Author's note: I'm so pleased you guys are enjoying this! I wish I could answer everyone individually, but ff.n doesn't like it when you do that in the doc. Thank you so much!

The Good Soldier

"Have you forgotten about the massacre at Savoy?"

D'Artagnan blinked at the question. Aramis had been distracted for nearly two days, since they'd heard about the visit from the Duke of Savoy, but d'Artagnan hadn't been able to figure out why. There was an undercurrent, something that made him think of finding Cornet's body in that snowy forest, but nothing he could pin down.

"What massacre?" he murmured to Athos.

"Later."

"Athos…"

"Later," Athos repeated, lifting his chin towards the approaching carriage.

The Duke was surprisingly rude, but d'Artagnan tuned it out, focused on a sudden flare of – something. Anger, cold and implacable, burning when the Duke climbed out of his carriage. d'Artagnan took a step forward, concentrating on it, trying to figure out where it was coming from. There shouldn't be anyone close enough for him to sense, no one but the servants surrounding the King.

A shot fired from the bushes and one of the Duke's men fell. d'Artagnan was moving before he'd thought about it, distantly aware that Athos and Aramis were with him, Treville and Porthos rallying the Musketeers and guards to protect the royalty. He ignored it all, focused on the faint thread of the shooter.

Athos and Aramis split off at some point, covering other paths. d'Artagnan ignored them, trying to follow a fading thread, until a flare from Aramis almost tripped him up. Recovering, he hesitated for a moment, filtering out the worst of it and checking on the others. As he became more used to the Musketeers, he could sense them at a greater distance; Athos and Porthos were still searching, getting more frustrated by the minute but not ready to give up.

Aramis, though – d'Artagnan could barely get a handle on him, he was so confused. Angry, confused, terrified. d'Artagnan followed the feelings, slipping silently into the colonnade, listening for only a moment before making himself known. "Care to tell me what's going on?"

Aramis was suddenly frantic. The other man, the shooter, was mostly resigned, and d'Artagnan dismissed him, watching Aramis.

"Marsac's an old friend."

"An old friend who just tried to kill the Duke of Savoy."

"Hear him out. Marsac was one of the best soldiers in the regiment."

That surprised d'Artagnan. There was nothing of the feelings he associated with Musketeers in this broken man. "He's a Musketeer?"

"He was."

"We were brothers once," Marsac added. "For the sake of our old friendship, let me prove what I know."

He was desperate for Aramis to listen. d'Artagnan looked away, damping the feelings. He'd Read enough, and the sense of him was making d'Artagnan feel grimy.

Aramis caught his eye, gesturing to one side. d'Artagnan joined him, keeping one eye on Marsac.

"I need you to keep quiet about this, for now," Aramis murmured.

"Have you gone mad?" d'Artagnan blurted. He couldn't understand the sheer guilt Aramis was carrying.

"Possibly, but…I owe him my life."

And he intended to honour the debt, whatever it cost him. d'Artagnan grimaced, silently determined to keep a very close eye on both of them. "If this gets me hanged, I'm going to take it very personally," he said warningly.

Aramis pressed a hand to his heart in gratitude, turning away to rejoin Marsac. d'Artagnan scowled, watching in silence.

Telling d'Artagnan about the massacre had hurt, but the quiet understanding he received in return helped. d'Artagnan didn't seem to be making any judgments about either of them.

Aramis didn't blame him for telling the others, either. He shouldn't have tried to keep it from them in the first place. But Marsac – he was so complicated; five years later and Aramis still couldn't quite untangle the emotions tied up in the man who had once been his friend. Placing his fate in Athos' hands was a relief. He trusted the older man to be fair and impartial in a way he knew he himself couldn't be. Not about this.

The thought of Treville as a traitor – Treville, giving up his own men – made Aramis sick. But once he'd heard it, he couldn't let it go. He wanted to believe, like the others did, that Treville was innocent, being framed. But it made sense, in a terrible way. Treville knew their orders; Treville had sent them out himself.

