Author's note: Sorry, guys! I was sick the last couple of weeks - not the Big Bad One, just regular sick. To make up for it, I'm posting two chapters one immediately after the other. Enjoy.

Chapter Twelve

Aramis kept himself asleep for as long as he could. He didn't remember exactly what had happened, but he knew that pain and unpleasantness waited when he woke up, and he was eager to put it off for as long as he could.

Eventually his body rebelled, and thirst drove him awake. He blinked at a low, rocky ceiling, trying to figure out where he was.

Someone murmured nearby, and Athos' face intruded in front of the ceiling. "Are you awake?"

Aramis reached for his arm and swung into a seated position. At least, that was the plan. The moment he moved, a wave of pain crashed over him, burying him, almost sweeping him back into unconsciousness.

Athos was holding his shoulders when he began to be aware of things outside his body again. "Ath—" God, even breathing was unbearable.

"I have willow tea heating. Only bear it for a few moments longer," Athos murmured. "Can you tell if anywhere hurts more than the rest?"

Aramis couldn't spare the attention to glare at him, but the wave was starting to ebb away. He let himself float on it, trying to feel each part of himself and judge the pain.

"Side," he said finally. "Shoulders. What…"

"You were effectively crucified," Athos said bluntly, letting him sip slowly from a waterskin. "You were unconscious when I found you, and you had been in their hands most of two days by then. Do you remember anything?"

Aramis poked at the memories and very quickly decided he didn't want them. "Flashes. Why…"

Athos shook his head. "Details later. How are your wrists?"

Sore, now that he thought about it, but not as badly as the rest of him. He pulled a face, knowing Athos would understand his meaning.

"That's good. When the tea has started to work I'll wash them again." He turned as another figure came up behind him.

Aramis squinted. That wasn't Porthos, too slim, nor d'Artagnan, too short and too blond. Torchlight fell across his features, but it didn't help; he wasn't a cadet, that was as far as he could get.

Athos looked back at him, following his gaze. "It's Espoir," he said. "He's d'Artagnan's cousin. He became entangled in our rescue mission."

"Oh." He remembered, now, but he'd only seen the man in passing in the garrison courtyard. "Thank—" He had to stop to breathe, groaning as his sides protested.

Espoir seemed to get the gist anyway, nodding. "Do you need help?" he asked Athos. "Sitting him up?"

Athos turned back to study Aramis. "We'd better, I think. It will hurt," he said directly to Aramis.

Aramis took a couple of breaths, as deeply as he could, and nodded. "Go."

They were as careful as they could be, but he still whited out at the burning pain. He came around slumped against Athos' chest, head resting on his shoulder, trying to breathe. They'd taken off everything but his undershirt and braes, he realised dimly, and almost wept in gratitude. The weight of his jerkin might have broken him.

Something occurred to him and he tried to push back. Athos settled him carefully against a rock wall, padded with his own clothes. "What is it?"

"Porthos?" He was rarely far away when Aramis was injured.

"On watch. Grimaud has not given up the search, but as long as Porthos is out there we are safe."

"Grimaud…" Achingly slowly, he lifted one hand to Athos' arm, trying to grip it. His fingers wouldn't close. "You."

"I?"

"Wants you."

Athos helped him take the willow tea and a couple of bites of cheese. "He took you."

"Easy. Wants you. All for you." Even those few words wore him out.

"Do you know why?"

Aramis tilted his gaze to one side to signal no.

"I do."

He jerked at the new voice, catching his breath as he was forcibly reminded why that was a bad idea. Athos steadied him, looking over his own shoulder to the other side of the... cave, it was a cave, he could see a little more clearly now.

"You should be sleeping," Athos said.

"Have been."

Aramis followed Athos' gaze, letting himself slump a little to one side to see past him. d'Artagnan was sitting cross-legged against the far wall, fingers moving restlessly through the dirt. His voice, though – he sounded calm and dreamy, and it tugged at Aramis' memory. When had he heard that before?

