A Rebellious Woman

Porthos was already moving towards the disturbance when he realised d'Artagnan was sliding from his horse in a barely-controlled fall. Cursing, he reined in. "d'Artagnan?"

"I'm fine." d'Artagnan was leaning heavily against his horse. "Go. I'm behind you."

Porthos glanced around for the nearest Musketeer, gestured him to stay with d'Artagnan, and started pushing his way through the crowd. Treville was sending the royal carriage on, directing Musketeers with shouts and hand gestures; they met just as Porthos was rolling the young woman's body over.

"Is she armed?" Treville asked.

Porthos shook his head, plucking a roll of parchment from her hand. "Only with this."

Treville glanced away and a moment later Constance fell to her knees before them. "Thérèse DuBois," she said, reaching out to touch her.

d'Artagnan appeared beside Porthos, leaning forward to get Constance's attention. "What was she doing?"

"I don't know." Constance took the paper from him, studying it. "Fleur, what does this mean? Fleur?"

Whoever she was looking for was gone. Porthos glanced sideways at d'Artagnan. The boy was still too pale, supporting himself with one hand on the ground.

"You right?" he murmured, keeping one eye on Treville.

"What? Yes." d'Artagnan pushed to his feet, more violently than he really needed to, and turned to start ushering people back.

Porthos frowned, watching him for a moment before looking back at Constance. "Can we escort you home, Madame?"

She looked up sharply, following his gaze to d'Artagnan. "Thank you. I do feel a little shaky."

d'Artagnan glanced back at them, but he didn't comment, only waited while Porthos got Treville's permission and then followed them away from the scene.

Constance walked in silence for a while, more or less ignoring Porthos. d'Artagnan was still trailing behind them; Porthos glanced back every so often, noting with some satisfaction that the boy was regaining his colour the more they went.

Half a street from the Bonacieux house d'Artagnan suddenly stepped past Porthos, touching Constance's arm. "Constance."

"What?"

"Are you all right?"

"Now you notice?" She pulled her arm free, stalking towards the house.

"No, of course not. I didn't want to ask you in public."

"We're still in public!" she hissed.

"No one's paying attention. Constance." He touched her arm again, not holding it, just touching it; Porthos looked away, keeping them in the corner of his eye.

After a moment Constance turned away, heading for the house. "I can't bear the thought of Fleur alone, lost in Paris."

"We'll find her," d'Artagnan promised, following her into the room Bonacieux used to store his cloth. "I promise."

"What am I going to tell her father? He's my husband's cousin."

Porthos gestured her to sit, taking a seat near her; d'Artagnan sat, bracing his elbows on his knees and letting his head hang. Porthos ignored it. He'd deal with that later. "How long have you known our friend Thérèse?" he asked Constance.

Constance shook her head. "A month or so. There is one thing that might help. Comtesse de Larroque had taken an interest in her. She was teaching her to read and write."

"Many nobles are kind to their servants," d'Artagnan said gently.

"This was more than that. Thérèse knew Greek and Latin, she'd studied the stars…Fleur attended some of the lessons too. They…went in secret."

Porthos glanced at d'Artagnan, one eyebrow up. d'Artagnan shrugged. It was more education than most men ever got, but it was the secrecy that caught his attention.

"Thank you," Porthos told Constance. "I promise we'll do everything we can."

"Do you want me to stay until your husband gets back?" d'Artagnan asked quietly.

"No, no. I'm fine. Please, go and find Fleur."

d'Artagnan nodded, following Porthos back out. Porthos let them get a street away, well out of view of the house, before pausing. "d'Artagnan."

"Mmm?"

"You with me?"

d'Artagnan glanced at him, frowning. "Porthos…"

"Don't know where your mind's at, but it's not here." Porthos softened his voice. "Look, seeing a girl like that…if you need to take a bit…"

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan said firmly.

"d'Artagnan…"

"I'm fine," he repeated.

"I can go talk to Treville on my own."

"Porthos!"

Porthos eyed him. "Back with me, then? Good. Keep doing that."

