Debellatio

Preparing for a battle offered a decidedly different level of stress than actually participating in the battle. Athos found he had the confidence required to convince his men to follow him into the fray; it was knowing what could – and often times would – happen to them the moment shots were fired and metal clashed that sent his skin into icy shivers and directed an iron-clad grip around his heart.

For Athos himself, the risk was irrelevant. For years – since Thomas, since Anne – battle of any kind was simply an opportunity for him to receive the punishment he believed he deserved. He would never admit it, not aloud, but he went into battle with part of his intent simply being to get hurt.

He wanted to feel the pain and through that pain, find some kind of absolution, some sort of attrition and forgiveness. Perhaps through that struggle he could find peace. Perhaps he could smile as honestly as d'Artagnan, he could love as completely as Aramis, he could give of himself as wholly as Porthos.

Perhaps be could be a person again, one who was more than a soldier.

Then Anne had revealed the truth he'd known to be lurking in the shadows of his heart: There will be no peace for either of us until we are both dead. Yet despite that, he'd let her go, let her live. Walked away from her with one heartbeat of hope that the men he'd aligned himself with would show him a path he could follow, leading to a peace he could embrace.

With everything in him, Athos knew he would protect those men. He would protect them with his own life if called to do so.

He stepped into the lead, drawing his harquebus as they moved silently from the servant's entrance through the dusty back corridors of the abandoned Château. The passage way held the dimmest light, filtered in, he saw, from high, narrow windows scattered along the length of the corridor. He found himself holding his breath, listening for movement, for voices – any indication that they were either close to Treville or to danger.

The breathing of his comrades was harsh, but subdued. Athos could practically feel tension and nerves rolling from them, knowing each was as on-guard as he. They came across a split, one path leading to a narrow stairs, the other down a longer corridor. It was too dark to see where it led. He looked back at his men.

"If it was me," Porthos said, his voice a quiet rumble, "I'd take the high ground. Make 'em come up to me through the narrowest passage."

Athos held the darker man's eyes a moment. Porthos may not have been brought up a gentleman or been schooled in the history of battle and tactics, but he had unmatched survival skills. Athos nodded and started up the stairs, tensing as he saw the soft glow of torchlight. He pressed back against the stone wall, and saw that the men fell in, aligning their bodies with his. If Bellamy had been able to keep Armistead and his men prisoner this long, Athos knew they had to be cautious so as not to fire on a potential ally – and their Captain's only protector.

Looking down the line of his men, Athos met Aramis' eyes and nodded. Without needing the vocal order, Aramis knew what to do. He moved up through the narrow stairwell, past Athos, until he reached the top. Athos could see the marksman stretch out on the stairs, laying the barrel of the heavy musket on the top stair and training it on the open corridor, the spare weapon next to him.

Athos nodded down to Porthos who moved into position to flank Aramis, ready to provide him with reloaded weapons if needs be. Feeling d'Artagnan draw close at his back, Athos moved forward, stepping carefully over his friends, and pressed back against the corridor as he moved into the opening, d'Artagnan by his side. A small door, lit from behind with the yellowed light from a fire or torches, was at one end of the hall. The other direction was completely dark, not even one window. It was impossible for Athos to see how far it went.

He glanced quickly at d'Artagnan and saw that the young man was ready for his order, weapons up.

"Bellamy!" Athos called. "My name is Athos of the King's Musketeers. You have my Captain."

The first shot came from the darkness, cutting the air just across Athos' chest. The burst of fire from the weapon exposed the shooter and a heartbeat later, Aramis had returned fire, knocking the weapon from their erstwhile attacker's grip with a cry of surprise. Seamlessly, Porthos took the empty musket and handed Aramis a loaded one, the deadly barrel now trained down the dark hall.

"Come out," Athos ordered.

A tall, painfully thin man emerged from the shadows, holding his hand. He was older than Athos by at least a decade, if not more, and was clearly weary and disheveled, but his clothes and bearing marked him as a gentleman and his beard was neatly trimmed.

"Bellamy?"

"I am François Bellamy, yes," the man replied, his voice the low rasp of one who has seen too many wars. "You are Athos?"

Athos nodded, then gestured to the other men. "My comrades, also in Captain Treville's regiment."

"Jean-Armand said you would come," Bellamy sighed, sagging in evident relief. "When I saw those other men arrive, I thought the worst."

"Is he alive?" Athos could not keep the fear from seizing the edge of his words and pulling them taut.

"He is, though he needs help," Bellamy said, moving past the opening as Aramis and Porthos got to their feet. "And I know Claude will not stay contained much longer."

"Claude?" d'Artagnan asked. Athos was surprised the young man had stayed quiet this long. When there were more questions than answers, d'Artagnan was usually the first one to speak up.

Bellamy glanced back at them. "Claude du Peyer," he said. "Jean-Armand's brother. You probably know him as Armistead."

