*Shrug* What can I say, except repeat all the warnings of the first two chapters? Still not sorry for the canon, historical and creative welding I'm doing. I also have horrible friends who spoiled half of series 2 for me, but it does give me something to work with. (Have to hold off on my marathon watching- my mom wants to watch it too, but she hasn't seen the first series, so we're watching that together before we move on to the second series.)

Quick note: As I understand it, Little Thief has the Massacre at Savoy happening ten years before the BBC storyline set in 1630/1631, I have stuck with that concept, so for this story Savoy happens in winter around the end of 1621/beginning of 1622. 'Ball Gowns and Knives' is set 5 years before the BBC storyline, in roughly late summer of 1625. Eventually, I'll do a note dedicated to the timeline I've sketched out, but not this chapter.

Ball Gowns and Knives, Part 2

Aramis arrived back in their shared room while Porthos was getting ready to head to breakfast. Porthos noted immediately that the other was happy, though it was far different from the usual 'just spent the night with a woman' happy. This was enough for Porthos to break his usual 'don't ask and save himself the headache' policy.

"Everything go alright with your lady, then?"

"Ah, yes, she's still grieving the loss of her husband," Aramis answered, quickly using the wash basin and checking over his appearance, "And having trouble sleeping alone." The younger man frowned briefly at that, and Porthos winced. After Savoy, Aramis had needed someone, at the very least in the same room as him, so he could sleep, otherwise he didn't and either spent the night trapped in memories or going into Porthos and Athos' rooms, just to check to see if the two were alive.

However, the frown quickly vanished, and Aramis' smile returned, much to Porthos' confusion. "Aramis, what do you know?" It was like his friend had found out something he found amusing and Porthos' suspicions were strengthened when Aramis' smile turned into a grin.

"I know many things, my friend, to which are you referring?"

"Whichever it is that has you smiling like the cat that got the cream and the canary." Porthos only stopped trying to get it (whatever 'it' was) out of Aramis while they got breakfast, and learned how the night watch went from the two musketeers who'd been on duty with the Duke's men. (Calm, Quiet, and one affair between a serving girl and one of the esteemed (and married) businessmen.)

"Why do we even need to guard the garden's small gate?" Porthos grumbled as they went to their assigned gate. The Lieutenant in charge of them while they were here was paranoid about something happening, and had them doing double watches. "The door's so overgrown; it'd be a miracle if it could open a blade's width."

"Lecuyer knows what he's doing, I'm sure." Aramis shrugged as they went to take up their spots near the gate.

Porthos' response, it was going to be something witty, was cut off by another voice.

"Lecuyer was made a lieutenant, then? I'd have thought they'd have promoted Fortier instead."

Porthos blinked. "Athos?" Before the other responded, something slammed into him, and he reflexively wrapped his arms around it. "D'Art?" He managed when he realized who had attempted to tackle him to the ground.

"Missed you." Was D'Artagnan's muffled response. Porthos tightened his grip, the boy had really grown- his head was now level with Porthos' chest.

"Missed you too, whelp." Porthos looked up at Athos, who had the mysterious Anne on his arm. Something about her did remind him of Flea, but he couldn't think of what, more interested in finding out why Athos and D'Artagnan were here. "I didn't know you were here." He hadn't quite kept the accusing tone out of his voice, before Aramis' actions suddenly made sense. "How did you know they were here?" He looked between the two, a bit reluctant to let go of the boy just yet.

"M. Aramis climbed in the wrong window last night." The woman answered, apparently finishing her study of him. "A pleasure to meet you, I'm Anne. Charles has told me a lot about you, M. Porthos."

"It's just Porthos, Madame." Porthos felt D'Artagnan tap his arm, and let go, the boy giving an exaggerated inhale once he was free. Porthos grinned and swiped at the boy's hair.

"Then please, just call me Anne." Anne responded, and Porthos nodded, before realizing what she'd just said.

"You climbed in the wrong window?" He looked at Aramis, who promptly looked sheepish. "Really, Aramis?"

"He's lucky the noise woke D'Artagnan, Anne and I almost attacked him." Athos added, and Porthos hugged the older man once he'd moved close enough.

"You're kidding." Porthos grinned; glad to have more information to use in teasing Aramis. "You planning on rejoining the musketeers?"

"Perhaps, I still need to speak to Treville." The group settled in front of the gate, Anne having brought out a blanket to sit on, reminiscing and telling the more amusing that happened while they were apart, until the three had to leave to get ready for the party that night.

It was nice to see them again, though Porthos had refrained from asking D'Artagnan about his letter.

