Wow...I've been overwhelmed by the response to this story. I never expected so many follows and favorites...and reviews! Just...wow. Thank you all so much! I'm so happy that you approve of what I've come up with here :) I would have had this done yesterday, but the holiday meant I didn't work so I had to wait until today to finish up the second half of the story. I really hope it doesn't disappoint! So, with all of my babbling complete, I'll let you get on with it!

Suffer the Innocents

Chapter 2

When Captain Treville walked through the garrison gates, the first thing he did was look for the Inseparables and their newly commissioned fourth, d'Artagnan. When those that he sought were nowhere to be seen, he frowned and made his way up to his office. It had surprised him that morning when his three best men did not show up for morning muster, and the worried look in their Gascon's eyes told him that the young man was equally in the dark as to their whereabouts. He had been on his way to ask his newest musketeer about the Inseparables absence, but then a summons came from the palace and he had to make a detour…a detour that had lasted over two hours. He was fully intent on speaking with d'Artagnan when he returned, that is, if the three wayward musketeers had yet to make an appearance. The absence still of the three, and now their fourth member brought a feeling of dread to the pit of the stomach of the seasoned soldier. It was not like any of the four to be absent like this.

Treville stepped into his office and after shutting the door behind him, he walked to his desk and plopped onto his chair, his hand brushing through his short hair as he let out long breath. He dropped his gaze to his desk, his eyes widening slightly at a parchment lying atop all the other papers scattered over the surface, a parchment that hadn't been there when he had left earlier in the morning. He lifted the parchment and was startled yet again when he saw that the letter was addressed to d'Artagnan. He began to read and with every word the sudden pit in his stomach grew larger and larger. Finally, when he'd come to the end of the letter he all but ran for the door, ripping it open and rushing out onto the walkway. He looked over the railing and saw a few musketeers mulling about. He called out for the nearest musketeer.

"You! Henri!"

Henri turned and looked up to where his captain stood. "Yes ,sir?" he called.

"Gather together five men, yourself included! Prepare your horses and have mine prepared as well," the captain commanded. "Send two of the men for provisions and the other two for medical supplies from the infirmary. And hurry, Henri! We must be quick!"

"Yes, sir!" Henri replied before rushing away to gather the best men he could find to complete the tasks assigned.

Treville nodded and headed back to his office. He retrieved his weapons belt, complete with sword, rapier and musket, from a hook on the wall and secured it around his waist. He made sure his pouch was full of musket balls then took his coat from another hook and pulled it on. He opened the letter and read the words again. He shook his head, certain beyond all thinking that d'Artagnan had left on his own, just as the letter had instructed him to do, and would be riding into a certain trap. Treville was certain that d'Artagnan was smart enough to know it was a trap, but his loyalty and love for his three comrades would supercede any thoughts to his own safety. The problem was, d'Artagnan didn't know the name d'Aubigny, but Treville did. If a close relative of Acelin d'Aubigny, a young man executed three years earlier, had gotten it into their head to seek revenge for his death, his newest musketeer could be heading into a very dangerous situation…a situation that apparently his three best men had already fallen into. Treville squeezed the letter in his hand then stuffed it into his pocket.

"Damn it, d'Artagnan! You should have waited for me!" the captain hissed as he sat down at his desk and penned a letter to the King, explaining that new information had come to light regarding the murder of his trusted friend and his friend's wife three years ago. In the letter he explained that his musketeers had disappeared while investigating the new information and that he must ride to locate them. Once the letter was finished, he sealed it then hurried from his office. He called to one of the recruits and sent him, with the letter, to the palace. Ten minutes later, he and five of his musketeers left the garrison on a mission…to bring their four comrades and friends home.

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When Athos saw the chair kicked away and his protégé fall, all logical thinking left him. He screamed out his name, but shock, grief and overwhelming guilt had him slumping on the ground, his eyes filling with tears. For a moment, all he could do was sit and watch as d'Artagnan's legs flailed, his feet trying to find purchase while his body jerked as it swung slightly from side to side. Athos was watching his baby brother die and there was nothing he could do about it. Beside him, Aramis fought against his bonds and screamed out words Athos couldn't understand and beyond him, Porthos had gone almost animalistic, roaring out his rage and anguish as he pushed himself to his feet and pulled at the post that held him captive. Athos' eyes met those of d'Aubigny and it was in that moment that Athos felt the deepest hatred he had ever held for another human being. Not even the murderer of his brother had garnered such hatred. He moved his gaze back to d'Artagnan, his heart sinking as he saw that the Gascon's struggles were weakening and he realized that the end was near for the boy he had grown so close to so quickly.