Athos blinked, exchanging a shocked look with d'Artagnan. Treville's brother was not only still alive, but was the leader of the latest resistance. Had he been the one to contact the Cardinal?

"He didn't shoot Jean-Armand," Bellamy was saying as he worked an old key into the lock of the door at the end of the hall, "but he certainly didn't stop Bélanger from doing so."

Before d'Artagnan could question yet another new name, Athos held up his hand, watching as the young man closed his mouth and waited until they had been led inside the room at the end of the hall. Athos closed the door behind them. It was larger than he'd anticipated. A bed was pushed off into the corner, Treville asleep upon it. Two larger windows flanked one wall while the other was covered by a massive stone fireplace, a fire burning brightly within and warding off the chill in the room.

A rough-hewn table and two chairs sat opposite the bed and Athos saw two harquebuses lying next to a knife and a dagger, which he recognized as Treville's. Porthos immediately crossed to one of the opened windows and propped up a musket, looking out at the situation below. Aramis and d'Artagnan moved to the small bed in the corner where Treville lay, his head wrapped in a bloody bandage.

"Aramis?" Athos asked, seeing his Captain breathing, but needing Aramis to confirm he was alive.

"He's alive. Just unconscious," Aramis replied, setting down his weapons and pulling off his gloves. He looked over at Bellamy. "A graze?"

Bellamy nodded. "Deep. Has not completely stopped bleeding."

"Has he been awake at all?"

Bellamy nodded again. "Mostly coherent. Told me he'd sent for you, though I do not know how."

"d'Artagnan, help Porthos," Athos ordered, then moved to stand behind Aramis as his friend carefully removed the bandage from around Treville's head, inspecting the wound. "He wrote a letter to the Cardinal, informing him that he'd won. He knew the Cardinal wouldn't be satisfied with that and would send us after him to kill him."

d'Artagnan looked over from his post at a window next to Porthos. "How could the Cardinal possibly think you would agree to such an order?"

It was clear the young man had been chewing on this question for some time. Aramis glanced over his shoulder at Athos and then returned to his ministrations. Athos swallowed, then regarded d'Artagnan solemnly. The Gascon was tenacious. Order or no order, he would not relent until he had an answer that satisfied him, even if he had to bring it up time and again.

"The Cardinal has information that puts us at risk," Athos replied. "That is all you need to know."

d'Artagnan tilted his head, his hair falling across his brow, for all the world looking much like the pup the other men in the regiment teased about. "But what—"

Porthos lay a hand on d'Artagnan's arm, drawing the young man's attention. With one shake of his head, Porthos effectively quieted him. For now.

"Someone betrayed Treville," Aramis said in a hard voice, one that Athos rarely heard him use. "Was it Armistead?"

"No," Bellamy replied, sounding as exhausted as he appeared. He sat slowly on the chair. "No, but it doesn't matter."

"Bellamy." Athos brought his head up at the sound of his Captain's voice. "Tell them."

"Sir?" Aramis said, his voice shifting to the one he used for the wounded or the ill: calming, reassuring. Athos had anchored himself to that voice many times and found his way back to the light as the darkness threatened to consume him. "How are you feeling?"

"Head hurts like a bloody bastard," Treville grumbled. "But I'm otherwise intact."

"Are you seeing double? Have any dizziness?"

"Only if I try to move," Treville answered honestly. Athos saw him turn his head carefully, his eyes finding Athos and gentling. "I knew you'd come."

"I hope you'll understand if I disobey the order to kill you," Athos replied, feeling his mouth tug up into a small smile at the sight of his Captain's slow blink.

"You brought them all?" Treville asked, sounding tired. He closed his eyes as if to ward off dizziness. "Porthos? d'Artagnan?"

"We are here, Captain," Porthos answered from the window.

"Good," Treville sighed. "The Cardinal would have found a way to get to them if left without your protection, Athos."

"Yes, sir," Athos replied, though he was confident his men would never know defeat by the Cardinal's hand. "We need to get you out of here. Aramis, can he ride?"

"It will be painful, and not a little difficult," Aramis sighed, pulling out a small pouch from inside his jacket and redressing the deep wound. His hands were swift and sure and within moments, Treville looked more alert. "I have herbs to help with the bleeding and some laudanum for the pain, but it will make you want to sleep, Captain."

"I can manage the pain," Treville replied. "I will simply need someone to keep me from walking into walls."

Athos smiled, hearing tension underscore the brave front his Captain was posing and appreciating why the man was doing so.

"What of Armistead and the men outside?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos looked at Bellamy. "Tell us," he said, not realizing that he'd ordered the man as if he were one of his own.

"Armistead had arranged a meeting with the King," Bellamy began, his eyes on Treville, as if the Captain was the only man in the room and he was drawing strength from his presence. "He wanted to speak to him about taxes in Picardy; they are breaking the people."

Athos glanced quickly at d'Artagnan and saw the young man's jaw line was hard, his dark eyes pinned to Bellamy and every line of his body taut as he listened.

