Round 3

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Fill: sine qua non 3a/3 [Richelieu/Treville, Aramis/Porthos, pre-Athos/d'Art, warnings in thread]

[kyele]

A/N: So sorry for how long it took to get this part out. I was trying to get the chapters up weekly, but life decided otherwise. Oh well. It's done now! OP, hope the wait was worth it.

---

Athos goes back to the forge and works his usual shift. Aramis and Porthos do the same for their little stall. They meet by prearrangement at the fountain in the central square as the sun dips below the buildings.

The gladiators’ work period ends at sunset, at which point they are to return to their stables’ barracks. Food is provided and the doors are locked for the night by the free overseers. Some of the gladiators and trainers are not owned directly by their stable; those men are escorted home by their masters’ guards, or, in some cases, are trusted to return home independently. Treville is in the latter category.

Right on schedule, Treville appears from the eastern side of the square and joins the crowd passing through. The Inseparables idle semi-industriously until he’s past and gone. Then they set out behind him.

They make their way towards the Senator’s house. It’s on a prominent thoroughfare, which makes it easy for Athos, Porthos and Aramis to walk by. The crowded street means it’s easy to progress slowly. A few people recognize them from the arena. But in the general noise anything they shout is indistinguishable from the background.

From the street, Athos can see that the gate to the compound is still open. They’re in luck. Treville must have just reached the Senator’s dwelling. He’s just now in the act of entering the courtyard, turning aside from the short well-landscaped path to make for a small door visible to one side. A servants’ entrance.

“This way,” Aramis says, leading Athos and Porthos past the courtyard to the next intersection. Here they turn onto a much less crowded thoroughfare. A few steps later, at Aramis’ gesture, they duck past a line of hanging laundry and find themselves in an alley.

“Which one of these is the Senator’s?” Porthos asks, staring down a row of brick-backed buildings.

Aramis gives Porthos a pitying look. “All of them.”

“But the courtyard only covers half the street in the front!” Porthos protests.

“The other buildings in the block used to be separate dwellings,” Athos agrees. “The Senator bought them when he decided to take up residence in the city and had the interior walls demolished to form his compound.”

“Apparently it’s something of a maze inside,” Aramis says. “I’ve no idea what’s located where, so we’ll just have to peek in the windows until we find what we’re looking for.”

“Which is?” Porthos asks.

Aramis shrugs. “Servants’ quarters, or the Senator’s study, or maybe a dining hall. Anywhere the Senator and the Captain might find themselves together.”

“Somewhere semi-private,” Athos adds. “The Senator prefers to keep his dirty laundry hidden.”

“Right,” Porthos says grimly, moving towards the closest window.

They quickly rule out the first several options, which mainly turn out to be storerooms of one kind or another. One is a laundry – an unlikely place for a gladiatorial Captain to spend his time – while another is a hallway. A few guest bedrooms, pristine and untouched, round out the south wing of the compound.

This brings them to the center of the alley, and the rooms start to get more interesting.

“Servants’ quarters,” Porthos reports in a whisper, peering in one window.

“Maybe later,” Athos says. “The Captain probably sleeps there, but we need to find where he spends his time awake.”

“Dining room,” Aramis says from a little farther down the alley.

“Too early for supper,” Porthos sighs.

Athos peers into another window. The view is somewhat masked by gauzy curtains, but a moment of squinting reveals a lavishly appointed bedchamber. They’ve seen a few of these already, but those were neatly made up and empty of personal belongings, obviously guest quarters. These appear lived-in. And thanks to the large portrait hanging over the enormous bed, there’s little doubt as to whom these rooms belong.

Athos shakes his head in bemusement at the luxury. He’s about to move on when the door handle rotates downwards. Instinctively he ducks. Then he remembers the gauzy curtains and slowly rises again. If he can keep an eye on the Senator, they can track his movements throughout the compound – assuming he remains within view of an alley-facing window – and be ready when Richelieu encounters Treville.

Except that when the door finishes opening, it’s not the Senator who steps into the room. It’s Treville himself.

“Over here,” Athos hisses once he gets over his shock, beckoning this two companions over. They crowd in.

“Damn,” Porthos whistles. “Nice digs.”

“Never mind the room,” Athos says. “What’s the Captain doing here?”

“You don’t suppose…” Aramis starts, horrified.