So lost in his sorrow was Athos that he almost didn't register it when the sudden sound of a gunshot rang out. His eyes widened as he saw one of d'Aubigny's men fall. It was at that moment that he heard a loud pop and a grunt of pain from his left. He had just begun to turn his head when he saw Porthos racing toward d'Artagnan, the post that had held him to the ground swinging from the rope still tied around the large man's wrists. Athos heard Porthos scream d'Artagnan's name as he fell to his knees at d'Artagnan's feet, the furious musketeer stretching his still bound arms out until they encircled the Gascon's legs. Porthos pushed back up and wrapped his arms around d'Artagnan's hips then pushed fully to his feet, finally releasing the tension of the rope around d'Artagnan's neck. Athos could only watch in horror as d'Aubigny rushed toward his two friends as all hell was breaking loose all around them. Porthos saw the man coming and turned so that his body was between the coming threat and d'Artagnan, but just as the madman reached him, another shot rang out and d'Aubigny jerked back, a scream of pain ripped from his mouth.

Before Athos knew what was happening, Captain Treville had come into view, the man now at Porthos' side with a knife in hand, cutting away at the rope that was slowly killing their youngest brother…if it hadn't done its job already. Athos watched as Porthos took the brunt of d'Artgnan's weight when the rope was finally severed. Suddenly, Henri was at his side cutting the rope around his wrists. Once he was finally free, he wasted no time to thank the older musketeer as he all but flew across the yard and fell to his knees beside the still form of his protégé. Porthos, his wrists now free from their bonds as well, was desperately pulling the rope from d'Artagnan's neck, calling out to his young friend the entire time. Treville was sitting back on his heels, his eyes watching the scene as if he were in shock. Finally, the rope was gone and Porthos pulled the bag carefully from d'Artagnan's head. It was at this moment that Aramis literally jumped over all of them and landed on the opposite side of the Gascon, the medic already checking for signs of life. d'Artagnan's lips had taken on a slightly bluish hue and his face was deathly pale. Aramis leaned over the boy, his ear to his mouth, then sat up straight and slapped his cheek once, then twice. Suddenly, d'Artagnan gasped, his body arching as he fought to take in air. Athos took his hand as it reached out instinctively and gave it a gentle squeeze as Aramis spoke softly to him, begging him to open his eyes and smiling when the Gascon obeyed. Porthos, who had been sitting by, his hand cradling the young man's neck, upon seeing his eyes blinking open, let out a deep breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding. When d'Artagnan's wrecked voice asked, "'s it over?", the large man sobbed out a relieved laugh then turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he searched the yard. Gently, he rested d'Artagnan's head on the ground and pushed to his feet.

"Where is he!" Porthos roared, his hands balled into tight fists. The sound that came from him when he saw d'Aubigny lying on the ground with two musketeers standing over him, the man holding his bleeding shoulder, sent shivers down the spines of all who heard him. He stomped over the ground toward the cowering man and once he reached him, he grabbed him by his jacket and yanked him up from the ground. "Do ya remember what I said I was gonna do to ya?" he hissed into the terrified man's face.

"P-please…I…I…," d'Aubigny stammered, his eyes wide with fear as he stared at the rage filled man before him.

"Beggin' ain't gonna get you nothin'!" Porthos seethed as he began to violently shake the helpless man. He growled when he felt a hand grab his arm, but when he heard his captain's voice, he stopped and turned to meet the man's gaze.

"Porthos, I know what you're feeling right now, but I can't allow you to kill him. He needs to be brought to Paris and stand trial for what he's done here," Captain Treville said, his eyes filled with sympathy.

