D'Artagnan thought his jaw would break with the effort of smiling politely as the King led the applause for the Cardinal for his part in uncovering Mellendorf's plot. As they withdrew he was so busy fuming at the idea that the very man who had orchestrated the attempt on the Queen's life should be hailed as her deliverer that at first he did not realise that Athos had remained behind.
"What's he thinkin'?" Porthos scowled, from the small ante-chamber where they could just hear his smooth tones conversing with Richelieu but not what was actually being said. "It's too early to be showin' our hand."
"You know Athos," Aramis sighed. "His honour is involved. He's going to take this very personally."
"But Milady's attack on the Queen wasn't anything to do with her relationship with Athos." d'Artagnan protested. "Or any of her crimes, he thought she was dead. He can't be held responsible for her actions."
He had been rather hoping that once they had made their report to Treville, the Captain would deploy some other company of Musketeers to pursue Milady on behalf of the Crown. And if he felt too close to her to be the one to see her bring her to justice, to be the cause of a placing a noose around that same neck that he had kissed and caressed, how much worse must that be for Athos?
"Athos ain't gonna see it like that," Porthos shook his head. "He blames himself for making her what she's become. He'll want to see this through to the end." He shot a meaningful look at Aramis. "He's gonna need careful watching."
"I know," Aramis ran a hand through his hair. Athos had not been able to stay and see his wife's execution through the last time. Five years of torturing himself over her death would not make it any easier. "You two go along. I'll wait for him."
"Don't be too far behind us," Porthos warned. "Treville's gonna want answers."
"Do we have to tell him everything?" d'Artagnan worried at his lip.
"Treville is apparently rather well acquainted with the power of Milady's allure," Aramis revealed. "He may be more understanding that you think."
"He will?" d'Artagnan blinked.
"He what?" Porthos frowned.
"Something Athos said last night. It would seem that the good Captain was a guest at Athos' wedding," Aramis surprised them. "He can hardly rebuke you for succumbing to her charms without condemning Athos also. It's more likely that he blames himself for not looking a little closer into her background and averting the devastation that she wrought on his life."
"Aw hell," Porthos' face twisted with sympathy. They all knew Treville had a particularly soft spot for Athos. More than likely he would have swallowed any possible objections at the unsuitability of the marriage in the simple hope that she would make him happy. "S'a right mess, is what it is."
"Maybe we should all stay?" d'Artagnan suggested.
"S'nice thought, but until your poker face improves, probably best to keep you as far from the Cardinal as possible," Porthos said kindly. "Wear your heart on your sleeve, you do."
D'Aratgnan opened his mouth to protest, but Porthos seized him by the shoulders and propelled him forwards. He knew d'Artagnan meant well but Athos would need someone to ground him before he was able to deal with the boy's worries. Aramis took it as a small victory that when he emerged Athos did not seem remotely surprised to see him waiting for him, leaning up against the wall as casually as if he was loitering in the market.
"Was that wise?" Aramis asked mildly, looking up from where he was cleaning his fingernails with his knife. "Baiting the Cardinal like that?"
"Probably not," Athos responded calmly. Then his lips quirked with a hint of that devilish nature that Aramis so loved in him. "But it was quite satisfying."
"Athos." Aramis rolled his eyes.
"And it will do no harm for his Eminence to understand that we suspect his connection to the plot," Athos continued more seriously. "It will no doubt make him all the more willing to offer up Anne if he thinks it will save him."
"Or," Aramis pushed off the wall and fell into step beside him as they made their way down the corridor. "He might just seek another solution to the problem, one that ends in your death."
"As I recall you and Porthos with d'Artagnan's more than able assistance were quite adept at foiling his plot last time," Athos allowed fondly. "I have no doubt you will do so again if the need arises."
Athos suddenly stopped, all colour draining from his face as he started fixedly at something just beyond Aramis' shoulder. The sharpshooter spun around on his heel, instinctively drawing his pistol and placing himself between Athos and what it was had shaken him so badly. He caught a flash of blue skirt and a flick of auburn hair out of the corner of his eye and then she was gone. Swearing softly Aramis turned back to Athos, who looked right through him as if he wasn't there, his breath coming in harsh gasps. Pressing a hand against his chest Aramis was alarmed at how fast Athos' heart was racing.