“Maybe he was sent to fetch something,” Porthos suggests, laying a comforting hand on his lovers’ shoulder.

Athos frowns. There should be house-servants for that sort of thing. But he holds his tongue. He doesn’t want to upset Aramis unnecessarily, and Treville’s presence in Richelieu’s bedchamber is suspect enough without dragging up Aramis’ past.

Especially when Treville begins to disrobe.

“Oh my God,” Aramis blurts.

Porthos abandons the hand-on-shoulder approach in favor of wrapping both arms around Aramis.

“He may just be changing,” Athos says doubtfully.

“Bathing,” Porthos suggests. “After a long day at the stables.”

“In the Senator’s private quarters?” Aramis demands incredulously.

Ignorant of the Inseparables’ debate, Treville goes right on disrobing. He’s standing just inside the door on a small inset square of tiles, a step beneath the soft-looking rugs that litter the main floor, just wide enough for two or three men to stand. Each soiled garment is carefully placed in a wicker basket positioned nearby, apparently for that purpose. Only once Treville’s naked does he proceed farther into the room. The first thing he does is push aside a second, inner door and go through it.

A few shuffling steps to the right improve Athos’ angle of view enough to make the second room visible. This accomplished, this second space is revealed to be a bathing chamber. Sunk into the floor waits the most palatial tub Athos has ever seen. Easily large enough for five men, it has gentle, sloping sides that can’t help but encourage relaxation. The tub is full of water which steams gently but visibly in the open air. Herbs float atop the surface. Athos can’t smell them, but by eye alone he picks out lavender and jasmine.

“Bathing,” Aramis says flatly. “I don’t think that bath’s intended for a slave.”

“The Senator should be arriving home shortly,” Athos says. “It must be for him.”

It makes a certain amount of sense. Usually the job of bathing the Senator would belong to a higher servant, but assigning Treville this chore might be a way of flaunting the hold Richelieu apparently has over him. The Senator could easily be that petty in his personal life.

“Looks inviting,” Porthos says in a poor attempt at humor.

“I’m sure the Senator enjoys it,” Aramis bites out, looking pale.

“I hope you’ll understand if I have to avert my delicate eyes after a bit,” Athos murmurs. “I’ve no general objection to the male body, but Richelieu naked is rather more than I’m up for.”

“Hang on,” Porthos says suddenly. “This isn’t right. Why’s the tub full?”

Athos slants Porthos a look. “Because the Senator intends to bathe?” he suggests.

Porthos shakes his head. “Haven’t either of you heard that speech? ‘Bathing before bed is evil and weak-minded. The truly righteous bathe at dawn to purify themselves for the work ahead.’” Porthos even manages to do a creditable imitation of the Senator’s drawling tones.

Aramis blinks. “You know, now that you mention it, I have heard that speech.”

Athos frowns. “Then why the bath?”

Porthos looks back through the window. His jaw drops. “Uh…”

Athos peeks, too. His jaw remains where it ought to be, but only through formidable strength of will. The bath isn’t empty anymore. Treville is reclining in it. He’s placed a few folded towels by one lip of the tub, and his head is leaned back, eyes closed. He looks completely relaxed.

“Oh shit,” Aramis mutters. “He must be expecting the Senator to be getting back late tonight. Talk about risky!”

A thought occurs to Athos suddenly. “Is it risky?”

Aramis looks at him like he’s crazy. “If the Senator comes back and finds the Captain here, he won’t stop at just giving Treville a limp and some bruises!”

“Then who is expected to bathe here?” Athos asks. “The tub was full.”

Aramis and Porthos blink at him. “You don’t suppose – ” Porthos starts.

He’s interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. This time all three of them duck back instinctively. Then they pause, realizing that now no one can see what’s going on. Crouching, they hold a silent, furious debate using only their facial expressions and some eloquent hand gestures. At the end of it Athos rises – slowly – and lifts his eyes above the window-sill.

Richelieu has entered his bedchambers. He, too, pauses in the tiled section to shed his outer robes, though he remains in his linen shift underneath. Thus attired, he moves towards the second door.

Athos freezes for a moment, then realizes that the second door is open. Has been open the entire time. Richelieu would have been able to see Treville in his bath as soon as he’d entered. If he were outraged, if Treville were about to be severely punished, the bellowing would have started already.

Athos waves to the other two to rejoin him, making a sign to them at the same time for silence. Their heads crowd in next to his, staying just low enough to see.