"'e hanged d'Artagnan! And for what? To punish us for what 'appened to 'is brother three years ago! And you know what the kicker is? His brother was innocent! That's why 'e chose d'Artagnan…one innocent for another! That's what 'e said!" Porthos shouted, his hands still buried in the whimpering man's jacket.

"What do you mean he was innocent?" Treville queried.

"'e confessed that 'e was the one that killed those people, not 'is brother. That's why 'e did this…to make us feel the pain of losing a little brother, just like 'e did," Porthos said, his voice having lost the fury it had held before, and now just filled with pain and guilt.

"Porthos, we'll get this sorted out, but you have to let him go. He will pay for what he's done," Treville said, his hand now gently gripping the large man's arm.

Porthos huffed angrily then pushed d'Aubigny away from him. He smiled contentedly when the man cried out as he hit the ground. He turned and together he and Treville walked back toward where Aramis was still working on d'Artagnan. Suddenly, someone shouted out a warning and Porthos and Trevilled instinctively ducked at the same time a shot rang out. A few moments later they stood and turned to see d'Aubigny lying completely still on the ground, blood seeping from a hole in the middle of his forehead, and a musket in his hand. They turned to see Henri standing behind Athos, his smoking musket in his hand. Treville let out a shaky breath as Porthos nodded his thanks to the older musketeer. Both men then continued their walk back to where Aramis and Athos still were knelt beside their little brother.

"'ow is 'e?" Porthos asked as he once again sank to his knees near d'Artagnan's head.

Aramis looked up and smiled warmly. "He should be fine after some rest. He's had a knock to the head so he may be concussed on top of the hanging, but I can't tell. We need to watch for swelling of his throat as well, but I think if we can get some cool compresses on him, we can keep that from becoming a bigger issue," the medic explained, not only to Porthos, but the other men who had gathered around the group.

"Can he make the trip to Paris?" Treville queried, his eyes watching his youngest musketeer as the Gascon fought to keep conscious.

"Absolutely not. He needs a bed and several days to recover," Aramis replied.

Treville nodded then looked up at one of the men who stood watching. "Go check the farmhouse…see if it is liveable," he commanded, to which the musketeer nodded and trotted off toward the farmhouse.

"If the house is not sufficient, there is a small village a few miles further down the road. I believe there is an inn there," Treville said as he met Aramis' eyes. The medic nodded, then glanced up at Porthos when the man let out a pained grunt.

"You're hurt?" Aramis asked when he saw his friend holding his shoulder.

It was then that Athos, who had been silent as he continued to hold d'Artagnan's hand, remembered the horrible popping sound he'd heard when Porthos had finally pulled the post from the ground. "Your shoulder," he stated as he looked over at his friend.

Porthos looked over at his friend and shook his head. "Popped out when I was tryin' to get free. No big deal," he said in reply.

Aramis shook his head, the medic muttering under his breath as he turned his attention back to d'Artagnan. Porthos grinned as Athos returned his attention to the Gascon as well. A few minutes later, the musketeer who had been sent to check the farmhouse returned. "There's a bed with linens, wood by the fireplace, provisions and a stream not far from the house," the musketeer said. "Oh, and I found d'Artagnan's clothes and pauldron in the bedroom," he added.

It was then that the others realized that d'Artagnan was in fact not wearing his own clothes. "What the hell? Why would d'Aubigny dress him in different clothes?" Aramis queried as he gazed up at his comrades.

"I have no idea," Athos said, his blue eyes moving to rest on the dead body of their abductor.

"Maybe…maybe 'e dressed 'im in 'is brother's clothes?" Porthos suggested after a few moments.

The three inseparables looked at each other then back down at a now sleeping d'Artagnan. "Sick bastard," Aramis muttered as he shook his head. After a moment, he let out a long breath then looked up. "Let's get him into the house. I'll need cold water brought up from the stream so I can put compresses on his throat. We'll need a fire as well," he instructed. When Porthos made a move to pick the Gascon up, Athos grabbed his arm and shook his head when the large man looked over at him.

"Not with that shoulder, Porthos," Athos drawled.

"I can carry the whelp just fine, Athos," Porthos argued.

"And if you drop him? What then?"

Porthos rolled his eyes, but finally nodded. "Fine…but I would never drop 'im," he muttered indignantly.

