It was nearly twilight when Pierre dropped them off in Goussainville. 'I thought you said we were going to Paris?' D'Artagnan frowned as Athos led them into an overgrown graveyard, the church standing proud ahead of them.

'We're twelve miles outside of Paris.' Athos shrugged. 'This place has been abandoned for years.'

'Why?'

Athos smiled, nodding down to a spot a little way off to their left. There was a large, long hole in the ground. 'Turns out there was a mine shaft under the church. The local parishioners didn't really fancy taking their lives in their hands every time they went to mass.'

D'Artagnan shuddered at the thought of falling down a mine shaft, but the thoughts soon left him as he and Athos crossed the grounds and made their way to the front door of the adjoining building.

'Is Aramis baking bread again?' Athos asked, sniffing the air as soon as they stepped into the room.

'As always,' Porthos replied from his seat by the oven, smiling over as Aramis kneaded another ball of dough. 'I swear he has to bake a loaf every time we go somewhere new!'

'Marsac found some seeds and oats in the market. I've incorporated them into the dough so we have something different,' Aramis explained as he worked.

'You're a man of many talents,' Porthos laughed, shaking his head affectionately.

'So they tell me!' Aramis grinned, before dropping the dough into a bowl and leaving it by the oven to rise.

'And who have you brought us, Athos?' He smiled as he sat down, wiping his hands. He looked across to d'Artagnan, a warm expression on his face as the younger man raised a hand.

'This is d'Artagnan.' Athos introduced him, sitting down next to Porthos and motioning for d'Artagnan to also take a seat.

'Nice to me you, lad.' Porthos nodded. D'Artagnan noticed he was polishing a large, curved blade with a whetstone, the metal almost sparkling.

'What's that?' He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Porthos smiled. 'It's called a scimitar.'

'I've never seen one of those before.'

'I don't doubt it- it's not something you see everyday.' Porthos nodded.

'Where did you get it?'

Aramis and Porthos exchanged glances. Aramis leant back in his seat, 'Porthos and I met in the crusades.'

'The crusades?' D'Artagnan looked over to him, surprised.

'We fought each other, killed each other-' Aramis started to explain, but Porthos cut in.

'-many times!'

Aramis smiled at his words, before he nodded to Porthos on the other side of the table. 'The love of my life was of the kind I had been taught to kill.'

'Love of your life?' D'Artagnan echoed his words, scoffing. 'But the crusades were a noble cause, sanctioned by the church- they deserved it, so my father taught me!' He stopped, suddenly worried as the table fell silent. He was more confused when Porthos, who had let him speak with barely a flicker of emotion, gave him a warm, almost knowing, smile.

Aramis took in a breath. 'Lad, please don't think I'm exaggerating when I say it took me centuries to work those thoughts, the bigotry and the lies, out of my mind. You are young, and you have been taught only what your father wants you to hear. What your country wants you to hear.' He looked over to Porthos, who smiled at him and winked.

'Believe me when I say this man is the kindest, most loving and generous soul you could ever meet. All men are worthy, are equal. You just need to open your eyes to see it.' He finished, sitting back in his chair.

D'Artagnan felt his cheeks heat up. He looked over to Porthos, who raised his eyebrows at him, not unkindly, like he was waiting for him to speak.

'I'm sorry.' He mumbled, meaning every word.

'There is nothing to be sorry about. I'm not too old to care about the words of others, but what I am is too old to get angry by them. As Aramis said, you are young. You will learn.' He nodded. 'Although I find it a bit odd your father is so staunch in his views, considering- and I mean no offence myself- that you are not exactly complexioned like freshly driven snow!'

D'Artagnan snorted, nodding his agreement as he realised the truth in his words. 'My grandmother.' He explained, smiling as he remembered her kind face, her warm arms around him as she rocked in her chair, reading to him. He sat back, before looking up as Athos poured him some wine.

'I noticed you did not speak your views on the 'love of my life' statement,' Aramis grinned, a sly grin on his face. He had decided he liked this young man, but he had to test all boundaries, of course.

D'Artagnan shrugged, nonchalant. 'I've seen the way the baker in my village and the man who delivers the mail to the Manor House look at each other when they cross in the street, thinking no one else can see. Love can take many forms I think. It can't be helped.'

'Him- I like him!' Porthos laughed, leaning forward to clink glasses with d'Artagnan, who was feeling more comfortable by the second.

He looked over as he suddenly noticed a man in an armchair by the fire. 'Marsac, come drink with us.' Athos muttered, pouring another glass and placing it at an empty seat.

'So, whose side are you on?' D'Artagnan asked as Marsac finally joined them, nodding at d'Artagnan, a friendly smile on his face.

'Depends on the century.' Porthos said, shrugging.

'We fight for what we think is right.' Aramis added, sipping his wine.

'How did you know where to find me?' D'Artagnan looked to Athos, confused. 'I could've been anywhere.'