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "Really?"

"Don't think I'm not setting Aramis on you, either."

"He won't find anything."

"Then it won't hurt, will it? Come on; we need to catch Treville."

They had just enough time to explain to Treville before he left with Athos and Aramis to escort the priest Sestini to the palace. Porthos didn't have time to make good on his threat, either, but he was planning to and he knew d'Artagnan knew it.

Treville had told them to wait at the garrison. d'Artagnan settled at their usual table, freeing his rosary from around his wrist. For all the time he spent praying on that thing, Porthos hadn't yet seen him go to a church, but he wasn't going to question another man's beliefs.

They sat in silence until the others arrived back. d'Artagnan looked much better, almost perfectly like himself; he wound the rosary back on, standing to greet the others.

"We're to visit the salon of the Comtesse," Athos told them. "To see if she knows anything about Fleur's disappearance."

"An excellent idea," d'Artagnan agreed, starting to move away.

Porthos caught his arm, holding him in place without effort. "Before that, Aramis, you might want to take a look at d'Artagnan. Near came off his horse earlier, and he's been distracted since."

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan insisted, eyes on Aramis. "The heat, that's all. I'd have told Porthos that, but he was busy with the girl who was killed. Thérèse."

Porthos frowned. d'Artagnan and Aramis were talking to each other, absolutely silently. When had they got that close?

Aramis nodded briskly. "Have you taken anything to drink since? That's best when one is too hot. Come with me."

d'Artagnan went meekly. Porthos frowned, watching them go before looking at Athos. "What was that?"

"I'm sure I have no idea."

"Aramis knows something he's not telling us."

"I'm sure he knows many things he isn't telling us. Would you really want to know everything he does? There is a limit to what I wish to know about the ladies of Paris."

"And you know what it is, too."

Athos held his gaze without answering. Porthos laughed softly, looking away. "It's the bloody requirement, isn't it."

"I'm sure I have no idea," Athos repeated.

"Yeah, yeah. I know the drill."

"Porthos," Athos said quietly. "I really don't know. Suspicions. Nothing solid. If I'd had anything I could give you…"

"I know. And Aramis?"

"He won't say. I'm quite sure he has suspicions, too. But he refuses to discuss them with me. Perhaps he will with you."

"Maybe. I'll see what I can do."

"Don't approach d'Artagnan. You know what the requirement is."

"Yeah, I remember. Thought you were never going to pass it."

"Hmm."

Aramis reappeared, dropping to sit opposite Porthos. "He's fine. He'll be back in a moment, I told him to drink some more."

"So it was the heat?" Porthos asked.

"Summer in Paris," Aramis said with a shrug.

"He grew up in Gascony."

"Quite a different kind of heat."

Porthos leaned forward to hold his gaze. "If it was something would affect him, you'd let us know."

Aramis clasped both hands to his heart. "What do you take me for, Porthos? If I thought for even a moment his skills would be affected, I would certainly not keep it to myself."

Porthos sat back, grimacing at Athos' pointed look. Sometimes he forgot just how skilled Aramis was with words. "Good. Don't like to think he might be in trouble and hiding it from us."

Aramis smiled. "Don't worry. He's not in trouble."

d'Artagnan joined them, looping a waterskin over his shoulder. "Ready?"

"Yes," Athos said before either of the others could answer. "Let's go."

d'Artagnan lagged behind Athos and Porthos as they rode. Aramis stayed beside him, talking quietly about complete inconsequentials; he didn't answer much, but it made it look to the others as though they were talking.

"Are you sure you're well?" Aramis asked as they neared the Comtesse's townhouse.

"Yes," d'Artagnan said with a sigh. "I wasn't expecting the death, that's all."

"You weren't shielding?"

"Watching for threats to the King. Thérèse had no intention of hurting anyone; I didn't register her until it was too late."

Aramis eyed him. "You've felt death before. You must have."