"At the last moment, Armistead decided to send Argent," Bellamy sighed. "He was afraid he would encounter his brother and didn't want the fall-out of the confrontation to ruin Jean-Armand's life."

"I take it Argent had no such qualms," Athos muttered, grasping one of the andirons and stoking the fire.

"None," Bellamy agreed. "When he returned with the news that he'd spoken to the Cardinal instead, Armistead flew into a rage, but was outnumbered. Argent had Bélanger on his side and I was too…weak." He folded his pale brows in apology as he continued to talk to Treville rather than the room at large.

"When Jean-Armand showed up in the village I was at once thrilled and terrified. I'd not seen my old friend in two decades, but I knew if Argent saw him…." He covered his face, speaking the rest through his hands. "Armistead sided with those who'd always supported him. Bélanger shot Jean-Armand, and it was all I could do to trap them in the Château."

Athos looked at Treville, whose eyes were once more closed, his head once more bandaged, the stark white contrasting sharply with the tanned skin. "Sir?"

"Yes, Athos."

"We can get you out without bloodshed, leave the men in the Château to whatever fate befalls them." He glanced at Porthos and Aramis, knowing that to do so would risk their futures as well as his own. His men returned his look with a steady gaze. "Or we can end this now."

He left it unsaid that doing so could mean the death of Treville's brother.

"When I joined my brother in the uprising," Treville said, opening his eyes to look toward the ceiling and not at any of the men in the room, "I was d'Artagnan's age. I knew nothing of battle or duty. My brother was everything to me, and anything he said, I believed. I followed."

Athos dropped his eyes to the fire, remembering clearly the way Thomas had regarded him, the way his eyes had beseeched him, trusting completely. d'Artagnan had shared with them the story Anne had told him about why she'd killed Thomas. Hearing the lie once more had hurt more than he'd anticipated it would. Thomas was loved by everyone for a reason: he was worthy of it. He was young, untested, untried. And the world never had the chance to rough him up a bit.

"I didn't fully realize what we were doing; I was caught up in the passion of it. Wanting to do anything to make my brother proud," Treville's voice had taken on a soft, almost dream-like quality as he spoke. "But when the first man fell, the illusion shattered. There was nothing honorable about the rebellion. Nothing honorable about the deaths of those men, barricaded in an alley, fighting the King's soldiers."

"Jean-Armand and I escaped through a tavern," Bellamy said. "Claude – Armistead – had told me that if I survived, I was to get his brother away from Picardy. I did so—"

"Much to my dismay," Treville broke in.

"Dismay is a bit thin," Bellamy nearly smiled. "You were enraged, and with good reason."

"I do believe you knocked me unconscious and shoved me into the back of a wagon heading to Paris," Treville rolled his head carefully, as if it were made of spun glass, to regard his old friend.

Bellamy nodded. "That's about the truth of it. I returned to find that Armistead and Bélanger still lived and Argent was gravely wounded. Everyone else was dead."

"No one knew I was part of the uprising," Treville said. "My father vouched for me when I arrived in Paris, and my brother had not used his own name when bringing men to his side. I thought I had put it behind me…."

"Until Argent met with the Cardinal," Aramis sighed. "And having his position with the King so precarious after our trick, the Cardinal was more than eager to find a way to take us all down."

"And he has the means to do it," Athos replied.

"We must end this," Treville said, frowning in pain as he rolled to his side, using his elbow to prop himself up.

Aramis moved to help him, easing him back against the support of the wall and resting a pillow behind his neck. They waited until Treville had balanced himself, all watching their Captain expectantly.

"Can you do it quietly?" Treville asked.

"You want us to kill those men?" Aramis replied, surprise evident in his voice. "Your brother?"

"I don't want it, Aramis," Treville replied. "But the Cardinal was right. It is them…or you."

"We could imprison them," Athos suggested.

"How?" Bellamy asked. "On what charges? And who would you get to keep them silent?"

"Whatever the answer," Porthos called from the window. "We better decide quick-like. They've got the front portcullis up. Not gonna take them long to find their way through this place."

Athos turned to Bellamy. "Take us to where you've hidden those men." Rotating, he faced the other three men, making a quick decision. "Aramis, you're with us. We need your aim. Porthos, you cover the Captain. d'Artagnan, keep your sword at the ready."

They each nodded and started for the door.

"Athos," Treville called. Athos paused and looked over his shoulder at his Captain. "Whatever you decide to do, it will be the right choice."

Athos nodded once, frowning with the weight of his Captain's trust. They followed Bellamy down the darkened corridor and found that it widened and angled to the right a bit. This leg of the stone maze was also lit by the high, thin windows, the chill from the night air seeping inside.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan whispered urgently. "I must know."

"Not now," Aramis replied, his tone matching d'Artagnan's.

"If it will get me hanged—"

"You'll take it very personally, I remember."

"—I have a right to know what it is!"