'We dreamt of you. It happens when we find a new one- we dream of each other until we are found.' Aramis explained for him.

'It used to take years to find a new ones. Marsac was the last.' Porthos added, looking to Marsac, who swallowed his drink and shrugged.

'I was killed defending Paris in the One Hundred Years' War.' He explained. D'Artagnan nearly spat out his drink.

'But…but that was, what? Two hundred years ago?!' He breathed. Marsac nodded at his words, trying not to smile as d'Artagnan then turned to Aramis and Porthos.

'And you two are even older!' He sat back, before then turning to Athos. 'You're the oldest, aren't you?'

Athos inclined his head in answer, taking a breath.

'How old?' D'Artagnan frowned as he saw Porthos and Aramis exchange a glance.

'Old.' Athos replied.

'But how old?'

Athos drained his glass and poured another, wiping his mouth before answering. 'Too old.'

Sensing he shouldn't pry any further, D'Artagnan sat back, suddenly feeling very overwhelmed by everything. 'So we really never die…' he muttered, a dawning comprehension falling into his chest.

Athos cleared his throat. 'Nothing that lives, lives forever, lad.'

'But, you just said-'

'I know what I said.' Athos' voice was gruff, but he tried to relax his face as he saw the stricken look on the younger man's face. 'We are immortal, but we can die. One of us did.' He sighed, memories he had pushed out for years now flooding back. 'His name was Treville- it was a long time ago….one day your wounds just don't heal up, and you die.'

The room was hushed, each man looking at Athos as he spoke, his voice carrying on the silence. 'We don't know when, or why it happens.'

'So…if we can die…' d'Artagnan gave Athos a look. 'Then why did you stab me? You could have killed me!'

'You're too new, lad,' Athos said, a wan smile on his face.

D'Artagnan sat back, digesting everything he had been told. He held onto the edge of the table as he felt his heart quicken.

'It's a lot to take in, to understand,' Aramis spoke softly, looking over to him with concerned eyes. 'Why don't you rest a little? I have saved you some supper, and the bread won't be long.'

'I..I don't think I can eat…' d'Artagnan shook his head, swallowing hard. 'I need sleep.'

'Come with me, I'll show you.' Aramis nodded, standing. The two of them made their way to the back of the room, where three beds were huddled together.

'Here, I will bring you more blankets, it gets cold here at night.'

'Thank you.' D'Artagnan replied numbly, thoughts racing through his head. He turned to Aramis as he made to leave. 'Thanks, for making me feel welcome. I appreciate it.'

Aramis nodded at his words. 'Speak to me any time you like- being a new immortal is not easy. We all know that. We are more than happy to help.'

Nodding, d'Artagnan sank into the bed, eyes closing before his head hit the pillow.

Nightfall. The only noise was the chirruping of crickets and the flickering flames in the dying fire. Marsac occupied the bed on the right of d'Artagnan, whilst Porthos and Aramis slept together in the bed to his left. Aramis was encased against Porthos' chest, an arm protectively slung over his chest as they slept.

Athos was sat near the fire in the kitchen area, staring into embers as they crackled and spat, a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. He flexed his hand, wincing slightly as pain sparked in the muscles. He sighed, fear starting to to sink into his heart. This shouldn't happen. Pain was a thing of the past, or it was, once.

He suddenly jumped as he heard d'Artagnan let out a large, panicked gasp, gulping air as he sat up in bed, eyes wide.

Marsac had reached for his gun as he too shot up out of bed- Porthos and Aramis sat up too, hearts in their mouths as they watched d'Artagnan wipe his face, his breathing laboured and harsh.

'What's wrong?' Marsac asked, hands still laced around his gun.

'It was…it was a bad dream…' d'Artagnan wiped his face again with a shaky hand. 'Sorry, I shouldn't have woken you.'

Aramis sat up straighter, pushing sleep out his eyes as Porthos laid a hand on his leg, squeezing lightly. 'Tell us,' he said softly, smiling encouragingly.

'I-I've seen flashes of it, when I woke up when I died, but now it's clearer.' D'Artagnan swallowed, looking around the room. 'A woman. She-she was scrabbling at her neck…she was being hung, but was encased in something I couldn't make out until now…a box, like a coffin. She had been locked in something like a box, and then buried upright. The details aren't clear...'

Athos stepped closer, eyes wide as d'Artagnan began to speak again. 'She was dying again and again, her neck constricting as soon as she came back. She…she was scratching at her neck, her fingers bloody as she tried to free herself.' He looked up at Aramis and Porthos, who were both looking at her with stricken looks on their faces.

'She felt mad, insane…but she kept choking…' d'Artagnan finally looked up, eyes glassy as silence fell around them.

Aramis took a steadying breath. The lad deserved an explanation.

He looked over to Porthos, who gave him a encouraging smile, before he began to speak.

'Her name was Milady.'

Thank you for reading! Special thanks to Laureleaf- I can't thank you via PM so...thanks for your lovely reviews! X