"When I was prepared for it, yes. The last death I wasn't expecting was my father, and I was ill for near a day before I started for Paris. Deaths I've caused myself are even worse. You're a healer, you must know this. The end of everything a person is – it's big, Aramis. If I'm ready for it, there's no problem. If I'm not…" He shrugged. "I'm fine now. I used the beads while we were waiting for you."

"It's not good to lean so heavily on those," Aramis warned him. "Not on anything that can be taken away from you."

"I know. Paris – it's too big; too loud. It's getting easier, a little better every day, but – it's this or leave, Aramis. Or go mad and jump in the river."

"You could use us," he suggested.

d'Artagnan swallowed. "You're not steady enough." Not true, he'd been shielding on them for a while now, but mostly involuntarily. Until he got it under better control, he didn't want to say anything about it.

"I think I've just been insulted," Aramis announced to no one in particular.

"And you pick up too many traces from other people. There's no way to avoid that."

"I suppose not."

"If you two are quite ready?" Athos called from ahead.

"Merely sharing some medical advice," Aramis said easily, spurring his horse forward to join Athos. d'Artagnan dismounted where he was, handing the reins over to the waiting stable boy.

Ninon's home was amazing, two levels filled with more books than d'Artagnan had ever seen, full of light. The women were mostly curious, some mildly concerned. He mentally went through them, trying to find something he could recognise as Fleur. He'd had only a brief sense of her earlier.

Oh. That was unexpected. He traced that familiar sense, catching sight of a skirt disappearing around a pillar. Not Fleur, but maybe just as important.

When he refocused Athos was oddly flustered; it surprised him. Porthos and Aramis both stepped in, diverting the Comtesse just long enough for Athos to recover himself; he was quick to leave them behind when she offered to let him look for Fleur, though.

"Well," d'Artagnan murmured. "If that wasn't flirting, I don't know what is."

"Rubbish, she can't stand him," Porthos protested.

Aramis smiled. "Some day, we'll sit down and I'll explain women to you."

"Good luck," d'Artagnan said absently. That trace was turning jealous, anger seeping through.

Aramis glanced at him, frowned, and manoeuvred him away from Porthos. "What is it?"

d'Artagnan shook his head. "Something to tell Athos; I don't think it's related."

"Is Fleur here?"

"I can't tell. I don't know her well enough."

"Then stop looking. Porthos is already suspicious."

d'Artagnan concentrated, keeping hold of that one trace to tell Athos about and letting everything else fade out. Aramis watched, narrow-eyed, until he nodded. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Good." Aramis clapped him on the shoulder, going back to join Porthos.

d'Artagnan lingered near the doorway until Athos returned. He spoke briefly to the others before Aramis gestured to d'Artagnan; Athos glanced over, coming to join him. "Something wrong?"

d'Artagnan took a step back, into the corridor; Athos followed, one eyebrow raised. "Is this necessary?"

"I hope not, but considering what I'm about to tell you…your word that you will be calm, Athos."

"Is Fleur here?"

"This isn't about Fleur; I don't think it is, anyway." d'Artagnan hesitated before blurting out "Your wife is here."

Athos went very, very still.

"I saw her as we came in," d'Artagnan continued quickly. "She hid until you left with the Comtesse; then she slipped out a side door. I don't think she was happy with your conversation."

"Have you told the others?" Athos asked eventually.

"I swore I wouldn't, and I haven't. Athos, does the Comtesse know who she is?"

"I'd imagine not," he said distantly. "I am to return tonight; I will try to find out."

d'Artagnan swallowed. "I'm sorry…"

"No. It's better to know. Say nothing to the others, for now."

"Of course," d'Artagnan murmured.

Athos turned to gesture the other two to join them. "I'm satisfied Fleur Baudin is not here," he told them. "We should return to Treville and make our report."

"What happens then?" d'Artagnan asked.

"That depends on the King. Let's go."

d'Artagnan felt bad leaving Constance at home, but Fleur was gone, collected by her father, and there was no more use he could be. Constance had agreed, waving him off.

Now he was standing at the back of the room. The trial had already started and he was unwilling to draw attention to himself by joining the others.

