Thanks for the lovely comments and speculation after the last chapter. I'd like to say things improve in this one, but...well, you'll see. Hope you enjoy!

He'd spent a poor night, desperately craving sleep but waking with every shift of his body that placed pressure on his tender ribs or head. At least his vision was no longer blurred, he reasoned with himself, as he pushed up to a sitting position, swinging his legs slowly to hang off the side of the bed. Bracing himself with an arm, he rubbed a hand carefully across his face, wincing as the touch aggravated the tight feeling across his left cheekbone where the skin was swollen and bruised. Further up, he gingerly felt around the knot that sat on his temple and cringed at how he'd be unable to hide the results of the trouble he'd been in from his friends. He stood up and made his way to the basin that sat on a table by the window, and poured in a measure of water so he could wash his hands and face. As he carefully dabbed his face dry, he recalled the words that his attackers had spat at him as they'd left. No matter how he racked is brain, he could not fathom what connection these men might have to the King. He hadn't seen much of the men, but what he could remember of their dress had been unremarkable, the only thing of note the fact that they carried weapons similar to his own, suggesting the men were no normal thugs.

As the sun rose higher, d'Artagnan realized he couldn't put off leaving his room any longer and struggled into his shirt, doublet and boots before snagging his weapons on the way out. He'd been correct that the others would be waiting for him and he spied them from the top of the landing as he steeled himself to descend the stairs, his left arm pressed against his side as he forced himself to keep any signs of pain from his face. Athos and Aramis had their backs to him as he approached and he fixed a smile on his face as he met Porthos' eyes, "Morning."

The larger man looked up at his greeting, the easy grin that had been there falling away as he took in the Gascon's appearance. He stood immediately, leaning across the table as he asked, "What the devil happened to you?"

Athos and Aramis turned at the Musketeer's question and d'Artagnan braced himself for their reactions. The medic's response was nearly as quick as Porthos' and, a moment later, d'Artagnan found himself being pushed to sit down, Aramis crouching down on his haunches in front of him, one hand on the Gascon's face, turning it toward the light to examine his damaged left side. As Aramis worked, Athos pinned the young man with a look of concern, "Who did this to you?"

d'Artagnan gave an aborted shrug, stopping the motion as it tugged on his ribs, Aramis' keen eyes noticing the action immediately, sending the man's fingers tugging at the lacing on his doublet. The Gascon stifled a sigh at the unwanted attention as he resigned himself to be checked over, knowing that he would be unable to escape the men's scrutiny until they were satisfied that he was alright. "Four men, I'm not sure who they were." He broke off as Aramis' probing fingers found an especially sensitive spot on his side, causing the medic to pull his shirt up higher and expose the extent of the bruising to his friends.

Aramis scowled at the sight but continued anyway, finally letting the shirt to drop and rising to his feet. "You're lucky, your ribs are just badly bruised."

"I know and would have told you the same if you had given me the chance," d'Artagnan huffed as he pulled his doublet back on, nodding in gratitude when Aramis helped pull the garment up and onto his left arm and shoulder. Athos was still looking at him impatiently so the Gascon continued his story, "There's really not much to tell. They didn't try to rob me and didn't say much, just something about putting the King in danger." He looked down and shook his head slowly, fighting against the ache in his head. Looking back up at Athos, he asked, "What does it mean?"

Athos shared a meaningful look with the other two, apparently all of them coming to the same conclusion. d'Artagnan's gaze shifted from one man to the next, a look of confusion on his face as the silence stretched. "What?" he finally asked, exasperated.

"It's possible this has something to do with your recent protection of the King," Aramis stated delicately, recognizing the sensitivity of his statement.

d'Artagnan looked to his mentor to see the truth of the sharpshooter's words and Athos gave a small nod, "It seems reasonable. Why else would someone give you such a warning?" Noting the time, he continued, "We should report this to Treville."

Porthos motioned toward the balcony where the Captain had just appeared, "Looks like we have our chance."

Aramis and Athos turned to see Treville waving a hand toward them, beckoning them to come up. The two of them led the way, Porthos coming around from the other side of the table to fall in beside d'Artagnan, placing an encouraging hand on one shoulder as they walked. The Captain was in his chair when the men entered his office, and he leaned on one elbow as he took in the sight of the battered Gascon in front of him. After a half-minute of silence, he spoke, "You were in a fight." The words were a statement of fact, rather than a question, making Athos raise a questioning eyebrow that the man seemed so well informed. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he went on, "I was summoned to the palace this morning to stand before the King and Rochefort, where I was informed that one of my men had challenged four Red Guards to a duel. You were mentioned by name."

d'Artagnan's ire flared in response to the Captain's words and he was already spluttering as Porthos put a hand on the Gascon's arm, giving a minor shake of his head to keep him quiet. Athos threw him a grateful look before he addressed Treville, "Captain, d'Artagnan was attacked, unprovoked, and the men did not identify themselves as Red Guards." He glanced at d'Artagnan to confirm the accuracy of his words and received a short nod in reply. "It is d'Artagnan who is the injured party here and we were on our way to report last night's events when you summoned us."

