Author's note: Chapter Knight Takes Queen has been very slightly amended; a story point I put in in a revision hadn't saved properly.

Interlude, part 5

"If that was an attempt to protect him, I already know he's aware of your Ability."

"It wasn't an attempt to do anything except give you some privacy," Aramis said steadily. He didn't bother arguing d'Artagnan's innocence; it didn't matter as long as Richelieu was unaware of d'Artagnan's own Ability. "I can call him back in if you'd rather do this with him watching."

"I'm sure you know best how your methods work." Richelieu was watching him closely, even though he hadn't moved yet.

Aramis wasn't really surprised this had happened, only that it had taken this long. In Richelieu's mind there could only be two responses to learning of Aramis' Ability; own him or destroy him. Allowing d'Artagnan to come, reminding Aramis that his future lay in Richelieu's hands, it was clever, the kind of move Aramis expected from Richelieu.

"Tell me what's wrong," he said, studying what he could see of Richelieu.

The Cardinal shrugged. "Most of it is common enough. Fever, chills, tiredness. Loss of appetite and difficulty concentrating."

"That could be a cold, Cardinal."

"Yes, I did say most of it."

"And the uncommon part?"

Richelieu laid his arm on the desk, pulling up his sleeve.

Aramis grimaced. "Has anyone else in your household fallen sick?"

"No. I don't believe this is contagious. But you can see why I'm reluctant to let it run its' course."

"I can," Aramis agreed, rounding the desk and taking his arm gently. He was still wearing his gloves; until he was sure what this was, he wasn't risking touching the man.

Richelieu let him tilt his arm back and forth, studying it with a frown. "Well?" he asked after a minute.

"The marks are unfamiliar," Aramis admitted. "But I don't believe it's plague."

"Can you heal plague?" Richelieu asked curiously.

"I've never tried. I'm better at injuries than illnesses." Aramis let him go, removing both gloves and perching on the edge of the desk. "You may feel a tingle. Some do, some don't."

"A tingle," Richelieu repeated.

"Like pins and needles." He carefully took Richelieu's arm, one hand on either side of the strange rash.

"I feel nothing," Richelieu said after a moment.

"That's fine," Aramis murmured, eyes sliding closed. "It doesn't matter."

"What do you feel?" Richelieu urged him.

Aramis smiled faintly, catching the edge of the illness and beginning to push at it. "The illness is familiar to me; I've just never seen it at this stage before. Tell me, Cardinal, have you been scratched by a cat recently?"

The Cardinal very nearly ripped his arm out of Aramis' grip; he held on grimly, determined not to let go. He wouldn't be strong enough to do this again. "How is that relevant?"

"There's an illness that cats carry. Some cats, anyway. Humans fall ill from a scratch or a bite. It usually heals on its' own within a few weeks." Opening his eyes, he nudged gently at the inflamed spots, watching them fade away.

"Is that it?" Richelieu demanded.

"Almost." Aramis frowned, testing quickly to make sure he'd removed all traces of the illness. It was gone, but there was something… "You'll forgive the impropriety, your Eminence," he murmured, pressing a hand to Richelieu's neck.

The Cardinal sat absolutely still, head held rigidly where it was. Aramis frowned, chasing the sense he was getting until he was sure; then he let go and sat back, pulling his gloves on again.

"That's it?" Richelieu asked, studying his arm.

"The illness is cleared, your Eminence."

Richelieu frowned. "But."

Aramis nodded slowly. "But there is a weakness in your heart."

"Repair it."

"It's not the type of thing I can repair, your Eminence. It will worsen over time and eventually it will kill you."

Richelieu stared at him for a long moment. "Feeble Musketeer trick," he said finally. "I suppose you will tell me I must retire from public life if I wish to live?"

"I do not lie about the things I sense," Aramis said evenly. "I couldn't if I wanted to. It will kill you eventually. Your job, the stresses you operate under, will make it worse, so yes, if you retire, you will live longer. But I have no advice about which option you should choose. I have done what I can to strengthen it now, but it will not hold forever."

"Then you will return and strengthen it again."

Aramis shook his head patiently. "It won't work, your Eminence. There will come a point where I would have to stand by your side at all times to hold it back, and even then it would overcome me. I cannot stop what will be."

"I suppose you think I will release you, now. In gratitude."

"I think nothing of the sort."

Richelieu waved impatiently at him. "Remove yourself from my desk."

"Regrettably, Cardinal, if you want me to stand, I need d'Artagnan. Healing such as I have done with you wears me out. If I try to stand right now, you'll have to pick me up off the floor."

The Cardinal stared at him. "You have made yourself vulnerable to me."