At least, he was unwilling until he realised what was happening. Then he slipped carefully through the crowd until he reached Aramis' side. Aramis was watching Ninon, like everyone else, listening as she argued her case.

d'Artagnan stamped on his foot.

Aramis strangled a curse, turning to glare at him. d'Artagnan stepped even closer, lowering his voice as far as he dared. "She has an Ability."

Aramis glanced at Ninon and back at d'Artagnan. "How do you know?"

"Trust me," he muttered. "Try not to listen to her."

Aramis looked at him for a moment longer before stumbling to one side, directly into Athos and Porthos. Neither of them made any noise, but they both looked at d'Artagnan first. He mimed blocking his ears and Athos nodded, eyes narrowed.

"Madame de la Chapelle, come forward," the Cardinal ordered.

d'Artagnan flinched, reaching for Athos' arm. "Athos…"

Madame de la Chapelle began speaking, and Athos went rigid.

"Porthos," d'Artagnan hissed, and Porthos stepped into Athos' other side, pinning him between them. "Athos, don't, it won't do any good!"

Athos gripped Porthos' arm, tightly enough that Porthos grimaced, but he didn't speak. Aramis shifted so that he could watch Madame de la Chapelle give her testimony, frowning as he listened.

Athos tensed when she was dismissed, passing by them with a sideways glance, but he made no attempt to go after her. Porthos let him go, warily; d'Artagnan took a couple of steps backwards, leaning heavily against the wall. Athos' rage hurt, and it was difficult to block.

It was odd, being near Athos and Anne at the same time. d'Artagnan knew Anne, at least a little; but Athos' perceptions of her were so certain, so sharply formed, it was odd to stand near her and realise that her sole purpose in life was not his destruction. She wouldn't be upset about it, d'Artagnan thought, but she was concentrating on other things. Lots of other things; her mind was working very quickly, planning all the time.

She was hurting Athos, badly, simply by being there. That alone would have meant that d'Artagnan would never be inclined to go to her again; but something about her cold pragmatism made him sick. Killing someone because you had to was one thing. Killing someone because it was expedient was completely different. If it came to it, he knew, if it suited her plans, Anne would kill him without a second thought.

"Who was that?" Porthos demanded. Athos only shook his head, looking back towards the front of the room as the Cardinal pronounced Ninon's death sentence.

The Queen appeared, smiling coldly at the Cardinal. "It is his Majesty's wish that unless the Comtesse declares her guilt, freely and without torture, that she be spared the death penalty."

d'Artagnan smiled faintly at the wave of relief passing through the room. Only two people seemed angry about it; the Cardinal, and Father Sestini. The Cardinal rose to his feet, already protesting.

And then his eyes rolled back and he clawed at his throat as his breath caught. Unprepared, d'Artagnan stumbled, trying to throw up a shield as his own throat seemed to close; Athos turned to catch him as he staggered into the wall. Aramis looked towards him but d'Artagnan waved him off, forcing the shield up through sheer force of will and bending over to cough harshly.

"Go," Athos said over his head, and Aramis went. Athos tugged lightly at d'Artagnan's arm, steering him out of the room and into the courtyard.

"Deep breaths," he said, and d'Artagnan obliged, feeling the last of the constriction fall away. Inside the Cardinal was still suffering, and Louis was all but hysterical, and Aramis was sadly determined, but out here it was quiet and still and Athos was patiently waiting.

"I'm fine," he said eventually.

"Yes, you've been quite fine these last few days," Athos agreed dryly.

"Athos…"

"You don't have to tell us, but don't assume that we're idiots, d'Artagnan."

"I've never thought that."

Athos nodded sharply. "Good. What was wrong with Ninon?"

d'Artagnan winced. "Some kind of – something in her voice, made us more willing to listen. I don't think she had any actual control," he added at Athos' look. "Just – easier to hear."

"I see," Athos murmured. "You didn't hear this before."

