Author's note: daisy chain, hope you like this one!

The Exiles

d'Artagnan escorted Constance home before going to find Aramis. He knew his friends well by now; Aramis was sitting alone in the darkest corner of a dark little tavern, steadily drinking his way through a fairly mediocre wine.

d'Artagnan sat down opposite him, shaking his head at the wench when she came to see if he wanted anything. "Aramis."

"d'Artagnan," Aramis returned. "How are you, my lad?"

"Better than you, I think." d'Artagnan carefully pulled Aramis' cup out of his reach; Aramis shrugged, reaching for the bottle, and d'Artagnan pulled that away too. "No, not for a minute. I want to talk to you."

"And I want to drink."

"Later," d'Artagnan insisted. "Aramis, when you reunited Henri and Agnes…"

He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Aramis squinted at him for a moment and then sighed, leaning across the table to reclaim his cup. "That is truly intrusive, my friend."

"I know; I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. How does it happen that a babe can make you so sad, Aramis? Such unbearable sorrow?"

Aramis shook his head, eyes on his cup. "That is not something I talk about, d'Artagnan. Not to anyone."

"Forgive me," d'Artagnan murmured. "I shouldn't have…"

"You're concerned. I understand that. But leave it alone. I don't need your help."

"Of course."

Aramis emptied his cup, sighing. "Well, I think I've had enough swill for one night. Come with me some place better. Unless you have another offer from a fairer face."

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes but didn't argue. "No better offers. You're buying, though."

"Ah, but I am the aggrieved party."

"Really? That's your argument?"

They left the tavern still arguing, and they were still arguing when Aramis simply stopped in the street. "I was to be a father once. The child was miscarried and my love's father sent her away."

d'Artagnan breathed through the griefguiltsorrow, touching Aramis' shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry."

"I would have been a terrible father."

"You would have been a wonderful father."

Aramis shook himself bodily, taking a step away. "We should be careful; Porthos likes to play in the inns around here. We may find ourselves forced to pay his debts."

"Paying your debts is enough for me," d'Artagnan said obligingly. If Aramis wanted to pretend he hadn't spoken, d'Artagnan would play along. "Maybe we should bill everything to Athos. He must have accounts in some of these places."

"You're the one who'll have to face him in training, not me."

"Yes, why is that? Don't you established Musketeers ever need to practise?"

Aramis patted him gently on the cheek. "We're all perfect already."

They argued in and out of another two inns before Aramis allowed d'Artagnan to steer him towards the garrison. It was barely worth going to bed, they'd have to be on parade in a couple of hours, but d'Artagnan was hoping a wash and change of clothes would help Aramis feel more like himself.

"It's not something I think about," Aramis said abruptly as they reached the gates. "Only – I suppose it felt like a second chance, today."

"You saved Henri," d'Artagnan reminded him. "And Agnes. You reunited a child and his mother."

"We, we did that."

"I think you can count this one as yours."

Aramis glanced at the stairs leading to his room. "I can manage from here. Go find an empty room, M Bonacieux will hardly be happy if you come home now."

"There's not much point," d'Artagnan agreed. "Are you all right?"

"You tell me."

"That's not what I meant."

Aramis smiled. "I'm all right."

"Good."

"I would have been a terrible father," Aramis said softly. "But I would have loved my child."

"Then you would have been a wonderful father," d'Artagnan said just as quietly.

"Go and clean up, d'Artagnan. I'll see you at breakfast." As d'Artagnan turned away, Aramis added, "Don't Read me."

d'Artagnan looked back, but Aramis was already gone. d'Artagnan grimaced, heading for an empty room; sinking down to sit cross legged, he carefully drew a shield against Aramis, blocking out the terrible sorrow and letting him grieve in peace.

Aramis glanced around to make sure they were safe before dropping to his knees beside d'Artagnan. He'd been the first victim of the ambush, taking down one man before collapsing, bleeding freely from the thigh. He was half-leaning against a tree, both hands clamped to the injury, watching through lidded eyes.