"Now you've met Aramis and Porthos." Olivier noted as he helped her get ready for the party. "What do you think of them?"

"I like them, and Athos." Anne didn't even have to think about the answer. Aramis was an interesting riddle, a charming rogue that was also a devout (former) priest in training, and she'd enjoyed the word games he'd played. Porthos was quite possibly the ideal older brother for anyone who'd grown up on the streets or just needed someone to protect them. He was jovial and teasing and thrilled to have D'Artagnan and Athos back at his side (where he could better protect them) and hadn't had a qualm opening up a space for her.

"Athos?" Olivier fastened her necklace and she turned around to look at him.

"I think you were possibly the most relaxed I'd ever seen you with anyone today." Anne admitted, "You always hold yourself so stiffly, only relaxing around me, Charles or Thomas, but you relaxed in their presence so quickly, it was like seeing a different part of you that I had only ever glimpsed before." She liked Athos too, he wasn't much different from Olivier, to tell the truth, but where Olivier had to uphold the reputation of his family title and lands, Athos only had to watch over his fellow soldiers-at-arms, D'Artagnan, and her. It was an odd distinction to make, given he was just one person, but it felt like there was a definite separation between Olivier and Athos. "… Do they even know your name and title?"

"No, Treville decided that he didn't want those with titles acting or being treated differently by those without, trying to make it so that the musketeers weren't in danger of having officer commissions bought and sold later. Since I was, at the time, trying to separate myself from my title, it seemed easier to separate from 'Olivier' as well." He paused, and then looked at her with sudden understanding.

Anne drew the parallel as well, but had to correct one part of it. "I didn't have a name, growing up. I wasn't baptized as a child, and well, my mother never wanted me around, her fellows called me Sachet, and some of the sailors who remembered me called me Chaton, while others called me lesser things. As I grew up, I'd pick a name and pretend to be someone else. I never really had a name that meant me, until now." Olivier hugged her gently, but as he pulled away, he suddenly stopped. "Olivier?"

"The lace is caught on something, a button I think."

Anne shifted, and felt the lace on her dress pull slightly. "Remind me never to get a lace covered dress ever again." Too late to change it now.

"You're still upset with me for not telling you?" Aramis asked Porthos, who had done a remarkable job of pretending that Aramis wasn't standing there next to him.

Porthos had been extremely reluctant to let D'Artagnan out of his sight when Athos had reluctantly informed them that they had to go get ready for the night. After they had gone, Porthos informed Aramis he was not speaking to him the rest of the day, and after switching off for a few hours to eat, rest and make sure their weapons were cleaned and serviceable, they'd returned to the random gate that Lecuyer wanted them to guard, where Porthos was busy making good on his promise.

"Well, then, I'll talk. Anne's beautiful and clever, and it's odd to see Athos not his grumpy self, so clearly she is a positive influence on our friend. D'Art looks healthy, might even give you a run for the money in the height department once he stops growing." Aramis started, and earned a dark look from Porthos. "She had a knife to my neck that she didn't put down until D'Art showed up last night; I don't think she's interested in me." He informed him.

"She had a knife? In bed?" Porthos asked, frowning in confusion.

"Considering Athos had a pistol, I'm pretty sure it's Athos' paranoia rubbing off on her." Aramis shrugged. He'd known women who'd kept a weapon to protect themselves and their children while their husbands were gone; Anne having a knife was not that much of a concern to him. "I'm sure we'll get the chance to see them later, none of them looked interested in the festivities."

"I can't blame them, all that lace and those stockings?" Porthos shuddered.

"Wonder if Athos will wear them?" The two looked at each other, and then broke down laughing. "You're talking to me, by the way."

Porthos almost shoved him into the dirt, as it was; he was knocked off balance enough to flail before re-gaining his equilibrium. The two were grinning as the once again stood at attention.

D'Artagnan happily slipped into the garden after the first dance. It took him almost no time at all to find Porthos still guarding the grown-over gate, but Aramis was gone.

"Where's Aramis?"

"The Madame Angelique wished to speak with him, for a few minutes. That was a while ago." Porthos admitted, before shrugging. "We only need one person on this gate, Lecuyer's paranoid about something going wrong." Porthos then grinned at him. "Nice stockings."

"You can have them." D'Artagnan struggled with the collar. His scar wasn't particularly sensitive, but the ruffled collar was managing to irritate it, and Anne's suggestion of putting a soft layer between the two wasn't working. "The collar and the heels as well."

"No thank you, I like my uniform." Porthos grinned at him. Before sobering. "Got your letter, how bad was it?"