The Captain watched the men in front of him, Athos falling quiet while Porthos' hand remained where it was, grounding the young man who was clearly still seething at the accusation. He trusted the words of his men, but the position he was in was tenuous, Rochefort having ingratiated himself with the royal couple through a paradoxical combination of brutal acts and charming words. These, combined with the perceived acts of disloyalty performed by himself and d'Artagnan, made his a much weaker hand and they would all need to tread carefully to avoid lasting consequences. "Alright," he finally breathed out. "I believe you but," he paused, pinning Athos with a stern look, "Rochefort currently has the King's favor. It will be difficult for us to disprove his accusations since it will be the Red Guards' words against ours. d'Artagnan," he looked to the young man, "did they identify themselves or wear the uniforms of their regiment?"

"No," the Gascon shook his head vehemently, "I had no idea who they were and if they were Red Guards, they hid their identities carefully. The only indication that they might be soldiers were the weapons they wore."

Treville nodded, the knowledge of what he needed to do next weighing heavily. "Athos, Aramis, Porthos, you are still on duty at the palace and you need to leave now if you are to report on time. d'Artagnan, I'm sorry, but until things resolve themselves, I'm restricting you to the garrison." He raised a hand to stay the arguments the men were about to voice. "It's the best way for us to keep you safe for now. If you're here, Rochefort won't be able to accuse you of anything more."

The men reluctantly agreed and the Captain watched the minute relaxation in the soldiers standing in front of him, recognizing the shift from hostility to acceptance. "d'Artagnan, are you fit to train?"

Aramis took a half-step forward, answering before the young man could, "I recommend some time with the musket, Captain. His aim can only benefit from the chance for focused practice."

Treville nodded in understanding, taking the suggestion to mean that the boy was injured in some manner that made sword work and wrestling poor choices. "Alright, d'Artagnan, you'll be practicing with Boudreau and Ménard today. They're both decent shots and can help you refine your skills." d'Artagnan was obviously unhappy but a squeeze of Porthos' hand on his arm had him tilting his head in acknowledgement, Aramis leading the way out as they were dismissed.

d'Artagnan drew breath to speak as soon as the door had closed behind them, but Porthos still gripped his arm and pulled him forward, descending the stairs down to the courtyard. They moved over to one side, under the overhang and out of prying eyes. "This can't be allowed to continue," Aramis spoke lowly, his words only for the three men around him.

Porthos nodded, the anger at the young man's beating plainly showing on his face, "Rochefort's gone too far this time. Setting his cowardly red guards on the boy while he's alone – like hounds after the fox."

Athos had been eerily quiet, all of them knowing that he would take the attack on d'Artagnan personally. "The Captain's suggestion is wise; it will be easier for us to protect you here."

"I'm not some helpless maiden needing protection, Athos," d'Artagnan countered hotly, frustrated at the web of deceit that Rochefort seemed to be weaving around him.

The glare he received from Athos was enough to silence any further arguments and the older man softened his words as he explained, "We are fully aware of your capabilities, d'Artagnan, but we are also aware of the way in which politics can cast even a saint in the role of abject sinner. The King's favour is finicky and fleeting and, while you enjoyed that position once, the tides have now turned against us. That's not to say they can't be reversed, but we must choose our actions carefully. Rochefort has proven himself to be a dangerous and powerful adversary."

Porthos and Aramis exchanged brief grins at the man's words, before the former spoke, "Can't remember the last time he spoke that much in one breath. That's how you know things are serious." He winked at d'Artagnan as he spoke, pulling a half-smile from the younger man as had been his intention. Athos merely rolled his eyes but didn't dispute his words, grateful at how the men had lightened the dark mood that had fallen over them.

"We need to be on our way now if we're to have any chance of reporting on time," Aramis pointed out, just as unwilling as the other two to leave their youngest alone, but aware of what Treville would do if they were late. "Don't do anything to aggravate those ribs."

d'Artagnan nodded and then threw Porthos' a grateful smile at the comforting hand that rested on his shoulder for a couple moments as the larger man walked by. Athos turned to the Gascon, taking a deep breath, concern welling again at the thought of not being at the boy's side to protect him while they were on duty. In a rare show of affection, he reached a hand forward to grasp the nape of d'Artagnan's neck and spoke softly as he pulled him gently forward, "Keep your wits about you today. The Cardinal's reach was long and Rochefort's is proving to be just as troublesome."

The Gascon nodded, touched by the caring gesture and genuine worry on his mentor's face. Athos released him and strode away quickly, catching up to the other two who were already nearing the garrison gates. Once the men were out of sight, d'Artagnan let out a frustrated huff as he faced yet another day of boredom, now overshadowed by the accusations hanging over his head.