“Is the budget done?” Treville’s voice breaks the silence, carrying quietly but clearly to the three watching at the window.

“Yes, finally,” Richelieu replies. He turns away out of sight to fetch something and his next few words are only mumbles. When he turns back they hear “ – should be taken care of. You?”

Treville stretches under the water. “Nothing too bad,” he mutters, sounding sleepy.

Richelieu is carrying a small basket as he comes over to where Treville is reclining. He places another few towels on the ground just behind Treville’s head. Next to them he sets the basket. And then, to the astonishment of all three former Gladiators, the feared Senator Richelieu kneels down and begins to wash his slave’s hair.

They all retreat a few steps down the alley before their astonishment can give them away. “What in the gods’ names?” Porthos bursts out with as soon as he judges it safe to do so.

“What is going on here?” Aramis demands, wild-eyed.

“Something very different than what we were led to believe,” Athos says calmly. “I’m going to go back to looking. Can the two of you hold your tongues, or must you stay here?”

Aramis and Porthos exchange a silent look. Together, they nod.

When the three resume their viewing pose, the scene has changed somewhat. Treville is emerging from the water, cleaned. Richelieu is actually wrapping him in a towel. Not a slave’s towel, small and coarse. Not even the usual piece of cloth standard for servants, adequate but none too fine. This is a large swath of fabric, rich, with the Senator’s own crest embroidered on it.

And Treville doesn’t seem surprised or overcome by this piece of consideration. He laughs at the Senator, murmuring something quick and low that none of them can catch. He tilts his head up towards the Senator, eyes dancing. And the Senator leans down and takes him in a passionate kiss.

Aramis makes a choked sound and drops back below the window. Porthos looks after him worriedly, but keeps his place.

Athos continues to watch. He knows what Aramis is afraid of, what has him huddled down at the base of the window shaking, but he seriously doubts he’s about to watch Treville be raped. The bath and the towel are marks of great favor, it’s true. But nothing about Richelieu’s attitude suggests that he’s pampering a favored bed-slave. And nothing about Treville’s attitude suggests that he views what he’s being given as the recompense due one who pays in the most intimate of ways.

Indeed, after a moment the two break apart. Or, more accurately, Treville places a hand on Richelieu’s chest and gently pushes him back.

“Supper first, remember?” Treville says. There’s a playful chiding in his tone completely at odds with any of the roles Athos has tried so far to cast the Captain in. There’s none of the fearful subservience of the beaten-down slave speaking to the cruel master. Nor, as Athos had always thought more likely, does Treville speak with the silent, enduring bravery of the unbroken slave who does his duty even in the face of mistreatment. It’s not said in the coquettish tones of the bed-slave who tries simultaneously to flatter and divert the domineering master. Nor even in the steady tones of the respected slave whose worth is known to a responsible owner.

If anything, Athos thinks, it’s spoken in the fond, indulgent tones of the loving wife. And that’s when the suspicion begins to take root in his mind.

“All right,” Richelieu sighs back. “I suppose my dues to society aren’t quite paid yet for today.”

“Soon,” Treville soothes. He turns towards the wardrobe – actually turns his back on his owner. And the Senator doesn’t raise a hand against his rebellious slave. The caricature of the man Athos had thought he had known as Senator Richelieu would have had Treville dragged from the room and flogged in the public square until his bones broke. The man he’s seeing now merely smiles fondly at the retreating back and follows it, one hand reaching to ghost along the nape of Treville’s neck, making the old gladiator shiver in what Athos is pretty sure is pleasure.

Treville does dress the Senator – the natural order of things isn’t so far disarranged as that – and by the time he’s done, the silence and Porthos’ eloquent gestures have convinced Aramis to rejoin the others at the window. Aramis apologizes for his departure with a short look at Athos, to which Athos replies with an even shorter gesture: it’s all right.

With the Senator dressed, Treville goes back to the wardrobe and retrieves a small pile of clothes for himself. Even folded they’re obviously of good quality, and appear soft and warm. Another mark of favor. They’re stacking up rather quickly. Whatever else is going on here, it’s obvious that Treville’s life is not one of bread, water and beatings, the way so many of the gladiators have always assumed.

Treville goes to dress quickly, but is stopped by Richelieu’s hands on him.