"Eat, then. We won't move on until Porthos tells us it's safe."

"It will be soon. Grimaud has a timetable."

Matter-of-fact and still not completely with them. When had…

Athos made sure Aramis could sit alone and crossed the cave to hunker in front of d'Artagnan. "What timetable? For what?"

"I'm not that deep. Something to occupy him. Until he finds you."

Swimming. That was it; d'Artagnan sounded like this after swimming, when his Ability was loosed from its usual tight constraints. Did that mean…?

"Me?" Athos repeated.

d'Artagnan looked up at him. Aramis, watching closely, was almost sure Athos recoiled from him, just the tiniest bit. What could be in d'Artagnan's expression to unsettle Athos like that?

"The first time we met."

That seemed to be all he was going to say. Aramis thought back to it.

"I am the future," he offered. It had never made any sense to them, and they'd stopped trying to figure it out very quickly, occupied with other things.

d'Artagnan nodded, then shook his head. "Yes, future. Your future." He gestured to Athos.

"Grimaud is a warmonger and a killer. How is he my future?"

"Because he is you." d'Artagnan's voice was still level as he studied the dirt he was raking up. "He has the same Ability as you. And he is old, Athos, and tired. So tired."

Aramis inhaled sharply, choked on the pain and slumped to one side as he tried to recover. Espoir came to help him sit back up, bringing a waterskin for him to sip from as he calmed.

Aramis nodded questioningly towards d'Artagnan. Espoir shrugged, murmuring, "Should be okay. Takes time."

"Is he right?"

"Always."

Athos was trying to get more information from d'Artagnan. He'd lost interest, though, more concerned with the stones at his knees. Aramis relaxed as much as he could, trying to make sense of it all.

d'Artagnan fell asleep after a while, without imparting any more revelations or expanding on the one he'd already given them. Espoir came back to check on him, helping Athos to settle him down on the cave floor. "He should be more or less himself next time he wakes. That's what happened last time."

Aramis stirred a little. "Last time?"

Espoir nodded absently. "When Adèle went missing."

Athos frowned, glancing at Aramis to see if he knew the story. He got wide eyes and a head shake in return. "Adèle?"

Espoir looked up, looking from him to Aramis and back. "Yes, Adèle. His sister." Athos blinked – he hadn't realised d'Artagnan had any siblings – and Espoir barked a laugh. "I thought you were his friends. You didn't know about me, you don't know about Adèle. Do you actually know anything about him?"

"We know what he has chosen to share," Aramis said. "We don't pry."

Athos was uncomfortably reminded of his surprise on learning that d'Artagnan's wages were going back to his farm workers in Gascony. "Younger?"

"That would be a good trick, since his mother died giving birth to him," Espoir said shortly. "Adèle's about a year older than he is. She lives in Calais with her husband. At least, that's the last place I heard of them being, but the husband had spoken of moving to England."

"What happened when she went missing?" Athos asked.

"I was nine. So d'Artagnan would have been eleven or twelve. Adèle wasn't supposed to go to town on her own, but she wanted to sell her chicks before they got too old and Emmy was busy – that's their older sister," he added, tone patronizing. "She was fifteen then, I suppose. Raised them both. Adèle slipped off without telling anyone, and no one realised for a couple of hours. They mounted a search, and the townsfolk helped. She hadn't made it that far," he added reflectively.

"She was thirteen?" Aramis asked.

"Or twelve. I don't remember exactly. My uncle didn't much bother with their birthdays after my aunt died."

Aramis leaned his head back against the wall. "Bad things happen to twelve year old girls away from home."

