Author's note: Welcome to the new arc! I hope you all enjoy this one.

Entr'acte, part 1

It was almost a holiday.

They were waiting for a man who would have documents from England. Once they had the documents, they were to make all speed back to Paris, but until he arrived there was literally nothing to do.

Athos had warned both Porthos and Aramis to rein themselves in. This was a small village, and he didn't want them drummed out because Porthos had cheated someone he shouldn't or Aramis had slept with someone off limits. d'Artagnan he wasn't worried about; the boy was mostly running around with the children, keeping them entertained with vastly exaggerated stories of battles the Musketeers had been in. There was a lake nearby; Athos had walked down with d'Artagnan on their second day and spent an hour soaking in the sun while d'Artagnan floated. Absent any need to recover quickly, d'Artagnan had been pleasantly happy and relaxed for the rest of that day. Even now, three days later, he was lighter and happier than he often was in Paris.

Athos was doing his best to stay out of the little tavern – largely, admittedly, because the drink they served didn't deserve the name. d'Artagnan had befriended Pierre, one of the farmers on the edge of the town, and quickly roped Porthos into helping to repair a fire damaged barn. Aramis and Athos found themselves helping, too; it passed the time, and it wasn't complicated work.

On the morning of their sixth day in town Athos woke in the barn. They'd completed it late the night before and Pierre had gratefully fed them and offered them lodgings overnight, rather than go back through town. Since his wine was rather better than that served at the tavern, Athos hadn't objected.

Porthos was still asleep and snoring, but the others were talking by the door. Athos lay watching for a moment, until he recognised the urgency in posture and language. Rolling to his feet, he stepped over Porthos to join them. "Something wrong?"

"I don't know," d'Artagnan said. He was looking past them, towards one of the walls; towards the village proper, Athos decided after a glance.

"What is it?" he asked patiently.

d'Artagnan tore his gaze away, focusing on Athos with an obvious effort. "Something – in the town. They're afraid."

"Who is?"

"Everyone."

Athos turned to pick up his sword, nudging Porthos sharply in the side. "Raiders?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I can't sense anything like that. And I don't think it's that kind of fear; it's not sharp. It's..." He closed his eyes, lips moving for a moment; Aramis wrapped a hand around his elbow, watching him carefully. "Dull," d'Artagnan said eventually. "And hopeless. The kind that grinds you away all the time."

"Have you any sense of what's wrong?" Athos asked, moving back into his eyeline. Behind him, Porthos silently gathered up the handful of belongings they'd brought.

d'Artagnan shook his head. "No. Grief and fear, that's all." Glancing at the door, he added, "Pierre's coming."

"Monsieurs?" Pierre called from outside.

Athos turned enough to see the door without turning away from d'Artagnan. "Come in."

He stepped into the doorway without actually coming in. "Marc, the village headman, has asked you to return, please."

"Is there some problem?" Athos asked mildly.

"I'm sure that Marc can explain it better than I," Pierre said, looking away.

"Pierre," d'Artagnan protested.

Pierre shook his head. "Please, monsieurs. He's waiting at the tavern."

Athos glanced briefly at the others before nodding. "Of course. Thank you for your hospitality, Pierre."

"If you need to, feel free to return."

He retreated, apparently trusting them to leave without his watching to make sure. Athos turned to d'Artagnan, but he shook his head. "Nothing specific. A lot of fear, grief, guilt. Nothing I can make sense of."

"Athos!" Porthos shouted from the hay loft above.

Athos went up to join him, leaving d'Artagnan and Aramis to arm themselves and get ready. "What is it?" he asked, climbing carefully off the ladder.

"Here." Porthos waved him over to the little window set above the hay door. "Look, that's the south road out of the village, right? What's it look like they're doing to you?"

Athos studied the figures, made tiny by distance, and the work they were doing on the road. "It looks like they're building barricades," he said finally.

"Yeah. Only two reasons I know of for barricades in a place like this. So are they keeping us in or someone else out?"

"Let us hope it's the latter. We can help if the village is under attack. I'd rather not have Aramis and d'Artagnan trapped in a quarantine."