Aramis stiffens again. But a second look makes it clear that Richelieu’s touch isn’t sexual. He’s tracing the scattered marks on Treville’s back, the sort left by a patrician’s cane. The gladiators had always supposed that Richelieu himself left those marks on Treville, as punishment or simple encouragement to harder work.

“What happened?” Richelieu asks, tone gentle.

“Centurion Tavii wished to inspect the gladiatorial stock before placing his bet,” Treville says quietly. “He didn’t think I should be present while he did so.”

Richelieu reaches to the top of the wardrobe and pulls down an earthenware jar. He unscrews it and dips his fingers inside. They come out covered with a colorless jelly of some kind. First rubbing it between his fingers to warm it, the Senator then begins to massage it into the injured area. Treville tips his head back and sighs.

Finished, Richelieu takes Treville’s shoulders and turns him around. His fingers dip to touch the edge of a rather impressive bruise on Treville’s ribcage. The sort of bruise that the gladiators had always thought came from the Senator, in fact.

“And this?”

Treville shrugs stiffly. “The ticket-taker objected to me recounting our share of the revenues from the Emperor’s Birthday Games.”

Fill: sine qua non 3b/3 [Richelieu/Treville, Aramis/Porthos, pre-Athos/d'Art, warnings in thread]

[kyele]

Richelieu repeats the application of the salve. When he’s done his fingers drift sideways. Wrapped around Treville’s left bicep are the deep imprints of a hand. Fingers and thumb are equally visible pressed into his skin. “Here?”

“One of the King’s guards wanted to have a little fun with one of the new boys. He didn’t like it when I objected.” Treville touches his belly briefly, and winces, though there’s no damage visible. “One of his friends held me, and then he hit me twice, here.”

Richelieu’s face tightens, but he nods. He reaches back into the jar and offers the same treatment to both bicep and stomach. When he finishes, he leaves his hand in place for a moment.

“You must tell me if this gets worse,” the Senator says. “You could be bleeding.”

“I’m all right,” Treville says. He must see something in Richelieu’s face, turned away from the three watching at the window, because he touches the Senator’s arm gently. “I’ve had internal bleeding before, remember? I know what it feels like. I’m fine.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Richelieu demands, sounding angry for the first time. “That you’ve been that badly injured before – that someone dared to hurt you like that, and I couldn’t stop it, and it might happen again and I still won’t be able to stop it?”

Treville reaches out and, shockingly, gathers the Senator in an embrace. Treville is naked but for his collar and his wounds, a slave, the property of the Senator, whom any man can strike without fear of reprisal. Richelieu is richly garbed, prominent and powerful, wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. But the master is worrying about the slave, and the slave is comforting the master, and all the usual rules are turned inside out.

“I’m strong,” Treville murmurs, words just faintly intelligible. “I can take a few blows, you know I can. It’s just skin deep. Most of the citizenry know how you feel about your property being damaged. The Guard today was just young and stupid. His companion let me go as soon as he saw what his friend was doing, and pulled his friend off of me before I could be seriously hurt.”

The Senator’s reply is too muffled to be heard.

“When they left the older Guard was already filling the youngster’s head with tales of your bloody revenge,” Treville adds. He actually sounds amused. “Your legend has grown again. The next Guard who comes to the stables is going to be calling me sir.”

Richelieu sighs and pulls back a little. His hands are on Treville’s shoulders, and his long fingers trace the marks of the Centurion’s cane, almost compulsively.

“There will always be things like this,” the Senator says. “If they don’t do permanent harm, I have no grounds for complaint.”

Treville reaches up and grasps Richelieu’s wrists gently, stilling his fingers. “It’s the price I pay to be with you,” he says simply. “And I pay it freely. You know that. Armand, you know that I could be free any time I wished. I still have the papers in a drawer. Signed and sealed. The moment I wrote my name in them I would be free.”

“Maybe you should,” Richelieu says, sounding choked.

“I choose not to,” Treville says. “I choose to be here. And I would choose to bear it all ten times over in order to remain here.”

Treville raises himself on his toes to kiss the Senator. The Senator makes a low, pained noise, kissing back, clasping Treville to him as if it hurts him to be apart.

Athos has seen enough. He drops back below the window, and gestures for Aramis and Porthos to follow him.

They retreat from the alley as silently as they came. Aramis is pale, and Porthos appears to be caught in the grip of some great emotion. None of them say a word until they’re safely back in Porthos and Aramis’ abode.

