AN: This is just something that's been buzzing around my brain for a while. I'm a tad nervous to post it since I haven't finished the rest of it yet, but I decided to go ahead and put it up. I've never posted a story I hadn't already finished before. Hopefully the rest of the story will fall into place nicely and not contradict anything already posted and I won't have to abandon it. It will ideally end up 3-4 chapters long, maybe more.

As always, I don't own these amazing characters. But oh, how I wish I did.

They had always joked that Aramis's womanizing would get him hanged.

They'd just never imagined it might actually happen.

The day started out like any other. Aramis and Porthos were sparring in the center of the yard, each to all appearances doing their best to skewer the other with their rapiers. Aramis was faster, but Porthos was stronger, so the match was turning into quite the spectacle. Several off-duty Musketeers had opened up a betting pool. Newer recruits placed their odds on Porthos. Athos had smirked and bet on Aramis, raising an eyebrow in response to D'Artagnan's questioning look.

A cry went up from the spectators as Aramis managed somehow to duck beneath Porthos's dagger and twist the large sword artfully from his grasp. He straightened and bowed theatrically as the men who'd bet on Porthos let out a groan.

"You knew Aramis would win," D'Artagnan said accusingly. "Why didn't you warn them?"

"Of course I knew," Athos told him dryly. "Porthos rarely beats Aramis in a duel. He's better suited to taking on a crowd at once. Always forgets to watch the footwork, and Aramis is fast." He accepted his winnings from the other men with a nod. "And why would I tell them? They want to waste their money betting, that's their decision. Someone ought to profit from it."

Aramis and Porthos came wandering over, Porthos trying to wipe the mud from his sword. "Could've at least kept it out of the puddle," he told Aramis reproachfully as they neared.

"I was a bit busy trying to make sure you didn't impale me," Aramis retorted. "How was I to have time to judge where your blade would land? Honestly." He grinned easily at D'Artagnan. "Would you like to have a go?"

Before D'Artagnan could respond, there was a commotion at the entrance. A dozen Red Guards streamed into the courtyard, heading straight toward them. The four of them grouped together protectively, but the guards ignored them, one of them elbowing straight past Athos and grabbing Aramis's arm with enough force to bruise.

Porthos growled and shoved him back, moving to stand in front of Aramis, prompting two other guards to grab him. A third joined them and together they managed to restrain the large man as the leader yanked Aramis free. Other Musketeers were gathering now, dangerous glints in their eyes. D'Artagnan moved to draw his sword, but Athos's hand on his arm stopped him. Above them, a door opened with a crash and then Treville appeared at the top of the stairs.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, voice hard. "Let my man go at once."

"Can't," the captain of the Red Guards said, sneering. "Cardinal's orders. We're here to take this man to the Châtelet immediately."

"On what charges?" Treville challenged.

"I'm not at liberty to say," the man said dismissively. "You'll have to take it up with the Cardinal. The orders came direct from him. We going to have trouble?" His gaze wandered over to Porthos, glaring daggers at him and trying to wrench free from his captors.

"Porthos, enough," Treville commanded. For a second, it looked as though Porthos would disobey. Then with a curt nod of his head he stepped back, gaze now locked on Aramis, who looked distinctly nervous.

"Thank you kindly," the insolent man said, tipping his hat in mock salute. Nodding to his men, they dragged Aramis from the courtyard. Porthos made a sound partway between rage and dismay, glaring up at Treville.

Treville met his gaze steadily. "Get your things. Athos, D'Artagnan, you too. We're going to see the Cardinal, now."

The Cardinal gazed at them impassively as Treville demanded to know the charges against Aramis. His gaze seemed to land most on Porthos, perhaps because the large man gave off an aura of barely contained rage. He was like a crouching tiger, preparing to pounce, and the Cardinal seemed wary of him.

"The charges against your man are rather severe, I'm afraid," the Cardinal said. "Terrible scandal. Apparently this man Aramis has debauched one of the women of the court. I won't give you her name," he said sharply, sensing the captain's question. "But she is of extremely high birth and her husband has not taken kindly to the offense. He insists the culprit be hanged as soon as possible." Porthos sucked in a breath at the statement, and Athos shot him a look that said they were not going to attack the Cardinal in his own chambers.

Treville ordered them to go see Aramis as soon as they left the Cardinal. He himself was off to speak to the King, though Athos had a sinking feeling the King would not be intervening. How could Aramis have been so stupid?

Aramis was leaning against the wall of his cell when they arrived. His left eye was black and swollen shut. Porthos hissed in fury, one hand reaching through the bars to clutch at Aramis's shirt as the man moved over, chains clanking on his wrists and ankles. The chains were excessive, and Athos knew it wasn't a good sign.

"What are the charges?" Aramis asked anxiously.

"They didn't tell you?" D'Artagnan sounded appalled. Aramis shook his head, his gaze meeting Athos's. Porthos's hands had moved to grip Aramis's, and he growled savagely when he realized two of his fingers were broken.

