Remy was hard at work in the barracks stables, grooming one of the horses, when he heard the commotion. He put the brushes down and went out to see what all the noise was, squinting as the late afternoon sun momentarily dazzled him. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he realised a fight had broken out in the courtyard between the Musketeers currently in the barracks, and some masked men. Since most of the Musketeers were away on various missions, they were heavily outnumbered. However, they were also more skilled than the attackers. The Captain came running into the courtyard with his sword drawn and launched himself straight into the middle of the fight, sending men flying. Stefan was right behind him. Remy watched from the safety of the stables, not because he was scared, but because he didn't want to get in the way. That is, until three of the men headed towards the stables.

"Get the horses."

Remy was not about to let that happen. He hid behind the door frame and grabbed a handy lump of wood from some repairs Jasper had been making. As the first man entered the stables, Remy swung the wood as hard as he could, making a really satisfying thudding noise as it connected with the mans midriff. His colleague yelled in surprise as he crumpled to the floor with a groan, and spun around with his sword pointing at Remy. Or rather, at where Remy had been. Remy had already rolled to one side, swinging the lump of wood again and making firm contact with the mans shins. He swore loudly and dropped his sword, grabbing his leg in pain.

Remy was up and running into the depths of the stables. The third man gave chase, but in the darker interior, Remy had the advantage of knowing the stables layout. It also helped that the horses knew him and weren't spooked by him squeezing between them. They weren't quite so keen on a stranger wielding a sword. They whinnied and tried to kick out at him. Remy grinned and worked his way back to the entrance.

The first man was still on the floor, clutching his stomach and making retching noises. The second man was nowhere in sight. Remy decided to risk it. He made a dash for the entrance, but he wasn't quite quick enough. The second man grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back. Remy struggled to break free, but the man had a firm grip. Remy found himself dragged closer to the man. He kicked him hard in the shins. The man swore again and released his grip, hopping around on one leg and trying to clutch the other. Remy made another run for the door, but the third man had heard the cursing and was right behind him. Remy dived for the doorway, ducking to avoid a wild swing of the man's sword. The blade was so close, he felt the draught caused by the swing. Stefan saw Remy and yelled. Remy scrambled over to the Musketeer.

"Stay behind me, Remy."

Remy positioned himself behind Stefan, watching his back for any approaching trouble. The Captain was showing no sign of fatigue, and the rest were more than holding their own. A few of the attackers were littered on the floor, with various injuries. A yell of pain from Stefan made Remy spin back round. The third man from the stables had managed to slice Stefan's leg badly. The Musketeer was down on one knee, his sword hand holding his weight on the floor. The intruder grinned evilly as he moved in for an easy kill. Remy looked around in desperation. One of the intruders fell back from the Captain's latest assault, dropping his sword near Remy. Without thinking it through, Remy yelled and leapt forward, grabbing the sword and thrusting it towards the man, who took a step backwards in surprise, before realising it was merely a boy.

He smiled and sneered at the same time. "Boys shouldn't play at being men."

Remy adjusted his stance, trying to remember all he'd seen when Athos, Portos and Aramis had been sparring. He adjusted his grip on the sword, so that it was balanced better, and watched the man carefully. The man stepped forwards and swung his sword complacently, but Remy saw it coming and blocked it easily, as he'd seen Athos do many times. The man frowned. That should not have happened. He shrugged it off as beginner's luck and swung his sword again. Again, Remy blocked it easily, rolling the man's sword off his own with a flick of the wrist. He had no idea what the move was called, but he'd seen Aramis do it against Porthos a few times, using the force of the attacking sword to do all the work.

The man growled under his breath and made a frenzied attack. Remy was forced back by the sheer number of blows, his arm vibrating under the power of the attacks, until his whole arm ached and his fingers felt numb, but he still kept a firm grip on his sword, and himself between the man and the still stricken Stefan. The man paused for breath, and Remy took the opportunity to try and launch a counter attack, once again trying to copy Athos. The man stepped backwards, confused and angry that a mere boy was more than holding his own against him. He slashed and parried, using his superior reach and strength to drive Remy back once more.

Remy mistimed one block, and yelped as he felt a searing hot pain in his left arm, but he managed to deflect the rest of the attack, more from pure stubborn determination than anything else. The man sensed he'd now gained the upper hand and sneered. Remy shifted his stance to try and protect his left arm, and stood firm. He wasn't sure how badly he'd been hurt, but it stung like mad and he thought he could feel a trickle of blood run down to his hand. He flexed his fingers experimentally, and was pleased to find they all still worked.