“So that’s it,” Athos says finally, when the door is locked and they’re all seated around the small table. “That’s why the Captain won’t accept his freedom.”

“He wants to stay with the Senator,” Porthos says, sounding bewildered.

Aramis reaches over and puts his hand on top of Porthos’. “He loves the Senator,” he says. Aramis sounds like he doesn’t know what emotion to express first: shock, horror, fear. “And the Senator – ”

“Loves him,” Athos finishes.

“But someone in the Senator’s position can’t have a free male lover,” Porthos says. He’s looking at Aramis. Thinking of the opportunities they’ve given up, the chances for greater prosperity they’ve turned down, in order to protect their ability to be together. No one cares too much if a couple of freed gladiators, barely scraping by, bed each other in their spare time. Former slaves living in quasi-poverty are no one’s moral idols. Respectable merchants are. Aramis and Porthos could be firmly entrenched in the middle class. But to do so they’d have to give each other up. They’ve refused to do that.

Patricians are held to an even higher standard of behavior. Senator Richelieu is the second most powerful man in the kingdom. His conduct must therefore be beyond reproach.

“No one cares what gender of slave one uses for release,” Athos says aloud. “A slave isn’t a human being. They don’t count.”

Treville doesn’t count. As long as Treville remains a slave, Richelieu may bed him freely, and society doesn’t say a word. And with Richelieu’s reputation, who would guess that he aches when his slave is hurt? Who would guess that Richelieu loves Treville?

“So the Captain stays there,” Aramis whispers. “Voluntarily. Allowing himself to be struck, and spat upon, and beaten – ”

“In order to remain with the one he loves.” Porthos gazes at Aramis. “I would do the same, if that was what it took to be with you.”

“No! I wouldn’t let you!” Aramis shoots to his feet, turning to pace in agitation through the small room. “Athos, you say the Senator loves Treville, but you’re wrong. If he really loved Treville he wouldn’t let him do this! He wouldn’t make him do this! He’s still Treville’s owner, have you forgotten that? Richelieu could free Treville at any time. He refuses to do so – it’s his fault! He’s making Treville do this!”

“Aramis, be reasonable,” Athos snaps. “If Richelieu freed Treville without his consent, how would it be any better?”

“With some space, some distance – ”

Athos shakes his head. “How many opportunities has the Captain turned down? The Emperor’s given him a blank writ of emancipation three times. Each time Treville’s given the preference to another. Treville’s bought the freedom of a dozen other slaves with his portion of the stable’s winnings. He could have bought himself, but he hasn’t. This whole thing started because we tried to buy his freedom and he refused us!”

“Treville’s exactly where he wants to be,” Porthos says. He reaches out towards Aramis.

“And it’s his choice to make,” Athos adds. “Unless you want to exchange one master for another, and make him freedom’s slave instead of Richelieu’s.”

Aramis stares at them both, shocked and betrayed. “Treville’s not thinking clearly,” he insists. “It’s easy to think that someone cares for you when they’re rutting between your legs. But it’s all an illusion. Sooner or later you end up among the lions. When your beauty fades, when your youth is gone – ”

“The Captain’s older than any of us,” Porthos says. “Old enough to be our fathers.”

“And I don’t think anyone could fairly call him beautiful,” Athos adds. “Yet the Senator seems to care about him regardless.”

“The Senator’s owned Treville thirty years now,” Porthos says. “If he were going to grow tired of Treville and throw him to the lions, I think he would have done it by now.”

“Thirty years?” Aramis’ surprise is obvious.

Athos, too, is startled. Outside of institutions like the gladiatorial stables, a slave remaining with a single master for so long is unusual. True, some of the old noble houses have slave lines that they have maintained over generations, the children of slaves taking over their parents’ roles, the parents being allowed to live into old age on the family’s charity. But Richelieu had been born in the middle class. His position had been bestowed on him by the King for his military successes. Just about thirty years ago, now, in fact, if Athos’ memory serves him. He frowns. Thirty years… no, it can’t be…

“You didn’t know?” Porthos is asking.

Aramis shakes his head. “How did you know?”

Athos looks up, still chasing the memory. “Yes, how did you know?”