Athos glanced around the hallway, checking there were no guards within earshot. "There is an accusation that you have defiled a noblewoman. A very high born noblewoman." Aramis's eyes widened slightly at the implication.

"You don't think…?" he whispered fearfully. Porthos glanced back at Athos, confusion written on his features. Athos realized with a jolt that Porthos did not know. Shit.

He had to tell them. They needed to know. If it were true, if the Cardinal had found out, Athos had no idea how they would save Aramis from the gallows, but if they were to have any chance the others needed to know the full story. He sighed, fury warring with concern in his chest. There was no way to put this delicately. "Aramis slept with the Queen."

D'Artagnan's jaw dropped and Porthos made a choking sound, yanking his hands away from Aramis as if he had been burned. There was fury written on his face. "Tell me you didn't," he spat, staring at Aramis with a look akin to disgust. "Tell me you weren't so stupid!"

Aramis said nothing, and with a howl of pure rage Porthos whirled and stormed out of the hallway, heading for the exit. Athos jerked his head meaningfully and D'Artagnan followed quickly.

Aramis was staring after him with a lost expression. "What am I going to do?" His voice was full of despair.

"For now, you will stay here," Athos said practically. "I will return and speak to Treville. Perhaps the King will spare you." Aramis glanced at him doubtfully. 'It is possible there has been some mistake. Do not give up hope. I will return when I know more." He clasped Aramis's uninjured hand gently. Aramis was a fool, but he was still his brother. He might have brought this on himself, but Athos would be damned if he would let him hang for it.

"The King will not intercede." Athos nodded. He hadn't really expected him to. "Nor would he give me the name of the noblewoman involved. He seemed highly insulted and implied perhaps I could not keep control of my men." Athos winced internally. For the King to be questioning Treville things must be really serious. He had hoped for a misunderstanding, but with every moment things appeared increasingly dire.

Treville sighed, slumping into his chair. He looked old. "Did he do it?" he asked Athos morosely. Athos did not reply. Treville shook his head. "Go and get some rest. In the morning, we will see what we can do for Aramis."

Athos nodded and left the office. He needed to find Porthos. When he'd emerged from the prison D'Artagnan had been standing awkwardly against the wall, a bruise forming on his cheekbone. Porthos had been nowhere in sight.

Athos had sent D'Artagnan home before speaking with Treville. It was already late. He himself wandered vaguely, trying to decide where to look for Porthos. His feet took him to Aramis's lodgings, and he noted with very little surprise that a candle glowed within.

Porthos looked up as he entered the door. The room looked like a herd of wild stallions had stampeded through it. Clothes lay slashed on the floor. The mattress was cut into ribbons. Shards of glass from Aramis's only mirror littered the ground. "Did you do this?" Athos asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped through the debris.

Porthos shook his head. "Guards." There was something golden in his hand. Noticing Athos's interest, he opened it to reveal Aramis's cross. "He took it off last night and forgot to put it back on. I grabbed it this morning. Don't know why I bothered saving it for him, though. Should've dumped it down a well." Porthos's voice was bitter and cold. "You here to tell me to forgive him?"

Athos shrugged. "Are you really surprised?" He had been furious at first, but he knew full well Aramis was totally incorrigible. He'd expected Porthos to be more understanding than himself, owing to the nature of his relationship with Aramis.

Porthos's face twisted viciously, an undercurrent of unidentifiable emotion entering his voice. "The bloody Queen. He promised me, did you know? Fucking promised me he wouldn't pursue her, of all people. Now it'll get him hanged. And you know something? He deserves it."

Athos couldn't keep the utter shock off his face. Porthos's voice was icy and unforgiving. He had never seen the other man like this before, and honestly, it frightened him. "You don't mean that."

Porthos rose to his feet, eyes black in the dim light. "Don't I?" he hissed. "Leave me out of this, Athos. I won't risk my neck for him, not this time." Porthos shoved past him. At the doorway he paused, allowing the cross to slip to the ground. Then he vanished.

Athos stared after him, stunned. What the hell was going on? Porthos never turned his back on Aramis, never, no matter what their friend did. Porthos loved him, for God's sake. He recalled that odd tone as Porthos had told him Aramis deserved to hang. He thought he recognized it…

Then it hit him. Porthos was afraid.

Porthos knew from the moment Athos told them about the Queen that there was probably no way to save Aramis. He was terrified of losing the other man, but faced with the unavoidable fact of it, of his helplessness, that fear was translating to rage. He would not help them. He was too angry to even understand that he wanted to, too angry to see that he wasn't really angry at all. They would have to save Aramis without Porthos's assistance.

Athos walked slowly to the door. As he left the room, he stooped to collect the small golden cross from the floor.

I'm quite anxious about this story, so reviews and feedback would be great!