front of his horse to pull down his other stirrup, he happened to glance up and the smile dropped abruptly from his face and his expression darkened.
"Athos?"
"This is .. I cannot," Athos closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. When he opened them again he was strictly all business, signalling that the topic was now firmly closed. "We need to get on the road. I will see you in Paris tomorrow."
As Athos led his horse away Aramis turned around to see what had caught his friend's eye. Looking up at the Cardinal's window he recognised the woman from the courtroom, Madame de la Chappelle, looking down with an unreadable expression.
"What's got into 'im now?" Porthos came up beside him, his eyes tracking Athos.
Aramis told him what had transpired. Although, by the time Porthos turned around at the window there was no longer any sign of the woman.
"Just because he refuses to acknowledge the depth of his feelings doesn't mean he doesn't have them," Aramis sighed. "When she leaves Ninon will take a piece of his heart with her."
"Ah, he's got a big heart, he can spare a little bit and who knows what might happen in the future," Porthos encouraged, not wanting to see Aramis so downcast. He knew his friend was thinking of his own situation with Agnes and baby Henri as well as his failure to help Athos. "Things change, he might see her again."
"This is going to end badly," Aramis worried. "We should follow him."
"About that, I came to tell you, Treville and d'Artagnan are going to escort the Queen back to Paris with a company of Red Guards. Since Athos is going with our former Countess. He gave me our new orders."
"Oh?" Aramis heart sank. He really didn't want to let Athos out of his sight right now.
"He said we're to get Athos' head back on straight before he sets foot in the Garrison or he'll have all our commissions."
"Oh," Aramis said in an entirely different tone. He cheered up considerably. "Well, in that case we should definitely follow him."
The heavy rain meant the tap room of the Inn was busy with customers when Athos entered, shaking the water from his hat and cloak. He had just managed to secure a small table in the corner when two familiar figures appeared in the doorway, quickly scanning the room before heading towards him.
"What are you doing here?" He sighed.
"Well that's a nice welcome, that is," Porthos huffed, as he shed his cloak and hat and put them on the back of his chair.
"We thought you might get lonely, riding back to Paris on your own."Aramis offered. "Plus if you were going to take any wine we thought it would be advisable for you to be among friends. For your beard's sake, you understand."
"I think I might need something stronger than wine." Athos admitted wearily.
"Did things go so badly?" Aramis enquired, all teasing aside.
"I'm been meaning to thank you," Athos looked at him. "I know how much you value the Queen's gift. If things had ended differently it could have been lost to you. Yet you gave it willingly."
"If it gave Ninon comfort, it would have been a small price to pay," Aramis allowed. "But my motives were not entirely unselfish. I hoped God would see fit to spare you further pain. I could wish that part had gone better."
"As outcomes go it was at least .. acceptable."
"How did you leave it with her?" Porthos asked.
"That neither of us are the marrying kind." Athos' eyes grew distant.
Aramis and Porthos exchanged another uneasy glance. After a moment of silent communication, Aramis topped up Athos' glass and Porthos put a hand on his arm as he began to speak.
"Look, there ain't no easy way to say this. You took ten years off my life yesterday. Whoever that woman is or whatever she is to you, I won't judge. But I need to know. Because I can't keep you safe if I don't know what's goin' on. And you scared me good and proper."
Athos knew he only had himself to blame. To lose control so completely, in a public place, so that Treville of all people had to physically hold him back, and all over a woman, of course his friends would have questions.
"Athos," Aramis encouraged. "Just tell us."
"That woman," Athos took a deep breath. "She is my wife."
"She's .. very beautiful." Aramis observed, after a moment.
Athos gave a huff of sound, that might almost have been a laugh from another person, it was such an Aramis thing to say that the heavy weight that was pressing on his heart eased somewhat. He still felt shaken to think of her being in Paris, his face, her voice, even the way she held her fan, bringing up memories he had believed long since buried.
"So, Madame de la Chapelle?" Porthos ventured. "What's that all about?"
"An alias I presume. Ninon mentioned her as a wealthy widow who is famous for her good works."
"She weren't being very charitable in court." Porthos huffed.
"If she was at the Comtesse's salon she would know that Ninon was attracted to you," Aramis allowed. "You know how woman like to talk. Jealousy would be a powerful motive for revenge."
"You are mistaken. Her only interest in me is to see me dead." Athos assured.
"If that was the whole truth of it a musket ball in the back of your head could have finished the job years ago," Porthos said bluntly. As the others looked at him with twin expressions of consternation he shrugged. "I'm just saying."
"Ninon told me that my wife is acting as an agent of the Cardinal. She is under his protection. He's likely to look kindly on any ploy of hers that will destroy the Musketeers." Athos admitted.
"We just saved his life," Porthos scowled. "A little gratitude would be nice."
"That's how they knew about the girls," Aramis realised. "The only way the Red Guards could have been so certain the girls were there was if Ninon had confided in someone who then passed word to his Eminence."
"If my wife is working for the Cardinal I must tell Treville. My relationship with her could lead the entire Regiment into disaster," Athos looked grey at the thought. "We must get back to Paris as soon as possible."
"Treville can wait," Porthos vetoed that. "We're not going back to Paris tonight. You already look dead on your feet."
"I have ridden much further with far worse." Athos brushed aside his concern.
"Porthos is right," Aramis agreed. "You need rest. If you go back out in this weather I am going to be spending the next week nursing you back to health. Now doesn't a decent meal, a nice hot bath and a proper night's sleep seem like a more inviting prospect?"
"My sleep is unlikely to be all that restful," Athos remarked. "For any of us."
"All this time and you think we can't handle that?" Aramis chided. "Besides, Porthos' snoring is a far greater disturbance."
"And when we get back to Paris, we'll all sit down and work out how we're going to deal with things together. Alright?" Porthos' tone brooked no argument.
Even so, Athos was about to object when he recalled the number of times he had berated himself for leaving Thomas alone. How often he had wished that they had been together so he could have defended his brother the way he was supposed to. He could not protect these men with his life, as he was utterly determined to do, if he pushed them away. But if he kept them close, if it came to it, at least he might have the comfort of dying in their arms.
"Very well," He agreed. "After all, I do believe it's Aramis' turn to go first in the bathtub and who am I to deny him that pleasure?"
Later when Athos was finally sleeping, Aramis paused in drying his hair, his mouth thinning in concern as he placed a hand on his friend's brow. It felt a little warm.
"Will you give over?" Porthos shook his head at him, from where he was already lying on Athos' other side. "He doesn't have a fever. He's a little warm and flushed from the hot bath, that's all."
"I know," Aramis acknowledged, as he tossed the towel aside and slipped under the covers, instinctively seeking out Athos' warmth to counter the sharp chill of the sheets. "I just worry. I wish I could take some of his pain away."
"He'll come through this," Porthos said robustly. "He's got all of us watching out for him. You really want to fret about something you do know we've gone and left d'Artagnan to his own devices in Paris? Just think how much mischief he could get into whilst we're away."