"…" D'Artagnan glanced around, before looking up at his brother. He needed to talk to someone, Athos was a little too close to the problem, though, and so was Anne. "Pretty bad, Athos' brother, he looks down on people born into poorer stations than him. He then wanted Athos to choose between Anne and him."

"Athos picked Anne?" Porthos asked quietly.

"So did I. T- He didn't take it well, to say the least." Athos wouldn't be happy with him sharing this information, so he tried to keep the amount of details to a minimum. Porthos, however, was giving him the look that told him just how much he was aware of D'Artagnan's feeble attempts to limit the details. "Athos should tell you the rest."

D'Artagnan was enfolded in a bear hug, and closed his eyes. Athos' hugs were starting to become rarer and harder to earn as he grew; Anne's hugs were comforting, but a little too stiff as she wasn't used to giving them; and Aramis' hugs, for all his tactile nature and need for physical affection, didn't feel as safe as they once did.

Porthos' hugs, on the other hand, made him feel like he was a child and wrapped in warm blanket, safe from all trouble.

"That brother of his, did he give you trouble?" Porthos asked, and D'Artagnan stubbornly closed his eyes and leaned closer.

"He wanted to, blamed me for Athos' decision. I didn't tell Athos, though; he's taking it all kind of hard." He admitted; Thomas had been angry during the time it took them to prepare, blaming Anne and him for taking his brother away. D'Artagnan had thought he'd been close to actually attacking them a few times, but Thomas had a little more control than he'd credited.

Had D'Artagnan told Athos, Thomas might have actually lashed out at him for 'poisoning his brother's mind' against him. It hadn't been worth it to say anything then, and it certainly wouldn't be worth it to say it now.

"Athos always says that his brother was the favorite, of everyone that met them. I don't see it." D'Artagnan told Porthos, and the other tightened his grip for a moment, before pulling back so D'Artagnan had to look at him.

"Maybe because you're prejudiced against those that look down on others, and Athos has been your favorite long before you met his brother." Porthos suggested, with a small smile. "You've grown up on a farm, the streets, and on an estate- still not impressed with Athos refusing to share that, by the way, Musketeer rules or no- and now you're back in Paris, you've seen a fair bit of the good and bad in this world, the way bad people occasionally do good to others and even how a good person will do bad things. But for some reason, you've picked Athos, Aramis and me as the measuring stick to compare everyone else, and this mystery brother isn't matching up to our standards." Porthos paused, "I'm not sure we're the best choices for that by the way", he said, before grinning. "Besides, you're here, and that so-called brother isn't, so I wouldn't keep dragging his memory along, you'd miss out on the fun stuff."

"Not just you three, Flea, Charon, Anne, and what I remember of my Maman and Pere." D'Artagnan corrected, reluctantly taking another step back.

"Speaking of Flea, you're right; Anne does resemble her a bit."

D'Artagnan tried not to wince, he'd written that trying to subtly let Porthos know that Anne had lived on the streets too, but he hadn't wanted to outright state it, both because Anne wanted to leave that part of her behind (for all it could come back to haunt her) and in case someone who wasn't a friend saw that letter.

"But I think it's not something to talk about here, might be too distracting, I am on watch."

"Anne might tell you on her own, she likes you and Aramis."

"Any woman that can put Aramis on the defensive in those word games he plays is definitely someone I like." Porthos nodded, grinning. "Now, what's this about tripping all the time?"

"I knew I was going to regret mentioning that!" D'Artagnan groaned.

"I invited the Comte de Rochefort, but apparently he's going to be traveling abroad, possibly to Rome!" The Duke chuckled into his Cognac, now that the dancing was beginning to slow and the men and women had started to split apart into their respective genders.

"I don't believe I've met him." Athos commented, keeping an eye out for D'Artagnan. The boy had probably made his escape to Porthos and Aramis at the first opportunity, but Athos felt uneasy with him somewhere out of his sight.

"Well, not surprising, He only recently inherited the title, about, oh, 3 years back, spent a great deal of time in Spain, tutoring our queen on French culture before she married King Louis. Quite a model soldier, was the one that helped the Cardinal form up his red guards, I heard." The Duke shook his head. "Ah, M. Lafitte you've done business in Spain, have you not?" As the Duke took M. Lafitte's arm and led the way to the room they sat in last night, Athos took the opportunity to slip away, attempting to find a conversation that wasn't so tedious to waste some time before he could properly leave. Unfortunately, none of the men were proving to be potential allies, and the handful that might have been, judging from the conversations, were unable to attend for one reason or another.