There was a groan from his left and a clattering sound. Remy didn't look round, but confident of an easy victory, the man risked a quick glance. Remy seized his chance and thrust quickly, aiming for the man's ribs. At the last moment, the man managed to deflect the worst of the attack, but he still grunted in pain as Remy managed to slice his side. Remy stepped back into a defensive stance again. The man glared at him in rage, putting his hand to his cut shirt. He blinked it at in disbelief as he saw the blood. He raised his sword and slashed his sword wildly at Remy, who struggled to defend himself, falling back under the ferocity of the blows, barely managing to block them even with both hands on the sword. A shot rang out, and the man stopped in mid swing. He swayed for a moment, then crumpled to his knees as a small circle of red appeared on his shirt and rapidly spread. He gurgled something incomprehensible, red froth bubbling from his mouth, and then tumbled backwards, his sword hitting the floor beside him.

Remy looked behind him. Aramis was seated on his horse, with his gun still raised. Remy wasn't sure he'd ever been happier to see anyone in his life. The few remaining attackers were dropping their swords on the floor and surrendering. The Captain was breathing heavily, but was apparently unscathed, as were most of the other Musketeers, apart from a few cuts and bruises. Stefan appeared to be the main casualty. Aramis was at Stefan's side in a second, tieing a tourniquet around his leg.

"Give me a hand to get him inside."

Another Musketeer rushed over to help Aramis with Stefan. Remy stood watching, trying to get his own breath back. His arm felt sticky. He took a proper look. His shirt sleeve was neatly sliced open and was turning red. The cut on his arm didn't look too deep, but it stung like mad.

The Captain came over to him. "Nice work, Remy. Who taught you to use a sword like that?"

Remy shook his head. "No one."

The Captain frowned, and then saw the blood. "You're injured. Come on, one of the physicians can take a look at that for you."

"I don't like physicians and it's not that bad. Just a scratch."

"Well, let's get it cleaned up and see, shall we. Maybe Aramis can look at it for you instead."

Stefan was laid on a table, with Porthos holding his leg, and Aramis busy at work on his wound. Remy sat, half watching out of curiosity and half trying to ignore them, knowing his arm was next. The Captain had bandaged his arm up temporarily and gone to check on the rest of his men.

"Hold him still, Porthos."

"I am holding him still. It's you that's not still."

"I'm tired."

"So let me do this."

"I'm neater."

"And I'm more awake."

"For gods sake, will one of you just stitch me up." Stefan grimaced as Aramis stitched a little more. "Christ, that hurts."

Porthos produced a flask and held it to Stefan's lips. Stefan drank gratefully and lay back with a sigh.

"Call that neat?"

"It is neat."

"It's crooked. Look, just there, that's not straight."

"The cut isn't straight. Am I supposed to make the cut straight as well now?"

"Just saying, it's not your best work."

Athos dropped into the chair beside Remy and grinned at him. "Like a pair of old women when they get started. How's your arm?"

Remy grinned back. "It's ok. Just stings. It's not that bad."

"Just as well. Aramis is too tired to stitch much else today. He rode way too fast to get back here."

"I'm glad he did." Remy's face clouded over as he considered what might have happened had Aramis not turned up when he did.

"Porthos! Just hold him still."

"I keep telling you, he is still."

"There. Done."

"Er ... Aramis?"

"What?"

"Did you mean to do that?"

"Do what?"

"Sew the table cloth to his leg."

"What?!"

Stefan raised himself up groggily and looked at his leg. "Well, I have to hand it to you, Aramis. That's ... different."

Aramis groaned and rubbed his head. "I really am too tired. Sorry, Stefan. I'll cut it free. It will be fine."

Athos ruffled Remy's hair. "I think I'd better take a look at your arm. Aramis will probably sew you to the wall."

He unwrapped the bandage from Remy's arm. It had bled a fair bit, but seemed to have stopped now.

Aramis glanced over. "I thought a neat row of eight, maybe twelve stitches would do it."

Athos frowned. "I was thinking more of three, just to hold it and let it heal by itself."

Aramis paused. "Hmm. Maybe. As long as it stops the bleeding."

"Alright, Remy. Let's get your shirt off, so I don't stitch you to it."

Aramis groaned. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"No," chorused Athos and Porthos. Even Stefan chuckled.

"Well, that's your leg sorted out, Stefan. Without the table cloth. Porthos, give me a hand."

They manhandled Stefan out of the room, as Athos gently removed Remy's shirt. He inhaled and shook his head.

"What the hell have you been doing now, Remy?"

Remy shrugged and avoided his gaze. Athos cast an appraising eye over the boy's bruised torso, noting that the bruises seemed to be a few days old and were already fading. He gently checked his ribs for breaks, although he doubted there was serious damage. However bad his injuries were, they hadn't slowed his work rate noticeably over the last few days. Remy winced once, but made no attempt to pull away.