"Athos, look at me," He commanded, placing Athos' hand against his own chest. "Breathe with me."
Athos blinked, as Aramis' hand squeezed his own, perhaps a little too tightly, coming back to himself sufficiently to feel the warm thrum of his friend's heart under his hand. Even so, it took longer than Aramis would have liked before Athos managed to return his breathing to normal, bringing his other hand up patting Aramis' shoulder absently, signalling that he was himself again.
"Are you back with me now?" Aramis ventured, cupping the back of his neck and squeezing gently, as he searched Athos' expression.
"It would seem so," Athos managed, sagging slightly against the wall, feeling as spent as if he had battled a dozen opponents. "My apologies, I was taken .. somewhat unawares."
"It is quite understandable, none of us would have anticipated that she would be so brazen," Aramis sighed, drawing Athos' head down onto his shoulder, feeling his body sag weakly with relief. He wondered if Athos knew how close he had come to stopping his heart stone dead, deliberately trying not to think about that he ran his hand through Athos' hair. "I don't suppose it would do me the least bit of good to suggest that a short period of leave might be in order? We're all had a hard time of things of late, the boy especially. We could all use a chance to catch our breath."
"I am neither wounded nor incapable of performing my duties," Athos huffed as he forced himself to straighten up. "And using d'Artagnan, who is perhaps the most resilient of us all, to try and influence my behaviour is beneath you."
"Not if it had worked," Aramis shrugged lightly, before his tone turned more serious. "Have you considered what you will tell Treville?
"I think," Athos sighed heavily, resigning himself to the fact of the matter. "That only the truth will suffice."
Treville listened calmly to their report, asking only occasional questions. If Athos faltered, Aramis or Porthos seamlessly took up the tale. Displaying a maturity beyond his years d'Artagnan held his peace unless he was directly addressed. Aramis rather suspected that Porthos had had a hand in that, counselling the lad not to borrow trouble. From Treville's expression he was already in quite enough of that.
"You're telling me," The Captain lent back in his chair as he pinned d'Artagnan with a look. "You knew this woman was a murderer and an assassin, and yet you still accepted her patronage, leaving you beholden to her, rather than rely on the willing assistance of your friends."
Aramis winced. He hadn't thought about that part.
D'Artagnan knew the rebuke was no more than he deserved. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Athos step forward to defend him, only to be restrained by Porthos' hand on his arm as he spoke quietly in his ear. Athos frowned slightly but then he stilled and gave d'Artagnan a small nod, allowing him to speak for himself.
Buoyed by his mentor's faith in him, d'Artagnan stood a little straighter in the face of Treville's ire.
"At first, I was flattered by her attentions and too willing to forgive the actions of a woman where I would have judged a man," He made a rueful face but he knew it had to be said. "And, I was only too glad to accept whatever patronage she offered. By then my heart already belonged to Constance. But it seemed like Milady took pleasure in leaving me little gifts and tokens and I figured if she could afford it .. I was afraid that I would lose the respect of my friends if I had to rely too heavily upon their charity."
He saw Athos stiffen and Aramis' jaw drop open, even Treville sat forward, his fingers steeping together and his eye brows coming together as he realised where this was going.
"Now tell 'em the rest of it."
D'Artagnan looked across at Porthos but saw only encouragement. The man's steady support made him feel ashamed of his youthful pride.
"Even before LaBarge, the farm was doing badly. One of the reasons my father had come to Paris to complain about the taxes was because we were struggling to make ends meet. Father refused to let the workers and their families go hungry so he used what savings we had to pay their wages."
"I thought you said you received an income each month from the farm." Aramis protested.
"I did," D'Artagnan felt himself blush. "What I didn't tell you all was that it was a mere pittance. Not nearly enough to meet my expenses in Paris."
"But you always had money in your purse." Athos frowned.
"I sold things," d'Artagnan admitted. "My father's horse and tack fetched enough for me to get by for a while. Since I was using my father's sword I got a decent price for my own. "
"An' when things got proper difficult?" Porthos pressed.