It was Treville who finally lifted the Gascon from the ground and carried him to the house, the captain making the decision when he saw the shape his men were truly in. He laid him gently on the bed as Aramis searched the house for anything he could use to take care of the young man. Treville, having verified that all of d'Aubigny's men had been killed in the rescue, instructed his men to bury the bodies. He checked the stables himself, finding not only d'Artaganan's horse, but several others as well. When he returned to the house, he found Aramis placing a cold cloth over d'Artagnan's throat and noted with some concern that the boy hadn't even flinched when the cloth touched his skin. Aramis, seeing the captain's concern smiled reassuringly.

"He's fine, Captain. Breathing is a bit wheezy, but that's to be expected. The knot on his head tells me he took a pretty hard hit, but I'm confident there will be no lasting ill effects. His body just needs to rest," the medic explained.

Treville nodded then turned his attention to Porthos. The big man sat on the floor in the corner of the room, a neat pile of clothes with d'Artagnan's pauldron lying on top sitting next to him. He held his arm to his body, but his eyes were on the still form in the bed. "What of Porthos' shoulder?" he asked as he turned back to Aramis.

"I'll pop it back in once I finish with d'Artagnan. Shouldn't be but a few minutes. I'll need your help though, Captain," Aramis responded.

"Of course," Treville said. He then cast his gaze to Athos, who had pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat, his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands, his eyes intense as he watched his protégé sleep. Guilt rolled off the swordsman in waves and though Treville could sense guilt in all three of the men, it was the most palpable with his next in command. He walked across the room and placed his hand on Athos' shoulder. "This isn't your fault, Athos. You have to know this. It isn't the fault of any of you," he said.

Athos didn't look up, didn't seem to acknowledge his presence at all. It was only when he spoke that Treville knew he had heard him. "It feels like it is my fault," he softly said. "If I had been more diligent, been more critical in going over the evidence…maybe I would have seen that things didn't add up."

Aramis looked up and eyed his friend. "Athos, the evidence was all there. The witness identifications, the ring…it was all there. How were we to know that he had a brother who had given him that ring? There was no way for us to know that," the medic reasoned.

Athos looked up at his friend and shook his head. "Maybe d'Aubigny was right. Maybe if I had looked more closely I would have seen the innocence that resided in Acelin d'Aubigny's eyes," he said with a sigh.

"No. This is not your fault. Adalard d'Aubigny is the one at fault here. He's the one who killed those people. He's the one who gave his brother the ring of the man he murdered. He put his brother in that noose," Aramis cried, his heart breaking at the look of despair in his brother's eyes. "The only guilt any of us should be feeling for any of this is the fact that we allowed ourselves to be taken by surprise. The rest is solely on d'Aubigny."

Athos looked at his friend and truly wanted to believe what he said was true. His heart ached with guilt when he looked at the deep, purple bruises that had formed around d'Artagnan's neck. He could see the entire scenario happening over and over again in his mind and it made him sick to his stomach that he could do nothing other in that moment than to sit and watch his baby brother die. If it weren't for Porthos' sometimes inhuman strength, d'Artagnan would be dead and the thought of it made him want to cry. It was only when a soft, weak voice called to him that he was able to hear the truth in Aramis' words.

"'mis' right…not y'r fault…"

Athos leaned forward and took d'Artagnan's hand in his. "d'Artagnan…do not speak. Save your strength," Athos instructed as he stared into the dark, pain filled eyes of his protégé.

"Listen…to…me," d'Artagnan managed to say. "Y'r not to blame…I was stupid…not careful," he added, his words barely audible as he gazed pleadingly up at his mentor.

Athos shook his head and squeezed the Gascon's hand more firmly. "Don't you dare place the blame on yourself. Don't you dare!"

"N't you either…please," d'Artagnan whispered, his eyes drooping as the exchanged drained whatever energy he had left.

Athos smiled as he lifted d'Artagnan's hand and placed a soft kiss to the cool fingers. "I promise I will try," he said as he watched the young man nod then his eyes close. He watched him for a few moments then looked up and met Aramis' expectant gaze. "Maybe there is truth to what you say, Aramis. I will try to remember where the blame truly lies," he said. Aramis grinned as he shook his head and rolled his eyes. He looked at Captain Treville and tipped his head toward Porthos.

