Summary: Athos and Aramis find themselves the targets of revenge.

A/N: Thank you UKGuest, Uia, Guest, and Laureleaf for reviewing last chapter! (And Laureleaf for reviewing "Luciole"; I'm so happy you liked it! :D I'm working on another installment for it now.)

"Lies and Vengeance"

Athos sat on his knees in the mouth of the cave he'd been dragged to, his hands bound in front of him with rope and a cloth gag in his mouth. He eyed his captors with a menacing glare, but they were paying him little attention, instead poised on the lookout. There had been at least twenty who'd attacked the musketeers in the forest while en route to deliver some important letters for the King. The battle had been fierce, and Athos had swiftly found himself separated from the others and easily overwhelmed. But d'Artagnan was the one carrying the letters, so as long as he escaped…

A disturbance drew Athos's gaze to the right where a group of men appeared, dragging Aramis into the cave, the marksman bound and gagged in similar fashion. They shoved him to the ground next to Athos.

Aramis arched a brow at him in question, which Athos returned. Aramis canted his head in a shrug. Neither of them had been injured, just overwhelmed by the sheer number of this attacking force. Though only about seven had rendezvoused at the cave as of yet. Athos briefly wondered what was in those letters to warrant this.

"The other two?" one of the mercenaries asked.

"Pushed back across the stream," another replied.

"Did Joubert take his men north?"

"He lost three of 'em, but yeah. The musketeers will think to pursue them."

"Good. We'll wait here a bit, make sure it's clear."

Athos frowned and shared a confused look with Aramis. While they were both obviously relieved to hear that Porthos and d'Artagnan were probably all right, Athos didn't understand why these men didn't seem keen on pursuing them instead of the other way around. Not only that, but they hadn't started questioning the musketeers they had taken prisoner about the letters. In fact, they were practically ignoring their captives.

After a sufficient amount of time had apparently passed, the leader signaled his men to move out. Athos and Aramis were hauled to their feet and dragged from the cave. These mercenaries didn't have any horses waiting about and so they made their way on foot through the woods. Athos could see Aramis's eyes darting around in search of a chance to escape, but they were unarmed and outnumbered, so such an attempt would be foolish at the moment.

But Athos's patience was wearing thin. He finally raised his bound hands to yank the gag from his mouth. "Where are you taking us?"

The leader stopped and turned around to walk back, expression neutral. "You'll see," was all he said before resuming the march.

Aramis had apparently taken the cue from Athos to pull his own gag out as well. "Talkative bunch," he commented. He received a shove for his quip but otherwise no one made an effort to silence them again.

Athos's confusion only increased. Perhaps they would be held for ransom, but surely four musketeers were worth more than two, so why hadn't the men seemed more intent on capturing Porthos and d'Artagnan as well? Although, four could also be harder to control than two, and Porthos could certainly be intimidating "prey."

"If it's ransom you want, the King will not pay it," Athos tried again.

"You've already been paid for," the man replied over his shoulder.

Athos and Aramis exchanged a perplexed, tense look at that. Someone had paid for musketeers to be captured…or them specifically? If it was about the letters, they did not have them. But their captors hadn't even bothered to check that so this was probably unrelated to their current mission. Athos wracked his brain for a potential culprit. The Inseparables had plenty of enemies, sure, but he could not think of one who would only care to target two of them and not their group as a whole.

They finally exited the forest into pastureland and veered toward a large building that was in a state of disrepair, with one wall slanted at a slight angle. The field was overgrown as well, suggesting it hadn't been used for grazing in a while.

Athos and Aramis were taken into the structure, which turned out to be an abandoned slaughterhouse, hooks hanging from the beams and carving stations along the walls. All manner of rust colored stains splattered the walls and floor. The entire picture cast a decidedly unsettling pall over their predicament.

The men escorting them came to a stop, and the lead mercenary stepped aside as a figure emerged from the shadows at the back of the building. Athos stiffened sharply at the sight of Victor Amadeus. Of all the people he might have imagined coming face to face with out here, the Duke of Savoy was not one of them. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aramis pale.

The Duke strode forward, coming to a stop to regard Athos with a cold smirk. "Athos of the King's Musketeers. We meet again."