"Don't you want revenge?" Marsac asked.

"I want justice," Aramis told him, and it was true. But more and more, he thought that Treville would help him find that justice.

Athos took Marsac back to the Bonacieux house and Aramis returned to the garrison, settling at the table. He knew he should practise, move around, shake loose the memories of Savoy that were threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't bring himself to stand, though, too aware of Treville watching him from the walkway above.

Treville left, after a time, accompanying Porthos and Athos to the palace. Aramis waited until the yard was busy, Musketeers passing in all directions, to slip up the stairs. He'd never paid much attention to Treville's filing system, but after a moment he grasped it and started searching for what he needed.

Nothing. Nothing relating to Savoy; nothing about the training mission, the orders, the slaughter. The Musketeers' files all carried a Killed in Action notation, but there were no details.

At the Bonacieux house, the others listened but didn't seem especially convinced. Aramis, despite himself, was certain now that Treville had had something to do with this. If he hadn't planned it, he'd known about it somehow.

d'Artagnan chased him when he left the house, stopping him in the yard. "Aramis."

"What, d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan was holding himself stiffly, carefully not touching Aramis or coming too near him. "You need to calm down."

"d'Artagnan…"

"Listen to me," he interrupted. "We're helping you. Yes? If Treville did this, we want to find out about it. We want your justice. But you need to calm down; we can't do anything if you're like this."

Aramis studied him for a moment before turning away, taking a deep breath and trying to calm down. Athos would probably have told him the same thing if d'Artagnan hadn't got there first, and he knew it was good advice. That was Musketeer training; head, not heart.

"You're right," he said when he felt a little calmer. "My apologies."

"I know this is painful," d'Artagnan said softly, and Aramis was almost certain he really did know. "I'm sorry for that."

Aramis forced a smile. "It's good for a man to face his demons."

"So long as he doesn't try and face them alone," d'Artagnan said, tone faintly warning.

"I wouldn't dare, my friend," Aramis assured him, clapping a hand to the back of d'Artagnan's neck. The boy was shielding still, watching Aramis as if he had no idea what he was doing, and Aramis sighed gently, letting go. "I wouldn't dare."

Cluzet dealt with, d'Artagnan followed the others back to the garrison. He slowed as they approached; Aramis was somewhere inside, and he was grieving, sharp and painful.

"What is it?" Athos asked, glancing back at d'Artagnan.

"Nothing," d'Artagnan said absently.

"Something," Athos corrected him.

Gunshots echoed from the armoury and d'Artagnan took off at a run. Athos was on his heels when he came to an abrupt halt in the doorway.

Treville waved off their concern. Athos nudged d'Artagnan to one side, crossing to crouch beside Aramis. "Aramis."

Aramis shook his head slowly. "He didn't want – I didn't save him."

"He didn't want to be saved," Athos agreed.

d'Artagnan joined them, kneeling on Aramis' other side. "He was tired," he said gently. "You know that. Let him go, Aramis. I'll take care of him."

"You promise?" Aramis murmured.

"I promise. I know what he means to you." He wouldn't enjoy it, but he wouldn't have to deal with any of Marsac's emotions anymore, and it was little enough price to pay to help Aramis.

Aramis frowned suddenly, studying him. "You – can you?"

"Yes." d'Artagnan refused to acknowledge what he thought Aramis meant; he could worry about it later. "Let go."

Athos had to help, in the end, but they got him to let go of Marsac. d'Artagnan got the three nearest Musketeers – newer ones, they wouldn't know who Marsac was – and had them help him take care of the body. When they were finished, he sent them away and sat, waiting.

Aramis appeared more than an hour later, slowly approaching the low bench, studying Marsac. Clean and in new clothes, there was no sign of the wound that had killed him. d'Artagnan stayed where he was, eyes averted as Aramis stared at the body for a long time.

