Disclaimer: I don't own the Musketeers and general zombie concerns.

Note: So, as it turns out, this is the last chapter. Let's see how this puppy goes!

Chapter includes (warning/spoilers): I'm not sayin'!

the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht

Life is Death is Dead
Chapter 10: —

Treville stared at the four of them hard from where he sat behind his desk in his office/quarters at the Musketeer garrison. The last thing he had expected was the very unannounced return of the Inseparables, with d'Artagnan in attendance—and the kicker, his Lieutenant's estranged wife.

The previous day, (because in honesty, the dawn of the next day was broken), the Captain attended the funeral of one of his men who was very much alive. He had not expected to see the 'dead'-man and the reason for his survival so soon the next day, not when both were supposed to be secreted away for safety. d'Artagnan was proof that someone could survive the infectious bite, and Aramis was the proof that such a thing as an immunity could be spread. The last thing any of them needed was the Cardinal getting his hands on them, and in the boy's case—again. Yet, here Treville sat, staring into the eyes of Richelieu's number-one henchwoman. He imagined the consolation to this was that she was in their custody.

"This better be good." He told them with steel. His gaze raked over them, not missing the subtle tension that was in the group. Porthos stood guard over the green-eyed woman like a gargoyle, and he didn't miss the way that d'Artagnan had casually slipped himself in attendance between Athos and Aramis. He clasped his hands on his desktop and stared across at the woman, "So, Cardinal Richelieu's infamous lapdog, in the flesh..." Her red lips just twisted into a light smirk. He could see the mark on Aramis forehead, and the rest of them looked haggard (Milady looking equally harassed).

Treville's gaze turned pointedly to Athos, who gave a minuscule nod.

"Porthos, why don't you show our guest some of our revered Musketeer hospitality." Athos told the large man.

Porthos nodded, a grim line to his lips. "With pleasure." He jerked the hood over Milady's head, obscuring her scowling face, before he tightened his already fast grip on her upper arm and dragged her out through the back door of Treville's office that lead through Armoury and further into the upper residence of the garrison.

There was silence in the room as Treville looked at each of them in turn. "Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on?" he said levelly.

So Athos gave him the short and sweet version of it, with interjections from Aramis and d'Artagnan throughout and Treville paid rapt attention, taking in and storing away every last detail put upon him—the attack of Gaudet, Athos' plan to confront Milady at the Court of Miracles while Porthos and Aramis snuck d'Artagnan from the city to safety, whereupon the Gascon discovered what was going on and ran after Athos, the other two chasing after, and they all ended up in the Court, facing Milady and a herd of zombies that she had somehow snuck from the Old Seminary to the Court without notice over the last few weeks—until there was a pregnant pause and the three of them looked their own different degrees of unsettled and unwilling.

"What is it?" Treville almost didn't want to ask himself. It had to be something horrible if it made Athos and Aramis pause, but he needed to have every detail.

"The zombies that attacked us weren't normal." Aramis finally spoke up.

"What do you mean, not normal?" to Treville surprise, it was d'Artagnan that answered:

"My blood..." d'Artagnan started, but then shook his head. He swallowed. "Lemay took my blood, lots of my blood when I was in that cell. In order to discover a cure, he experimented on people," Treville nodded, and remembered what Athos had reported to him after the Inseparables had first rescued d'Artagnan. "My blood was infused into them, and then they were bitten. Their change was different, it—they, I don't know," his hand waved, "They moved differently, they were faster... their eyes were still coloured..." he paused, "And she was able to command them."

"Command them," Treville repeated.

Athos nodded. "With this," he reached into the pouch on his belt and pulled out the silver whistle. He handed it to the Captain.

"A whistle?" his tone clearly stated his doubt. Treville turned the small silver tube between his fingers. He could not fathom a whistle controlling zombies. d'Artagnan's bite as a cure... sure, he'd seen it with his own eyes in the Spaniard standing before him. But this just didn't seem plausible.

"We think it's because d'Artagnan has the immunity to the bite," Aramis tried to explain, "The disease reacts differently to it, even as it appears not to be a cure, as his bite is. The chemistry of the conversion into the dead is changed. The people retained low-level brain functionality that while still remain mindless with no instinct other than to eat warm-blooded flesh, they were commandable..."

Treville rose the whistle to his lips—

"No!" Athos shouted, but it was too late. No sound emitted, but the reaction from the boy was instantaneous.

"Aah!" d'Artagnan shouted in pain, clutching at his ears, trying to block out the piercing sound as his knees gave out.

"d'Artagnan!"

Treville shot to his feet, and Athos and Aramis knelt on either side of the boy.

"What happened?" Treville demanded in alarm.

"The whistle!" Athos growled.

Treville dropped the small object onto his desk with a slight clink. "You said it controlled the zombies—"

"Zombies that were made with d'Artagnan's blood." Athos said.