"That's what everyone was worried about. And d'Artagnan could tell, of course. I wasn't allowed to search, but he did, and the second time they came back home to regroup he went into the barn. And a few minutes later he came out, looking like..." He gestured vaguely towards d'Artagnan. "He started walking, and he wouldn't stop. When my uncle tried d'Artagnan just went around him, and when my father went to help he attacked them until he got past and then just kept walking. My uncle was more worried about someone seeing him, so my father and I followed him and my uncle covered for us. d'Artagnan went straight to Adèle; one of the tenants had started digging a new well, abandoned it when he didn't hit water and covered it over, and the cover had broken when she walked on it. She wasn't hurt, much. I think most of the chicks died, though. d'Artagnan walked straight to the well, told her we were there, sat down and fell over. Slept for all the rest of that day and into the next one."

It was very like d'Artagnan, Athos had to agree, mysterious siblings aside. "He couldn't have found her normally?"

"He didn't have much range in those days. Could tell everything about you if you were nearby, but once you got any distance…" He shrugged. "And Uncle was always telling him to hide, shield, don't use it, don't be seen. I got the easier end of that stick."

He nodded. "You should get some rest. You've been up for a long time."

"So's Porthos."

"I'll relieve Porthos shortly. Go on."

Espoir shrugged and settled next to d'Artagnan, apparently falling asleep quickly. Athos sat for a moment before moving to join Aramis.

"He didn't offer," Aramis said before he could say anything. "And we don't pry. You know that."

"No," he agreed softly. "We've never been good at talking about the past, have we."

"He probably thought it unlikely that Adèle would arrive in Paris seeking revenge."

Athos didn't flinch. "I suppose so. Is it something we should ask about?"

"I think if he has not told us, we should not bring it up. I'll speak to Constance when we're back in Paris."

"Do you think she knows?"

"I think she's more likely to have asked than are we."

"True." Athos sighed. "I'm going to send Porthos in. He suffered a slight head injury yesterday but seemed much better today. Do you need him to stay at a distance?"

As he'd hoped, the need to answer derailed whatever anger Aramis felt on learning about Porthos' injury. "No. So long as we're not shoulder to shoulder and he isn't bleeding out, it should be alright."

"Good. If he is too close, tell him if you can. It won't help you to be doing a Healing right now."

"I'll be good."

"I hope so." Athos squeezed his shoulder lightly and made to stand.

"Athos."

He hesitated, wondering if he could get away with putting this conversation off.

"We will talk about this," Aramis warned him.

"There is no need to talk about it," Athos said, but he sat back down.

"We have always feared—"

"You have always feared. I am not afraid of it."

Aramis studied him closely. "We don't know how old Grimaud is. But d'Artagnan implied it was very old. Perhaps hundreds of years."

Athos thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I need some time to find my words, Aramis. We will talk about it. For now, know only that if it is true, I don't fear it."

Aramis nodded slowly. "Take your time, my friend. But we will discuss it."

"Perhaps d'Artagnan will have more information when he wakes."

"Perhaps."

Athos nodded, and stood, and went to send Porthos inside. With any luck, they'd be on the way home tomorrow.

d'Artagnan woke to the once-familiar sensation of shields around his mind and the almost-forgotten feeling of the other Musketeers around him. He lay for a moment, blinking at the ceiling above his head; then he swung upright, looking around.

Sudden lightheadedness almost knocked him over again, but he hung on until it calmed before looking around. Espoir was sprawled near him – why was he still here? – Porthos asleep a few feet away, Aramis across the cave with almost all their blankets and spare clothes padding him. d'Artagnan nodded slowly. His memories were a little muddled, but he retained enough to know that Aramis needed as much help as possible right now.

Athos was on guard outside their little bubble. d'Artagnan stood, breathed through the brief spike of lightheadedness, and picked his way out to join him. There was a piece of bread and cheese sitting on someone's pack, and he took it with him as he went.

Athos glanced over – a quick, thoroughly assessing look – before turning his attention back to the forest. "How are you feeling?"

"As though I've been out for a while." He took a bite of the bread. It was stale and hard and the cheese tasted off, but he ate every bit of it anyway. It felt like a while since he'd eaten. Athos passed him a water skin to wash it down with.