"I was slightly occupied with your wife the first time." Glancing at Athos, he added, "And I didn't spend any time alone with her after that."

Athos smirked, glancing towards the building as Porthos appeared. "What's happening?"

"Cardinal's throwing up all over the place," Porthos said cheerfully. "Aramis says it's a good sign, I dunno. We all right out here?" Without waiting for an answer, he added "Who was that woman?"

"Not who she claimed to be. Aramis thinks the Cardinal was poisoned?"

"He's fairly sure."

"Then we need to find who'd want to kill the Cardinal."

"Who wouldn't?" d'Artagnan muttered, and flinched at his look. "Why don't I go and see if Aramis needs help?"

"Why don't you," Athos agreed flatly. d'Artagnan grinned, slipping inside and leaving them to decide what to do next.

Richelieu drifted towards consciousness, aware of voices nearby. He felt far better than he'd expected to; he was sore and tired and his head hurt, but he was alive.

After a while he identified one of the voices as Aramis, the Musketeer medic. The other name was slower to come to him, until he finally remembered; d'Artagnan, the Gascon boy, Milady's little pet project.

They clearly hadn't realised he was awake, and he didn't move. Extra intelligence on the Musketeers was always useful, however he came by it.

"Why did you learn?" d'Artagnan asked quietly. "Herblore and stitching, why do you need them?"

"I can't always do things the other way," Aramis told him. "Sometimes the company is wrong, or the surroundings."

"You just Healed Richelieu."

Richelieu lay very, very still.

"He won't remember. He'll think it was the emetic. He may have suspicions, but he won't act on them, not without proof."

"Would the emetic have worked?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I couldn't risk it."

"Risk it," d'Artagnan repeated.

Aramis fussed with the blanket for a moment. "Where I perceive pain I must try and ease it. Where something is broken I must try to fix it. That is the price I pay."

"You're a soldier," d'Artagnan pointed out.

"And so I do not touch those who must die. Once I touch them, it's very difficult for me to ignore their needs."

"Including your mistresses?"

Aramis laughed softly. "I can shield, if I have to. But – well, you know what happens when one shields for too long."

"I have a vague idea," d'Artagnan agreed.

"An encounter, a few hours. This is easy. A battle, a siege, time among enemies…" Aramis was moving, getting further away. "It's not so heavy a price."

"I hadn't realised."

"No reason you should. I don't begrudge it. I do, however, need to eat. He shouldn't wake up for some while yet. If he does, call me."

"I will," d'Artagnan promised, and the door closed firmly.

Richelieu kept his breathing even with an effort. A confession, straight from the mouth of a Musketeer. It was everything he'd wanted for years, since Treville had convinced the King to found that stupid regiment. Abilities were strictly forbidden, those with them imprisoned or killed depending on what the Ability was. But he'd suspected the Musketeers for years, and now he had proof.

Richelieu let some time pass – maybe twenty minutes – before shifting as though waking up. d'Artagnan had been utterly silent the whole time, silent enough that Richelieu had wondered if he'd been left completely alone. But now he moved, coming closer to the bed. "Cardinal?"

"What happened?" Richelieu asked, pressing a hand to his head.

"You've been sick. Poisoned, we think. Aramis has treated you, he believes you'll recover."

"Oh, well, if Aramis thinks so," Richelieu muttered. "Water."

d'Artagnan wouldn't have liked that, but he obediently found a cup and helped Richelieu to drink it. Richelieu automatically blessed it before drinking to make it safe; he had no wish to be poisoned again, and it seemed likely if the first attempt hadn't worked.

He'd always enjoyed the irony of the First Minister of France having the Ability to neutralise poison in food or drink; he'd protected the King a dozen times without his ever knowing it. Who would question a Churchman blessing a meal?

d'Artagnan set the cup aside, standing uncertainly for a moment. "I should send for Aramis, he wanted to know when you woke."

"By all means. Let's let him ply his talent."

d'Artagnan hesitated, looking at him oddly, but then left. Richelieu waited patiently, trying to decide how he would play this.