Athos had a dozen questions but voiced none of them, recognizing that their situation had just gotten more complicated. And dangerous. He narrowed his eyes a fraction and flicked a pointed look at their surroundings. "I take it the King is unaware you've come to France."

"I'm not here on a matter of state." The Duke stepped closer, lip curling up in a sneer. "I have not forgotten the humiliation you dealt upon me."

"You were the one who requested the duel," Athos replied calmly. "Insisted, as a matter of fact. And you signed the treaty afterward. Kidnapping the King's musketeers can be considered an act of treason."

"As you pointed out, the King is unaware I'm even in France."

"And you've gone to all this trouble for revenge?"

Victor's mouth curved upward. "I do not let offenses slide." He then shifted to appraise Aramis, looking him up and down carefully. "So, this is the survivor."

Athos's blood ran cold and the rest of Aramis's color drained.

The Duke studied the marksman. "Yes, I remember you now."

Aramis said nothing. Athos's own heart was beginning to pound. He'd seen the scar on Victor's back from where Aramis had wounded him in the attack on the musketeers in Savoy. That the Duke remembered this did not bode well.

Victor's eyes hardened and he turned to his men. "Start with him."

Athos's fighting instincts instantly kicked in as he was pulled away by two men and the rest converged on Aramis. They cut the ropes binding the marksman's wrists and tried to wrest his coat off. Aramis struggled, kicking and thrashing when he couldn't get his arms free long enough to throw a punch.

The Duke finally stepped forward and slapped a meaty hand over his mouth, sliding up so the crease where his thumb and forefinger joined covered his nostrils. Aramis's eyes blew wide as his air was cut off.

Athos threw an elbow back into the face of one of the men restraining him, but the other grabbed his bound wrists and flung his arms up, slipping the rope over one of the hanging hooks. They left him to hang and helplessly watch as Aramis's eyes started to roll back. Only then did Victor release him. Now barely conscious, the men easily divested Aramis of his sash, doublet, and shirt, then snapped a set of shackles on his wrists in place of the rope. They slung those over another hook above them.

"You want revenge, take it out on me!" Athos shouted.

Victor turned toward him, a malicious glint in his eyes. "In due time."

He took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves, then accepted a water skin from one of the men. Walking back to Aramis, he splashed the marksman in the face. Aramis jerked as the water revived him and he flailed to get his feet under him to relieve some of the strain on his arms. Victor exchanged the water skin for a dagger and set the blade to Aramis's neck, teasing at the rosary and crucifix that hung there. With a mild look, he severed the cords so the items dropped to the dirty floor. Aramis's eyes automatically tracked them, but were drawn back up as Victor pressed the blade more firmly to his throat.

"I will not allow an attempt on my life to go unpunished." He moved the blade down and slashed it across Aramis's collar bone, eliciting no more than a sharp hiss. Victor stepped close, pressing himself against his helpless victim. "I was so sure I'd taken care of all those musketeer dogs," he sneered. "I was quite surprised to learn one had gotten away."

Aramis glared back at him. "Whatever you were told about our mission was a lie."

"I know you were sent to kill me, place my son in my stead," Victor hissed. "My chancellor Cluzet discovered the Cardinal's plans, and that same night he went missing!"

"We had nothing to do with that!" Aramis spat back.

Athos froze as the pieces suddenly started falling into place. Cluzet was a Spanish spy, a threat to the Duchess…in order to protect her, the man had to be captured and locked away in a French prison. Cardinal Richelieu knew of this, had been desperate to keep the Duke of Savoy away when the others had pulled their last-minute deception in Cluzet's cell.

But how to get close enough to the Duke's most trusted advisor to begin with? Unless…the Duke and his men went out to slaughter a group of musketeers he believed were there to assassinate him.

Suddenly the reason behind the massacre all made sense. And Treville…had he known? Athos would never have believed him capable of treachery, but a ploy to protect the good of France? Now the captain's evasive answers and brusque threats were cast into a new light, one Athos could not dismiss.

Victor grabbed Aramis by the throat and squeezed. "I know you were there." He suddenly released him and stalked around, placing the dagger at the nape of Aramis's neck. With a deft downward motion, he delivered a score across his back. Again, Aramis gulped in a sharp breath and arched at the blow, but otherwise didn't give the Duke the satisfaction.

