A/N: this was written a while ago and posted on AO3. I just kind of forgot about posting it here, but here it is now and I hope you enjoy


A wren is a bird that cannot be caged

He cannot help but snort at Ninon's words.

"Can't it?" he asks her. "Can't it be caged by flowers and tricks and pretty lies?" All of his friends, including Athos, turn to stare at him, but he only narrows his eyes and shakes his head.

"Why would you ask such a thing?" Ninon asks, her gaze sharp and curious. D'Artagnan both wants to answer her and doesn't. So he merely rubs at his wrist - it's always been covered, and Ninon's eyes light up.

"Is your mark a wren in a cage, little Gascon? How fascinating - perhaps a free spirit trapped in life they do not want-." The other women look at him curiously as Ninon rambles on. And one of them - one of them is her, with the flowers and the pretty lies. Athos hasn't seen her yet, but d'Artagnan knows it is the same one who trapped him in that cage. The three Musketeers are watching him closely. He can't give away that he's seen her.

"I rather think that is my own business, Madame, and you are being rude. " Ninon, surprisingly considering her reputation, backs off and has the grace to look sheepish.

"I shall give you a tour of my home, Monsieur Athos, if it will assuage your suspicions." She placates eventually. D'Artagnan watches out of the corner of his eye as the woman who framed him for murder leaves hurriedly. Perhaps she has guessed, and he will find his throat slit tonight.

Athos notices his jumpiness when he returns from Ninon's home.

"Something troubling you, d'Artagnan."

"You remember I mentioned on that first night I met a woman?"

"Yes, I remember." Athos concedes, and he sounds oddly bereaved. "Is she your wren?" d'Artagnan stares at him as if he has gone mad.

"She is the flower which has trapped my wren from the day he first laid eyes on her. Such pretty little flowers too." He plucks at his meal, suddenly all his appetite has left him. "First they crept up slowly, and they looked so beautiful, but they wrapped around the little wren, tighter and tighter, until they were a noose around his neck."

"You sound so sure that your wren is a man." Athos points out. "Why is that?"

"I wouldn't have figured it out at all, if it weren't for the forget-me-nots she left behind. I remembered that in the portrait, she was holding some. Oh, if only I'd seen her face then, we could have saved ourselves so much trouble."

"You're saying that-"

"It's you, Athos, it's always been you." He stretches his wrist out, and Athos undoes the ties on the bracelet. It falls away to reveal a wren, but now it is tearing down the walls of forget-me-knots. He couldn't help himself - he reached forward and kisses d'Artagnan full on the lips. The younger man makes a noise of surprise that is soon replaced by an appreciative groan. He still pullsaway, though he is grinning.

"We are in public." He hisses under his breath. "And we are going to have to deal with what to do about your murderous wife who is going to frame Ninon for witchcraft, most likely."

"That can wait," Athos argues, although they both know it cannot, if an innocent woman's life is to be spared. For a moment, though, they revel in the fact that they have found each other at last.

D'Artagnan later finds out (once all the messes involving Milady and the Cardinal are straightened out) that the Mark which Athos bears is a horse, galloping across his chest. Fitting, considering the way he had stampeded into his life, he comments, and d'Artagnan laughs as he traces the outline of the horses' head, marvelling at the way the creature seems to curl possessively around the man's heart. He and it are in agreement, then. Athos should be protected at all costs. D'Artagnan's Mark is no longer held down by ropes of forget-me-nots, and has moved to settle over the scar left by Athos' bullet, covering it from view.

His wren will never be caged again, not if he can help it.