Author's Note: This is based on the actual book by Alexandre Dumas, not any of the movies. This was/is my first fanfiction. It's not great, I've made some mistakes and done some things with these characters I'm not too proud of. However, I still honestly believe that overall it is a good piece. Snark or flame as you'd like, but I'm already well aware of what's wrong with it and will not be changing it.

Brand new edit in 2014 since this story has like 17,000 views (what the hell): Serious business alright? This story contains rape. And not for any reason than I was young, stupid, and thought that rape was a way by which you could progress a plot. Not only does this contain rape, but a character who not only forgives but falls in love with her rapist. It is not okay and was not good story-telling. It was dumb then and I would never even consider taking that same tactic again. I have seriously considered deleting this it in it's entirety on many occasions. However, like I said above, it is overall a good story (IMO) and while I'm not proud of it, I think that bearing the above in mind it is somewhat salvageable.

Chapter 1: Dead Men Tell No Tales

"Mon Dieu!"

(In order to keep things simple the author refuses to write the remainder of the story in French seeing as this is the limit of her knowledge of it anyway. She apologizes to all of you purists out there, but that's life and it's not fair, get over it)

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain Porthos."

"But it's freezing out here! I think I've been unmanned. Don't laugh Aramis, I'm serious, I'll never function again."

"I'm sure the Lord is enthralled by your inadequacies in the bedchamber, however it would make me feel better if you had a bit more respect for Him."

"At least we could have brought our servants, they always seem to know things about how to survive in situations where life's little amenities are unavailable." At Aramis' exasperated expression, Porthos shook his head. "You know what your problem is Aramis, you're too stuffy. You have no sense of fun, adventure. You're about the least musketeerish Musketeer I have ever met."

"Musketeerish? Is that even a word? I think you just made that up."

"Well hell, if I want to make up words that's my own business isn't it?"

"Excuse me ladies, but could you keep the noise down just a bit? We are supposed to be spying."

Aramis and Porthos glared for a moment at their mutual friend, Athos didn't seem to notice however. His attention was focused ahead of him on the group of men in the road. Lacking divine intervention, there was little chance of the men themselves hearing them, seeing as they were all dead, but one never knew who might happen along at any unsuspecting moment. Athos thought idly to himself that Musketeers were not really made for spying. Their entire purpose in life revolved around their valiant bravery and unflinching determination. Asking a Musketeer to spy was a bit like asking an elephant to perform ballet. It seemed like a good idea at the time but...

"Athos."

"What?"

"Why are we watching dead people?"

Athos turned to his rakish friend. Porthos, he was certain, had many noteworthy qualities to recommend him to the fairer sex, but his unwavering stupidity seemed as though it should put a bit of a damper on his attractive forces. Men wanted women of less than average intelligence, this was true, it kept them from questioning their mate's wishes, but a woman would certainly prefer a man of something resembling thought. Porthos however, was often quite devoid of that particular characteristic, and yet had legions of nubile women, young and old, clamoring for his attention; and had even managed to land himself a bride of some wealth, for however short a time. Ah well, life wasn't fair was it?

"If someone goes through the trouble to hang people, they usually want to come back at some point to either gloat, or to reuse a place. Trees of sufficient height for this particular brand of fun are few and far between my friend."

"Oh."

There was a moment's pause.

"Athos."

"Yes?" This time the query was snapped.

"Why would someone hang a peasant?"

And therein lay the crux of the matter. Why indeed? A peasant, especially one from as remote a village as Chapelle Mansounx posed little threat to anyone, including his neighbors. So why the mass murder, if indeed it was murder and not justice. The local authorities didn't even seem to know who the men were.

"That's why we're here Porthos, to find out. Do pay attention when we're given these assignments, I hate having to repeat everything to you."

At this, Porthos collapsed back against the tree trunk in a sullen pout. Aramis grinned to himself, at least Athos wasn't taking that bitter sarcastical tone with him. He loved his fellow Musketeer like a brother, but sometimes, he could be a little grating. The wallowing in self-pity didn't help his personality at all either. He still blamed himself for his wife's deception of him, despite her numerous forays into fraud, not to mention she was simply one messed up piece of femininity. Stealing from our holy mother Church, it didn't bear thought. Well, and the fact that she was a murderess, but that ran a close second in Aramis' viewpoint. He was left to a few moments of his quiet reflection before something else caught his attention.

"Athos, back in the trees!"

One lone rider sat watching the bodies swing to and fore. Unlike the Musketeers, however, they were making no move to keep hidden. They didn't need to. Between a hooded cloak and a cloudy night that veiled that moon and left the world in shadows, the figure on the horse could have been anyone.

"Porthos!" Aramis' plea was a furtive whisper to the man still pouting near the tree.

"What?" He was still pouting, and rather like wading in his own emotion.

"Go around and see if you can't get a better look at whoever that is."

"Why do I always have to be the one to go see who the stranger on the horse?"

"When have we ever asked you to go see who the stranger on the horse was?" Aramis sounded confused, and rightly so.

"Never mind," Athos resigned voice broke in, "they're leaving. Porthos, I'm sorry you're always the one, but follow him. If he has anything to do with this, we'll need to know, send us a message in two days, telling us your situation."

"Ugh, provincials. You'd think that you could find dead bodies in a place a little closer to civilization, but no, you insist on dragging me out to the farthest reaches of France to solve crimes I personally have no interest in."