Aramis arrived a few minutes later, doffing his cap and bowing at the door. "Your Eminence."

"Aramis," Richelieu answered, watching as d'Artagnan skulked in and waited just inside the door.

"How are you feeling?" Aramis touched his neck gently – gloved, Richelieu noted.

"Like I've been poisoned."

"A little more specific, if you please."

Richelieu glared at d'Artagnan, who shifted slightly but didn't seem to get the hint. "My throat's sore," he said finally. "And my head. I feel sick."

"That's the emetic," Aramis said apologetically, pulling off his glove to check the pulse at Richelieu's wrist. "We had to get the poison out of your system. How's your breathing?"

"Fine." He caught Aramis' wrist, holding it just tightly enough to hurt; Aramis watched him steadily. "Will I live?"

"Without question."

"How fortunate I am that you were here."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan said from the doorway.

"In a moment," Aramis said without moving. "I'm sure that the monks here could have tended you just as well as I, Eminence."

"Oh, I think not. If I had to be poisoned, I'm lucky you were here. Your skills are near miraculous."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan said again.

"Much study and sad experience," Aramis said evenly, still ignoring him. He hadn't tried to pull free, he wasn't even tense. "Is there anything you need, Cardinal? Sadly, our duties call us away, but the monks are most anxious to take care of you."

"I'm sure they are," Richelieu agreed, letting him go. Aramis didn't recoil or reach to touch his freed wrist; he didn't seem to have noticed, which irritated Richelieu immensely. "I need nothing. Go attend to your duties. I'm sure they are most important."

Aramis stood, bowing as he retreated. "Try and rest, your Eminence, and you'll soon recover." He caught d'Artagnan's arm, bundling him out the door without letting him speak.

Richelieu smiled, letting himself relax. He could string Aramis along this way for months, never quite letting him relax. It could be a lot of fun. And it could be useful, having access to a healer whose freedom depended on his silence. As long as he didn't abuse the privilege too much; he knew enough about Aramis to know that he would bend to a certain point and then kick, hard. It would take finesse to manage him.

Of course, he probably wouldn't ever turn him in. It would be the height of ingratitude. But still – he had proof, now. Somewhere to start.

He drifted back to sleep imagining the day he'd expose the Musketeers.

"He knows," d'Artagnan hissed as they walked.

Aramis faltered briefly before shaking his head. "I thought I told you to stop Reading people."

"Under the circumstances, it seemed wise. Aramis…"

"He has no proof."

"He's First Minister of France! He doesn't need proof!"

Aramis caught his arm, driving him against the nearest wall and holding him there with an arm across his chest. "Calm. Down," he said deliberately. d'Artagnan gripped his arm, but he wasn't trying to free himself, only to ground himself. Aramis ignored it. "Calm," he said again, watching as d'Artagnan forced himself to calm down.

"Richelieu is a politician," he said finally. "He will do nothing about me unless he has proof, and I have no intention of providing him that proof. Do you hear me?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan said after a moment.

"Did he mean me any harm?"

d'Artagnan tried to look away; Aramis was too close. "He likes thinking you'll know that he knows," he said finally. "He enjoys holding it over you. But no. I don't think he means to hand you over."

"Then there's nothing to worry about." Aramis relaxed the pressure in his arm without removing it. "All right? Nothing."

"You should tell…" d'Artagnan cut himself off.

"I will deal with this," Aramis promised softly. "And if I need your help, I will come to you. I promise. If you will promise not to worry about this in between. Am I worried?"

"A little," d'Artagnan murmured.

Aramis smiled in spite of himself. "Well, then, I suppose you can worry a little."

d'Artagnan tightened his grip on Aramis' arm and Aramis took a step back, letting him free. "This will be fine," he said again.

"How is the Cardinal?" the Queen called from further down the colonnade.

d'Artagnan bowed before backing away, waiting patiently some way away.

"I was surprised to see my gift to you around Ninon's neck," the Queen said stiffly. "Is she your lover, too?"

