Note: We've just had an eclipse. For a moment the world darkened and turned cold. So it seemed an appropriate time to post this. Think of it as an alternative season one with Heroes elements.

Save the Gascon, Save the World

Chapter One

With sightless eyes he scribbled madly across parchment scattered on the floor. Lines of ink were scratched and swirled into shapes. He worked with an otherworldly focus that wouldn't be broken... not until his work was done. The scene quickly spread and took form, he was drawing so furiously that the bottle tipped over and ink ran like blood between the sheets… and then the quill dropped. He was done. A picture of devastation stretched before him - a young man lay dead, the ruins of Paris served as a frame to his demise.

Porthos strode to Aramis' door and knocked heavily on it. He hadn't shown up at the garrison. In trying to save his friend from weeks of mucking out, Porthos had told Treville Aramis was ill. But the man had probably drank too much the night before, or spent too long in another's bed.

"Open up Aramis!"

He knocked again.

"I'm sticking my neck out for you here! If you were with Madame de Bois-Tracey again I'll…" The thought occurred to Porthos that he should simply try the door. It creaked open when he did. "Aramis?"

He stepped inside and very nearly walked all over the papers strewn about the floor. "Oh no…"

It was haphazardly done, but the scattered papers unmistakably showed the scene of a dead boy amidst the ashes of Paris.

Aramis must have had another vision.

"Aramis?" Porthos stepped around the table and found his friend sat on the floor. Aramis was trembling while pressed up against the wall with his knees drawn to his chest. "You had a vision? A bad one?"

It was nothing unusual for Aramis to see images of death when he had an episode. That was why he considered his ability a curse rather than a gift. If he was lucky it would be something more mundane, shadowy figures in alleyways, a horse rearing against a full moon, or a chaste kiss shared by the well. But too often it was throats sliced open and men run through with dark stained blades.

Aramis just gave a slight nod in answer, his eyes were focussed on the middle distance. He didn't seem quite aware. Porthos came forwards to crouch down and put a gentle hand to his knee.

"It's alright…"

"No. It won't be." Aramis suddenly sat forwards and pointed at the scattered pieces of parchment. "Have you seen it? Look what I've drawn! Paris in ruins, burnt to dust…"

"It might not turn out like that, you know things are never that simple with the future." Porthos tried to be reassuring.

"No… this is different. This is bad, Porthos." Aramis took hold of Porthos' jacket and pulled him closer. "It was like… like…"

Only one word came to mind seeing Aramis so shaken. "Savoy?"

It froze Porthos' blood to say it.

"Yes!" Aramis hissed, his frame tensed and the hand clutching Porthos' jacket turned to a tight fist.

When Aramis had a vision he would draw with whatever he had to hand, but if there was nothing he had on occasion resorted to using his own blood. It was always the more intense visions that drove him to it. Porthos would never forget the day he found Aramis collapsed with his arms cut to pieces, blood seeping out across a tableau of his own making. It depicted a forest of dead men... The massacre at Savoy. When he recovered, Aramis thought he would be able to stop it. He hadn't long had his ability and was convinced he was being shown these terrible things so he could do something about them. He just ended up stranded in the snow with twenty dead musketeers. It was a hard lesson, but one Aramis had to learn. Sometimes you just couldn't fight the future.

"Then Athos needs to see it." Porthos' voice had turned grim. "Will you be alright while I fetch him?"

Aramis' hand loosened and fell away. "I'll be okay…"

It didn't take long to find Athos, he was in his usual spot at the tavern, and halfway through a bottle of wine to boot. Thankfully it took a lot more than that to dull his wits. The two of them rushed back to Aramis and all three stood looking down at the man's handiwork.

"So, this is what you saw?"

"Yes - Paris burnt to the ground and that boy… dead." Aramis said with a haunted tone.

"Did you see anything more about the boy? If we identify him we might be able to do something."

"You know it's never that simple." Aramis sighed.

"Still, we have nothing else to go on. What do you know about the boy?"