"We have a duty to the people Porthos."

"People be damned, my duty is to crown and county and God, in that order my friend."

When Athos just gave him a long look, Porthos heaved himself onto his horse with a sigh. Did Aramis actually get some kind of perverse joy in baiting him? Self-righteous prig. Oo Aramis, you write poetry, oo! Women were easily susceptible to that garbage he spat at them. A real man wouldn't need to resort to a woman's mind to get ahead in life. A real man had skills. Aramis' only skill was his sly tongue. Perhaps that explained it. However, you'd think his utter obsession with the church and his entrance into the clergy would be a major turn-off. Porthos was pulled out of silent reverie by the sight of the rider ahead of him.

Follow the rider Porthos, don't let him get away Porthos, shine my shoes Porthos, wipe my ass Porthos, damn them and damn their orders. Just because he wasn't the smartest didn't mean he didn't have skills. Ah well, he was the goofy sidekick and that's all there was to it, he supposed. At least he could herd chickens like nobody's business.

"Do you think he can handle it?" Athos looked questioningly at Aramis.

"He's a big boy, he'll be fine. Come on, let's see if we can't find out something in the village."

Aramis heaved a long sigh, but let his friend walk away without comment.

Their arrival in the village was treated as an excuse for a holiday. They were treated to delicacies from all over the district and young virgins openly pined for them. Yeah, wouldn't that be nice. Certainly preferable to people running and hiding from them as they came in sight and mothers shepherding their children away. They were treated like lepers, and thought themselves lucky that no one threw rotten food at them. Well, with the lives these people had, even rotten food would be too precious to waste on a couple of Musketeers. It was sickening the level of poverty these people lived in. They had barely enough food to feed their families and their homes were little more than hovels. But they looked happy, which is considerably more than could be said for most denizens of Paris.

"That inn looks promising." Athos pointed as he spoke.

"Wherever," Aramis shivered closer into his cloak, "horses are nice enough creatures in and of themselves, I suppose, but I'm not thrilled to be on one for more than I need to."

Athos laughed as they handed their reigns to a boy of about twelve and entered the inn, aptly named "The Drunken a o " It wasn't really important what the missing letters were since most of its inhabitants were unable to write their own names, nevertheless read an entire phrase. The two Musketeers were a bit curious to know, however, just what a "a o " was.

"It's a matter of principle goodman," Aramis was attempting to coerce the servingman, "one would not wish to do one's drinking in 'The Drunken Bastard' or 'The Drunken Man who becomes an ass when inebriated'. You can surely see what I mean." At the man's blank stare, Aramis sighed and order a pint of ale apiece for him and Athos.

"Well distinguished leader?"

"What do you want Aramis?"

"I want to know why you sent Porthos off on a fool's errand, why we're in a taproom with no name, and why you've become so secretive all of the sudden. Well, more secretive, anyway. You've known since we got here who killed hose men, or at least had a damn good idea, so come out with it, why are we here?"

Athos shot a quick look around the bar for a moment, before leaning in a bit closer to Aramis. "Do you remember when the Cardinal made the last attempt on the throne, trying to denounce the queen?"

"Of course, that's when we met d'Artagnan."

"Do you remember what our informant looked like?"

"Small, rather rat-faced, dark hair? Him?"

"Yes." Athos looked around furtively, then leaned closer to Aramis and dropped his voice to a low murmur, "You weren't around for the interrogation, but when we did, we found a mark on the back of his neck." Athos dipped a finger in his mug, then traced a figure onto the dirt- encrusted table. It was an outline of a triangle standing on its point, with three lines starting in the center and continuing through each side.

"A tattoo?"

"No, it was a brand."

It looked strangely familiar to Aramis and he said so.

"It should," Athos continued, "every one of those men we found on the road had it carved onto his palm."

"Do you think they were working with the rat?"

"No, the marks were put there after they died."

"How can you tell that?"

"Because after the heart stops pumping blood, a man won't bleed, at least not much, those marks on their palms were virtually clean, no blood; they were put there after the men died- as a caution, or maybe a mark of pride."

"I still don't understand where Porthos comes into all this."

"Hear me out. I didn't understand the significance of the tattoo on the rat when I saw it, but the marks on the men were different, not much, lines a little longer, more curved, but it was enough to jog my memory. You know that tattoo Porthos has between his shoulder blades? It's a silhouette of a falcon over a-"

"A triangle." Aramis finished in a shocked voice.

"Yes!" Athos drew anther quick picture, "Take the principle lines, head to tail and both wings, and you have the same mark."

Aramis sighed as he sat back in his chair, nearly capsizing it seeing as the carpentry really wasn't all that great, "You're making a serious accusation against someone we've known for years on some pretty circumstantial evidence Athos."

"But what if I'm right, can we really afford to take the chance?"

"He's a Musketeer for Christ's sake!" Aramis exploded, then immediately regretted it as he crossed himself and said a quick prayer for forgiveness. His voice dropped to a whisper, "We protect people, Athos, we don't kill them. Not without just cause."

"You heard him back there, his loyalties are to crown, country, and God."

"Alright, I admit he's been acting strangely, I just think you need a bit more evidence, that's all."

"Well, let's just see what he reports back with."

"Let's."