Aramis hoped d'Artagnan wasn't Reading him right now. "She is a good woman facing an appalling death. I sought only to comfort her."

The Queen flushed. "Forgive me. Your compassion does you credit." Aramis smiled, bowing very faintly, and she hurried past him and away.

If d'Artagnan had been Reading him, he gave no sign of it when Aramis rejoined him. "Come on, the others are waiting."

Athos dug through Sestini's bag, ignoring the odd dampness under his fingers. d'Artagnan picked up a few of the effects, flipping absently through a book.

"The pages are damp," he said, cutting across Porthos and Aramis' argument.

"It's poison," Athos agreed calmly. "Everything's soaked in it. Wash your hands."

d'Artagnan obeyed, and when he stepped away from the bowl Aramis was there to take his hands and examine them. Athos carefully ignored it, washing his own hands and letting Aramis study them when he was done with d'Artagnan. There was a brief rush of warmth and he hoped absently that d'Artagnan hadn't noticed it.

"Will I live?" he asked.

"Undoubtedly," Aramis agreed with a smile.

"Sestini's still at the abbey," d'Artagnan reminded them.

"And the Cardinal's still alive," Porthos agreed.

"For now," Athos muttered, hurrying out.

The sun was rising as they reached the abbey. Athos swung off his horse, glaring at the pyre. "What's this? The sentence was commuted!"

"She confessed," the guard said carelessly, shaking his hand off.

Athos snarled, following the others up towards the balcony. Aramis shouted as he caught sight of Sestini, but they lost him among a group of priests and Athos changed direction, heading directly for the Cardinal's room. If Sestini knew he'd been discovered, he'd try and complete his mission.

The pair were grappling when Athos burst into the room; behind him, Aramis shouted to make Sestini look up and shot him neatly in the shoulder. The Cardinal flinched violently away, almost falling off the bed. "You're late!"

"We're pleased to see you unharmed, your Eminence," Athos said blandly, pulling Sestini's body off the bed.

"I doubt that, but thank you for the sentiment," Richelieu said, struggling to his feet. Aramis moved as though to support him and then drew back.

"The pyre," d'Artagnan said urgently.

Athos dropped to his knees in front of Richelieu. "You can have everything you want without killing her. Please."

"It's rather medieval, isn't it?" Richelieu mused. "Confronting one's own death does make one wary about inflicting it on others. I'm not a cruel man, just a practical one. What do you suggest?"

"Banish her," he said quickly. d'Artagnan was getting entirely too twitchy; they were cutting things too close. "Keep her properties and her land if you must. Send her somewhere she can't inflict these ideas on the women of Paris."

"And you think she will agree to these conditions?" Richelieu was doing this on purpose, he was sure, dragging this out.

"If this is the alternative?" He waved towards the courtyard below.

Richelieu smiled thinly. "Yes, I suppose so. Very well, I will commute the sentence."

Athos was gone on his word, almost throwing himself down the stairs to the courtyard. "Commuted! Her sentence is commuted! By order of the Cardinal!"

They were lucky, really, that none of the Red Guards tried to stop them. Their opposition to the sentence was well known, after all. But d'Artagnan and Aramis kept the guards off while Athos and Porthos beat out the fire and freed Ninon from the pyre.

One of the nuns brought a dish of water and a cloak; Athos waited patiently while Ninon cleaned her face and hands and pulled on the cloak. She was trembling a little, but when he offered to let her rest before facing the Cardinal she shook her head. "Let's be done with this." She smiled at him. "Thank you, for fighting for me."

Porthos had waited in the courtyard, and they found d'Artagnan outside the door of the Cardinal's room. "He's talking with Aramis," he told them.

"On what subject?" Athos asked.

d'Artagnan looked away. "I think Aramis is making sure he won't relapse."

Athos went to knock on the door, and d'Artagnan said quickly, "Comtesse, a moment of your time before you see the Cardinal?"

Ninon looked at Athos, who murmured, "d'Artagnan apprentices under me, and I've generally found his insights to be useful."

