Treville and Athos had planned out their journey back to Paris the day before they left, making it a two-day journey instead of one long one. Treville had sent one of his men ahead to secure rooms at an inn for the overnight stay on day one, because they all knew Aramis would insist that he was 'just fine' otherwise. This way, the decision was already made.

After a comfortable night, they reached Paris shortly before midday. All of them, and especially Aramis, were so glad to enter the gates of the city they loved.

Treville took d'Artagnan and most of his men and rode on ahead, Treville wanting to send d'Artagnan to the palace to make sure Dr. Lemay was present to double-check how Aramis' health was as soon as possible as a precaution. With his medical knowledge, Aramis was usually able to disarm the other physicians they had used in the past, but he didn't get away with it as easily when it was Lemay. It wasn't that Aramis' knowledge was inaccurate, but that he could use it to convince the other physicians that he was in better shape than he actually was.

The Inseparables and the other two men Treville had assigned to them for the ride through Paris were enjoying the sights and sounds of Paris, Porthos insisting on their stopping at Aramis' favorite apple vendor to get a delicious red treat for his brother.

It was right after they had all remounted that it happened. From three different directions, mounted men erupted from side streets, market day shoppers screaming as the riders brutally pushed their way towards their apparent target, the group of Musketeers.

Athos ordered everyone to encircle Aramis, who was ignored when he vehemently protested that he was perfectly capable of handling his guns and sword.

The group attacking them outnumbered them almost two to one, but the Musketeers weren't intimidated by the numbers. They fought with the ferocity and skill they were famous for, driving their attackers back several times. By now, everyone had dismounted for more room to maneuver with their weapons.

But sheer numbers finally created a small opening, a giant of a man hurtling himself through, heading straight for Aramis.

Athos, knowing who these men had to be after, intercepted the man, swinging his blue cloak at the man's face to give himself a second, then planting himself between the giant and his brother, blue eyes cold as a winter sky as he raised his sword and challenged his opponent.

Two of the man's companions, however, joined him, slowly forcing Athos backwards towards the side street. Athos realized too late their secondary plan, at the same time as he was bludgeoned on the back of his head and crumpled to the dirt.

The leader's two men dragged him out if sight, then a sharp whistle caused the others to back away into the same side streets from which they had first come.

The men who had accompanied Treville to retrieve the Inseparables started after them, but Porthos, who suddenly found himself in charge, called out, "Don't follow them! Some of you are wounded, we are outnumbered, and we are here to bring our brother back to the Garrison!"

They came back slowly and reluctantly, not wanting to just give up a fight.

Aramis, who hated being the reason, started to say, "I can make my own way," only to receive an ominous look from Porthos, who wasn't about to let him expose himself that way. Seeing the look he was receiving, Aramis knew better than to argue, so, still not liking their leaving Athos to who knows what fate, gave Porthos a stare in return that told his friend without words what he was thinking of his decision. Guilt over being the probable cause of Athos' being taken was tearing him up inside.

Porthos stayed close to Aramis' side as they began walking their horses the rest of the way to the garrison. Knowing his brother as he did, it would be just like Aramis to disregard his own condition and take off in an attempt to sacrifice himself for one of his brothers. He had done so when these same men had taken d'Artagnan, and look what had nearly happened to him. He wasn't about to let the thugs get their hands on him again. Not on his watch.

Aramis could feel his new-found energy slipping away from him now. Sure enough, it was like Porthos could read his mind, putting a supporting arm around his shoulders and leading him, not to his own horse, but to his brother's.

He started to protest, only to hear his friend say softly, "You're the medic, aren't you? Wouldn't you tell anyone else they were exhausted?"

Aramis, being Aramis, protested, "I'm not...," only to feel Porthos call out to one of the other men, "Bernard, lend a hand here, all right?"

Then, Porthos' arm left his shoulder, and someone else's replaced it. Aramis was nearly asleep by now. The day and a half he had spent in the saddle was by far the longest stint of activity he had endured since he had been rescued. It was no wonder his energy levels were depleted.

Whoever it was that Porthos had called over lifted him up into the saddle, and, feeling Porthos' massive chest behind him, he just laid his head back and was out like a light a moment later.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos gradually began to climb his way back to consciousness, hammers going off in his head as he did so.

Before he was even able to open his eyes, he felt restrictions to his body's movements. It took him a few moments still to realize his wrists and ankles were encased in shackles, longer still before he felt them bring him up short if he attempted to move more than a few inches.

Finally prying open eyes that had felt glued shut, he saw that chains attached to his shackles were then attached at the other end to an iron ring in the wall. He wouldn't be getting out of here on his own, he dismally thought, having found from a few moments of trying that both chains and shackles were relatively new and seemed to have no weak links to work on.

The throbbing was still intense, so he laid his head carefully against the cold stone wall of the cell he was locked in. The Chatelet, he wondered? If it was, it was a part of it he had never seen before.

Richelieu. The man could have had him put anywhere. Red Guards controlled the prisons and jails of Paris, and not one of them had ever been a friend of the Musketeers.

He knew why he had been taken. He had realized it a split second before he had been hit over the head. He was to be bait, as d'Artagnan had been previously, to lure Aramis out where he could be retaken and killed. He had realized it just a moment too late, before he had been hit from behind.