"I sold my father's pocket watch. It had been my Grandfather's. But it was either that or the take food out of our farmhands mouths. I hoped that by becoming a Musketeer I could earn enough to keep the farm running, even if it was at a loss."
"An act which I am sure your father would have approved of," Athos unexpectedly spoke up, his tone soft with pride. When d'Artagnan looked at him, his eyes wide and vulnerable, Athos reached out to touch him lightly on the shoulder. "And no loving father would begrudge you the chance to employ any means possible to follow your dreams."
Treville's snort of disgust seemed entirely out of place with the tender sentiment. But Athos merely rolled his eyes at him.
"I believe I did say "loving" therefore my own father hardly qualifies." Athos shrugged.
"You're quite certain that it was Anne who engaged Gallagher?" Treville got back to the business in hand ignoring the shocked looked which passed between Aramis and Porthos at Athos' rare mention of his father.
"Under orders from the Cardinal," Athos inclined his head. "Yes."
"Then we need to think carefully about how we approach this," Treville mused. "Richelieu clearly believes that he was acting in the best interests of France. But we'll need more than your word against his to influence the King."
"Perhaps it ain't the King we need to influence." Porthos spoke up. "It was Her Majesty that Gallagher targeted after all."
"That could actually work," Aramis approved. "The only person who has more influence over Louis than the Cardinal, or your good-self Captain, is the Queen. I am sure we could persuade her to look sympathetically on our endeavours."
"Louis is it now?" Porthos murmured.
"I still stay that It would be better and safer for all if I do as I always intended and return to le Fere," Athos insisted. "Anne won't be able to resist following me there, I can finish what I started and that will be an end to it."
"You really think you could kill the mother of your child?" Porthos looked distressed.
"Athos, there has to be a better way," Aramis said gently. "Is it so hard to let those who love you share your burden?"
"I ..," Athos faltered. "I would never wish that others, especially those I care for, would suffer for my sake."
"And we do not suffer when you are hurting?" Treville demanded. "God's teeth, Athos, I have spent the five years trying to make amends for not being there when you needed me most. Do not ask me to do that again."
Athos looked visibly shocked at the heartfelt admission.
"Your first duty was to King and Country. I understood that."
"I know you did," Treville rubbed a hand over his face. "That was what made it so damned hard. You deserved to have one person in your life who put your needs first. I had promised to be that person and yet I failed you."
It has started slowly. Treville had got into the habit as his duties allowed of passing by the Academie. In the warm summer months the pupils could often be found practising their sword work on the adjacent open ground. He would often find Athos sparring with one of the older pupils or tutoring the younger ones. At the sight of him, Athos would always give such a joyous smile as he ran over that Treville had begun to wonder if anyone else ever came to visit with him. He started to fill his pockets full of sweetmeats, or hot apple pastries, that they would share, blowing on their fingers and burning their tongues, talking of everything and nothing as Athos soaked up tale after tale of a soldier's life.
"When I grow up I am going to be the best swordsman in the whole of France," Athos vowed one day, lying on his back, his mouth coated with powered sugar. "See if I'm not."
"And when you are it will be my honour to have you serve under my command." Treville responded from the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him and tipping his head back, as he enjoyed the heat of the sun.
"Really?" Athos rolled onto his side, propping himself up onto his elbow, to regard Treville for the first time with a hint of distrust. "You really think we will still know each other when I'm grown?"
Trevile decided to simply go with his instincts.
"I am not in the habit of abandoning my friends," He made both words and tone a reprimand. "And I would expect someone who aspires to be a soldier to understand the value of loyalty."
"I do," Athos looked at him with eyes far older than his years. "But those that show loyalty to me often find themselves displaced or demoted and I can hardly blame them for choosing the need to feed their own families over our friendship."
Treville felt a surge of fury. No wonder this lad found it so difficult to value himself when others were so swift, for whatever reason, to cut all ties and turn their back on him.
"Then hear me, Olivier d'Athos, de la Fere," Treville reached out and cupped a hand under the boy's chin, so that he had no choice but to see the sincerity in his gaze. "No matter what, I am and I always will be your friend."