“Treville said as much to me once,” Porthos answers. “I said something about my homeland, as it had been when I was a child. Treville said he remembered seeing it that way. I was surprised, because I thought he’d been born a slave, and I’d never heard of the Senator visiting Nubia. But Treville said no, he’d been a paid soldier in his youth, and thirty years ago he’d briefly been in Nubia. He said it was right before he had been enslaved and the Senator had come to own him.”

“A paid soldier?” Athos says. “You’re sure? A mercenary?”

“That’s what he said.” Porthos blinks. “Why, what’s wrong? Surely you don’t judge him for that?”

“No. No, it’s just – it must have been he!”

“He who?”

“You don’t know this story?” Athos looks between his two companions. “The campaign that made Richelieu a Senator?”

“The victory in Macedonia, wasn’t it?” Porthos frowns. “What has that to do with Treville?”

“Thirty years ago Richelieu – he wasn’t a Senator then – came back from Macedonia with the greatest military coup of the decade,” Athos recounts. “The Emperor made Richelieu a Senator, included him in the Imperial councils, and gave him enormous estates in the new principalities, so that he became rich. And then the Emperor offered Richelieu a boon of anything the Senator would name. Anything at all, to be his.”

“I didn’t know this story,” Aramis says.

“I did,” Porthos says. “But what has that to do with anything? The Senator turned the boon into political power and built up his household shortly thereafter. That’s probably when he bought Treville.”

Athos shakes his head. “No. Listen to the rest. On the campaign, the Senator had had several legions of mercenaries as well as regular army troops. One legion had been supposed to guard Richelieu’s flank during a key battle. But they were lured into an ambush and failed to appear where they were supposed to. Many soldiers died, and Richelieu himself was gravely injured. The legion of mercenaries was almost wiped out. All of their officers were killed. Since the officers could not be made to pay, the Emperor decreed that the survivors would all be enslaved, and sent to the mines.”

Aramis shudders. The mines are legendary: no one sent there survives more than three years. To be sent to the mines is a common fate of underperforming gladiators.

“There were only half-a-dozen survivors,” Athos goes on. “Most of them were veterans. But one of them was a youth on his first major campaign. Richelieu told the Emperor that, for his boon, he wanted the youth to be given to him as his personal slave. And he wanted the Emperor’s guarantee that the slave would never be taken from him. Not as payment for a debt, or in judgment from the courts, or for tribute to the temple. That Richelieu would have complete and eternal ownership of the youth.”

“And the Emperor granted that?” Aramis cries, shocked. “Richelieu obviously intended to take revenge on this soldier. Torture him to death, probably!”

Athos shrugs. “Richelieu could have demanded half the royal treasury, or the gavel of the Senate, or a relative of the Emperor to wife,” he says. “Comparatively speaking Louis got off easy.”

“Richelieu has all of those things,” Aramis protests.

“Richelieu has them now,” Athos says. “He didn’t then. Then he was just a brand new Senator, whose only experience was in far-flung military campaigns.”

“But what does this have to do with – ”

“I think the slave was Treville,” Athos says.

Aramis’ eyes widen.

Porthos, though, nods slowly. “I think you’re right,” he says. “Treville doesn’t talk much about his past, but what he’s said adds up.”

“And Richelieu’s early household was small. He boasts of it when he challenges the greed of the other senators – haven’t you heard it?”

“‘In my household for many years I had only one slave and three servants,’” Porthos quotes. “‘How many among you could do the same?’ Richelieu casts it up to them every year when the Senate sits to fight out the budget.”

“So if the Captain’s indeed been in Richelieu’s ownership for thirty years – ” Aramis says faintly.

Porthos shakes his head. “It took Richelieu ten years after that campaign to gain the foundations of the power and prestige that make him the man he is today. I thought that was after spending the Emperor’s favor. If not – how many of those ten years could he have leapt over?”

“To instead spend the favor on Treville – if I’m right – ” Athos shakes his head.

“Still,” Aramis says. “Thirty years – ”

Athos raises a hand. “Before you say that thirty years is a long time, and that passion may cool, think back again on what you saw tonight.”

Aramis bows his head. Porthos goes over and takes him in his arms.

“I know what you’re afraid of,” Porthos murmurs to him. “I know you want to help the Captain. But freedom isn’t the kind of help he wants.”

“It’s not what I lived,” Aramis says, words muffled by Porthos’ shoulder.

“I know,” Porthos soothes.