"Now that I have done what I can for our Gascon, would you please help me with the brute in the corner, Captain?" the medic queried with a hint of mischief in his eyes.

Captain Treville nodded and together, he and Aramis popped the large musketeer's shoulder back into place, a small grunt the only indication from Porthos that the action caused him any pain. Aramis then took the shirt they had removed from d'Artagnan and used it to secure Porthos' arm to his body. Once he was done he attempted to persuade Porthos that there was room in the bed next to d'Artagnan, but the large man balked at the idea of crowding their brother, insisting that he needed the bed while he himself did not. Finally, Aramis relented and let his friend remain where he was on the floor, as long as Porthos agreed to sleep and let he and Athos watch over d'Artagnan. Once all was settled, Aramis pulled up his own chair and sat down opposite of Athos. Treville, having stood back and watched the exchange shook his head and smiled fondly.

"Can I assume that the three of you have things in hand?" Treville asked as he moved to stand at the end of the bed.

Athos looked over at his Captain and nodded. "d'Artagnan will be taken care of, Captain…fear not," he replied.

"It isn't just d'Artagnan who has been put through the wringer. I am inquiring about all of you, not just the pup," Treville said.

"Rest assured…we will be fine. You and the others can return to Paris as soon as you see fit," Athos stated as he returned his gaze to the sleeping Gascon.

Treville gave a quick nod then turned his attention to Aramis. "How long do you think it will take before he is well enough to ride?" he queried.

Aramis looked down at his patient then back up at the captain. "Two, maybe three days…barring any complications," he responded.

"Very good. The others and I will sleep here for the night and leave at first light. I will expect to see you all back in Paris by the end of the week," Treville said.

Aramis dipped his head in acknowledgement then returned his attention to d'Artagnan. "We will see you then, Captain." With that, Treville left the room, softly closing the door behind him, a fond smile on his face.

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It was three days after the departure of Captain Treville and the five musketeers who had come to their rescue that the four musketeers left behind at the old farmstead were finally ready to head back home to Paris. d'Artagnan had developed a fever the first night, but the diligence of his friends had nipped the potentially dangerous setback in the bud. It did however force them to stay one day longer then they would have liked to, but Aramis had finally declared that the Gascon was strong enough to make the trip. Porthos' shoulder, though still sore, gave him little to no trouble so Aramis had removed the shirt that held the arm tight against his body and instead made a sling to keep the arm steady, but still allowed Porthos to ride with ease. With d'Artagnan muttering under his breath at the indignity of it all, Aramis and Athos helped him to mount his horse and made sure that the change in elevation had not made him nauseous or dizzy.

"For the hundredth time…I'm fine!" d'Artagnan cried, though the hoarseness of his voice told a different story. At the looks his friends gave him, d'Artagnan rolled his eyes and let out a long suffering sigh. "Okay…maybe I can't talk that well, but I can ride, so can we ease up on the mother henning and get moving? I'd really like to sleep in my own bed tonight!"

Athos chuckled as he noted the look of annoyance on his protégé's face. His eyes moved lower and his heart clenched as he took in the still vivid purple bruise around the young man's throat. They had come so close to losing him and the mere thought of it was enough to make the man weak in the knees. d'Artagnan, seeing where his mentor's gaze had settled, lifted his hand and gently ran his fingers over his throat.

"I'm fine, Athos…it barely hurts anymore," the Gascon said. "Please, do not agonize over this any longer. I am alive…we all are alive."

Athos looked up and met d'Artagnan's pleading gaze. He smiled and dipped his head in a quick nod before he moved to mount his borrowed horse. Once Porthos and Aramis were ready, Athos took one final look back at the tree that had nearly been the death of their youngest then met the eyes of each of his brothers. "Come, let's go home," he said as he kicked his horse into action.

The four musketeers left the farmstead, and all of the fear and pain it had brought them behind as they headed toward Paris. Brothers in arms, and in life. All for one, and one for all.

The End

So, that's it! I hope you'll let me know if you liked it! Thank you all so much for reading! Take care!

Cindy