"What if I did something bad?" Athos challenged. "You are a man of honour. You would have no choice but to wash your hands of me."
"Oh Athos," Treville moved his hand to cup the youngster's face. "Love doesn't work like that lad."
Treville had considered the boy's wobbly smile and the way he had moved his own hand to cover Treville's sufficient to settle the matter. So, when he returned to the Academie's training ground a few days later to find Athos nowhere in sight he felt a spurt of fear. If his father had removed him from the school how would he ever keep his word?
"Excuse me, monsieur," He stopped one of the instructor's. "Where is de la Fere?"
"Confined to his room and rightly so," The instructor's expression darkened. "Even the son of one of the most ancient houses in France must bear the consequences of poor decisions. The Academie does not condone fighting between its pupils."
Treville pressed his lips together. He would bet his own commission that whatever had happened Athos had not started it. He had no right or connection which would allow him access to the boy's room. But nor could he bear the thought of him languishing all alone. And he was not one of the best soldiers in his regiment for nothing. Moving stealthily it took him less than ten minutes to find his way and ease quietly into Athos' small bedchamber.
Apart from a small pile of books, some kind of papier mache dragon obviously made by childish hands and clumsily painted a livid green, (the younger brother, Treville supposed), and a lovingly embroidered tapestry, (a memento of his late mother?) there was almost nothing at all that reflected the youngster's personality in the Spartan quarters. Treville felt a pang of sympathy for the rootless child, and that was before he took in the shivering form in the bed.
"Athos."
Treville was at his side in an instant, perching on the edge of the narrow bed and placing a cool hand on the fevered brow. Athos' moaned quietly in response as he arched in response at that soothing, gentle, touch. Gently easing back the blankets looking for the source of his distress, Trevillle could see the bruises standing out starkly on the pale cream of his skin. Worse still, there was a shallow but untreated cut across his stomach oozing yellow pus, bringing with it the danger of infection and life taking fever. Surging to his feet he stuck his head out of the door and instructed a passing pupil to fetch the physician with such a tone of command that the boy took off at a run.
"Treville?" Athos blinked uncertainly up at him as he returned to his bedside.
"Did I not tell you to send word to me if you needed anything?" Treville chided gently. His hand indicated the myriad of bruises and the infected wound. "This would qualify."
"My apologies." Athos managed. "I did not want to bother you with such a trifle."
Treville could not, would not, let that stand.
"You and your welfare are no trifle," He vowed. "Do you truly not know how important you are in my life?"
From the boy's startled wide eyed gaze it would seem that he did not. Treville was almost glad for the boy's infirmity, for his weakness and fever prompted a liberty that he might otherwise have hesitated to take with the Vicomte de le Fere, but which young Athos clearly sorely needed. Smiling fondly he dropped a soft kiss on his brow.
"Rest," He commanded gently.
Athos looked up at him in wonder, his own defences eroded by the lonely trials of his sickbed, his eyes filling with tears at being the recipient of such gentle affection, from a man he so respected and admired.
"I wish you were my father."
Treville reached out and took hold of his hand, lacing his tanned, calloused, fingers with the boy's thin, pale, ones, atop of the blankets and squeezed tightly.
"Go to sleep. I will be here when you wake up. I will always be here, for you, Athos, no matter what."
"Whatever happens, Athos, you're not going to face this alone," Treville vowed quietly. "Not so long as there is breath in my body."
"All for one," Aramis raised a brow. "Sound at all familiar?"
"What he said." Porthos agreed.
"You would do the same for us," d'Artagnan reminded him, cheerfully.
"Do any of you even have a plan?" Athos raised a brow.
"I do," D'Artagnan said eagerly. "I could lure Milady into a trap. Once she realises the game is up she will throw herself on our mercy and confess all, implicating the Cardinal in the hope of receiving clemency for her actions in his name."
"And when instead she decides to dispose of you by gutting you like a fish before we can so much get within a sword's length or let off a single shot?" Porthos remarked. "I mean, what with her being a skilled assassin and not one of 'em swooning maidens out of one of Aramis' romance novels?"