Athos turned, his worry and tension snapping as d'Artagnan's relentlessness slipped under his skin. He grabbed the young man by his shirtfront and shoved him, hard, against the stone wall. d'Artagnan grunted slightly as the back of his head thunked against the wall. Looking at his young protégé with fire in his eyes, Athos forced his voice to stay calm.

"You are one of us, d'Artagnan. That, in the Cardinal's eyes, is enough to get you hanged."

"There's more," d'Artagnan pressed, and Athos had to admit that he was slightly impressed that he'd not intimidated his young friend into backing down. "And I think I know what it involves."

"You know nothing, d'Artagnan," Athos hissed. "And for the sake of your life, I will keep it that way."

"Are you two going to join me, or should we just wait for the next uprising?" Aramis muttered irritably.

d'Artagnan stubbornly stared back at Athos, nothing in his dark eyes giving Athos any indication that he would be letting this go. Athos pushed at the lad once more, then stepped away. He glanced at Aramis who was staring at him, almost accusatory.

"His stubbornness will be the death of him," Athos growled, as if in defense of his actions.

"Reminds me of someone else I know," Aramis replied, matching his tone.

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan, who refused to look away. "Why is it when I say no, you hear, by all means, continue?"

d'Artagnan lifted a brow. "You're the one who said I was more like you than I realized."

Unwilling to continue the argument further, Athos turned and followed Aramis and Bellamy down the corridor. His thoughts were tangled when it came to d'Artagnan. He got too caught up in who Thomas had been and who d'Artagnan was and how they both looked at him like he had the answers to questions they hadn't thought to ask.

Except d'Artagnan was different. He complicated things by creating his own answers. He terrified Athos by taking chances that Thomas would never have taken. Athos was repeatedly caught off-guard by the completely open, passionate nature with which d'Artagnan attacked life. He hadn't yet learned to close himself off, and while that was part of why he had so quickly become ingrained into their brotherhood, the possibility of it actually killing him was too high for Athos' comfort.

"Here," Bellamy said, pointing to a solid door with bars across the small window. He handed Athos a key. "I've given 'em water, but haven't had much food to share. They've been in there nearly two days."

"Weapons?"

"I don't know," Bellamy answered honestly. "Though if they did have them, I imagine they would've used them to break out by now."

"Go back to Treville," Athos ordered. "We will join you when it's done."

Bellamy nodded and hurried away.

"Athos," Aramis said solemnly. "We are not going to simply execute these men."

Athos schooled his features. As a leader, it was often left up to him to make the hard decisions. The death of these three men meant the lives of his friends, his Captain. It meant the continuation of the Musketeers as he knew it.

Hell had already reserved him a place; he needn't worry about the mark this action would leave on his soul.

"I will take care of it," Athos replied.

"What? No!" d'Artagnan stepped forward. "You don't have to do this, Athos."

Athos turned to face him, fully prepared to order the young man to stand down, and was taken aback at the fierce determination caught in d'Artagnan's dark eyes. His face was pulled into a frown, his jaw tight, and his stance offering no quarter.

"You do not have to take on all our sins," d'Artagnan said tightly. "If this is your decision, we will stand by you."

Athos looked over at Aramis. "How else do we save Treville?"

Aramis closed his eyes, then pulled out his rosary and kissed it, his lips murmuring a silent prayer. Taking that as his friend's acquiescence, Athos opened the door to the room where Bellamy had trapped the three men.

And stepped into a nightmare.

"Merde," Athos whispered, staring in shock.

The window at the back of the room had been chipped away, bars removed by what looked to have been a grappling hook that was now pinned to the bottom edge of the stone sill. A body lay in the corner, neck twisted at an unnatural angle giving an immediate cause of death. Another lay crumpled near the window, blood covering his face. The third man was nowhere to be seen.

Aramis moved to the bloodied man and rolled him over.

"Jean-Armand?" the man rasped, not opening his eyes.

"This must be Claude du Peyer," Aramis said over his shoulder. "Armistead."

"I'm willing to bet Argent is the one who went out the window," d'Artagnan said, crouching over the dead man.

"Why do you say that?" Athos asked, moving to the window's edge and looking down.

He jerked back in surprise to see a man on the rope, his harquebus already primed and pointed upwards at Athos.

"Because he betrayed them once—" d'Artagnan started, but stumbled back as well when the man on the rope fired.

Athos felt d'Artagnan instinctively grab at his arm, pulling him out of the way, and lifted his dagger just as the man rolled from the rope into the room, pulling another weapon from his jacket. In unison, d'Artagnan and Athos threw their daggers, but to Athos' surprise, d'Artagnan was throwing at a second man who had followed the first up the rope. Athos' dagger found its target, but as he fell, the man pulled the trigger, firing his weapon.

Aramis cried out in surprised pain, falling back across Armistead.

"Aramis!"

