AN – So Athos returns for everyone who told me they were missing him! And there's a hint of what happened with Garnon for the less patient. Three more chapters after this. Hope you enjoy the ride.

Afterwards, d'Artagnan would argue it was not his fault that the rain did not relent so that the road grew increasingly treacherous. Forced to travel along at no more than a slot trot, he was cold and wet and the sun had already begun to set by the time he finally arrived at his destination. It was with a great sense of relief that he passed his horse off to the stable hand and went to announce his arrival.

Only to find they were not expecting him or the Duke's envoy.

The kindness of the Prior only increased d'Artagnon's sense of frustration that he had somehow managed to miss his way. Aramis would later point out where the instructions provided by Treville had been altered by Garnon's careful hand. Thankfully, the monks were able to set him on the right path but as D'Artagnan rode off again into the miserable night he knew that the delay would be taken as a deliberate slight to the Duke.

"D'Artagnan!" Jacques greeted him as he rode into the courtyard late the following afternoon. "Where have you been until now? Treville expected you hours ago and Aramis and Porthos have been beside themselves with worry that something had befallen you."

"It's a long story." D'Artagnan wearily dismounted.

He had hoped that recounting his woes to his friends might provide some comfort. That perhaps they would laugh at his foolishness and then regale him with tales of similar misfortunes.

"You got lost?" Porthos wasn't laughing.

"How are we going to explain this to Treville?" Aramis actually looked worried. "Please say the letters were safely delivered? And his Grace's envoy accepted your humble apology?"

"I delivered the letters," d'Artagnan hedged. "And he accepted my apology."

"What are you not saying?" Aramis sounded uncannily like Athos.

"You have to understand, I had already been on the road for hours. It was pitch dark when I arrived and no one came out to greet me. I had not stopped once along the way and both my horse were exhausted. I was cold and wet and everything was going wrong. I just wanted to find someone to take care of her as quickly as possible, so there was no further delay to offend the Duke."

"And?" Porthos prompted.

"I went into the stables and found a man there tending a horse. He did not answer when I called to him so I may have lost my temper and … shouted a bit." D'Artagnan could barely look at his friends. "Apparently his horse had fallen lame that afternoon and he had wanted to check on its welfare. He was wearing a long black cloak. How was I supposed to know?"

"You mistook the Duke of Bourbon's envoy, for a stable hand?" Aramis wanted to be clear.

"You know we like it that you're a bit mouthy. Means you can stick up for yourself, but when you are wearing this," Porthos tapped at the pauldron on his shoulder. "You gotta think before you speak."

Treville was predictably furious. Nothing excused a man under his command losing his temper simply because he could not control his frustration. And he made sure that d'Artagnan was left in no doubt about that, loudly and at length. It was only the fact that the envoy was a reasonable man, who had sons of his own, which had prevented the matter coming to the notice of the King and Cardinal.

The Captain knew it could have been so much worse. The envoy's letter had acknowledged the folly an over- zealous young men, not unlike his own offspring, might fall into and noted the sincerity of D'Artagnan's apology. It also had not hurt that he had a good deal of respect for Treville and therefore was content to let him handle the matter. However, It was time to knock a few corners off the proud and impetuous youth.

"Clearly you need learn some self-control," Treville nodded to a space beside his desk. "Stand there, until, I chose to dismiss you."

D'Artagnan had no idea exactly how long he had been standing at attention. Long enough that he was beyond bored and his muscles were beginning to stiffen, he was also utterly mortified. It seemed like everyone in the regiment passed through Treville's office at some point and they all seemed to know exactly why he was there. A few gave him encouraging grins when Treville wasn't looking but most cast him disapproving looks for bringing the regiment into disrepute.

He had not thought he could feel any worse, until Athos walked through the door.

"You're a day early," Treville greeted him, pushing back a little from the desk to look his Lieutenant up and down as if assuring himself he was whole. "Should I be worried?"

"For once things went well," Athos allowed. "Progress was made. I have the papers for the King to sign."

"Good," Treville took the documents that Athos extracted from his jacket and swiftly read through them. He tilted his head on one side in pleased surprise. "How did you get them to concede the custom duties?"

"I was very persuasive." Athos deadpanned.