Aramis stripped off his gloves, leaning in to press two fingers to his neck. He recoiled immediately. Always difficult to Read, d'Artagnan was currently shielding so tightly Aramis could barely sense him at all.

Automatically glancing around to make sure the others weren't too close, he murmured "d'Artagnan, you need to lower your shield."

"No."

Aramis frowned, pulling his sash free and pressing it against the injury, repositioning d'Artagnan's hand to hold it in place. "I can't help you if you don't. You're bleeding out, d'Artagnan. There's no one here, you're safe."

"No!" d'Artagnan threw his head backwards, bouncing it against the tree behind him.

"d'Artagnan!" Aramis got a hand behind his head in time to stop the second blow. He couldn't feel any blood, but the lump was already coming up. "What are you doing?"

"I can't," d'Artagnan moaned. "He's not dead yet."

"Who..." Aramis half turned to study the bandit d'Artagnan had brought down. His aim had been good, piercing a lung; the man would die in minutes. "He'll be dead in moments, d'Artagnan. He isn't any danger."

d'Artagnan shook his head, eyes fever bright. "I can't, Aramis, he'll take me with him. Please don't make me go back there, please."

Aramis glanced down; the sash was already soaked in blood. The flow was slowing, but not enough; they didn't have time to wait for the man to die. "Athos!"

Athos came to join them, eyes widening at the sight of them. "Aramis..."

"Put that one out of his misery," Aramis ordered, jerking his chin towards the man.

Athos studied him. "You might save him."

"I'm busy," Aramis snapped. "And he's in pain. Just do it, please."

Athos obeyed, coming back to watch for a moment. "Aramis."

"It's not all his blood," Aramis lied briskly, grateful that the fight had ranged over this whole area. "He's just a little stunned."

"Do you need help?"

"No. Are either of you hurt?"

"Nothing to speak of." That probably meant bruises.

"Good. Go away and let me work before he wakes up enough to notice."

Athos raised an eyebrow, but he went, dragging the body away with him. Aramis turned back to d'Artagnan, cupping his cheek to make him look up. "d'Artagnan, he's dead. Look at me. He's dead. You have to put your shield down now, let me help you." The dissonance between being able to see d'Artagnan, touch him, and not being able to sense him was making him dizzy.

d'Artagnan focused with an effort, pushing weakly against him. "Let go."

"Shields!"

"Let me go. You can't be touching me."

Aramis lifted his hands away without moving. d'Artagnan lowered his head, grimacing.

"d'Artagnan."

"Yes. I'm all right."

Aramis immediately latched back on, one hand on his neck, one plastered to his leg. "You are an idiot," he muttered as he worked. "I hope it was worth it."

"Worth anything," d'Artagnan said on a sigh.

Armais tightened his grip on the back of his neck to make him look up again. "You almost bled to death," he said distinctly. "Another minute, less, and I would have hurt myself trying to save you. I lied to Athos for you. That's worth it?"

"Worth't," d'Artagnan agreed. He was exhausted, now, and Aramis hadn't the energy to spare to wake him up any. "S'ry, 'Mis. Can sl'p now?"

"You'd better," Aramis muttered. "We'll talk about this later."

"Ys," d'Artagnan sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. Aramis watched warily until he was sure the boy wasn't leaning against the lump; then he got to work repairing the damage.

Athos had been paying more attention than Aramis thought; a few minutes after he finished working on d'Artagnan, Athos came past with dried meat and a hunk of bread, and a little after that he came back to check on them. "Can we move him? This isn't a good place to camp."

Aramis shook his head wearily. "He needs to rest. Not for long, we'll be able to move on well before dark."

"You should rest too," Athos murmured. "I'll watch over him."

"I can rest perfectly well right here," Aramis said firmly.

Athos hesitated, looking between them. "Aramis, he's not…"

"He needs rest," Aramis repeated. "He'll be weak, blood loss. The injury was serious, and I'd like to be here when he wakes in case he was more aware than I think he was."