Victor leaned in toward Aramis's ear. "An eye for an eye—now we have matching marks."

"Stop this!" Athos shouted. "The treaty—"

"I know of the Cardinal's treachery," Victor cut him off sharply. "I know Cluzet still languishes in a French prison. The fact that I could not prove it does not make it untrue. If I could string Richelieu up here as well, I would, the treaty be damned."

"That would be a sight," Aramis muttered.

Athos shot him an exasperated glower. "You are making a mistake," he addressed the Duke.

Victor walked in front and slashed Aramis across the ribs, earning a grunt. "It is no mistake."

Aramis flung himself forward against the chains. "We were not assassins!" he raged. "We were on a training exercise! You murdered twenty musketeers!"

Victor canted his head at him. "You'll take your orders to the grave," he surmised. "I can respect that kind of loyalty."

He pressed the tip of the dagger into Aramis's shoulder and slowly inserted it. Aramis's cheeks puffed red with the exertion of holding back a scream. Then Victor torqued the blade and a strangled cry finally spilled from the marksman's lips.

"But there are ways to extract the truth even against such fortitude."

"We were…not…assassins," he ground out, shaking now.

Victor roughly pushed the blade in deeper and then yanked it out. Aramis cried out and sagged, head dropping to his chest.

"I will kill you," Athos said in a low voice.

The Duke turned to sneer at him. He stalked over and Athos held his head up, glad at least Aramis had gotten a reprieve. There was no way out of this that Athos could see; all he could try to do was divert attention onto himself.

Victor scrutinized him. "You wanted to kill me in that duel," he brought up. "You knew about the assassination attempt, knew I'd defeated your fellow musketeers."

"There is no honor in slaying an enemy while they sleep," Athos rejoined. "Assassins or no. Which they were not."

But he saw it all too easily now—the Cardinal sending a false message to implicate the training assignment as such. The question was who else was complicit in it? There could be no doubt Treville had passed on the troop's location as that Savoy soldier had claimed before Marsac killed him, but had he knowingly sacrificed his men in such a heinous manner?

Athos hadn't wanted to ask those questions when Marsac had stirred them up, and now he most likely wouldn't get the chance. He'd been complacent in the face of the lie.

"How much evidence do you need that something is badly wrong?"

"What does it take to make you act?"

Athos felt remorse for not heeding his brother back then. Not that it would have changed their situation now, but had Athos known the danger still lingering after all these years because of that one deception…perhaps he could have found a way to be more vigilant.

"Assassins don't deserve honorable dealings," Victor said with a derisive snort. "Nor do musketeer scum."

"What is your plan? To torture us and then kill us, all to satisfy your wounded pride over events that happened months and years ago? You have a treaty with France now, a duty to uphold."

Victor stepped forward and pressed the bloodied blade to Athos's throat. "I will not be made a mockery," he seethed.

"You are nothing but a mockery," Athos replied. "Everyone at court knows your principality is a pathetic little duchy that France only tolerates for its strategic position."

Victor lashed his other hand up to grab Athos's hair and wrenched his head back. "France needs Savoy," he spat, cheeks puffing with umbrage.

Athos just glared back at him as the dagger pressed against his throat. He was walking a fine line between antagonizing him to keep the Duke's attention away from Aramis and pushing him over the edge to where he snapped and outright killed Athos. The latter of which would not do Aramis any favors, and so Athos held his tongue once more.

Before Victor could decide what pain to inflict on him, muffled sounds outside the building distracted him. He cast a glance over his shoulder.

"See what those two are doing," he ordered the five men who'd remained inside. As they left, the Duke looked back over to Aramis, who was breathing raggedly against the agony of his wounds, red rivulets running in thin streams down his torso. Victor turned to Athos again and smirked. "How chivalrous of you, trying to protect your friend. It won't work. I imagine watching his pain would be worse than enduring your own."

"You are a coward!" Athos spat, but the Duke did not rise to the bait. Instead, he turned back toward Aramis.