"As you so kindly pointed out, your Eminence, I have no choice. I'm not fool enough to think my years of loyal service to the Crown would mean anything next to an accusation from you." Bitter, too bitter, he was giving too much away as exhaustion weighed on him.

Richelieu stood abruptly, rounding the desk and striding across the room. d'Artagnan all but fell in when the door was snatched open; his gaze went immediately to Aramis before refocusing on Richelieu. "Your Eminence."

"Your brother Musketeer seems unwell. Get him out of here. I don't need illness running through my household."

d'Artagnan bowed, eyes bright with anger, and stepped around him. Aramis was carefully checking his gloves; another Reading, even an accidental one, even when he knew d'Artagnan was currently uninjured, would wipe him out completely.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan murmured.

"I'm well," Aramis assured him. "Just help me." d'Artagnan shot a glance at Richelieu, but Aramis shook his head slightly; he didn't care if the Cardinal saw this, he was fading too quickly.

d'Artagnan hauled him to his feet, steadying him when he swayed and ducking under his arm when he clearly couldn't manage alone. Richelieu stayed by the door, watching in silence as they left. d'Artagnan didn't bother bowing, too occupied with Aramis, and Aramis himself was too far gone by then.

He was vaguely aware of Athos and Porthos meeting them a couple of corridors away, hurried words from d'Artagnan and being shifted from his arms to Porthos'. After that everything hazed out.

He woke in his own quarters, some indeterminate time later. Athos was sitting by the bed, reading, and he thought d'Artagnan was lurking near the door, but he wasn't quite focusing yet. "Athos?"

"Back with us?" Athos asked, lowering the book to study him.

"I think so. I'm hungry." That was usually a good sign.

"Porthos is fetching something, he should be back in a moment. What happened? It's some time since a Healing affected you this strongly."

"He was ill." Aramis struggled into a sitting position, leaning his head in his hands briefly. "And injured."

"Both? How unfortunate for him. All taken care of now, I assume."

Aramis nodded tightly. He hadn't quite decided what to do with the knowledge he now held. Richelieu was little threat to the Musketeers as a whole, with Anne keeping him on a leash, and the knowledge didn't benefit Aramis personally.

"How much does he know, Aramis?" Athos asked carefully.

"That I can Heal, and that d'Artagnan knows I can Heal. Nothing he didn't know already."

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, but whatever he was going to say was lost as Porthos came in with a tray. There was a lot of noise for a few moments as everyone took a plate and found somewhere to sit; Aramis found himself with a plate in hand and a glass at his elbow.

"Eat first," Athos murmured, watching him. Aramis saluted with his fork, digging in.

He ate steadily, used enough to this to know that if he indulged the way he wanted to he'd be ill. Athos and Porthos kept his plate and glass full between them, talking quietly about training and taverns and anything else they could think of. d'Artagnan was staying on the edge of the group, focused on his own empty plate, and Aramis remembered vaguely that this was the first time the Gascon had seen him so worn out after a Healing.

Eventually he finished, full and feeling more like himself. The others had long finished, chatting idly; Porthos was trying to draw d'Artagnan into the conversation, clearly aware he was uncomfortable.

"Better?" Athos asked, absently taking Aramis' plate and stacking it with the others.

"Much, yes. I'm still tired, but not so badly." Catching d'Artagnan's eyes, he added, "It didn't have anything to do with the plan for Milady. He would have called me either way." d'Artagnan nodded and Aramis went back to chatting with Porthos, keeping one eye on d'Artagnan and grinning triumphantly when he started joining in.

Eventually Athos shifted. "Do you want company tonight, Aramis?"

"No, thank you. I just need to sleep."

"Very well." Athos stood; d'Artagnan picked up the tray, and Porthos grinned at Aramis before heading out. "We'll see you in the morning then."

"I'll be there," Aramis promised, shifting down the bed. He was asleep before they'd closed his door.

An unexpected mission for Porthos left Athos escorting d'Artagnan to the Court a couple of days later. No matter how often he insisted he could cross the Court on his own, the lessons with Flora left him too quiet and raw for the others to leave him alone.

d'Artagnan waved at a beggar on the edges of the Court. "Someone might stop you," he murmured.

"Me?" Athos repeated.

d'Artagnan grinned briefly. "I have the freedom of the Court. Within limits. But they haven't seen you in months."

"What are your limits?" he asked curiously.

"I haven't tested them. It didn't seem smart."

"How very mature of you."

d'Artagnan rolled his eyes, but he didn't argue the point, leading Athos through the warren of paths and alleys. "Do you actually know your way around down here?" Athos asked.

d'Artagnan glanced at him. "I know how to get where I'm going."

Flea came to meet them in one of the crowded squares, sashaying across the cobblestones. "d'Artagnan. Bringing your friends in now?"