Aramis was rubbing soothing circles on the boy's back, murmuring soothing words and sounds of comfort. d'Artagnan stayed hunched, his hands fisted at his head, his breath heavy and ragged.

The atmosphere in the room stayed tense until d'Artagnan finally raised his head. He looked pale, the colour drained from his deep olive-toned skin. Sweat beaded his upper lip, and his expression was pinched.

"d'Artagnan?" Aramis asked gently.

"I'm... I'm okay." He answered, though his tone was slightly shaky. "It's just—I wasn't ready."

A grimace of guilt crossed Treville's face. "I'm sorry, d'Artagnan. I didn't know."

"It's—it's alright, Captain Treville." Aramis helped pull him to his feet, then turned him to and pushed him onto the edge of Treville's bunk. Athos went over to Treville's sideboard and poured a glass of water from the pitcher and handed it to the boy. d'Artagnan took it with a nod and drank gratefully.

Treville finally sat back down. He stared at the whistle. It looked so innocent and innocuous—but clearly, that was no the case. After a moment, Treville picked up the whistle again and studied it more closely. The silver tube was about the length of his middle finger and just as thin in diameter. But unlike a regular whistle, this one had more than one slit. There were several, in fact, located irregularly around the tube and in different shapes and widths.

Finally, he put it back down. "How could Milady have discovered such a thing in the first place?" he wondered.

Athos shook his head helplessly and his voice was reserved, "Saying she's clever is an understatement, sir." He reclaimed the whistle and tucked it back into his pouch.

"Did you ever find out about what happened to Lemay?" Treville wondered after a moment in lieu of a response. He missed the shudder that went through d'Artagnan, or if he did notice, he put it off as a shiver from the after-results of the whistle.

"Lemay's dead." Aramis answered (quickly before Athos could open his mouth). "Milady tortured him and he broke, that was how she knew it was us that had rescued d'Artagnan. After, she turned him with d'Artagnan's blood and he was killed with the rest of the zombies in the Court."

Athos send him a hot glare but said nothing and Aramis continued to stare steadily at Treville. They couldn't even be sure what really happened with Lemay, if d'Artagnan's bite had cured the man of the zombie-disease because he was turned with the boy's blood, or if it had just been a simple trick of adrenaline, poor lighting and uncharted waters. They would never know now, and perhaps that was for the best. Whatever Lemay was, it was an abomination—and no such thing should walk God's Green Earth.

Treville eyes flickered between the two for a moment before he nodded.

Athos crossed his arms over his chest, faced Treville, and told him what they had dredged out of Milady before they left the Court.

As much as they wished that they could have burned the bodies of the hybrid zombies, the smoke would attract attention that wasn't wanted, and Richelieu would be alerted that Milady's plan had failed, so they dragged the bodies from the street and into one of the shops that lined the street, before they boarded up the gate in a makeshift barrier in their rush, and returned to the garrison in the early morning hours where the citizens of Paris were still rousing for the day. Using passages only the Musketeers knew of, quickly found themselves in the Captain's office without the notice of the sentry's on duty. Of course, Richelieu would eventually notice that something was amiss when Milady didn't check in with her success, but they were positive that wouldn't be for hours yet.

Milady had revealed to them of Richelieu creating an army knowingly or because she believed that she was going to kill them all and take d'Artagnan.

"And you believe her?" Treville asked after the blue-eyed Musketeer was finished.

Athos sighed and brushed his fingers through his brown locks tiredly. "Milady's tongue is coated in poison, everything she says should be taken with a grain of salt—but... I'm inclined to believe in this instance. She's no fool, and of course she'll play every field she can lay her hands on, but she knows her best option is to cooperate with us after what's happened. Richelieu will be spinning for her head now after what happened, as much as he will be ours."

Treville was quiet for a moment before he nodded in agreement with that assessment. "In reality, she hasn't said anything that we already don't know or have suspected." He paused. "A meet will need to be made with the Queen first," he said finally after a moment of thought. "We need all of our zombies in a row if this has any chance of succeeding."

Athos nodded to him before he turned to the others and the three left through the door that Porthos and Milady had, as Treville took out a clean bill of parchment and dipped the quill. Like all the messages between them, as infrequent as they were, it was only on urgent matters that they risked meeting.

The Musketeer garrison was a large encampment that was able to house several hundred soldiers, though it had been a long time since it had been at such a bulging capacity. The King's Musketeers didn't have the man power that it once did before the zombie age almost sixteen years ago. A Musketeer had to be commissioned by King Louis himself, unlike the Cardinal's Red Guards who just appeared to be thugs more than anything.

Porthos had taken Milady to the barracks that hadn't been occupied in years. It was a section that obviously wasn't frequented so there wasn't a high chance that a secret prisoner, dead Musketeer and immune boy would be caught or spotted.

Porthos dusted off his hands and stepped back, admiring his worked of the tied up assassin. He had grabbed some rope form the Armoury as they passed through and put it to some definite good use. He was not going to give her the chance to escape again, that had been one slip-up he would not make again.