Athos's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach, but then a gunshot cracked the air outside, and Victor's smug expression fell away. Whirling around, he rushed out of the building. Athos tugged and yanked against his restraints but couldn't raise himself high enough to get off the blasted hook. Sounds of fighting rose up outside, followed by a raging bellow that could only be one thing. Athos had no idea how they'd been found, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

A moment later Victor came dashing back inside. He grabbed Athos's arms and lifted them off the hook. Athos attempted to take a swing at the man, but he was quickly spun around and the dagger placed under his chin, Victor at his back.

Porthos barged in, sword drawn, and pulled up short as the Duke presented Athos as a shield. "Let him go," the enraged musketeer growled.

"I'm going to leave," Victor responded, forcing Athos to take a step.

Porthos's eyes blazed with fury. "Not a chance."

Victor pressed the blade closer, enough to nick skin. "I will slit his throat."

"An' I'll run you through."

There was still the sound of swords clashing outside. Athos held himself rigidly, meeting Porthos's gaze in firm agreement—the Duke was not to escape.

Victor pushed Athos forward another step, bringing them near Aramis. Athos saw the marksman's eyelids flutter, and in the next instant, Aramis was swinging his legs up and wrapping them around the Duke's neck. Athos took a boot to the face and barely managed to wrench away without cutting his neck open. He let himself drop and rolled out of the way as Aramis locked his ankles and held fast as Victor thrashed in his grip.

Victor snarled and stabbed blindly with his dagger, piercing Aramis's thigh. Aramis yelped and dropped away, swinging from the hook, but the momentum flung Victor to the ground. Before he could get up, Porthos charged forward and stomped on the hand holding the weapon, then raised his sword.

"Wait!" Athos called. "We cannot kill him."

"Why the hell not?" Porthos demanded.

Athos got to his feet and walked over, pausing to think about it for a moment. Things would perhaps be much easier if Victor Amadeus were dead and his son the ruler in his stead, with the Duchess's guidance in hand with France's. The Cardinal would certainly appreciate it. But that was not for them to decide.

Victor glowered up at them. "Kill me and France will have war with Spain."

"As you said, no one knows you're here." Athos kicked out, his boot colliding with the man's head and snapping it to the side. The Duke fell limp.

"Shoulda let me do that," Porthos groused, sheathing his sword and moving to Aramis to get him down.

The marksman groaned as his arms were lifted enough to slip the chain from the hook. Then his legs buckled upon making contact with the floor again and Porthos had to ease him to the ground, careful to keep him propped up so he didn't collapse in the dirt with his open wounds.

"Aramis?" Porthos called worriedly.

Aramis let out a grunt in response and fumbled at his bleeding leg.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" Athos asked.

"He's finishin' up outside," Porthos replied, gaze blackening as he took in Aramis's various wounds.

Athos dropped to his knees beside them just as the boy entered. D'Artagnan rushed over, eyes wide as he looked them over. Then his gaze landed on the Duke and he did a double-take.

"This isn't about the letters, is it?" he said.

"No," Athos replied, leaning forward and wrapping his hands over Aramis's to help staunch the bleeding.

"Athos says we can't kill 'im," Porthos grumbled.

D'Artagnan's brows shot upward. "Well, I suppose not. But what do we do with him?"

"See if you can find the key for these shackles on him," Athos instructed.

D'Artagnan moved to do as told, coming back a moment later with the key. "Aramis?" he asked worriedly as he set to unlocking the manacles.

"'M here," Aramis replied weakly.

"Put them on the Duke," Athos said, indicating the shackles.

D'Artagnan carried them over to secure Victor, then returned and crouched down to cut Athos's ropes.

"We need to tend to these wounds before anything," Athos said. "He's already lost a fair amount of blood."

D'Artagnan jumped to his feet again and darted out of the building. He came back with one of their saddle bags and quickly started pulling out linen for bandages. Athos wanted to ask how they'd found him and Aramis, how they knew the other mercenary group was a decoy, but those questions could wait for later.

"Isn't this going to need sewing?" d'Artagnan asked nervously. "And his shoulder…" The lad cut off, expression grimacing at the mangled puncture wound.

"We'll stop the bleeding for now," Athos said. "There's a village not far from here that should have a physician." He nodded to Porthos to hold Aramis up so they could bind his chest.