"Athos, Flea," d'Artagnan said politely. "Porthos couldn't come today, Flea, and Athos doesn't like me coming in alone."

"Oh? Afraid we're going to corrupt you?"

"There's little you could show him he hasn't already seen," Athos told her. d'Artagnan turned to protest, and he said idly, "Who was it offered to kill me after a night in my wife's bed?"

"I didn't offer to kill you! I offered to kill the man who hurt her!" Athos only raised an eyebrow, and d'Artagnan snorted, turning back to Flea. "Porthos is fine, he's just on a mission. Athos promises not to arrest anyone he might see. Or not see. He can ignore them. Stop that!"

Flea glanced past him at Athos. "More lessons, I think."

"d'Artagnan?" Athos said carefully.

"I'm fine. Flea's just very protective of her people. I'm fine now." d'Artagnan shook his head briefly, but he did seem to have focused again.

"Definitely more lessons," Athos said to Flea. "Speaking of?"

She stepped aside, gesturing widely. "Flora's waiting, little Musketeer."

"Thank you," d'Artagnan muttered, stepping around her and continuing across the square.

"d'Artagnan?" Athos said under his breath.

"I'm fine," d'Artagnan snapped. "Just don't arrest anyone you might happen to see, all right?"

"Sadly, I seem to have left my manacles at home today," Athos told him.

d'Artagnan stopped, and for a moment Athos thought he was really angry, until he saw the woman coming towards him. "Flora?" he murmured.

"Flora," d'Artagnan agreed quietly. "Am I late?" he asked more loudly.

"We don't have a schedule," Flora pointed out. "Come with me."

"No. Tell me why I'm not going to like it." An instant later he grimaced. "Sorry, but it's really obvious."

"Conversations among empaths," Flora said, directly to Athos. "You get used to it."

"I'm sure I will," Athos agreed.

Looking back at d'Artagnan, she continued, "I want you to meet someone."

"And I'm not going to like it because…"

"Because he's going to put a block around your mind and stop you from sensing anything."

d'Artagnan turned on his heel to walk away; Athos caught his arm, ignoring the glare. "Let her explain," he said quietly. "No one says you have to."

"She thinks I have to."

"Then let's hear her reasons."

He looked back at Flora, who was watching them carefully. "You're straining," she said quietly. "You're struggling now and we haven't even done anything. You need a rest."

"It's not restful."

"d'Artagnan…"

"It's like being blind and deaf, Flora," he said urgently.

"I know," she agreed softly. "It won't be for long."

"What happens if he doesn't?" Athos asked.

"He'll be forced out of the city soon," Flora said gently. "It's too much. Even for those of us who grew up here, the city is hard; and he's too strong, he feels too much. With the kind of shield I have in mind, we can start properly, from the bottom up."

"It will work better?"

"Much better, and much longer."

d'Artagnan shook his head when Athos looked at him. "Athos…"

"You trust her."

"It's like being blind!"

"Better than being overwhelmed the way I've seen you be."

"I hate it," d'Artagnan muttered, but he was giving in; Athos could see it happen. "You can't imagine, it's…"

"Like being blind?"

"Like losing half of myself."

"We will lose all of you if you don't."

"I've managed this long."

"You can't keep going," Flora said quietly. "You know you can't."

d'Artagnan shook his head without looking at her. "It hurts, Flora."

"I know it does. But not for long. It'll help; I promise. It'll make everything easier."

d'Artagnan took a deep breath, looking at Athos. "Come with me? Stay with me."

"Of course," Athos agreed quickly. "If I can help."

"You can't, but it'll make me feel better."

"That's a way to help," Flora pointed out.

"Let's do this before I change my mind," d'Artagnan muttered. Flora nodded, turning to lead them away. Athos stayed just behind d'Artagnan, watching quietly as he squared his shoulders and followed.

The actual shielding was, to Athos, completely anti-climactic; Flora's friend held d'Artagnan's wrists loosely for a few moments, d'Artagnan tensed all over, and the man let go. "Don't let it get that far again," he said warningly.

d'Artagnan didn't answer; Flora shook her head quickly at Athos' look. "Thank you for your help."

"Thank you," Athos echoed, touching d'Artagnan's shoulder to guide him back out. d'Artagnan jumped, surprised at the touch, but he allowed himself to be guided out.

Flora pressed a hand to his cheek, smiling sadly at whatever she was sensing. "Come back soon," she told him.

d'Artagnan smiled faintly. "I'll definitely be back soon."

Athos shadowed him all the way out of the Court. d'Artagnan seemed all right so far, if shaken slightly.

"Are you worried?" d'Artagnan murmured as they cleared the Court and stepped back in Paris proper.