Athos pulled his rapier and rushed toward his fallen friend, only to stop and battle a third man who had climbed the rope. He crossed swords with his attacker, noticing that d'Artagnan had moved toward the window, grabbing Athos' dagger from the body of the dead man. It took him several seconds to realize that the young Musketeer was cutting the rope, sending whoever else was heading their way back down to where they came from.

Athos dispatched his opponent with gusto, wiping his sword of blood in an instinctive, automatic gesture as he crossed over to where d'Artagnan was already crouched next to Aramis.

"Bad?"

"It's not good," d'Artagnan shook his head, ripping the hole in Aramis' breeches a bit wider to see the wound. Aramis was propped up on his elbows, his face pale, practically biting through his lip to keep silent. "Went through the meat of his leg, out the back."

"Didn't—" Aramis gasped, his breath shaking as he tried to suppress the pain. "Didn't get the bone."

"Small mercies," Athos breathed. "We have to get you out of here."

"T-take Armistead," Aramis gasped. "He's…he's Treville's brother, A-Athos."

d'Artagnan looked at Athos, his face stony. "I've got Aramis."

Athos nodded and helped d'Artagnan pull Aramis upright and steady him as the marksman paled further with the change in elevation. Aramis was actually the shortest of the four, with d'Artagnan a close second. However, d'Artagnan still had a ways to go before he caught up with Aramis in muscle and Athos saw their young friend's wiry frame brace to take the weight as Aramis leaned heavily on him.

As Athos leveraged Armistead to a seated position, the older man blinked aware, blood having collected and dried on his lashes, creating a ghastly expression. Dazed, he allowed Athos to draw his arm across Athos' shoulders and begin to pull him to his feet. Once there, however, he started to push away, looking around the destroyed room.

"Who are you? Where is Bellamy? Argent?" His tone was arrogant, affronted.

"I am the only way you're leaving this room alive," Athos growled. Allowing the man to push away from his aid, Athos shoved him forward. "Your friends are about to attack."

"Are you with Jean-Armand?" Armistead asked, still trying to pull the pieces together. "Where is Argent?"

"Down there," Athos tilted his head over his shoulder toward the window. "Move."

Pushing Armistead ahead of him, Athos stepped into the corridor, shoving the now-empty harquebuses into his weapon's belt and peering ahead for d'Artagnan and Aramis. He could see them just turning the edge of the corridor, heading back toward the room where Porthos and Treville waited. As Armistead continued to bark questions at him, Athos kept silent, periodically pushing the man forward, quickly surmising that Armistead had not realized the depth of his comrade's treachery and hatred.

It seemed that Bélanger's death had occurred soon after Bellamy trapped them in the room, punishment for not having killed Treville with his shot. Armistead then fought Argent when the grappling hook connected with the window to offer them escape. He had known then that Argent would do whatever it took to bring a resurgence of the uprising that had ended in defeat twenty years ago.

With a warning to Armistead to stay where he was or risk joining his friend Bélanger, Athos moved ahead of his struggling friends and opened the door to their temporary sanctuary, shouldering some of Aramis' weight as d'Artagnan led him into the room.

"Aramis?" Porthos called out, instantly worried as he stepped forward.

"What happened?" Treville demanded, sitting forward, a hand to his head.

"Argent," d'Artagnan panted, straightening up from having eased Aramis to the floor next to the fireplace. "Killed Bélanger."

"Claude?" Treville's voice was tight.

"Hello, Jean-Armand," Armistead said, stepping into the room.

In the light from the fire, his bloody countenance looked even more horrific. Much of his white hair was stained red and one eye was nearly swollen shut. With little compassion, Athos pushed the older man toward a corner.

"Sit," he ordered. Glancing over at a shocked Bellamy, he said, "If you wish to help him, you may."

Bellamy hurried over to the older man and Athos barred the door before turning his attention to Aramis. Porthos and d'Artagnan had cut away the marksman's breeches from the wound, exposing it to the firelight. Blood still emptied from the jagged hole at the back of Aramis' leg, though the entrance wound barely seeped.

Porthos knelt next to Aramis, one hand gripping Aramis' tightly, the other at the back of his friend's neck in support. d'Artagnan was attempting to staunch the flow of blood, but Athos could see his hands shook. Aramis was pale, but conscious, his jaw so tight Athos was afraid he'd break his teeth.

"I can't…I don't know how to stop it," d'Artagnan whispered. He grabbed the bottle of Armagnac that Treville handed to him and poured it over the wound in the front before soaking the cloth he'd pressed against the wound at the back. When the burn of the alcohol hit the torn skin, Aramis stiffened and sucked in a great lungful of air, but didn't cry out. "It needs to be closed."

"Aramis," Athos said calmly, though inside he felt his heart shivering. "We must burn it."

Aramis nodded once, his lips thinning, as though he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Do you want the laudanum?" Athos continued, retrieving the knife from the table top and shoving it quickly into the burning coals.

"S-save it," Aramis managed, his free hand shaking as he reached up blindly for something to brace himself. He made contact with d'Artagnan's shirtfront and twisted his hand into a fist within the cloth. "A-Athos…."