"What's going on?" Aramis called from below.

Athos sighed, heading back to the ladder. "It looks as though they're barricading the south road. And the other, we can assume."

"Barricading," Aramis repeated.

"Why?" d'Artagnan added.

"They were a little far away for me to demand an explanation. We'll go and meet this Marc. I'm sure he'll have all the answers we need."

"How well we'll like them..." Aramis murmured. Athos ignored him, waving them out of the barn and back towards the centre of the village.

The village was all but deserted.

The couple of people they saw hurried past in silence, refusing to make eye contact. Whitewash was daubed across a door, and every window was tightly shut. Once they heard sobbing, muffled and quickly silenced.

Porthos was watching Aramis. He was tense, but in a 'this feels wrong' way rather than the way that suggested he'd sensed pain somewhere. d'Artagnan, on the other hand, was far too jumpy. Athos was keeping a hand on his arm, because he kept wandering off or stopping to stare at nothing.

Several men were standing in a knot outside the tavern. Athos halted out of earshot, waiting for the others to draw in around him. "d'Artagnan, are you with us?"

"Yes." d'Artagnan rubbed a hand over his face. "Yes, I'm with you."

"Anything new?" Aramis asked.

"No. It's just stronger here. I'm dampening it," he added at Athos' look.

"Good. Aramis?"

"I'm fine."

"You're tense," Porthos noted neutrally.

"I don't like the way they're looking at us."

Porthos followed his gaze to the men outside the tavern. "Like we're their last hope? Yeah. Kind of setting my teeth on edge, to be honest."

Two of the men separated themselves from the others and came towards the Musketeers. Aramis swept off his hat and glared until the others followed suit; one of the men was wearing priest's robes.

"You are Musketeers, are you not?" the one in normal working clothes asked.

"We are," Athos agreed.

"I must beg your help, Monsieur..."

"Athos. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan."

"Marc. And our priest Father Maurice."

"What is it you need help with?"

Marc glanced at Father Maurice, taking a deep breath. "There is illness in the village."

"What illness?" Aramis asked immediately.

"Father Maurice tells me it's influenza."

Porthos blew out a breath to stop himself from cursing. Influenza could wipe a village like this off the map, and the four of them along with it.

"He tells you?" Athos repeated.

"I've no experience of it myself. Never seen an outbreak."

Surprising, but not impossible. Influenza was unpredictable, which was part of what made it so deadly.

"How many ill?" Aramis asked.

"I don't have an exact number. My men are afraid to go into homes. But I know of at least three dead and perhaps twenty ill."

"Out of how many?"

"In the village? Sixty, eighty. Depending on who's here and who's up on the hills."

A third to a quarter ill already. Porthos met Athos' eyes grimly.

"We saw you barricading on the south end," he said, turning to Marc. "You've done that on both roads?"

Marc nodded. "We have river on one side and forest on the other; I don't think anyone will come in. But I can't promise no one will try to leave. My people know this forest like their own homes."

"I've spoken to all I can," Father Maurice added. "They understand the need to stay inside the village. But when things get worse..."

Athos was nodding slowly. "Can you have the ill brought together somewhere? It will be easier to tend them and may slow the spread of the illness."

"Francoise has offered the tavern. It will be crowded, but it's the biggest space we have."

"We can use the church if we need to," Father Maurice added, "but it's a much colder building. It's not designed to be heated."

"Have the men begin clearing the furniture from the taproom," Athos told them. "I need to speak with my men briefly, and then we'll help."

Marc nodded, drawing Father Maurice back towards the others. Athos waited until they were out of earshot again before turning to the others. "Aramis..."

"I know," he muttered. "No Healing."

"It's illness, anyway," d'Artagnan pointed out. "Could you Heal it?"

"Not the illness itself, probably. But I could ease the symptoms a little." Catching Athos' look, he added, "My gloves will stay firmly on at all times, I promise."

"I know that this is hard for you," Athos told him. "But if your Ability is revealed, these people will blame you for bringing the illness down on them in the first place. You have seen this happen; you know I'm right."