"Very well," Athos agreed. "But you must rest properly. Porthos or I will stay with him, we'll wake you if you're needed."

Aramis gave in, settling near d'Artagnan. He fell asleep almost at once, and it seemed like only moments later when Porthos woke him.

"Boy's getting restless," Porthos murmured. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Aramis assured him, glancing at the sky to get an idea of the time. "We're moving soon?"

"Athos wanted to let you both sleep as much as you could. There's stew, he caught a couple rabbits."

"Thank you. For both of us, please."

Porthos went to take care of it and Aramis moved to sit beside d'Artagnan. He was struggling to wake, fighting his own exhaustion. Aramis helped gently, giving him enough energy to get there, coaxing him out loud.

"There we go," he murmured when d'Artagnan blinked himself awake. "How do you feel?"

d'Artagnan stared at the branches overhead, swallowing. "Thirsty."

"That's the blood loss," Aramis told him, glancing around. Athos had been watching again; he was waiting with a water skin in his hands, and as soon as Aramis looked at him he came forward to pass it over.

"How are you feeling?" he asked d'Artagnan.

"M'fine," d'Artagnan assured him.

"Porthos is bringing stew." d'Artagnan made a face, and Athos smiled. "I know you don't feel like it, but you need to eat."

"Sit up," Aramis murmured. "Slowly."

He helped, taking the opportunity to Read d'Artagnan. The boy was tired, and weaker than Aramis liked, but that wasn't unexpected after blood loss.

"Well?" d'Artagnan asked, shifting to lean against the tree. "How am I?"

Aramis forced a smile. "Drink up. Slowly."

d'Artagnan obeyed, taking careful sips. Porthos came to bring the stew and went away again, helping Athos to put out the fire and clear their belongings.

Aramis waited until d'Artagnan had finished eating to set his own bowl aside. "d'Artagnan."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan answered, eyes closed.

"I need to know what happened. I have to know how to help you."

d'Artagnan nodded without looking at him. "How old were you the first time you killed a man?"

Aramis shrugged. "Fifteen? Sixteen, maybe."

"I was sixteen," he said distantly. "Raiders, they'd been attacking the farms around. When they came for us we fought back, my father and I, and I killed one."

"There's no shame in that."

He smiled faintly, eyes still closed. "I was unconscious for nearly two days and ill for another four after that. My father said it was a fever from a wound I took in the fight."

Aramis leaned forward, laying a hand on d'Artagnan's to Read him again. "It wasn't?"

"I wasn't shielding, when we fought. I so rarely did at home. When he died…"

d'Artagnan trailed off, and Aramis thought quickly. "You said don't make me go back there." d'Artagnan nodded slowly. "Do you…d'Artagnan, look at me." He waited patiently until d'Artagnan obeyed before continuing, "Do you believe that's what happened?" d'Artagnan was as irreverent as any soldier, but he was Catholic and he believed in the afterlife.

"I don't…" d'Artagnan's gaze skipped away again. "It was dark, and empty, and I couldn't find my way back. It felt like forever, all alone there."

Aramis squeezed his hand, trying to draw his attention back. "If your father said fever…"

"He was afraid of my Ability," d'Artagnan said flatly. "Not – not of it, but of me being found. It was always hidden and quiet and safe. He would have said anything – and it happened again, two years after that, another death. Another…" He shuddered bodily, looking back at Aramis. "I can't, Aramis," he said pleadingly. "Someone dies by my hand, I cannot stop shielding until they're dead. No matter what."

"You almost bled to death."

"It's better," d'Artagnan said firmly. "Not – you said it would hurt you. I don't want that. But anything's better than that dark place."

Aramis drew in a breath, sighing. "All right. So far as it's in my power, you will not return to that place." It was hardly the first time he'd had to work around Abilities, after all; Marsac had been all but impossible to help, and there had been others over the years he'd served with the Musketeers.