Athos was on his knees, bringing his eyes level to Aramis. "You will live," he said, slightly amazed by the way the two men flanking Aramis nodded in immediate agreement, as though they'd simply been waiting for him to confirm it. "I will not stand for anything else."

Aramis swallowed wetly, his breath hammering through his nostrils as he fought for control. His eyes pooled in reaction both to the pain and shock, and Athos found his expression twisting in sympathy.

"Aramis," Porthos called, his voice like warm whiskey. Athos watched Aramis' eyes track to the side, pinning on his friend's face. "You keep lookin' at me. Look at my eyes. You feel this?" Athos saw the larger man gently shake their joined hands. Aramis' nod was stilted, but he kept his eyes on Porthos. "I'm staying here. Right here. And you better stay with me."

"T-trouble," Aramis managed, his body wracked with a shudder of pain.

"'at's right," Porthos said, unbelievably able to crack a genuine smile. "Who'll keep me outta trouble? And we can't forget d'Artagnan."

Athos checked the knife blade, glancing at the young Gascon as the lad's head shot up from where he'd been peering at the effect of his make-shift bandage. Aramis hadn't released d'Artagnan's shirt front and Athos noticed the young man had leaned forward to make his grip more accessible.

"What are you talking about?" d'Artagnan scoffed. "I rarely get into trouble."

Athos watched as Porthos and Aramis rolled their eyes in unison.

"Don't suppose we should remind 'im that he was very recently chained to a post in the garrison courtyard for a day, eh?" Porthos grinned at Aramis, who managed a shaky smile in return.

Athos glanced up as Treville shifted at this news. He shook his head once and their Captain nodded, knowing it was a story for another time. The knife blade was heated; Athos pulled on his glove to remove it from the fire.

"Aramis," he said, forcing himself to infuse his voice with calm. "Are you ready?"

"As ever," Aramis replied, breathless.

"Porthos, roll him to his side. d'Artagnan, brace him."

Aramis did not release Porthos' hand, nor did he let go of d'Artagnan. Athos crouched next to his friend's outstretched leg and took a breath. Glancing up at Porthos, he nodded.

"Aramis, keep lookin' at me. Right at me. 'at's it," Porthos ordered, his tone slipping into something softer, gentler, the words no longer mattering.

Athos wiped the wound clean once, then without further hesitation pressed the flat of the knife against the ragged hole, sealing the opening. The heated metal sizzled against Aramis' sensitive skin and the scream that tore from Aramis' throat shook them all.

Eyes closed, Aramis' back arched and he flexed instinctively, pulling d'Artagnan close, nearly across his body with the force of his grip. Porthos' litany increased in volume, but Athos could no longer register the words – or even if it was in French. He removed the knife, turned the blade over and pressed it to the front of Aramis' wound, triggering another, ragged scream from his friend as he writhed against the pain.

Moments after Athos had applied the blade the second time, Aramis went limp, his hand dropping from d'Artagnan's shirt front, his fingers going lax in Porthos' grip. Athos looked up anxiously as Porthos stroked his friend's sweaty hair away from his face, then nodded.

"He's out," he said, his voice rough as if it had been his scream they'd heard and not Aramis'.

Athos sagged, feeling the adrenalin from the moment bleed from him. d'Artagnan had not yet pushed himself upright from where Aramis had pulled him down. The smell of blood and burned flesh hung heavy in the air and all Athos could hear was the pounding of his own heartbeat and the after-echo of Aramis' pained scream.

"I have some extra cloth," Bellamy suddenly spoke up. "I can help you bind the wound. I'll use the herbs he blended for Jean-Armand to keep away infection."

Athos looked up, nodded wearily. Porthos shifted their unconscious friend until Aramis lay partially in his lap and allowed Bellamy access to Aramis' leg. d'Artagnan pushed himself clumsily to his feet, bracing himself against the wall for a moment. His sluggish movements reminded Athos that none of them had slept much in the last few days, the youngest of them least of all as he'd been fighting a silent war with delayed grief.

The Gascon made his way to the window, and Athos watched as he closed his eyes a moment, breathing in the fresh night air. He didn't blame the lad; the room was beginning to close in around him as well. Then, Athos frowned as d'Artagnan suddenly looked out and down to the base of the stone structure.

"Athos," he called. "I think we may have a problem."

Athos stood, forced to stomp his feet carefully to return feeling to his legs, and joined d'Artagnan at the window.

"There's more," the young man said quietly. He glanced askance at Athos. "A lot more."

"We cannot fight this many," Athos agreed, eyes raking over the number of men who had gathered at the front entrance. There were easily double the number that had been present when they first broke in. "Not even if we had Aramis' aim."

"We need to get Treville out the back, return with reinforcements," d'Artagnan suggested. "We can't let them march on Paris or create an uprising here in Villers-Cotterêts."

"You won't need reinforcements," Armistead spoke up suddenly.