“But you saw them,” Athos says. “Even if Richelieu doesn’t love Treville, the Captain’s well treated. Tales of the Senator’s cruelty are obviously exaggerated. And in the end it’s Treville’s choice. We thought Richelieu had something on him, but I am satisfied now that Treville makes this choice freely.”

“As am I,” Porthos says.

Aramis sniffles. “I suppose I will have to trust your judgment on the matter,” he says grudgingly. “I begin to think mine is suspect.”

“That’s all right,” Porthos says again. He gives Athos a significant look.

Taking the hint, Athos rises. “I’ll come by tomorrow,” he says. “We should discuss what to do with the money, if Treville doesn’t want it for himself.”

“Tomorrow,” Porthos agrees.

He’s completely focused on Aramis. Athos lets himself out.

---

Fill: sine qua non 3c/3 COMPLETE [R/T, Aramis/Porthos, pre-Athos/d'Art, warnings in part one]

[kyele]

---

The next day Athos returns to find Aramis much more composed. The circles under his eyes speak to a sleepless night, but in the cold light of day he’s calm and reasonable. They discuss the matter of the money rationally and send Athos out to speak to Treville.

On his way out, Athos sees Aramis turn away from Porthos, troubled. But Aramis must deal with his own demons. And Porthos will not leave him to struggle alone.

The Captain, as usual, is to be found in the gladiators’ stables. The sun is already two hours above the horizon. The gladiators are hard at work training for the matches to be held in two months’ time, in honor of the Empress’ birthday.

When Treville sees Athos coming, his face hardens. “I hope you haven’t come to reopen yesterday’s topic,” he says warningly. He crosses his arms over his chest. For the first time it strikes Athos that Treville might be afraid, not of Richelieu, but of Athos. Of all three of them. Of anyone who might push to hard at Treville’s apparent distaste for freedom, and draw the right conclusions. The dangerous conclusions.

“Only tangentially,” Athos says carefully. “My friends and I seem to find ourselves with the funds to purchase a slave. Aramis and Porthos could use an assistant at the stall. And I, an apprentice. We thought that – if you had no wish for the position – you could suggest someone else who would?”

Treville squints at Athos suspiciously. Athos returns the gaze as openly as he can, arms relaxed at his sides, trying to communicate good will.

Abruptly Treville relaxes. “I was hoping you’d ask me that,” he says. “As it happens, I have just the boy.”

He turns and whistles. One of the youths in the practice yard detaches from his bout and jogs in their direction.

“Recently captured from Aquitania,” Treville murmurs to Athos. “Young. Strong. Headstrong, actually, but I think that would suit you right to the ground. What do you think?”

“Possibly,” Athos manages to say. The youth is shirtless, and Athos’ throat is inexplicably dry.

“No noble blood at all,” Treville goes on. “Born a farmer. So he’s no stranger to hard work. He’d do fine in the sands. But he’s sharp, that one. He could do a lot more if he had the opportunity.”

Somehow Athos nods. Treville is giving him a speculative look. The Captain smiles knowingly, and Athos flushes.

“I think he’ll suit you down to the ground,” Treville says in satisfaction.

Athos doesn’t reply. He’s mesmerized by the vision arriving before him.

Treville reaches out claps a hand on the youth’s shoulder, turning him to face Athos.

“Athos,” Treville says, “may I present Charles d’Artagnan?”

---

A/N: And then Athos/d’Artagnan slash happened and they all lived happily ever after, the end.

Thanks again to OP for a fantastic prompt and being willing to let me run amok through the fill sprinkling R/T feels everywhere. You’re the best :) I hope you liked it!

In a perfect world I'd next go back and write the story of the military campaign in Macedonia and the early years of Richelieu and Treville in Rome. ...maybe when I'm finished with my current long!fic-in-progress? Would there be interest in that?

Re: Fill: sine qua non 3c/3 COMPLETE [R/T, Aramis/Porthos, pre-Athos/d'Art, warnings in part one]

[(Anonymous)]

Yes, there would definitely be interest in that! :-D

Thank you for a very enjoyable fill.

Re: Fill: sine qua non 3c/3 COMPLETE [R/T, Aramis/Porthos, pre-Athos/d'Art, warnings in part one]

[(Anonymous)]

OP: This has been a wonderful fill. I've really enjoyed it, sprinkled R/T fills and all, brovo!

Well I adore you other long!fic, so I'm thrilled with whatever you decide to write. Again wonderful fill!