"Thank you," d'Artagnan murmured, squeezing his hand lightly.

"Is there anything else I need to know about you?" d'Artagnan shifted slightly, and Aramis sighed. "Is there anything else you're willing to tell me?" he rephrased.

"Nothing I can think of. I think you know what you need."

It didn't surprise him, really. And he was almost certain d'Artagnan would tell him, in time, so he was willing not to push. "If I find you've hidden something important, I'm going to be very upset. Can you travel?" Aramis asked briskly.

"You're my physician." Aramis scowled at him, and d'Artagnan smiled, ducking his head. "I'm tired, but I can travel."

"Dizzy?"

"A little," he admitted.

"We'll take it slowly. Make sure that you tell one of us if you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood, you'll tire easily for a while."

d'Artagnan glanced towards Athos and Porthos, both busy with the horses. "What did you tell them?"

"I told them you were too far gone to realise how badly hurt you were." Aramis rose to his feet, holding out a hand to help him up and taking one last Look as he did. Still tired, still weaker than he could be, but easier in himself, more relaxed.

"Good," he murmured, almost to himself. "Let's go."

d'Artagnan was supposed to be on light duties for a couple of days, while he recovered from what they were all calling a head injury. He'd grumbled about it, but he was mostly obeying, so Athos was surprised not to see him in the yard on the third morning.

"Treville sent him to the market with Serge," Porthos told him when he asked.

"I see," Athos murmured. "Are we there, then?"

"We've been quite loud," Aramis said with a shrug.

"And he's lasted longer than a lot of recruits do," Porthos added. "It's about time for this."

"It doesn't prove anything," Aramis said, watching him.

"It will tell us whether he'll ever advance here or not," Athos said with a sigh. He'd known this would happen, of course; it happened to every prospective Musketeer at a certain point in their training. He was quite sure d'Artagnan would pass, but it still worried him.

"No, it won't, it'll just tell us whether he can advance here or not," Porthos said briskly.

"He'd be wasted in any other regiment," Aramis added.

"He'll be wasted here if he can't gain a commission," Athos snapped. "He cannot stay a recruit forever, much as some of us may like him to."

"I think that one's aimed at you, Aramis," Porthos told him.

Aramis shrugged. "He'd fit in here, you know."

"Knowing it doesn't get him past the requirement," Athos reminded them. "Now shush, they're coming back."

Porthos bounded to his feet, going to relieve d'Artagnan of some of the baskets he was carrying. d'Artagnan gave them up gratefully. His injury was healed, but he still tired more quickly than normal; it was the only reason he wasn't fighting harder against his lightened duty load.

"Serge," Treville called down from the balcony. "How was the market?"

"Went well, Captain," Serge told him. "Got everything you wanted."

"Good." Treville nodded sharply. "Get those supplies in and come up here, I want to talk to you. Athos, you too."

Serge nodded, heading for the kitchen with Porthos and d'Artagnan trailing behind him. Aramis sighed, glancing at Athos. "That answers that, then."

"Yes," Athos agreed. Glancing at Aramis, he added, "Do you think he can do it?"

Aramis shrugged. "Hard to say. It will depend on how well we teach him. Considering how long it took you…"

Athos nodded absently, looking back at the kitchen as Serge emerged. "Get him practising his stances. He can do that without wearing himself out. I won't be long."

He wasn't; Serge didn't have much to say except that they'd been right to suspect d'Artagnan, he did have an Ability, something in the Active Mental family. That gave them a lot of possibilities, and it fit with what Athos had noticed as they worked together.

Athos stepped out of the office and hesitated on the balcony, watching as Aramis directed d'Artagnan's stance and Porthos offered less than helpful comments from the sidelines. d'Artagnan grinned at something Aramis said, glancing up to meet Athos' eyes. Athos nodded slowly, moving to join them. Whether d'Artagnan passed the requirement or not, he still needed training, and Athos intended him to be the best.