Treville smiled fondly. He knew Athos had little taste for these diplomatic missions. But he had a brilliant mind and never failed to exceed any expectations Treville placed upon him.

"That's good work," He praised warmly. "The King will be pleased."

To d'Artagnan it was a particular kind of torture. His heart had leapt in his chest when Athos had entered, overjoyed to see his friend safely back but dreading his disapproval. He knew Athos could not have failed to see him standing there but so far he had not so much as glanced in his direction.

"I need to step out for a moment," Treville decided. "I might be some time."

As soon as the Captain disappeared from view D'Artagnan started forward, only to be halted by the smallest tilt of Athos head.

"Treville did not dismiss you."

D'Artagnan paused as he realised the unwelcome truth of that. Stepping back he drew himself up to attention once more. He thought he saw a flicker of approval in Athos' eyes.

"Did you insult the envoy?" Athos offered him fair hearing.

D'Artagnan thought of all the things he could say, all of the circumstances which had brought him to this place. But there really was no excuse for allowing his temper to overrule his usual good manners. His father would have rightly taken him to task if he lived. There really was only one thing he could say.

"Yes," He admitted miserably.

"Then Treville was right to discipline you and there is nothing more to be said." Athos turned on his heel as if to walk away, but then wheeled back as if drawn to D'Artagnan by some invisible force. "When Aramis told me what happened, I thought to find you dismissed, or imprisoned awaiting execution. Because you let your heart rule your head once again. What did I tell you? I thought you had made progress but it seems I was wrong."

"I apologised to the envoy and to Treville," D'Artagnan was stung. "What more can I do?"

"An apology won't help matters when you when you are swinging at the end of a rope because you cannot control your temper." Athos pointed out.

"Oh please," D'Artagnan protested. "You didn't rebuke Porthos over his fury at Bonnaire, or Aramis, when he lied to you about Marsec, or spirited away baby Henri. And the way I heard it you almost impaled the Duke of Savoy at the foot of the King's dais. Why must it be different for me?"

"Because, you still do not understand that if you put yourself in danger, we will follow without question and if we must die for your sake than I expect it to be for something worth dying for," Athos stepped up, getting right into his face. "Not just because you got a little cold and wet."

D'Artagnan closed his eyes and sucked in a long shuddering breath as he felt the truth of that hit him like a punch to the gut. When he opened his eyes again Athos had left.

Treville had intended to keep D'Artagnan on punishment until the change of watch. But as he returned bearing enough victuals for the three of them to find only the boy remaining one look at his stricken expression told him that it was time for a different kind of leadership. Ordering the younger man to take a seat, he poured them both a glass of wine and nudged the platter of food a little closer to the Gascon.

"You missed lunch."

"Thank you."

Out of politeness d'Artagnan picked at the bread a little. But he had no real appetite.

"You know I advised Athos against taking on your training himself," Treville observed. "I said he was too close to you and there were other good men who would suffice. Athos would not have it. But he is trying to be both friend and leader to you. That's no easy task and you're not making it any easier."

"Well, now I feel so much better," d'Artagnan scoffed lightly before realising exactly who he was talking to and belatedly adding. "Um, sir."

"My point in a nutshell, I think" Treville said dryly. "Athos' own father was a difficult man, indulgent to his younger son but overly stern and demanding of his heir."

"You knew Athos' father?" d'Artagnan was intrigued.

"He was often at court. I never warmed to him." Treville's expression was grim as he took a drink. "Athos was a lot like you. He became the man he is despite the lessons his father dispensed rather than because of him. Athos only wants what is best for you. Did you know he argued for your right to be the musketeer's champion even after I had announced by decision?"

"He never told me," d'Artagnan sighed. He should not be surprised. Athos had been his most stalwart supporter. Doing everything he could to help him realise his dream of becoming a musketeer. "He might regret that now."

"Don't be too hard on him," Treville counselled. "The love he bears for you is no less, than your love for him, for all he finds it harder to express."

Bolstered by Treville's words d'Artagnan gathered him courage and went in search of Athos. He found him in the courtyard sitting between Aramis and Porthos who were watching him pick at his food with ill concerned concern. D'Artagnan felt a pang of sympathy that his friend had no more appetite than he did.