Athos turned to look at him. Bellamy had cleaned the blood from his face and Athos suddenly saw the resemblance between the old revolutionary and his Captain. He saw that Treville was sitting forward, elbows braced on his knees, his bandaged head hanging low as though in prayer.

"What do you suggest?" Athos inquired.

"Kill Argent," Armistead said tiredly. "They won't have anyone to rally them."

"And what of you?" Porthos challenged.

"I am old," Armistead said. "I fought my battle long ago. And I lost."

Athos saw the older man's eyes track to rest on the bowed head of his younger brother. Athos followed his gaze and watched as Treville used the wall to brace himself and rose slowly to his feet. His face was pale, his jaw clenched, but after a moment he was able to move his hand from the wall and stand without swaying.

"Men," he said, drawing the eyes of everyone, save Aramis who lay unconscious in Porthos' arms. "You have fought well, and bravely. You have done your duty to King and country. I can think of no words for you in this moment except those of gratitude for your willingness to sacrifice and your tenacity to survive."

Athos felt his breath hitch and his heart beat furiously as he waited for his Captain's next words.

"I can see no value in the loss of your lives at this juncture," Treville continued. "The men of Villers-Cotterêts may yet rally more to their cause; they could even venture all the way to Paris, but that is a different battle for another time. Now, our fight is escape, evade, and regroup."

Athos nodded, relief making him weak. He would have followed Treville into the heart of the men below had his Captain asked for it. When Treville turned and met his eyes, Athos realized Treville knew exactly that.

"Bellamy," Treville said, turning to his old friend. "You must leave with us. If they find you, they will kill you."

"I cannot, Jean-Armand," Bellamy replied sadly. "I could not follow you to Paris twenty years ago; I cannot do so now. My future lies here in whatever shape my death holds." He glanced at the Musketeers, all watching him warily. "But I will do my best to help you escape."

Treville did not address his brother, Athos noticed. He simply nodded his thanks to Bellamy and moved to the table to begin re-arming himself. His movements were slow, precise, as if every twitch of muscle shot pain through his wounded head, but he didn't stop until all but the knife used to close Aramis' wound had been once more secured to his person.

"Porthos, you can carry Aramis?" Treville asked, stepping into the role of leader and Captain once more.

"As long as I need to," Porthos promised.

"d'Artagnan," Treville called, his voice pulling the young man toward him. "Make sure your weapons are primed. You will lead us down the corridor and through the back. Athos, you'll cover our backs."

Athos wanted to protest, wanted to say that he should lead the way, put himself as a shield between danger and his men. Treville clearly recognized his resistant expression and looked solemnly at him.

"d'Artagnan is agile," he explained. "He is able to dodge weapons faster than all of us and with Porthos and I just behind him, we will be able to cover his back."

Athos lifted his chin in acceptance, then turned to help d'Artagnan load the harquebuses.

"You heard?" Porthos said quietly.

Athos glanced over and saw that he was talking to a now-conscious Aramis.

"Came in on the part where d'Artagnan is agile," Aramis replied, his voice pain-drugged and rough.

"Ah, so you missed where I was ordered to carry you."

"At last I will be treated in the manner which I deserve," Aramis returned.

Porthos grinned, then Athos saw him quickly sober, his jaw going tense as he gripped Aramis' shoulder tightly, his dark eyes saying whatever it was he would not allow himself to speak aloud.

"Do not worry, my friend," Aramis said to him, his voice pitched low and earnest. "I have a vested interest in not dying."

That earned the wounded marksman a genuine smile from Porthos and the big man stood, gently easing Aramis upright, and then more-or-less to his feet, all weight kept off of his wounded leg. Athos watched carefully as Aramis gathered his wits and breathed slowly to ward off whatever ill effects the change in altitude and wash of pain caused. He draped his arm across Porthos' shoulders.

"Will you be able to keep up?" Athos asked.

"I won't let you down," Aramis replied thinly, his free hand resting on his sword hilt.

Athos placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder, squeezing briefly. "That is never a possibility."

Treville glanced around the room, once more skimming over the figure of his brother, standing in the corner of the room where Athos had left him. They were traveling light – no muskets this time, as there would be little time to position them – each with multiple daggers and harquebuses, even Aramis.

"d'Artagnan?" Treville called the young man to him. "Be swift and cautious."

To his credit, the young man said nothing; the look of determination and promise in his eyes made Athos proud.

"Jean-Armand?" Armistead called, the plea in his voice unmistakable.

Treville paused, visibly gathering himself, then looked up. The bandage around his head, stained with fresh blood, and the lines of pain around his eyes gave him a haunted appearance, but his jaw was squared and tight. He did not respond to his brother except to regard him silently.

"I am sorry," Armistead whispered in a broken voice.

"I know," Treville replied, his expression impassive, offering Armistead little room. "I have always known."