"He saved my life," he said eventually.

"Yes, you told me."

"No." Aramis looked up. d'Artagnan knew what he was going to do an instant before he did it; he started to speak, but Aramis said calmly, "He copied my Ability and used it to save my life."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan said warningly. "You're tired, and grieving. Don't say anything you'll regret later."

"Yes, because it's likely you'll turn me in, isn't it?" Aramis agreed. "Marsac's Ability was to copy that of anyone he touched. It wasn't something he did often, for fear of being unable to control it – but he saved my life when I would have bled to death."

"And left you with twenty dead bodies," d'Artagnan agreed.

"And as the one he left, I think I should decide whether to blame him for it or not."

d'Artagnan looked away, taking a moment to think. Aramis had made himself very vulnerable, all but placed his life in d'Artagnan's hands; he had only one way to repay that. "Aramis. Take it from someone who knows. Those dark emotions? They'll poison you if you let them."

"I'm not angry with him –"

"Not that. This guilt. This grief. Let it go. You didn't cause the massacre; you didn't turn Marsac into what he became. You gave him what he wanted more than anything else. Please. Try and let it go."

Aramis shuddered, staring at Marsac. "It's a hard thing."

"Very. But worth it." d'Artagnan touched his shoulder lightly. "You face your demons with your friends. Remember?"

"I remember."

"Good. Don't forget it." Hesitating a moment, he added, "This conversation, this stays between us, yes?"

Aramis studied him, frowning. "You have nothing to fear from the Musketeers, d'Artagnan."

Aramis believed it. That didn't make it true. "The priest in Lupiac imprisoned children on less evidence than this conversation," d'Artagnan said quietly. "Worse than imprisoned, sometimes. It stays between us."

"Would you run?" Curiosity, and something under it that d'Artagnan couldn't quite read.

"If you make me. Yes." Much as it would pain him to leave this place, these people, he would leave them if he had to. d'Artagnan's Ability wasn't dangerous the way some were, but if he was found, he'd be imprisoned somewhere and never released – or, if he was deemed useful and pliable enough, given to whatever clergyman or spymaster was in favour and used until he burned out.

"There is nothing for you to fear here," Aramis said again. "But I will do as you ask. For the kindness you showed my friend."

d'Artagnan glanced at Marsac. "It wasn't much to do."

"It was everything. Thank you."

Aramis turned back to the bench, easing to his knees beside it. d'Artagnan retreated to the corner, sliding down to sit on the floor, freeing his rosary from his wrist and echoing Aramis' soft prayers.

Long after Marsac was buried, after d'Artagnan had returned to the Bonacieux house and Porthos had gone looking for someone to cheat, Aramis sat with Athos in the back of a dim tavern. He hadn't tried to keep up with the other man's drinking, but he'd had enough; enough to take the edge off, to make things a little easier and a little gentler.

"Shall I walk you back?" Athos asked, far earlier than he normally would have.

"Thank you," Aramis agreed. He didn't much want to be alone tonight, and he knew Athos knew it, and he knew Athos would never mention it.

The night air cleared his mind a little, and he considered as they walked. "Do you ever wonder?"

"About what, specifically?"

"d'Artagnan."

"What about him?"

"What might happen if he passes the requirement."

Athos hesitated for the barest second. "Do you know something?"

"I've felt nothing new from him since Vadim." Not quite a lie. He hadn't felt anything during their conversation.

"Indeed," Athos murmured. "What do you think might happen?"

"I don't know. It worries me. Our – the requirement seems to complicate our lives as much as it makes them easier."

"That's true," Athos murmured. "Not something I particularly wish on him. However, if he can pass the requirement, he's better off with us than on his own."

"A tricky problem," Aramis said with a sigh.

"And not one we'll solve tonight, I think. Come along. I feel the need for a card game, now that Porthos isn't here to rob me blind."