"Yes," Athos answered, just as quietly.

"I can't tell," d'Artagnan muttered, raising his voice to add, "It won't really bother me for a while. A couple of days. I can shield that long myself without its affecting me too much."

"I think it's affecting you already, d'Artagnan," Athos said softly.

"Not – badly."

"Badly enough."

"Downsides," d'Artagnan muttered. "This is still better than being forced out of the city."

"I'm sorry that those are your choices."

"Mmm. Let's get back. I should take advantage, do some training when I can't tell what my opponent's going to do."

"You're supposed to train like that anyway."

"Yes, but this time you'll be sure." d'Artagnan smiled, and if it was brittle Athos wasn't going to point it out. "I can still beat you."

"We'll see."

d'Artagnan went back to Flora three days later, and again two days after that, but though she worked with him on shielding techniques and calming exercises she refused to lower the barrier around his mind.

"It's not time yet," she told him. "If I let you go now, you'll only hurt yourself again."

"I'm no use to the others like this," d'Artagnan protested. "We walked into an ambush yesterday, an ambush we could have avoided if I'd known about it."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Bruises."

"Did you fight back?"

He frowned. "Yes, but…"

"There you are of use to them." d'Artagnan scoffed, looking away, and she sighed. "I know this is hard. I've had it done to me too. I know that it hurts, that the silence is driving you mad. Only wait a little longer. Who's with you today? Not Porthos."

"Aramis." The others still insisted he was accompanied, but more often than not it wasn't Porthos by now. Flea's guards let any of them through as long as they went directly to Flora, directly back out, and didn't interfere with anyone else.

"Call him in," Flora said quietly.

"Why?"

"Care instructions."

d'Artagnan grimaced, but he went to the door, stepping back to allow Aramis in. "Aramis, Flora," he said, waving vaguely between them.

"Not fixed yet, then," Aramis noted. d'Artagnan flinched, turning away, staring fixedly towards the window.

"Not yet," Flora said after a moment. d'Artagnan wondered distantly if she was glaring at Aramis. He'd have known, a week ago. "Soon. Tell me, Monsieur Aramis, have you noticed d'Artagnan become more tactile these last few days?"

"Not towards me. d'Artagnan?"

"Aramis is a Healer," d'Artagnan told the wall in front of him, not daring to turn around. "And I'm not – right. I didn't want to risk bringing him pain." Aramis' hand closed on his shoulder, and in spite of himself d'Artagnan pushed into the contact. "Aramis…"

"It's only skin contact that works for me," Aramis reminded him. "I'm wearing gloves. You're safe. Does this help?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan murmured. "It makes it easier to…"

"To?" Aramis prompted gently.

"Be sure of you. That you're real."

"I thought you'd been rather diligent in your hand to hand practise lately." Aramis sounded amused. "You should have told us."

"I didn't want –" d'Artagnan hesitated; Aramis' grip tightened briefly on his shoulder. "I didn't want to tell you," he managed. "It's not the kind of thing one brings to Athos. And it seemed unfair to make Porthos shoulder it all."

"Save us from the stubbornness of Gascons," Aramis muttered. "If I promise to be careful, will you let me help you?"

"Yes," d'Artagnan said quickly. Walking through a world of people he couldn't sense was increasingly like being surrounded by ghosts, and contact helped him ignore that feeling. "Please."

"This?" His hand flexed on d'Artagnan's shoulder again.

"Anything, as long as I can feel you."

"I think we can manage that." He glanced at Flora. "Are you finished, madam?"

"We're finished for today. Three days, d'Artagnan."

"We're leaving Paris the day after tomorrow," Aramis said when d'Artagnan was silent. "An important mission. Treville has tried to have d'Artagnan excused, but the king insists."

Flora sighed. "Come just before you leave, then. How long will you be gone?"

"A week, perhaps two."

"Come and see me as soon as you can when you get back, then."

"It's out of Paris," d'Artagnan pointed out. "I'll be fine."

"Call it professional pride. I want to see those lovely shields I've been teaching you to make."

d'Artagnan nodded quickly. "I promise."

"Good. I'll see you the day after tomorrow, then."

Aramis let go of d'Artagnan as they crossed the Court, but once they were in better streets he draped an arm over d'Artagnan's shoulder. If it was awkward for him, walking that way, he didn't show it, though d'Artagnan's height advantage had to make it difficult. "How long will this help for?"

"I don't know. A while, I hope."

"You haven't done this before."

"I've never been shielded this long. Hopefully I never will again. It's – it feels wrong, all the time. Better like this, but…" He shrugged.

"It'll be over soon," Aramis offered.

d'Artagnan nodded. "Soon," he murmured, and from him it sounded like a prayer.