Porthos caught sight of the slash across his back and shared a pointed look with Athos, who didn't respond. Aramis, also, was quiet throughout the process, barely making a sound aside from the occasional muffled groan or inhalation. Athos tried to catch his eye to discern what he might be thinking, but Aramis had gone distant in a way that reminded Athos of five years ago.

He looked over at the unconscious Duke. They could not kill him, which meant they had to let him go, but doing so did not neutralize the threat the man posed to them, especially Aramis. If Victor was bent on vengeance, he could hire any number of mercenaries to try again. Athos had to find a way to protect his brother while upholding political relations on their end.

"D'Artagnan, the village isn't far. Ride there and alert the physician we'll be needing his services soon, but then return with paper, ink, and wax."

D'Artagnan quirked a confused look at him but nevertheless left to do as told.

"You 'ave a plan?" Porthos asked.

"Yes."

The other man simply nodded and turned his attention to their wounded brother. "Aramis? Hey, how you doin'? Yer awfully quiet and you know how nervous that makes me."

"Sorry," came the muted apology. "I'm tired."

Porthos's eyes crinkled with worry at that, but he shifted so Aramis could recline sideways against his chest, mindful of his wounds. "That's all right."

"Get some rest while we wait for d'Artagnan," Athos added.

Aramis didn't argue and lolled his head away, closing his eyes. Athos and Porthos shared a concerned look, but seeing as there was nothing they could do at the moment, they simply sat in silence beside their brother, steadfast in their presence. Athos reached for the discarded rosary and crucifix and tucked them safely in his doublet.

When d'Artagnan returned with the items, Athos gently nudged Aramis awake and helped Porthos get him on his feet, knowing he wouldn't want to appear beaten in front of the Duke. Athos then took the water skin from earlier and dumped it over the unconscious man. Victor instantly came awake with a sputter, jerking to the side until he felt the weight of the shackles on his wrists. Then his expression turned puce with murder as he glared up at them.

Athos stood over him for a prolonged moment before speaking. "We will let you go," he began.

Porthos made a small noise of complaint.

"You will write a signed confession," Athos went on. "Of your acts here today and of the attack you led on the musketeer troop five years ago."

Victor snorted and shook his head. "I will do no such thing."

"Then I will let Porthos shoot you and we will burn your body so it will never be identified."

"You wouldn't dare."

"We will not turn in your confession," Athos continued. "It will be kept in a secure place and never brought to light." He paused, bending down to look the Duke in the eye. "But if anything happens to me or Aramis, if you come after him again, I will make provisions so that confession is hand delivered directly to the King."

Victor studied him for a long moment, probably trying to work out all the angles. But the one that let them all walk out of here was the best any of them were going to get.

"Very well," he finally said grudgingly.

Athos nodded to d'Artagnan, who brought over the paper and ink and set them on one of the rusty counters. Victor slowly got to his feet and went over to pen the words that would secure their protection in the future. Aramis watched, face remaining impassive.

When the Duke was finished, Athos read it over and then gave a clipped nod. They melted some wax and Victor sealed it with his signet ring. Athos then snatched it away and slipped it into his coat. Forfeiting the rest of the ink and wax, he gestured to d'Artagnan to collect Aramis's coat and shirt. Porthos kept a bracing shoulder against Aramis as they made their way out while Athos grabbed the Duke and propelled him after them. The seven bodies of the mercenaries were sprawled across the ground, Porthos's and d'Artagnan's horses near the tree line.

"Should we ever see you at Court again, we will never speak of this," Athos said, finally releasing Victor and stepping away.

"Forgetting something?" the man said darkly, lifting his manacled wrists.

Athos's mouth curved upward a fraction. He held up the key, turned, and threw it with all his might into the field.

The Duke spun toward him, nostrils flaring with rage.

"To give us a head start," Athos said. "So you can't go back on your word."

With that, he followed his brothers to the horses and swung up behind d'Artagnan. Then they turned and rode away from the Duke of Savoy.

"Do you think he'll follow us to the village?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He would be stupid to try," Athos replied. This entire plot had been executed in secret. If the Duke were to be identified and the King alerted that Victor had come to France without leave, there would be trouble.