"I know you're right," Aramis parroted.

Athos studied him for a moment before clearly deciding that was as good as he was going to get, turning to d'Artagnan. "What about you?"

"I'm well for now. It will be some days before I'm in trouble, and hopefully by then the worst will be over."

"You'll tell me if that changes?"

"I will."

"Good. Porthos, can you get through the barricade?"

"The barricade I can't get through hasn't been built yet. But I'm risking carrying the 'fluenza out of the village."

Athos shook his head, looking at d'Artagnan. "Where is he most likely to meet people?"

d'Artagnan blinked. "There'll be shepherds, up on the hills in the south west. A couple of miles."

"Good. Find the nearest one; don't let them get too close to you. I'll write a note to Treville. Tell whoever you find that there is a large purse waiting for them on delivery. I'll make sure Treville makes good on it."

"D'you want me to come back, after?"

"You'd better. We can't cover for you forever. d'Artagnan, collect our belongings from the tavern and take them and the horses out to Pierre's. He's within the quarantine area and our rooms might be needed."

d'Artagnan nodded quickly and Athos looked at each of them, meeting their eyes. "I am not at risk," he said quietly. "So as much as you can, leave handling ill or deceased people to me. I know it's not entirely possible for you to avoid contact," he added when Aramis started to protest, "but let's be as careful as we can, yes? Aramis, help the men setting up the tavern for now. Porthos, come with me, I'll write your note. d'Artagnan, see if Pierre needs help before you come back. We may be relying on his animals soon."

"Good luck," d'Artagnan said, ostensibly to Porthos though his eyes were darting around the circle. He broke away, jogging back the way they'd come.

Porthos let Athos watch him go for a moment; then he nudged him. "Come on. Sooner I've got this note, sooner I'm back to help you lot. Let's go."

d'Artagnan stabled the horses and piled their belongings in a corner of the barn before going to look for Pierre. The man was quiet, but he accepted d'Artagnan's help to take care of his lifestock.

"Pierre, where does the town get its water?" he asked as they finished up with the pigs.

"From the river, mostly. I have a well, and so do some of the other farms. Why?"

"We might need it."

"Anything."

d'Artagnan glanced towards the village; Aramis was getting more upset as time went by. "I have to go back to my friends. We'll try not to disturb you when we come in, but I don't know when that'll be. Whenever we can persuade Aramis away from the sick."

Pierre smiled grimly. "I wouldn't worry. I don't think I'll be sleeping much. You and your friends are welcome to anything that's in the kitchen."

d'Artagnan hesitated, studying him. "Pierre, if you want us to just stay in the barn, as far from you as we can…"

"I've been in and out of the village every day this week. It's a little late now to think of quarantine."

"You're a brave man," d'Artagnan told him.

"Let me know what you need."

He headed back in towards the village. It was still quiet and empty; he was shielding tightly, but he could sense fear and grief in the houses he was passing. He sped up without thinking about it, desperate to get back to the others.

"Pardon!"

He slowed, turning to see Father Maurice standing in the doorway of the little church. "Forgive me," the priest added, "I don't remember your name."

"d'Artagnan, Father."

"d'Artagnan, of course. My apologies."

d'Artagnan shook his head. "We're all a little preoccupied. How can I help you?"

"Ah. I think maybe I can help you. Step this way for just a moment."

d'Artagnan followed him inside. The inside of the church was dim and he blinked quickly, trying to adapt.

"I've been trying to raise money to replace them for a while," Father Maurice said with a sigh. "But they may be helpful now."

"What may?" d'Artagnan asked, and then realised what he was looking at. "Oh. Are you sure, Father? They may need to be burned afterwards."

"Then the villagers will definitely help me get new ones."

d'Artagnan smiled faintly, nodding. "I'll see to it. Thank you, Father."

"Anything I can do, d'Artagnan."

d'Artagnan slipped back out, hurrying down to the tavern. Aramis was stacking stools in a corner of the yard; he straightened wearily as d'Artagnan reached him. "Everything all right at the farm?"