"Nothing…" Aramis looked down at his drawing, deep in thought. "Just… I know I have to save him."

~oOo~

"My name is d'Artagnan, of Lupiac in Gascony! Prepare to fight. One of us dies here!"

It was a few weeks later when d'Artagnan stormed into the garrison courtyard intent on blood.

"Now, that's the way to make an entrance." Aramis wryly pointed out as he paused on the stairs.

While Athos and the boy set to crossing swords Aramis suddenly felt a stab of fear assail his heart. The boy… it was the one he had drawn amidst the ruins of Paris!

"Athos! Put up your sword! It's him!"

"What?!" Athos turned to look at Aramis and d'Artagnan chose that moment to rush forwards.

Instinctively Athos raised his blade, but d'Artagnan was coming in too fast to pull back. The rapier impaled him through the chest.

"Athos! No!" Aramis yelled and dashed down the stairs to catch the boy's falling body. The musketeer lowered him to the ground and frantically tried to stop the bleeding. "Porthos, call for a surgeon. Athos, you fool! It's the boy from my vision. It's happening… He's dying…"

Athos stood in stunned shock, his bloodied sword still held out. While Porthos crouched next to d'Artagnan and held a hand beneath his nose. "He's not dying, he's dead. I don't think a surgeon will do him any good."

Finally Athos came back to himself. He wiped off his blade before sheathing it. "And yet, Paris still stands. Are you sure it's the same boy?"

"Yes, I know it's him. He's the one I saw, as clear as day. I'm telling you, Athos, he's the one…" Aramis shook the boy's limp frame in vain hope he would wake. His head just lolled lifelessly.

"Well, something is amiss. In any case, I didn't mean to kill him." Athos looked down at the boy with something approaching regret. "Still, if he was going to make a habit of challenging men to duels and then running into their swords, he was never going to last that long in Paris."

Suddenly d'Artagnan heaved in a great gasp of air and his eyes shot wide open. The three men started and Aramis gave a surprised yell. He pulled the boy's shirt open to reveal smooth unmarked skin where the fatal wound had been. "You're alive!"

"I am... " d'Artagnan looked up at them all with an equally shocked expression.

Athos raised an eyebrow. "Forgive me for pointing this out, but isn't it a little churlish to challenge a man to a duel when you know you can't die?"

"I didn't know…" The boy put a hand to his chest. "I can heal, but I've never died."

"Don't you think we should be having this conversation somewhere a little more private?" Porthos looked around warily before bending to help d'Artagnan up.

The garrison courtyard was thankfully empty, but you always had to watch for prying eyes. It paid to be careful. Those with abilities kept them hidden. The general populace didn't know about them and it was thought best to keep it that way. Of course, nothing happened in Paris without the Cardinal knowing. Thinking them dangerous he had made it a personal crusade to eradicate every man, woman and child with abilities. His red guard and spies were always on the lookout, and if anything slightly suspicious occurred a charge and summary execution would follow in short order. And so when abilities manifested anyone with any sense got out of Paris. Ninon secretly helped shelter and relocate as many as she could, but those who weren't that lucky more often than not ended up in the Court of Miracles. At least there you could be sure nobody would report you to the authorities...

After bundling d'Artagnan inside, the three musketeers sat him down at a table. Athos went to pour them all a drink.

"So, you're one of us then?" Porthos asked.

"You're all gifted too?"

At that Aramis gave a bitter laugh. "This is anything but a gift."

"It's just what my father used to say." d'Artagnan looked away for a moment. His voice was tainted with grief. "He said that my ability to heal was a gift from God."

Aramis leaned forwards on the table and spoke viciously. "More like a curse from the devil."

"Aramis…" Athos placed a glass in front of him and put a hand to his shoulder before taking a seat.

"What? I only speak from experience. To have visions of death and destruction would be enough, but then having to watch it all happen…" Aramis took a large gulp of wine and sat back sullenly.

d'Artagnan looked at the others questioningly.