They knew also from Aramis' reaction to d'Artagnan's kidnapping that his love for his brothers was the marksman's Achille's heel. Athos thought to himself bitterly, 'I may know it, but so far, there is not a thing I can do about it locked up in here.'

He had no sooner finished that thought than a key clattered, opening his cell door. The very large man they had previously been fighting entered, flanked by two others, fingering their pistols as they came through the door.

'Does he seriously think this intimidation will do any good', Athos thought. 'It may have worked with his brother, Laurent, for most of his life, but not on a seasoned Musketeer.'

Mattieu and his men stopped in front of Athos, but he almost smiled when he noticed the space they left between him and themselves. 'Not quite as fearless as they make themselves out to be'. If only he had his rapier in hand for a few seconds, was his following thought.

Slowly lifting his head, he injected every bit of his aristocratic lineage into the face he showed them, eyes as cold as ice staring up at them.

"I was told you were a former comte," Mattieu said. "Much good it will do you here."

"I may be here for now, but you will someday meet me again, and wish you had not," Athos drawled the words slowly and deliberately, never blinking, not an ounce of the fear Mattieu was used to instilling in people present on the face of the prisoner before him.

Mattieu shook himself, trying to rid himself of the very unfamiliar feeling of unease at Athos' words.

After a moment, he seemed to relax, staring down at his prisoner.

"I need something from you. Something recognizable. Get on your feet."

Athos didn't move a muscle. Mattieu, angered at not being obeyed by someone totally at his mercy, signalled to his two silent companions.

"Get him on his feet. Don't bother being polite to monsieur le comte."

Grabbing hold of Athos' arms, they yanked him to his feet, twisting his arms deliberately as they did so. Athos, despite himself, groaned from the sudden pain in his shoulders, as well as the increasing pain in his head. They held him up between them.

Mattieu moved closer, eyes slowing roaming over Athos from head to foot. Then, his eyes lit up.

"Perfect!" he said, reaching out and yanking Athos' scarf from around his neck. "I'll bet that since this is around your neck, your brothers see it all the time. If they had any doubts that we had you before, they won't now."

Signalling to his men, they dropped him unceremoniously back to the floor, chains clanking as he landed. Groaning, he pulled himself back against the wall again, full of frustration at being a pawn in a deadly game with his brother's life on the line.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos had informed his captain of the encounter on the street, and of their attackers having taken Athos. Treville blanched at the thought of yet another of his men in this gang's grasp. He listened to the detailed account the big man gave him, and heard the fear in his otherwise totally fearless Musketeer's voice. He knew as well as Porthos that Aramis would give himself up in a minute if he could save one of his brothers from harm. At the moment, though, their hands were tied. They had no idea where they might be holding Athos.

Treville had stayed with Aramis while Lemay examined him, his brothers there as well. Lemay was shocked at what Aramis had been through. By the time Lemay was through, Aramis had fallen asleep, so Lemay could speak freely, knowing that had Aramis been awake, he would have tried to protest the rest the good doctor told them he needed to continue to take. Aramis, despite the fact that he was a medic, was the world's worst patient, not following advice he himself would give to others

Other than that, Lemay told them he was pleased at the marksman's healing progress. He told Treville he could assign him light tasks to build his strength back up, which was sure to please Aramis.

After Lemay left, Treville checked on the routines of the men in the garrison, then checked through any correspondence that had arrived while he was gone. Once everything was up to date, he had his horse saddled, heading for the palace as fast as possible though the Paris streets, determined to get to the bottom of Richelieu's dirty little game before any more harm could be done to his lieutenant.

The man sometimes acted as if he, Richelieu, was the King, and not Louis. This time he was going to confront the man in the presence of the head of Bourbon dynasty, and see if he could wriggle out of what he had been up to this time.

Riding through the streets of Paris, Treville tried to contain his anger at the man. When he thought of the trauma and pain Richelieu had caused Aramis to be put through, he personally wanted to bring the man's neck. And what might he be having done to Athos at this very moment?

Louis would listen to him, Treville vowed. He would have to strip Richelieu of his title and power. If Louis really wanted to see justice done, he would also have the Cardinal arrested and imprisoned in the Bastille. Treville already knew, though, that the King would never have Richelieu executed, as much as he deserved it. He knew Louis would never accept going that far.

Reaching the palace, he left his stallion in the care of the ever-present stableboy stationed out in front to make sure visiting nobility never had to cool their heels for long. As the boy led his horse away, Treville strode through the doors and began climbing the curving staircase, headed straight for Louis' suite of rooms on the second floor.

Almost reaching the doors, he just stopped a grimace from forming on his face as Louis' secretary, an obnoxious, self-important little man, stepped in front of him.

"I need to see both His Majesty and the Cardinal immediately," he told him.

"That would be impossible," the man said in his high nasal voice.

"I don't have time for this," Treville raised his voice slightly, fighting to hide his irritation.

"Your request is impossible, Captain Treville," the man said, dismissing as he started to turn away.

"Valmont," Treville tried once again, determined not to be turned away from his mission. "It is vastly important. His Majesty will thank you once he knows what this meeting entails."

"As I believe I already told you, Captain Treville, this meeting is impossible."

Angry and beyond frustrated, Treville asked, "Will you at least give me a reason why I am being refused?"

"I will give you two, Treville," the man said in clipped words of impatience, and dropping the use of Treville's title deliberately. "His Majesty is in deep mourning. And Cardinal Richelieu is dead."