"Oh," d'Artagnan's face fell. "I suppose I hadn't really thought that part through."
"Any plan we devise will need Anne to believe that it is she that has the upper hand," Athos pointed out. "Nothing else will suffice."
"This isn't something to be rushed into," Treville declared. "The Cardinal and Milady will most likely lie low for now and see if their actions have attracted any unwanted attention. When we spring our trap it needs to be when our prey least expects it."
He stood up and retrieved a bundle of documents form his cabinet.
"In the meantime, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea for the four of you to get out of Paris for a while." He eyed the four men in front of his desk. "I was going to give this to Renard and his men. The documents simply need to be delivered. Take your time. I don't want to see you back here for a fortnight. Understood?"
When they finally returned on the seventeenth day, just as Treville was considering sending out a search party, it was clear something had gone disastrously wrong. Normally straight shoulders were slumped, eyes generally sharp with intelligence and wit were dulled and red rimmed with tiredness. Their clothes were stiff with wear and the tang of old sweat and dried blood hung in the air. Most concerning of all, each of them sported some visible injury and the four of them were split between three horses, d'Artagnan riding in front of Athos, his own mount conspicuous by its absence.
"The documents were delivered without incident," Athos advised him as he slid to the ground. "But we ran into a little trouble on the way back."
"So, I see," Treville said with true understatement. "Come upstairs."
In his office Porthos leant against the window, resting one hand against the frame, as if without its support he could no longer bear his own weight, his left eye swollen shut. Aramis stood against the wall, his usually suave complexion a stark white contrast to the bloody bandage tied around his head. Next to him, by the door, Athos somehow maintained a degree of his usual bearing, leaning just one shoulder against the wooden frame, although his face was marred with a dark bruise and his expression was impossibly weary. Knowing exactly what it would have taken to subdue these men Treville every inch his age as he settled behind his desk.
And then there was d'Artagnan.
The young Gascon looked utterly spent. Drops of sweat stood out on stark relief against his pale, clammy skin at the effort of climbing a single flight of stairs which he usually bounded up two at a time. Treville had not missed the concerned looks which had passed between the others behind his back. Nor that a young man's with d'Artagnan's fierce pride had not mustered even a token protest as Athos had politely requested, against usual protocols, that the Gascon might be allowed a chair for the debriefing. Now he sat slumped over, the bandage on his wounded arm spotted with blood, despite Aramis' needlework, his head hanging down, his usually lively eyes dark and brittle.
"What can you tell me about the men who attacked you?"
"They're all dead." Porthos said darkly.
"It was an ambush," Athos answered. "They fell upon us just as dusk was falling, clearly hoping that our reactions would be slowed by a long day in the saddle. We were greatly outnumbered. We managed to fight them off, but as you see not without sustaining a number of injuries."
Treville looked at Aramis for clarification.
"Porthos took a sword pommel to the eye. The bruise will be quite spectacular but the eye itself is undamaged. It should be fine as soon as the swelling goes down. I managed to relieve my opponent of his sword, but he proved rather handy with a horse whip and caught me on the temple before I could disarm him."
"It bled like fury, being a head wound and all," Porthos put in. "But Athos did a right nice job of stitching it up for all Aramis pouted about him cutting off some of his hair."
"It'll grow back extra curly," Aramis protested. "Just see if it doesn't."
"What happened to you?" Treville looked at Athos.
"My horse lost its footing. I was thrown a small distance which caused the bruising you see but I have suffering no lasting effects."
"And d'Artagnan?"
"More worried about the fact that they sliced right through his pauldron than the seven stitches in his arm," Aramis swiftly spoke up, before the Gascon could respond. "Nothing that won't mend in time though."
"Do you think these men who attacked you had any connection with the plot against the Queen?" Treville asked.
"It's not impossible," Athos allowed. "When we searched their bodies they had nothing on them which might have served to identify them. And their clothes were ill-fitting and clearly not their own. It would be a most convenient ruse to remove any threat we might represent."
"Or we are being overly paranoid and they were just cautious types who stripped their victims of more than just their valuables," Aramis shrugged. "Their accents were local to the region."
