The Challenge, part 1

Athos sighed, watching d'Artagnan slip out of the garrison. "Aramis?" he asked quietly. Aramis consistently seemed to have the best insight into d'Artagnan's moods.

Aramis glanced up, following his gaze. "Ah, he's fine."

"Are you certain?"

"LaBarge's crimes have upset him. He knows some of the victims, after all."

"Yes, I suppose he does," Athos murmured.

"He's fine," Aramis assured him, turning away.

The wait for Treville to return was long, and boring, and Athos was considering finding some alcohol to speed it along when he finally returned. d'Artagnan turned up a few minutes later, slipping through the crowd to join them. "What's going on?"

"There is to be a competition," Athos told him. "Between the Musketeers and the Red Guards."

He hadn't thought it through. d'Artagnan wasn't a Musketeer yet, he wouldn't be eligible to compete. He caught the boy's wince at the mention of the entry fee, too, but he wasn't sure why; the stipend d'Artagnan received from his farm was enough to cover the fee if he'd been able to enter.

"You're a Musketeer in all but name," he said when he thought d'Artagnan had wallowed enough. "You lack the King's commission."

"Among other things," d'Artagnan muttered, but he knew enough not to refer to the requirement in company, even the company of other Musketeers.

"Go to Treville," Aramis suggested. "Ask him for a chance."

Athos raised an eyebrow at him. Treville agreed with them about d'Artagnan, but he wouldn't commission him yet, and without the commission d'Artagnan couldn't take part. The Cardinal would never allow it.

Aramis looked back at him calmly, and Athos looked away.

d'Artagnan took him at his word, heading up to see Treville. Aramis and Porthos left, looking for someone to finance their entry, and Athos went to practise with some of the other Musketeers. He didn't plan to take part in the challenge, but it never hurt to practise.

He was still practising a little later when d'Artagnan came back and immediately challenged him. Athos took the challenge, but it only took moments for him to realise that something was badly wrong. d'Artagnan tended to fight with his heart rather than his head anyway, but something had clearly upset him; he was sloppier than usual, making rash moves.

Athos prodded, slipping from topic to topic until he found LaBarge. d'Artagnan's control slipped even further and Athos pushed relentlessly. The boy had to learn to separate feeling from fighting.

d'Artagnan stormed off, and Athos spread his hands innocently against Treville's glare. "I was trying to provoke him."

"You seem to have succeeded. Come with me." They headed up to the office and Treville passed a piece of paper to him.

Athos scanned it, frowned, and looked at it again. "This is d'Artagnan's farm."

"It was his farm," Treville agreed. "It's one of the many LaBarge destroyed."

"You told him this?"

"I could hardly keep it from him."

Athos put the paper down, scowling. "Without his farm, he has no income."

"I'm aware."

"He needs the commission."

Treville shook his head. "No."

"He has all but passed…"

"All but doesn't count, Athos. There is no leeway here. He passes or he doesn't." He sighed, looking down at his desk. "I think you're right, for what it's worth. He has it in him to pass."

"I'm sure that will comfort him when he's living in the gutter."

"Careful," Treville warned him. "I like the boy. I want him to be a Musketeer. But the requirement does not bend. Not for any man." He studied Athos for a moment. "I won't warn you not to talk to him about it. I know you better than that. But I cannot recommend him to the king yet."

"He so much as told me."

"Then I will so much as recommend him. Don't make me keep turning you down, Athos. You know I don't want to. If he passes the competition I will allow him to compete; if he catches the king's eye he may gain a place in another regiment."

"He won't accept it, you know that."

"He may have to, now. It's all I can do, Athos."

Athos took a deep breath. "To pass the competition, he needs the entry fee."

"That's out of my hands. You know that d'Artagnan would not thank us if he thought we were letting him pass."

"No," Athos muttered. "He wouldn't. Stubborn boy."

"Go after him. Keep an eye on him. This LaBarge thing…I don't like it."

Athos tipped his hat, heading downstairs. d'Artagnan would be easy to trail; he hadn't learned anything about hiding his path yet. Athos would let him go where he wanted for now.