"Don't mind him. Aramis sees the future, he sketches it all out too. It can be a bit of a burden." Porthos shot a quick look at Aramis who was busy studying the contents of his glass.

"And you, what can you do?"

"Me? I can do this." Porthos grinned and reached towards a candle in the middle of the table. He rubbed his fingers together at the wick and it burst into flame.

d'Artagnan's eyes went wide.

"Impressive, huh?"

In truth it had taken a long time for Porthos to accept his ability. For most of his life he had resented it, much like Aramis. Growing up in the Court took its toll, when it was discovered Porthos could create and manipulate fire there were people more than eager to take advantage. He found himself as an enforcer for the more unsavoury characters of the Court. The threat of burning to death was enough to rule most by fear, but for the defiant ones Porthos had to take action. He came to see his ability as an instrument of destruction, with himself the destroyer. It was only when he escaped that life and became a musketeer he began to see things differently. There was a time the three musketeers became stranded in the snow, Porthos kept a fire going and saved their lives. His ability could be used for good after all.

"That certainly is… something. I haven't seen anybody create fire before. But I only know the two gifted in my family. Are there many different kinds?"

"There are lots I've seen, and I'm sure there's more out there I haven't. Some can freeze water, others have enhanced strength, or can read minds. I've seen men who can run faster than a flying musket ball, and ones who can disguise themselves as other people. I've heard there's a man with the power of flight, but that I would have to see with my own eyes. Oh, and of course there's what Athos has…"

d'Artagnan looked up at Athos only to find he had gone. He twisted in his seat, searching for the other musketeer.

"Where did he go? I didn't see him leave…"

Porthos just grinned.

"That's because I didn't."

d'Artagnan nearly fell out of his chair when Athos appeared leaning against the table right in front of him. Even Aramis gave a slight smirk.

"Invisibility… you can disappear?" The boy managed between breaths.

"Indeed. A useful ability to have when one enjoys a bit of solitude."

Often when Athos wanted to wallow in wine and darkness he would simply disappear. Aramis and Porthos had long ago learnt it was useless to try to find Athos or convince him to reveal himself. He would reappear when he was ready. Ever had Athos been one for quiet introspection. He wished himself invisible so often, he was quite surprised when his ability manifested and he actually disappeared.

"Look, you should go home." Porthos turned suddenly serious. "Paris isn't safe for people like us. The Cardinal wants to off us all."

"No, he should stay here, with us." Aramis leaned forwards, interrupting eagerly. "We can keep him safe."

Porthos caught the pointed look Aramis threw at him. If d'Artagnan was part of the vision it was better to keep him close at hand.

"Besides, if Athos didn't kill my father, somebody else did. I came here for revenge, I won't leave without it." d'Artagnan straightened in his chair and eyed the three men.

"Very well. But if you're going to be stopping with us I'll need to teach you how to use that sword properly." A small smile tugged at the corner of Athos' mouth as he headed for the door.

d'Artagnan followed the older musketeer out with a stream of protests on his lips.

As soon as the door was closed Aramis turned to Porthos. "We should tell him."

"No, not yet. He's only just met us, what is he going to think when you tell him he's going to die and all of Paris perishes with him? He might go running off never to be seen again. I know I'd be tempted."

"Maybe you're right, but it just feels wrong to keep him in the dark."

"Well, as we've found out often enough, knowing the future doesn't always help." Porthos said pointedly.

"Quite… There is one thing I'm curious about though - In my vision the boy was dead. How do you kill a man who can't die?"

Porthos shrugged. "Maybe there's a limit on the resurrections. Like a cat with nine lives."

"Hmm… in any case, we had better keep a close eye on him. Whether or not he'll come back I'd rather not put his life at risk if we can help it."

"Speaking of - we should get out there and make sure Athos doesn't kill the lad… again."

The two men got to their feet and opened the door, just in time to see Treville arrive with company.

"Athos, I'm sorry. These men have come to arrest you. You're to appear before the King immediately, charged with robbery and murder. I promised them there'd be no trouble."