The only difference, Athos reflected, between the women and the men's discussions were the type of drinks that were served; the women had tea, the men Cognac. (Anne probably would have preferred the cognac; she didn't particularly care for tea.)

Though the men at least dropped a subject once they heard a dismissal, judging from the way Anne had been dodging a very severe-looking woman in black all evening (it was rather impressive, how she made it look like she wasn't purposefully avoiding the woman, and how she'd managed to guide him at one point and made it look like the other way around). Thankfully, a few of the other women were willing to help her out when they started to split apart in groups, and the woman in black had given up.

"Baron Fontaine and his wife are still dancing, if can see it." One man noted to another. "At their ages, he's just turned 65, I heard."

"And she's 56, My Lord, did he just lift her?" The older couple in question had clearly aged well, still dancing along with a much younger couple.

"Baroness Lamar is still stalking around trying to get her hooks into some poor sod for her daughter. Have you seen the girl? Nostrils far too small for her nose, an unhealthy complexion, and far too small breasted to give birth to a healthy babe, even if a wet nurse is found." Another man commented, shaking his head. "Takes after her mother in that."

"I've finally made enough to settle down, get a wife," someone said, and Athos looked over at the man, who was older than him and clearly drunk, given the way he was talking. "One of my old business partners has a lovely daughter, 15 years old and polite." Athos' intention of passing over the conversation stopped at the man's next words. "He'd prefer a younger man, but I've told him that if he wants to make sure she's looked after, he'll stop being so fussy. I mean, really, I'll be able to sell his business and get a nice sum for it. This way I get the money from selling the business and his daughter gets looked after."

Athos had to grit his teeth to keep from pointing out that the man probably was objecting to the marriage because of that fact. Thankfully, or unfortunately, one of the other men in the group decided to change the subject.

"How much has Giroux had to drink, he looks rather unsteady." Athos turned, and decided the man had a talent in understatement.

M. Giroux was 'rather unsteady', if the ocean was 'rather wet'. He was still upright, but constantly in danger of falling over. He appeared to be muttering to himself not noticing the way others were turning their attention to him, before suddenly shouting, "Stop that damned music!" He grabbed a candelabrum and threw it at the musicians, who, to their credit, were able to get out of the way without getting themselves or their instruments hit.

"Don't let it catch fire!" The musketeers quickly hurried forward, and Athos also moved forward.

"I won't be ignored any longer! I am fully capable of *hic!* doing things on my own!" M. Giroux shouted, not really seeing the two musketeers, or Athos, who kept himself out of their way but close enough to move if there was trouble.

"Sir, you need to calm down." One of the musketeers said, only for Giroux to reel backwards, sort of catching himself against a table and come up with a knife. "Monsieur, you need to put that knife down."

"I don't need to do anything, Gagnon!" Giroux snapped, waving the knife around.

"You're right, Monsieur, you don't need to do anything." Athos spoke up, stopping the other musketeer from saying something equally insulting, and gaining Giroux's attention. "I'm sure you are a fully capable individual, if you would like to discuss some business with me?"

"He's a fur trader." The man who'd been speaking about selling his old partner's business and marrying his daughter mumbled behind him, Athos almost didn't catch it. "Lost a deal, recently, worth 600 livre."

"I've heard you're capable of finding some of the best pelts, I have a hunting lodge needing furnishing, and I am willing to pay 1000 livre in order to do so."

"Huh?" Giroux blinked, before lowering the knife. "Oh, well, what types would you like? We've got some new pelts of creatures in the colonies just in, one gray with a stripped tail-" The musketeers took advantage, and Giroux dropped the knife in surprise when they grabbed him.

Athos exhaled in relief as they pulled him out of the room, one requesting a physician to help sober the poor man up. He turned to face the merchant who'd mumbled the information. "My thanks."

"I'm not so sure you should be thanking me, I was the one that took the deal in question from him." The man rubbed his eyes. "M. Bonacieux, merchant of fine fabrics and furs." He introduced himself.

"Comte Olivier de la Fere." Athos gave a slight nod.

The party dispersed for the night, and Athos was slightly bemused when Anne and D'Artagnan all but appeared by his side in the crowd of people who were heading to the stairs, while the Duke and his grandson spoke to those who were taking their carriages to leave, or complaining. "I'm fine, no one was hurt."

"You'll forgive us if we double check." Anne wrapped an arm around him, D'Artagnan pressing close to his side as they went up the stairs.

"… Porthos and Aramis are going to be coming to visit, aren't they?" Athos murmured to the boy.

"Porthos almost didn't let me go to find you two, he's stuck at the gate until they remember to relieve him." D'Artagnan muttered.