"I see. In that case, d'Artagnan, I am all ears."

d'Artagnan escorted her a few steps down the corridor; either he was doing it for show, or he didn't realise how well Athos could hear, because he was still well within hearing range when he stopped. "Comtesse, I don't want to overstep."

"You and your friends saved my life," Ninon reminded him. "You may say what you like."

d'Artagnan nodded slowly. "You should be careful when you speak with the Cardinal."

"Pardon me?"

"You should be careful with what you say. And how you say it."

Athos, watching from the corner of his eye, could see Ninon's eyes widen for a moment before she gathered herself. "I'm sure I…"

"…have no idea what I mean," d'Artagnan agreed. "I'm sure you don't. But the Cardinal needs no more reasons to hate you, Comtesse. And Athos…"

He glanced back at them; Athos didn't react, still keeping them in the corner of his eye. From d'Artagnan's point of view it would have looked like Athos wasn't looking at them at all.

"Athos needs no one else to grieve for," he said finally, looking back at Ninon. "Please be careful, my lady."

Ninon studied him for a moment. "Thank you for your concern," she said thoughtfully. "I will remember what you've said."

d'Artagnan escorted her back to the others. Athos nodded briskly, turning to knock on the door of the Cardinal's room.

The conversation with Richelieu was more or less what Athos had been expecting; veiled threats, not-so veiled threats, outright threats. He quietly ushered Ninon out when Richelieu started talking to himself; the others trailed out after him, and he left her in Porthos' care, drawing Aramis aside.

"What did Richelieu want with you?" Aramis started to shake his head, and Athos said "Aramis. What did he want?"

Aramis grimaced. "He wanted to talk endlessly around the topic of Abilities. Without mentioning my Ability. And without mentioning his knowledge of my Ability."

"Aramis…" Athos groaned.

"Athos, I already spent five minutes talking d'Artagnan out of panicking over this, and he doesn't even know anything. Don't make me do it again. Richelieu has no intention of doing anything with the knowledge. He just wants me to squirm."

"You're sure?"

"Quite sure. He was very clear, considering he was very explicitly not mentioning anything."

"He's good at that," Athos muttered. "Aramis, if you feel there's danger…"

"Tell you immediately, or run away. Yes, Athos, I'm familiar with your rules."

"Good," Athos said mildly. "Try to follow them this time. Do you think he knows about us?"

Aramis shook his head. "He suspects, but he has no proof. And we both know he's been looking for years. He just got lucky yesterday."

"Yes, I've always considered being poisoned to be the height of luck."

"Athos?"

"Yes, Aramis."

"Go and escort the lady and leave me alone."

Athos smiled, pulling his hat on and bowing. "Return to the garrison."

Aramis saluted, waving him off, and he went to escort Ninon to her new life.

Fleur was so genuinely happy it made d'Artagnan smile. The stab of disappointment from Constance surprised him, but there was really only one reason.

"It was you who went to Baudin, wasn't it." Constance hesitated, and d'Artagnan added quietly, "You pleaded for Fleur."

"Don't be silly."

She wasn't really trying to be convincing, and d'Artagnan smiled. "You are the finest woman I have ever met. I don't believe there's a more generous soul in all of France."

Constance turned, pressing her fingers against his lips. "Stop that! You're embarrassing me."

d'Artagnan grinned around her fingers. "What if I want to embarrass you? Why shouldn't I list all the reasons I love you?"

That was too far, and he knew it immediately. Constance was fond of him, she enjoyed his company, but there had never been even the slightest hint of anything else. "Of course, when I say that, I mean…admire, and…respect…"

"Say that again."

He blinked. "I…admire and respect you."

"Not that part, you idiot!"

Oh. Oh.

"I love you."

It washed over her, dragging him along with it; she'd been blocking it, all this time, refusing to think it, refusing to even entertain the thought, but she loved him, she loved him!

d'Artagnan wasn't sure which of them moved first, who kissed who first, he wasn't even sure who was feeling what anymore, and he didn't care.

She loved him!