"Everything all right here?" d'Artagnan asked, studying him.

"They've started bringing in the sick."

d'Artagnan nodded quickly. That explained the tension in Aramis. "Father Maurice stopped me on the way back. The church here has benches rather than pews. He's offered them to us."

"Benches," Aramis repeated.

"Better than leaving people on the floor, isn't it? We'll have to tie them together in twos, or something, but we can do that."

"Yes. I'll get a couple of the men to help you." Glancing around, he lowered his voice to add "Porthos?"

d'Artagnan shook his head. "He made it out of the village, but that's all I know. It's too far for me to track him unless I want the whole village in my head."

"No, of course. My apologies."

"Come and help me with the benches. Don't go back in there yet."

Aramis smiled ruefully. "This won't get better for me. Not until it's run its' course."

"I know," d'Artagnan murmured. "I'm sorry."

Aramis shook his head, straightening. "Come along. Let's look at these benches and see what we can do."

Porthos arrived back a little before noon, letter safely left with a shepherd who'd promised to see it delivered. He set to work carrying and tying benches. Marc and another man were busy layering them with blankets, pelts and what looked suspiciously like the altar cloth from the church; as fast as they were set up, they were filled with ill villagers.

Athos drew him aside after a while. "Father Maurice has visited every house in the village, but there are three where no one answered him. I'm going to help him gain entry."

"Want help?"

"Safer if it's me. However…" He glanced over Porthos' shoulder. "We will need to dispose of the bodies."

"You want me to dig graves?"

"Talk to Aramis. Fire may be safer."

"Aw, Athos…"

"I know it's distasteful, but it may save lives. As him what's best, and if it's fire, send d'Artagnan to fetch the wood. The further he is from everyone, the better."

"Got it. Go bust down some doors. I'll watch the others."

Aramis confirmed that burning was the safest way to dispose of the bodies. "I know it's unpleasant," he said when Porthos grimaced, "but I'm sure they would prefer this to infecting their neighbours and loved ones."

Porthos snorted, reaching out to halt Marc as he passed them with an armload of water skins. "Marc, we have a small problem."

"Add it to the list," he said grimly. "What is it?"

"We need to burn the bodies to keep them from infecting anyone else. I'm sorry."

Marc closed his eyes for a moment before nodding. "If you have to, you have to. What do you need?"

"Someone to show us where we can gather wood without risking anyone, and somewhere isolated we can do it."

"I'll send Christophe out to you. He can help with both of those things."

"And d'Artagnan, if you see him," Porthos added. "D'you want us to tell Father Maurice?"

"He's already prayed over them, but yes, please. It may be easier for the people to take if they know a priest was there."

"I'm sorry," Aramis offered.

"If it saves one person, it's worth it. I'll send Christophe out."

"Aramis n'I'll be in in a couple of minutes to help," Porthos promised. Marc nodded, heading inside. d'Artagnan appeared almost at once, and Christophe came out a moment later.

"We need a pyre," Porthos said bluntly. "Christophe, Marc said you'd know where we can do that, and where to gather the wood without putting anyone at risk."

"Yes, I can do that."

"Good. Take d'Artagnan with you. Athos is helping Father Maurice, d'Artagnan, but he'll join you when he can."

"We'll manage," d'Artagnan promised, glancing at Aramis and raising an enquiring eyebrow.

Porthos shrugged. He couldn't say how Aramis was doing, because he wasn't sure yet. "Go on. We'll find you."

"Come back in a couple of hours no matter how much you've got done," Aramis told him. "We need to make sure we eat regularly if we're going to fight this off."

"I'll see you then," d'Artagnan agreed, turning to follow Christophe away.

"You don't have to go in there," Porthos told Aramis. "There's plenty to do around the village. No one will think anything of it."

"I'm a healer gloves on or off, Porthos. I can't not go in there."

"It's gloves on this time."

"I know. I know. I'm still the best chance these people have."

"Yeah," Porthos muttered. It was true, or else Athos would have Aramis as far from the tavern as possible. "Well, let's go, then. Plenty to do."