"And how are you feeling?" he asked with a different tone, when d'Artagnan set the skin aside.

"I seem to be feeling as well as I ever did." He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. He'd adjusted, but he'd never quite felt like himself without his empathy, even though it had unquestionably made things easier for him.

"Are Grimaud's men still here?"

He glanced through the trees towards the fort. "Two of them are, but they're about to leave. How is Aramis?"

"Weak, but gaining in strength all the time."

"That's good."

"Espoir was very useful to us."

"That's good," he repeated, rather more surprised. He hadn't expected Espoir to stay any longer than he had to.

Athos lowered his voice, although there was no one near enough to hear him. "His Ability was especially useful."

d'Artagnan waited out the instinctive denial. "He told you?"

"Not in any specific way, but he used it to stop the guards, and to keep Aramis from feeling the pain as we moved him."

"Yes, it would do both of those things," he murmured. "I'm glad he felt safe enough to show you."

"How much do you remember?"

"Very little," he admitted. "Something about dogs? I was telling you which way to go…"

"You spoke about Grimaud."

He shivered. "I remember that. I– no, I don't remember telling you. But I remember what I felt, mostly."

"And what did you feel?"

He sorted through the memory. "He's very old."

"You implied that he shares my Ability."

"Or something very like it," he agreed. "Something has kept him alive long after it should have. He's so empty inside."

"Do you have any sense of how old he is?"

d'Artagnan closed his eyes, trying to remember. He never retained the actual feelings, only the memory of them, and this one was fading fast.

"No," he said finally. "Hundreds, certainly, but…"

Athos nodded. "I don't suppose it matters much."

"I don't suppose it does," d'Artagnan agreed distantly. He couldn't quite tell how Athos felt about it, but he didn't seem upset or afraid, and d'Artagnan was happy to leave it there until Athos was ready to speak.

One memory remained, bright and shining. "He wants you very badly."

"He may find me in the garrison at any time. Can you travel?"

"Yes. You want to start back today?"

"I think we'd better, if Aramis can stand it. Whatever Grimaud was going to do, he may come back, and I don't wish to still be here if he does." He reached for the waterskin, taking a quick sip. "You'd better lose your cousin."

"Yes," he murmured. "I suppose I had."

"He's wanted in Paris," Athos reminded him.

"I know. I just… It was nice having him here."

"We could not have saved Aramis without him," Athos agreed. "Not without sacrificing you, at least."

d'Artagnan nodded, rising to his feet. "I'll go start waking people. Grimaud's last two men are leaving; it should be clear by the time we're ready to leave."

"Very well." Athos stayed where he was anyway. d'Artagnan squeezed his shoulder lightly and went inside.

Porthos woke up to find d'Artagnan and Espoir moving around, packing up. d'Artagnan tossed him an apple in passing. "There's not much for breakfast, I'm afraid."

"Been meaning to lose weight anyway." He took a bite, looking over at Aramis. "How're you doing?"

"On the plus side, very little pain."

"And the other side?"

"Very little strength," he said with a sigh, lifting one arm. With an obvious effort, he got it to shoulder height before dropping it again.

"That'll come back. Think you can ride?"

"Ride, yes, if we're careful. Steer?" He shrugged.

"We'll help," d'Artagnan said, pushing Porthos off his blanket and rolling it. "It's not that far back to Paris."

"Yeah, Grimaud was pushing things a bit," Porthos agreed thoughtfully.

"He has other plans," d'Artagnan said. "Couldn't leave them for too long."

"Plans for us?"

"I don't think so. It's hard to say. There's a lot going on in him."

Espoir hunkered beside Aramis with a cup. "Can you manage this?"

Aramis looked at it, then at him. "You went into my herbs."

"It's only willow tea," he protested. "Athos has been giving it to you for days, I just thought—"

"He's teasing," d'Artagnan told him. "Just give him the cup and come find your things. We need to get you on your way."