After spending the morning practicing his musket skills with Boudreau and Ménard, d'Artagnan understood the wisdom of Aramis' suggestion, the ability to rest the long-barrelled weapon while firing it ensuring that none of the weight pulled on his sore ribcage. Smiling as he now cleaned the musket, he reflected on the fact that his brothers were looking out for him even when not physically there. As his hands moved through the practiced motions with ease, he allowed his mind to drift, wondering what his friends were doing. Duty at the palace was typically fairly monotonous, but he envied them despite that fact, chafing at his enforced confinement within the garrison walls. Then there was the issue of Rochefort's machinations and d'Artagnan wondered, not for the first time, if the man might successfully blacken the reputation of the Musketeers to the point where they might all be dismissed. The thought caused a shiver of discomfort to travel along the Gascon's spine, and he forced himself to turn his mind away from such thoughts, reminding himself to trust in the abilities of the Captain and his friends to outmanoeuver the other man. Putting the finishing touches on the now pristine musket, d'Artagnan's gaze drifted to the table where he and his friends normally ate, the benches currently occupied by a few stragglers who were eating a late meal. Before he could make a decision about what to do next, a low whistle from the direction of the garrison gates caught his attention and his head snapped around to follow the sound. A young boy stood just inside the gates and, looking around, the Gascon realized that no one else seemed to have noticed. Frowning at the fact that the boy had managed to walk in unseen, d'Artagnan lowered the musket to the ground and stood, wandering over slowly, not wanting to startle the boy.

As he got closer, the Gascon could see that their young interloper was slightly built and dirty, the clothes he wore a couple sizes too small, and he'd hazard a guess that the boy was likely more familiar with Court of Miracles than the better-maintained sections of the city. Hooking his fingers into his belt, d'Artagnan came to a stop several feet away from the boy, noting the look of trepidation on the young man's face. "Hello," he said, pitching his voice lowly to be as unthreatening as possible. "Can I help you with something?"

The boy's eyes darted around the garrison courtyard and d'Artagnan looked over his shoulder, realizing that some of the men at the table had noticed them and were now looking in their direction. Affixing an easy smile to his face, he waved a hand in their direction, letting them know that everything was fine. When he turned back to face the boy, he seemed ready to speak, peering closely at the Musketeer in front of him. "I've a message for d'Artagnan."

The Gascon frowned at the boy's words, uncertain of who would have sent a small child to deliver a message, and fearing at once that it might have something to do with his friends. "I'm d'Artagnan. What's the message?"

The boy shook his head, "I'm supposed to bring you." At d'Artagnan's scowl, he went on, "To Madame Bonacieux. She said she needs to see you, urgent like."

d'Artagnan bit his lip, recalling clearly Treville's earlier orders that he was to stay within the walls of the garrison. "Alright," he nodded, "I just need to speak with my Captain and then we can go."

"No," the boy seemed agitated, "I was supposed to be back by now. I got lost and couldn't find the garrison, and now I won't get paid." The child looked close to tears and d'Artagnan stepped closer, intending to lay a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, but he moved backwards skittishly, too distrustful to allow the touch.

"Look, I just need to tell someone where I'm going," the Gascon reasoned. "If Madame Bonacieux won't pay you, I will."

The boy shook his head and began to retreat through the garrison gates, d'Artagnan torn now between following the child and speaking to Treville. "Hold on, just wait," he called after the boy, taking a few steps to follow him, but the child was already slipping into the throng of people on the busy street. Sighing, d'Artagnan cursed his luck but threw himself into a run so he could catch up with the boy, already anticipating the dressing-down he'd receive from the Captain upon his return. The crowded streets kept the young man constantly a step or two behind the child, who threw the occasional glance over his shoulder to confirm the Musketeer still followed, but refused to slow his pace so the man could fully catch up. They moved gradually further away from the garrison and d'Artagnan was starting to wonder where exactly they were heading, beginning to have his doubts about the child who'd led him away. Two steps ahead, the boy ducked into an alley to the right and the Gascon followed, stopping at its entrance to note the boy standing half-way down its length, waiting for him.

Scrubbing a hand through his sweaty hair, d'Artagnan took a deep breath as he moved forward slowly. "What's going on here? Where's Madame Bonacieux?" The child shrugged and allowed the Musketeer to continue approaching. "Was there a message from Madame Bonacieux?" Another shrug was his only reply and the Gascon noted how the boy's face had shifted from fear to a smirk, making his senses prickle sharply at the realization that someone had lured him away from the garrison. As he was about to reach a hand forward to grab the child's shoulder, determined to find out who had hired the boy and why, a sound from behind alerted him to another's presence. He saw the child's eyes dart to a point behind him, and began to turn, his movement halted abruptly as something hard impacted with his skull, causing consciousness to flee.

The child grinned at the fallen Musketeer at his feet, looking back at the man who now towered over them both. Extending a grubby hand, he gratefully curled his fingers around the coins that were deposited there. As he ran out of the alley he could hear the man issuing orders to the men who'd accompanied him, "Put this over his head and bind his arms and legs. I'll bring the carriage up so you can load him in." Seconds later he was out of earshot, wondering at the strange man who'd paid him so handsomely to trick the Musketeer and already looking forward to how he'd brag about his escapades to his friends in the Court. Fate had smiled on him that day, and if the Musketeer was stupid enough to get caught, that was his problem. With those thoughts, the child slowed his pace and set his sights on an unsuspecting man ahead of him who'd been too foolish to hide his purse.