"Too many fights isn't good for your health, you know."

Remy nodded, but said nothing. Athos sighed, but let it go." Let's sort your arm out. Now this is going to hurt a bit, I'm afraid."

He reached over and grabbed a beaker from a nearby table, pouring some liquid into it from a nearby bottle.

"Here, drink this." He handed it to Remy and busied himself, threading a needle.

Remy sniffed the cup and wrinkled up his nose.

Athos shook his head. "Don't smell it, drink it."

Remy took a small sip, and screwed up his face. "Eww."

Athos sighed. "Remy, just drink it, or this will hurt."

Remy shook his head. "Just do it. It's fine." He held his arm up and screwed up his eyes.

Athos rolled his eyes. Porthos chuckled behind Remy, and made a fist on palm signal.

Athos shook his head. "Just hold him."

Porthos grabbed Remy tightly. Athos tilted his head back and poured the liquid into Remy's mouth before Remy had realised what was happening. Remy tried to struggle and close his mouth, but Porthos's grip was too tight, and Athos had a firm hold of his chin. He waited for Remy to finally give in and swallow the entire contents of the beaker, before letting him go. Remy glared fiercely at him.

"Don't look at me like that, boy. It's for your own good."

Porthos kept one arm wrapped around Remy and held his arm steady with the other. Remy watched with slightly befuddled interest. The alcohol was taking affect and he was feeling light headed. He watched as Athos put three neat stitches in his arm, frowning as he wondered why he felt no pain. That was a needle in his arm, it should hurt. It was weird. He knew it was his arm, and yet it currently seemed to belong to someone else. As did his head. Porthos grinned as Remy slumped back against him. Instead of holding him still, he was now holding him up. Athos checked his handiwork and deftly bandaged Remy's arm. Remy looked at him with unfocusing eyes.

"I think you may have overdone the brandy," chuckled Porthos.

Athos watched as Remy's eyes fluttered closed, and nodded with a sigh. "I may well have done. I keep forgetting he's so small."

Aramis yawned. "How much did you give him?"

Athos shrugged. "A beaker full."

"Lord, Athos, are you trying to kill him? Did you at least water it down?"

Athos shook his head, somewhat ruefully. Aramis shook his head in disbelief. "Well one of you had better carry him to bed, because I don't think his legs are going to work too well."

Porthos frowned. "He'll be fine, won't you, Remy? Come on, time for bed."

He pulled Remy upright and let go for a split second, before grabbing him again quickly as Remy's knees didn't so much buckle, as melt.

"Or not. Alright, I'll carry him."

"And be careful of his ribs. What has he been doing?" Aramis checked Remy's bruises quickly as Porthos lifted him up into his arms.

"No idea," said Athos. "Fighting again, probably. Doesn't seem to be anything broken, though."

"Get him into bed, Porthos. I'll come and check on him in a minute."

Remy woke with a groan, wondering what had crawled in his mouth and died. And why did his head hurt so much. He opened his eyes, and closed them again quickly. Light made it worse. Unfortunately, closing his eyes made the room spin. He opened his eyes, groaned, and closed them again.

"Head hurting?"

The voice seemed familiar, and very loud. Remy groaned and screwed his eyes tightly shut.

There was a quiet chuckle. "Thought so. Try sitting up, and drink this."

"I'm never drinking anything ever again," croaked Remy.

"It's just water, Remy. It will help. I hope." Aramis helped Remy to sit up, although the movement made Remy feel worse. His stomach churned, and bile rose in his throat. He coughed and tried to lie back down, but Aramis made him sit up, and rubbed his back while he threw up in a bucket. When the sickness finally eased, Aramis gave him a cup of water to drink. Remy tried to drink it, but it made him feel sick again. He lay down, carefully, curling up on his side and willing the world to stop spinning.

He woke again, with a hammering headache, and feeling like he hadn't slept in a month. His mouth was so dry he could barely feel his tongue. He groaned.

"Sorry, Remy. I keep forgetting you're so small." Athos spoke quietly, and stroked his forehead. "Try drinking some more water."

He helped Remy to sit up, slowly. This time, Remy felt nauseous, but wasn't actually sick, and the water made his mouth feel better. He sighed and tried opening his eyes. That proved to be a bad move. Waves of dizziness swept over him. Athos held him as he threw up.

"Here, chew this." Athos pushed a small piece of something into his mouth. Remy obediently chewed it, frowning at the taste.

"What is it?" Well, that's what Remy tried to say. It didn't sound quite right to his ears. It was all slurred and muffled. Luckily Athos seemed to understand him.

"It's just ginger. Helps with the nausea. Personally, I prefer to stick my head in a bucket of cold water, but Aramis thinks you'll be better sleeping it off."