"Do we?" Aramis asked, frowning as he carefully closed his hand around the cup.

"Unless we want him hanged in Paris, yes," d'Artagnan said shortly.

"Your Ability, Espoir," Aramis said, ignoring d'Artagnan. "Does it always send people asleep? Can you use it to simply block a body's signals and leave them awake?"

"I can," Espoir says warily, "but the person tends to panic."

"How long does it last?"

"Not very. A few minutes."

"Long enough, say, for a coughing fit to pass?"

"Oh, Aramis," Porthos breathed. "That's dangerous."

"A new situation for us," he agreed.

"What are we talking about?" d'Artagnan asked, looking warily from one to the other.

Porthos glared at Aramis, who ignored him. "King Louis—"

"Aramis!" Porthos snapped.

"One more count of treason won't hurt me," Aramis told him. "Nor darken my soul any more than it is already." He turned back to d'Artagnan and Espoir. "Louis has the white plague. He won't live very long, months at most, but the pain is starting to overcome the medicine he can safely take. A new valet, who could help him through the attacks…"

"And catch the white plague doing it," d'Artagnan said flatly.

"Not to mention, using my Ability on the king is treason," Espoir agreed. "I've just escaped hanging, I'm not that eager to walk back onto the gallows."

"The king wouldn't know you were doing it. The medicine—"

"Espoir could catch it," d'Artagnan repeated.

"Or be caught and hanged. I don't want anyone to forget about the hanging," Espoir added.

"You could catch it," Aramis agreed.

"Or be—"

"Or be hanged, yes. But you could also help ease the king's pain." He eyed d'Artagnan. "What would Emmy suggest you do?"

Porthos almost missed d'Artagnan's brief freeze. "Who's Emmy?" he asked with a frown.

d'Artagnan glared at Espoir, who spread his hands defensively. "How was I supposed to know they didn't know?"

"I don't know, did you try thinking about it?"

"Would that have helped with Adèle?"

Porthos whistled sharply. d'Artagnan sighed, rubbing his face. "Emiline and Adèle are my sisters, Porthos. My older sisters. Espoir obviously mentioned them to Aramis."

"And Athos," Aramis said helpfully.

d'Artagnan grimaced. "And Athos."

"If it helps, Espoir was very upset with us for not knowing already."

"No." d'Artagnan glared at Espoir. "It doesn't help."

Porthos leaned forward. "Oi. Cousin. Why's he angry?"

"Because Emmy—"

"Espoir!" d'Artagnan said warningly.

"Married a Vicomte," Espoir continued, edging closer to Porthos and away from d'Artagnan, "and he doesn't approve of us. Not classy enough. He tried to time the wedding so that d'Artagnan and his father wouldn't be able to attend."

"And Emmy goes along with this?"

"No. She doesn't. But d'Artagnan does, so that dear Gustav doesn't take it out on her."

"Espoir, for the love of God…" d'Artagnan groaned.

"The other sister?" Porthos asked. "Edele?"

"Adèle. I don't know. They always got on fine."

"We still get on fine," d'Artagnan said, aiming the words at the roof since no one else was listening.

"When's the last time you talked to her?" Espoir asked him. "She still in Calais?"

"I've been on the front lines for the last four years. Not much time for friendly chatting."

"Oi." Porthos waited for d'Artagnan to meet his eyes.

"It's fine," d'Artagnan told him, holding his gaze. "They're both happy, and that's what matters. Now can we please leave it alone? What are you doing, Espoir? Back to Paris or back to Gascony?"

Espoir looked between them. "I'd be safe?"

"From the gallows," Aramis said. "We can promise that much."

"Can you get him hired?" Porthos asked curiously. If Aramis was planning to go near the Queen...

"Constance can. She knows the right people. And I imagine it's difficult for Louis to keep his valets at present."

He snorted. "Imagine so. Up to you, then, boy. I'll go tell Athos we're about ready. You have that long to decide."