bbcmusketeerskink

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round 3

Round 3

Welcome to the BBC The Musketeers kink meme

The lowdown: You post your prompt, anon or not. Someone else will hopefully fill it (also anon or not). Not for profit, just for fun. And in this case, for king and country.

Anon is on, IP logging is off.

Rules:
No wank
No kink-shaming
Be respectful to everyone
The mod is not your babysitter
Use the warnings
No prompts with characters under the age of 16 in sexual situations, please.
Please keep the discussions in the prompt post to a minimum. We have a discussion post

Mandatory trigger warnings/warnings for both prompts and fills:
non-con/dub-con
abuse (physical and mental)
issues such as racism, sexism, homo-/trans-/-bi-/ace-phobia etc
character death
suicide
self-harm
eating disorders
extreme physical or mental illness
substance abuse (alcohol, drugs, medication)
bullying
gore and horror

If this list misses anything, do let me know, though please understand that if absolutely everything is added this list will never end.

You are encouraged and advised to add additional warnings at your own discretion.

Please make use of the subject line.

If your prompt alludes to the book or any of the other adaptations, please let us know which one.

Lastly, prompt freezes (which I have to say I’m really not fond of) etc will be at the mod’s discretion. I will decide on a prompt cut-off point for prompt posts once I know how fast the meme moves.

Announcement: A blanket spoiler warning is necessary for prompts pertaining to season 2. Just season 2 Spoilers in the subject line will do.

Archive:
https://delicious.com/bbcmusketeers

Discussion post:
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/557.html

Official fill post (I strongly suggest you use it for better visibility of your fills):
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/418.html

Mod contact post
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1356.html

Free For All Round 1
http://bbcmusketeerskink.dreamwidth.org/1823.html

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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.

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?

Edited 2015-02-06 14:09 (UTC)

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

Thank you for a very enjoyable fill.

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!

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Round 3

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

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

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

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