Athos didn't know what to expect when he reached LaBarge's cell. d'Artagnan might be his equal on a technical level, but he was nowhere near ready to face someone like LaBarge, especially not with no one to watch his back.

He burst into the cell, sword already in hand. LaBarge was lounging on his bunk, hands folded behind his head; he smirked at Athos' entrance. "You're a bit late."

Athos turned enough to follow the man's gaze without looking away from him. d'Artagnan was huddled against the wall on the other side of the cell, almost hidden by the shadows. Athos crossed to kneel beside him, reluctant to touch him; the knees up, head down posture screamed 'leave me alone.' "d'Artagnan," he murmured.

d'Artagnan didn't move, and Athos leaned closer, realising that he was talking. Or, not talking, exactly; words were falling out of him in a single, unbroken stream, on and on.

"Kill them all tie them up lock them in burn it down the screams the screams it's good more more blood more screams who's next no surrender no prisoners no mercy kill them all the screams the screams burn them down –"

Athos twisted to glare at LaBarge, who lifted his hands innocently. "Barely even put a hand on him. He just went down all on his lonesome." He swung his legs to the side, sitting up.

"Make another move and it will be your last," Athos warned him.

LaBarge smirked. "Interesting, to see a Musketeer come chasing after an empath. And you ain't surprised, either. Cardinal might like to hear about this."

Athos ignored him, wrapping one hand around d'Artagnan's arm. He was reluctant to touch him, but he couldn't leave him here. He was wearing his gloves, and he kept his grip on the outside of d'Artagnan's tunic, jerkin and cloak. If cloth was a barrier at all, it might help.

d'Artagnan was pliant but unhelpful. He didn't seem to realise they were walking, and after a couple of moments Athos wrapped his other arm around d'Artagnan's waist to support his weight. That made things a little easier; he got them out of the prison, anyway. The damned muttering never stopped, on and on in an endless loop.

d'Artagnan threw up outside the gate, and again a street away, and again a few buildings after that. Athos let him down after the third time; he immediately scooted until he could get his back against a wall and pulled back into the huddle again, burying his head in his arms. Athos crouched beside him, looking around.

A beggar boy was sitting on a nearby doorstep. Athos whistled sharply for his attention, holding up a coin. "You know Porthos?"

" 'course," the boy said promptly.

"Good. Go to the Musketeer garrison, tell him Athos sent you. Have him bring Aramis here immediately. Do you understand?"

"Garrison, Athos, Aramis," the boy repeated.

"Good." Athos flipped him the coin. "There's another two when you bring them back here, and another five if they get here before St Gizlaine's next rings the bells." That gave him about thirty minutes, plenty of time if they were at the garrison and not on duty somewhere or off charming their patronesses.

The boy raced off and Athos turned back to d'Artagnan. "I don't know how to help you," he murmured. "I wish you had talked to us before today."

Porthos appeared about twenty minutes later, the beggar boy riding on his shoulders and Aramis at his side. Athos tossed his purse to the boy and waved him away; Aramis was already on his knees beside them, studying d'Artagnan without touching him. "What happened?"

"He went to challenge LaBarge, and when I caught up to them..." Athos shook his head helplessly.

"I don't see any injuries. Has he spoken to you?"

"Not to me, no." Aramis glanced up, and Athos added, "Listen to him."

Aramis leaned in, listening with a frown. "What is that?"

Athos glanced around for Porthos to draw him in. "Something he took from LaBarge, I think." For Porthos' sake, he added "He's talking about burning and killing, after all."

Aramis looked at him sharply. "Athos..."

"Let's not pretend right now. We all know well enough what he is. Can you help him?"

"Not here. Can he walk?"

"Not really."

"I'll get him wherever you need him," Porthos said.

"No. You go to the Bonacieux house," Aramis said quickly. "Find his rosary."

"Is the state of his immortal soul really our concern here, Aramis?" Athos demanded.