Those on the stairs were halted by a scream, Baroness Lamar rushing from a side hall. "Musketeers! Murder! Villains!" Her voice was shrill in panic, before she crumpled into the arms of Lt. Lecuyer in a dead faint.

"… I think he's going to be at that gate for a while." D'Artagnan said, without any humor whatsoever as more than a few women cried out as well, and a couple also joining the Baroness in a faint.

Athos caught Anne's eye, and Anne rolled her eyes, before crying "Oh!" and falling heavily on him, almost knocking him back down the stairs. He quickly scooped her up into his arms and carried her up the remaining steps, D'Artagnan on his heels as they headed to their rooms. "Next time, Charles faints." She muttered.

Random Note- So, My Sisters and I tend to rate guys on how 'huggable' (how good would it feel to get hugged by them) they appear. (I have a list, PM me if you'd like to see it.) Criteria for 'huggable-ness' is based on muscles (but not too muscular), fat (we don't like hugging guys that look like a strong hug would snap them in two, however, we do like some firmness to them), and height (All three of us like taller guys, nothing against shorter ones, but this is just one of our criteria we agreed on). So, of our four main characters, Porthos/Howard Charles is the one that looks the most huggable. The other three look like they'd give decent hugs, but they lose to Porthos. End Random Note.

Explanations and Historical Notes:

Aramis not having sex with Madame Angelique- sometimes, people just don't want to or can't sleep alone. Madame Angelique falls into the latter category, and Aramis strikes me as the kind of guy that wouldn't push it if a woman suddenly shied away. He probably prayed with her for her husband to find rest and then held her as she cried herself to sleep.

Milady's lack of a name is canonical; Athos meets her as Anne de Brule (how is that spelled? Spell-check keeps changing it to Brazil.), but that is not her actual name, and we never find out her actual name. Historically, when a child was christened/baptized, they received their legal name then, because the Church kept track of birth and death records instead of the state. Children that died before being baptized sometimes got a name to be put on a tombstone; other's just got their family name and a date. It wasn't uncommon for kids on the street to not have legal names, instead having whatever names they were given by other street kids or adults that found them, either for a character trait or for their circumstances. (For example, in the book The Midwife's Apprentice, the main character is called 'Dung' because she was found trying to keep warm in a dung heap.) Flea is probably named for either being as 'small as a flea' when she was little or for actually having fleas. (Fleas, lice, and other bugs like that were common problems that never went away, a point in favor of 21st century hygiene.) 'Sachet' is a bag, and Anne was probably considered to be unnecessary baggage by the other prostitutes, maybe even by her mother. 'Chaton' is French for 'Kitten' and clearly a much nicer name- then again, Sailors gave it to her, so who knows.

(Not mentioned in story, but here the Priest that Anne was with also baptized her, so her legal name is actually Anne, however much Thomas would like to disagree. Since Anne is technically her legal name, her marriage to Athos is also legal. (At least, in this story; Dumas' original work and BBC might have different ideas.))

Now, because Churches had the legal documents regarding births, deaths and marriages, it wasn't that uncommon for people to come up with a new identity and never have it discovered- travel took a long time, and identity checks would require going to the church the person in question was baptized in, searching through the records, and then traveling back to tell everyone; this process could take anywhere from days to years. Nobility kept a copy of these records separate from the church; however, they could also fudge certain facts and connections, so the Church's records were used to check them. (This is also part of the reason the Church had so much power.)

Lace-Covered dress- inspired by a much simpler lace-covered dress I once wore for Cotillion, which kept getting caught on the most random things. (Bathroom stall-door latch, for one).

More on historical marriage practices in the next chapter, but women in this time period were looked at as potential mothers more than lovers, especially among the upper classes. Women with a large bust and rounded hips were prized as that meant fewer complications during pregnancy and childbirth for the mother and a healthier child. (Paradoxically, they also liked women to have small waists, so they did have 'hourglass figures', hence corsets.) As my grandmother is fond of pointing out (usually hinting at me having children, our family is awful at tact), if it wasn't for modern medicine, a lot of the women today (especially those that are size 0 to 2) would not be able to give birth safely.

Yep, I just included M. Bonacieux, he's an ass, but still a useful character. Same deal with Rochefort. (As mentioned before, my wonderful friends spoiled where, exactly, Rochefort is and for how long he's been there, and doing the math, it is entirely plausible that he is in Paris getting ready for a certain trip, and he 'rejoins' the group in 1631 after 4/5 years away, again, timeline note to eventually follow)

And finally we get to the plot of this section, not that writing their reunions/meetings aren't fun, but they keep wanting to talk and think instead of work.