"People don't always need a reason not to like us," Porthos agreed.
"I am going to authorise medical leave for all four of you," Treville was already reaching for paper and pen. "And I don't want to hear a word of complaint about it. You all need time to recuperate."
"I know a charming young barmaid who would be just the balm my wounds require." Aramis raised a weary smile. "She also serves the best roast goose you will ever taste."
"Wound," Porthos corrected, from his perch by the window, tipping his head on one side at Aramis' forehead when the other man frowned at him. "It was just the one wound. No need to be getting all melodramatic about it."
"As you said yourself, head wounds bleed a great deal, I was quite overcome with weakness. I need to build up my strength."
"Me, I plan to play a few card games, drink enough to put Athos to shame, and then sleep for the rest of the week," Porthos looked at Athos. "How about you?"
"D'Artagnan will need a new horse," Athos allowed. "I have already sent word to Philippe."
"You can't be thinkin' of going all the way to Beauvais." Porthos protested. "You need to be restin'."
"Or at least, permit us to accompany you," Aramis put in. "You need to be careful. Another fall coming too quickly on that last and you could quite addle those fine wits of yours."
Treville narrowed his eyes. His primary focus had been on d'Artagnan. The young man had seemed the most visibly afflicted by their recent trials. Treville had imagined it could be explained away by a farm boy's grief at the loss of his horse. But the note of strain underlying Porthos' words and Aramis clear concern now caught his attention.
"Tell me again how you came to fall from your horse?" He asked Athos deceptively mildly.
There was not a flicker of reaction on Athos' face. Nor did he expect to see it. But the way Aramis sagged slightly further down the wall, as if in resignation and Porthos looked as if he wanted to bite out his tongue was telling.
Across the room d'Artagnan visibly flinched.
"It was an accident," Treville could not help but notice that Athos was looking at d'Artagnan rather than him as he spoke, although, the younger man did not even seem to notice. "One of the attackers was able to get off a lucky shot. My horse was taken out from under me. But I assure you the fall was not serious."
"Aramis?" Treville looked at the other man for his assessment.
"It was a heavy fall," Aramis shot a slightly apologetic look at Athos as he sought to explain Porthos' worry. "He was insensible for a short time. But as you see he is now quite himself again."
In general Treville was proud of the way these men would watch each other's backs. But it was infuriating in the extreme when they chose to close ranks against him. He knew that if he made it a direct order they would tell him exactly what he wanted to know. Porthos was already looking increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny and d'Artagnan looked as if he was about to face his own execution.
"Captain, if there is nothing further?" Athos interrupted his thoughts.
Treville met the gaze of his second in command and saw the silent request there to let this go.
"Very well, you're dismissed, gentlemen, enjoy your leave and try to stay out of trouble," Treville ignored the collective sigh of relief as the men began to trail from the room. "Athos, a moment of your time, please?"
"D'Artagnan blames himself for my fall," Athos admitted, as soon as they were alone. He saw no reason to dance around what Treville had clearly already worked out. "I'll take care of it."
"Handle it as you see fit," Treville nodded his assent. He trusted Athos' judgement, especially where the headstrong young Gascon was concerned. He gave his second in command a level look. "I was merely going to ask if you were alright?"
"I believe I am doing quite well in the circumstances," Athos nodded. "Aramis and Porthos have been a great support to me and I find I am quite looking forward to introducing d'Artagnan to Philippe."
"He's going to have questions," Treville warned.
"I know," Athos hesitated. "I shall do my best to answer them."
Treville smiled, letting his pride shine through. Athos had never been short on courage. Even when he had had every reason to turn his back in the world he had still be willing to love and let himself be loved. He waited until Athos had turned to leave before asking.
"Is d'Artagnan right to blame himself for your fall?"
Athos did not turn around. But nor did he pretend not to know what Treville was referring to. D'Artagnan had made a serious mistake. But it had been an error of youth and inexperience rather than one of deliberate negligence. And the dire consequences of his actions had already weighed far more heavily on the young Gascon's shoulder than any punishment Treville could administer.
"No," Athos responded. "At least, not as much as he does."