Aramis ignored him, watching Porthos. "If Constance doesn't know, tear his room apart. If it's not there, tear the house apart. We need it. And when you find it, don't touch it with bare fingers. Wrap it in a handkerchief, or something."

Porthos nodded. "Where'll I bring it?"

"We're going to the church on Rue Plummet, do you know it?"

"Passed by it a few times. I'll be quick as I can."

"Good." Aramis turned to Athos as Porthos loped off. "Try and be calm. Our upset will not help him."

Athos took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Aramis watched, nodding. "Good."

"Let's go," Athos said quietly.

They had to stop twice more for d'Artagnan to be sick. When they reached the church Aramis spoke with a priest, who nodded and led them to a particular cell in a row of abandoned ones. "This is the one he uses, monsieurs. Is there anything you need?"

"Only privacy," Aramis said, helping Athos to lay him down on the pallet. d'Artagnan immediately pulled into the huddle again, wedging himself into the corner. "A Musketeer called Porthos is coming with something to help him. It's very important that he find us with no delay."

"I will see to it myself," the priest promised. "And I will pray for him and for you all."

"Thank you," Athos murmured, closing the door behind him. " 'This is the one he uses' ?" he repeated.

Aramis glanced up briefly from trying to coax d'Artagnan from the corner. "When he needs quiet and solitude, yes. I arranged it for him months ago, long before I knew what he is." Looking back at d'Artagnan, he grimaced. "I need to get a hand on him."

"Can we? It won't make it worse for him – or for you?"

"I don't think he can hear anything past LaBarge right now. We won't hurt him. Help me get some of his clothes off, anyway. He may as well be comfortable."

They pulled off boots, cloak, weapons belt. Aramis considered him for a long moment before shaking his head. "Jerkin, too."

"Aramis," Athos said quietly, propping d'Artagnan up to free the laces. "You're not a mind healer."

"We don't have one to hand, and if we did we couldn't tell them about d'Artagnan anyway. I don't have a choice." He looked up to meet Athos' eyes. "Don't touch either one of us."

"I don't like this."

"I don't either, but it has to be done." Aramis took a deep breath, reaching out to wrap his hand around d'Artagnan's arm.

And immediately let go, scrambling backwards across the floor until he hit the far wall. "Merciful God."

"What?" Athos demanded. Still propping d'Artagnan up, he didn't dare move. "Aramis."

"I'm all right," Aramis managed. He pressed a shaky hand to his forehead. "I'm all right."

"What happened?"

"He isn't shielding." Aramis forced a deep breath, relaxing himself. "I've never...he's completely tangled up in there."

"Can you help him? Now that you know?"

"I think so, yes. But I need the rosary beads."

"Why? What's important about them?"

Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. "They're – familiar. He knows them. He uses them as a foundation when he's in trouble. They'll anchor him, and once there's an anchor he can find his way back."

"Are you sure?"

"Not remotely. But it's the only thing I can think of. He refused to speak of his Ability."

Athos studied him. "So you know. And not just the way we all know; you actually know."

"Yes. Since Marsac. And he knows of me, a little. But he won't listen, Athos. I've tried to tell him about the Musketeers, to explain to him that he's safe. He just won't hear me. And he would have run if I'd kept pushing."

"You did right," Athos assured him. "Although why you didn't tell us..."

"He demanded my word, and I was reluctant to break it until it became necessary."

Someone tapped on the door and the priest pushed it open, stepping aside to let Porthos in. "Anything else, monsieur Aramis?"

"Not right now, Father. Thank you."

The priest retreated again, and Porthos held up a bundled up handkerchief. "Took this from his own, should be safe."

"Good," Aramis said with a sigh. "Athos, hold out his hand."

Porthos carefully tipped the beads into d'Artagnan's hand. His fingers tightened convulsively over them, but there was no other change, and when Athos let go of his wrist he wrapped his arm around his legs again.

"That supposed to happen?" Porthos asked quietly.

"There's no supposed to here, Porthos." Aramis shuffled backwards until he could lean against the wall. "We can only hope that this helps."

"And if it doesn't?"

"If it doesn't, I have no other ideas."