Remy lay down and hoped that sleep would help, though he wasn't convinced. Right now, even his skin hurt.

The next time he opened his eyes, the world was spinning a little less quickly, his stomach didn't feel as though he was trying to ride an unbroken horse, but his head was pounding like a blacksmith's anvil. He groaned and opened his eyes experimentally. Not quite as dizzy, and the light didn't hurt quite as much. Athos was sat beside his bed, looking worried.

"Still hurting?"

"Yeah ... mouth's dry."

Athos helped him sit up and gave him a cup of water, which helped, but his head was still pounding. It was like something was trying to escape from his head by hammering through the back of his eyeballs. He rubbed his temples gently.

"About that bucket of water ..."

Athos chuckled. "Just so happens, I have one handy."

Remy was watching Aramis and Porthos play cards. He wasn't too sure what game they were playing, or what the rules were, but he was pretty sure Porthos was cheating. He was also pretty sure that Aramis knew it too. Athos was reading a report that the Captain had just handed him.

"More thefts, including one last night," said Treville. "Still no idea how they're gaining entry."

Athos merely grunted and carried on reading. The Captain decided to leave him to it.

"So, Remy, I never did get an answer to my question. Who taught you how to use a sword?"

Remy stared blankly at the Captain.

The Captain frowned. "Someone must have shown you those moves."

Remy wrinkled his brow, thinking, but he wasn't sure how to respond.

Athos chuckled. "Remy, have you ever held a sword before?"

Remy shook his head.

The Captain gaped in disbelief. "Wait, you mean, no one taught you to do that?"

Remy shook his head again. "Who in their right mind is going to hand a sword to a street rat?"

The Captain shook his head. "How in heavens name did you know what to do?"

Remy shrugged. "I didn't, but I had to do something, so I just tried to do what I'd seen done."

Aramis laughed. "What he's trying to say is, he tried to copy what he's seen us do when we're practising. Seems he was paying closer attention than we thought."

The Captain still looked bemused. "In that case, boy, you're a natural. Seriously, no one has ever taught you to fight with a sword?"

Remy grinned sheepishly. "No, Sir. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, boy. Alright, I'm only going to say this once. If any of you decides to teach Remy how to fight properly, make sure you do so in the courtyard please. And make sure he's not supposed to be working at the time. Remy, no duelling outside the barracks, understood?"

Remy nodded eagerly, his eyes shining brightly. "Yes, Sir!"

"Well, no time like the present. Come on then, Remy, let's see what you've got." Athos stood up and headed for the courtyard. Remy scrambled after him.

"Practise swords!" yelled the Captain, after them.

"Shall we?" asked Porthos.

"It would be rude not to," replied Aramis. They grinned and followed them out.

Athos headed to the armory and returned with a couple of swords, handing one to Remy.

"What's a practise sword?" asked Remy, examining the sword. It looked like a normal sword to him.

"It's just blunt, to stop wounds like your arm. Less likely to be any injuries for Aramis to deal with this way. It doesn't make it completely safe though, so you still have to make sure you concentrate."

"Ok." Remy gripped the handle of his sword. Athos swung his sword to check the balance.

"Need a referee?" asked Aramis.

Athos considered this. "Might be a good idea. Remy, if he tells you to stop, you stop. Immediately. No questions asked. Understood?"

"Understood."

They touched swords and sparred for a while, with Athos testing Remy's reflexes, and Remy concentrating on his defence. It was harder fighting Athos, as he couldn't really bring himself to think of Athos as the enemy, and he didn't want to do something wrong and hurt the man by mistake. Although the more he thought about that, the more ridiculous it seemed. Especially since Athos was a much better swordsman. Remy could tell he was just toying with him. He parried a few thrusts, and made a half hearted attack, which Athos batted away as though it was a fly. He blocked another of Athos's attacks, stepping backwards under the weight of the strike. Athos stepped in quickly, and Remy suddenly found he couldn't back up as fast as Athos was coming forwards. Not and keep blocking the sword attacks anyway. He tripped over his own feet and ended up sat on the floor, with the point of Athos's sword at his throat.

Athos nodded approvingly. "Not bad, for a novice. Your footwork needs some work, and your attacks are pretty weak, but your defence isn't too bad. It's a start."

Remy grinned as Athos gave him a hand up.

"How's your arm?" Aramis studied him carefully.

"Fine. I'd almost forgotten it hurts."

Athos beckoned to Porthos and handed him his sword. "Alright, your next opponent, and I'll help you." He stood close to Remy and adjusted his grip on the sword slightly. "That will give you better control. Alright, now move your feet slightly. That's better. Now, let's see how long we can keep Porthos at bay."