They made it to the village where the physician was waiting at the inn. Most of Aramis's bandages had bled through, particularly the stab wounds in his shoulder and leg, but everything required stitching, a long and arduous process that had left both doctor and patient utterly spent by the end of it.

Aramis was now tucked in bed, lying on his side to put the least amount of pressure on his various wounds, his entire torso swathed in bandages. He was pale from blood loss and the ordeal, but his breathing was even.

The others were sitting around the table, Porthos and d'Artagnan having brought up food and wine.

"You should eat somethin'," Porthos said.

"Not right now," Aramis replied quietly. He'd been subdued ever since leaving that wretched place. Athos couldn't blame him. He now had a moment to think on things himself.

After Marsac had been killed, Aramis had stopped pursuing the issue about the massacre at Savoy. Athos thought he'd decided to let it go, lay those old ghosts to rest with Marsac. But what if he'd discovered the truth? Obviously, he'd gone back to being on good terms with the captain, and it was precisely that which had made it so easy for Athos to move on as well and dismiss the entire incident as the ravings of a coward and a deserter.

But now he wanted—needed—to know.

"Aramis, what did you discover about Treville's role in the massacre?"

Everyone stilled, Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanging uncertain looks.

Aramis didn't answer for a long moment, but the silence was heavy with meaning. "Why does it matter now?" he finally said.

"It always mattered," Athos admitted. "I just didn't want to dig too deep. But the Duke of Savoy attacked those musketeers because he thought they were there to assassinate him."

"That's a bunch o' lies!" Porthos exclaimed.

"Lies apparently started by the Cardinal," Athos said. "So the Duke would be away confronting the perceived threat and Cluzet alone to be captured."

D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply. "Wait, you're saying the two are connected?"

Athos studied Aramis for a long moment. The marksman wasn't looking at them, but the dulled expression and lack of response spoke volumes on their own. "Is that what Treville told you?"

Still nothing.

"You stopped asking questions after Marsac died," Athos pointed out. "Is that because it was over or because you found your answers?"

"We're soldiers," Aramis finally said. "We follow orders, no matter where they lead us. Just leave it at that."

"Did Treville know?"

Aramis closed his eyes. "Afterward."

Athos felt the sting of truth. They had all been right, and they had all been wrong. Treville did betray the musketeers' location, but not as an act of betrayal.

"Why didn' you tell us?" Porthos asked.

"It was a state secret," Aramis replied.

"And we didn't ask," Athos added, the weight of guilt an equally heavy burden. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "We shouldn't have let it go. I'm sorry."

"You trusted Treville. I understand your loyalty to him."

"Our loyalty was to you as well. At least it should have been." Athos realized that now, that it wasn't a question of defending Treville against Marsac's accusations; it was supporting their brother as he wrestled with the truth of what had befallen him and his fellow musketeers in the forest that night. "You know how much we wish you weren't haunted by Savoy. Digging up the past, it opens all those old wounds."

"They are my wounds, and they have never fully healed," Aramis countered.

"I know." And now he had new ones to add to the scars. "Will you forgive us?"

Aramis exhaled softly. "Of course."

Athos hadn't really believed his brother would have held it against them; Aramis was always willing to forgive, but the absolution was a relief nonetheless.

"You understand why we couldn't kill the Duke," Athos went on. "Why we can't get justice for you and those other musketeers."

"Yes. They died in service to their country. That is all we require."

The truth, which Athos had always adhered to, rang hollowly this time. "Perhaps," he said, "but you deserve more." He took the rosary and crucifix from his coat and placed them in Aramis's hand, folding his friend's fingers over them. "And I will swear this to you—if the Duke does not abide by our arrangement and comes after you again, I will see him die by my hand."

"Not unless I get there first," Porthos said.

"Save some for me," d'Artagnan chimed in.

Aramis's mouth quirked slightly. After another moment, he started to push himself upright, wincing at the movement. "Maybe I'll try to eat something."

Athos poured him a cup of wine while Porthos set some bread and cheese on a plate and handed it to him.

They couldn't get Aramis justice, but they could stand by him.

Athos silently swore not to fail in that ever again.