Athos frowned, knowing that this was not his business, but unable to help think that had Thomas lived, there would be nothing that would keep him from forgiving his brother of anything. One look at Treville's face, however, told Athos that Armistead had not been forgiven. Not by a long shot.

On Treville's nod, d'Artagnan opened the door, leading them out, in one hand a sword, in the other his harquebus. Treville and Athos were armed similarly, with Aramis holding a harquebus in his free hand while Porthos kept both hands on Aramis to keep him moving. Bellamy followed them from the room, but Armistead stayed behind.

They reached the stairs with little incident, but Athos' stomach knotted as d'Artagnan began to descend the stairs ahead of them. The noise alerted them first to the danger and when d'Artagnan hurried ahead, Athos had to bite his lip to keep from calling out a warning. He heard a weapon fire, then another as Treville breached the opening and then he was pushing past Porthos and launching into the fray.

They were met at the base of the stairs by roughly eight men, heavily armed, but minimally skilled. Dimly aware of Bellamy helping to hold Aramis upright, Athos heard Porthos roar as he pulled his schiavona from its scabbard and swing at two men seeking to overpower a weakened Treville. Athos engaged, firing once, then dropping his harquebus in favor of another blade, blocking attack and sweeping cuts and slices as he parried and thrust.

He could see d'Artagnan battling to his left, cleanly avoiding a move that three months ago would have felled him. The young man slipped past his opponents, coming in on their weak sides and stabbing his way to a decisive victory before turning quickly to take on the next man who launched at him.

Athos continued to connect swords with a man easily twice his size, pressing him back and using his skill to turn the man until his blade was at the back of the man's neck. Without pausing to think, Athos pulled his dagger, sliced the blade across the man's throat and turned to face the next attacker. He didn't know where the rest of the men they'd seen gathering outside the Château were, but he didn't let himself think about that as his sword crossed another's.

Using the hilt of his sword to trap the blade of his opponent, Athos twisted his wrist and pulled, disarming the man and stepped close to drive his dagger blade home, then turned to find Treville. His Captain was against the wall, clearly flagging, but fighting on as his opponent slammed his heavy blade against Treville's thinner rapier. Athos pushed forward, his heart thudding painfully as Treville went to a knee, his sword up in defense.

Before he could reach the man, though, he heard a weapon fire and saw Treville's attacker freeze, then collapse in a heap, revealing Bellamy standing with one of Aramis' weapons smoking in his hand.

"Thank you," Treville panted, pushing slowly to his feet.

Bellamy turned to his old friend with a smile, but before he was able to reply, Athos saw a dagger fly through the air and embed itself into Bellamy's chest, the older man slumping forward, a look of profound surprise crossing his features as the light left his eyes.

Treville cried out in denial, dropping his sword and catching his friend as he fell. Athos looked to the direction the blade came and realized that Porthos had whirled to make quick work of the man who'd taken Bellamy's life.

"Athos!" Aramis yelled, slumped against the wall behind Treville, his hand on his Captain's arm while Treville held Bellamy's body.

Athos looked over and caught the harquebus Aramis threw his way, turning to bring his sword up just in time to stop another sword from catching his guard down. He parried, backing up, then brought up the weapon and fired, catching Porthos' eye as his last opponent fell. The big man was breathing hard, his schiavona dripping blood, a cut across his cheek, but very much alive.

He nodded at Athos, cleaned his blade with a swipe, and slipped it back into his scabbard.

"d'Artagnan!" Athos called, looking around.

"Here!" d'Artagnan called, several feet away, near the door. "They've gone 'round to the front," the young man called, stepping into the opened doorway, the moonlight cutting across him and illuminating the youthful lines of his face. "We have our chance."

Athos nodded and turned to Treville. "Captain, we must go."

Treville gently lay Bellamy's body down on the stone floor. "He deserved more than to be abandoned among enemies," Treville said tightly. "He deserved to lie with friends."

"Captain," Aramis said, gripping Treville's arm, his tone a solemn promise. "He is with friends."

Swallowing hard, Treville nodded and pushed himself shakily to his feet. Porthos stepped close and helped Aramis up, shoving a newly loaded harquebus into his hand. Athos rotated, leading the trio through the maze of bodies to where d'Artagnan waited. He nodded to his young protégé to lead them out toward the horses.

No sooner had d'Artagnan stepped into the open, however, than the blast of another weapon split the temporary post-battle quiet. d'Artagnan jerked as if he'd been shoved, staggering slightly, then went down to one knee with a soft grunt of pain before looking up, lifting his weapon and firing.

Athos had time to blink in shock at the sight of his young friend falling to his knees when moments ago he'd been the picture of fighting grace before he saw d'Artagnan's assailant fall, a neat hole in his forehead.

"Athos," d'Artagnan gasped, the harquebus falling from his fingers as he twisted to the side. "I think…I may need some help here."

Athos stumbled forward, reaching out blindly as d'Artagnan sagged, staring in disbelief at the growing stain of red that spread out from beneath the young Musketeer's leather jacket.