"Athos." He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

Thankfully Athos could see everything in the raw anguish of his expression that he could not find the words to express. In truth the older man was already regretting the harshness of his words. He knew d'Artagnan felt things deeply and that the boy would take his disapproval to heart far more than seasoned soldiers like Aramis or Porthos ever would.

"Have you practiced today?" He asked mildly.

"Um, no," d'Artagnan recognised the olive branch for what it was. He thought back to his day riding back from the priory and then standing in Treville's office and managed a small self-depreciating grin. "I haven't really had time."

"Make time, always," Athos pushed his plate away. "Come on."

To an onlooker the brief grasp of his shoulder as Athos passed him might have seemed casual, almost without thought, but d'Artagan knew better and the simple gesture of reconciliation and forgiveness meant the world to him.

"D'Artagnan." Athos summoned him.

D'Artagnan always prided himself on the fact that Athos never went easy on him when they were sparring. The man was a master at pushing him to his limits and pulling out potential even he had not realised he had. Normally he relished the challenge and it would have mattered little that both men had spent hours in the saddle and eaten almost nothing. Fights did not always come when you were conveniently well fed and comfortably rested as they each knew from bitter experience.

"You're reactions are slow," Athos circled him with his sword. "Your focus is too easily distracted."

"No, I'm fine."

To prove his point d'Artganan stepped into a strong lunge, which Athos neatly sidestepped so that the young Gascon tripped and only just missed losing his footing entirely.

"That was careless," Athos frowned, lowering his sword. "Are you sick?"

"Only of losing." D'Artagnan gave a cocky grin.

It was a little dis-honourable but D'Artagnan had learnt, had been carefully taught, to take any advantage in a duel. So, he did not wait until Athos raised his sword to re-engage. For a full minute they exchanging blows and parries. Some of the men stopped to watch. Somewhere in the crowd d'Artagnan could hear Porthos voice and Aramis' occasional shouts of encouragement even as D'Artagnan realised, to his horror, that he was flagging.

The time between one breath and the next was all it took.

"D'Artagnan!"

The shout seemed too loud in his ears. There was the sudden tang of blood in the air, a strange wetness trickling down his arm and an odd, burning sting where he instinctively gripped his arm. Looking down he was stunned to see the blood trickling between his fingers and he swayed slightly.

"You cut me." He looked at Athos in confusion.

"My apologies," Athos stepped forward, extending a conciliatory hand. "Is it bad?"

D'Artagnan blinked as he tried to formulate a reply, swallowing down a wave of nausea as spots swirled in front of his eyes and the ground tilted beneath him.

"Whoa, steady."

Porthos strong hands landed on his shoulders, easing his down onto his knees just before he folded gracelessly and fell back senseless against his friend's broad chest.

"He's out cold," Porthos looked confused. "It's just a little cut."

"Let me see."

Aramis knelt down beside them. His careful hands grasped the rip in D'Artagnan's shirt and tore it wider open so he could better inspect the bleeding gash.

"How does it look?" Athos asked hollowly.

"Not nearly bad enough to send him insensible," Aramis sat back on his haunches as he looked up at Athos. "You pulled your sword fast enough to avoid any serious damage. It's quite shallow and not that long. A stitch or two will easily take care of it."

"This ain't your fault," Porthos was quick to reassure. "We all saw. He practically sleepwalked onto your blade. There was nothing you could have done."

"I knew he was moving sluggishly, not paying sufficient attention," Athos berated himself. "I should have stopped this."

"Athos," Porthos held his gaze. "Don't do this to yourself."

"I don't think this was of your doing," Aramis observed flatly, as he carefully pulled aside d'Artagnan's shirt so that Athos could see the bruise darkening on his arm. Moving over to loosen the fastening of his shirt he revealed further bruises marking the young Gascon's chest.

"Someone beat on him." Porthos' expression did not bode well for the culprit.

Exchanging a telling look with Athos, Aramis reached to peel back a sleeve and wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not when he saw the unblemished wrists and no evidence that the young Gascon had been restrained against his will. With a slight feeling of dread he picked up one of d'Artagnan's hands and peeled off the black leather glove to reveal bruised and swollen knuckles.

"It looks like he gave as good as he got at least," Aramis sighed as he looked down at their unconscious friend. "What else he has been keeping from us?"