"Is this truly necessary?" she questioned, a curved brow raised sharply.

Porthos simply stared back at her, unimpressed. "Lady, you don't want to know what I think is necessary..."

"You can't keep me here forever." She told him.

"Forever..." he repeated. "Not in your wildest dreams."

"You ape—!"

"Try an' scream," Porthos threatened, "And you'll know what this tastes like." He spotted an old and rotting rag in the corner and scooped it up. She sneered at him but stayed silent and he gave her a huge smile. "You know, you ain't that bad when you're silent." Her death glare had him laughing, but he quieted as he finally heard the footsteps down the hall—he recognized them immediately.

"You two kids getting along?" Athos asked dryly as he, Aramis, and d'Artagnan stepped into the room.

"Like besties," Porthos drawled.

"Aw, you're making me jealous." Aramis faux pouted, leaning against the wall next to the big man. His gaze cut roughly across the woman. "How do you like your new accommodations?"

She sneered at him, "Made all the worse by your presence, Musketeer."

"Enough." Athos told the woman, his voice hard. "Your reign of terror is over, Anne. You killed Thomas, but you won't kill me or anyone else for that matter. "

"Heh." She scoffed at them and they looked at her. "If you think this changes a thing," she held up her bound wrists, "it doesn't."

"You're defeated, it's time you face the music." Athos jerked his chin in direction to the others and they moved to the room across the hall so that Milady wouldn't be able to hear them, but she was still in their line of sight so she wouldn't be tempted to try something.

"So, what's th' plan?" Porthos questioned.

"Get some rest," Athos replied, "It's going to be a long day. In a few hours we'll ride to the Palace. I'll keep an eye on Milady." He started for the door.

"I should." Aramis' words stopped him and Athos looked over his shoulder with narrowed blue eyes at the Spaniard. The tension was still between them, and it wouldn't be so easily gone or dismissed until they had a straight conversation about it. "d'Artagnan and I slept last night, and I know for a fact that you and Porthos didn't." He had too much on his mind at the moment anyways, though he was sure the others felt the exact same.

Porthos raised a thick brow at him, and Athos finally relented. He accepted with a minimalist nod, before he turned back into the room, clapping d'Artagnan on the shoulder. The two men and boy settled into a spot amongst the unkempt room. Aramis exhaled deeply and stepped back into Milady's room.

He sat on the rickety stool that stood in the darkened corner of the lightening room (his head thumbing lightly), faced the woman bound to the bones of an old bunk, leaned back against the connected walls, arms crossed over his chest and legs straight out in front of his, ankles crossed.

Milady looked at him, the gaining sun slanted on her face through the window, making her green eyes look bright and unearthly. But he stared steadily back, unflinching and let his dislike of her shine brightly through his own brown eyes.

The woman was nothing but trouble. He just prayed to God that she wouldn't be given opportunity to do more—especially where d'Artagnan and Athos were concerned.

A few short hours later, the streets now full of subdued life as the sun rose fully into the morning sky, d'Artagnan found himself secreted through the Palace grounds with the others, and to a anti-chamber still part of the main residence, but off the beaten path to the Queen's apartments.

Seeing this place, one would not know of the devastation that reeked the rest of the rest of Paris, the rest of France—the world. The floors were made of marble that was polished to a shine. He had never seen a place so clean before, spending most of his life outside. There was so much space. The stairs were wide enough for all five of them to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with room left to be comfortable. It was insanity. d'Artagnan was sure you could fit all the citizen's of Paris into the Palace without trouble. It seemed such a waste not to utilize the space for such things.

"Your Majesty," Treville bowed with the others as the double-doors closed behind them, to find a single woman in the empty, spacious marble room with a crystal chandelier, its windows high upon the wall that afforded no sight but that of the clear sky.

"Captain," Queen Anne dipped her chin in greeting. Her light brow creased. "What has happened that warranted such an urgent meeting?" she spotted d'Artagnan and her head tilted lightly, "And who might this be?"

d'Artagnan froze at the sudden attention, he could think of absolutely nothing to say as he was held under the Queen's gentle and probing gaze. She was beautiful, regal and poised and kind, all the things that Milady pretended to be.

Aramis chuckled lightly and clapped d'Artagnan's shoulders from where he stood behind and to the side of the tall boy, only fifteen but he appeared the man at times. "d'Artagnan's part of the reason for our sudden appearance, Majesty."

"Oh?" she wondered.

"M-my Queen!" d'Artagnan stammered out, ducking his head into another bow.

Her chuckle was light. "Such a sweet young man." His cheeks flamed. "Would you tell me about yourself, d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan always found it hard to talk about how exactly he ended up here, how his world, all he knew, crumbled beneath his feet. But looking into Anne's gentle, open, light eyes, he found that the chill wasn't so prominent. He gave a determined nod and by the end, d'Artagnan felt exhausted as her expression held sympathy.

"I always knew that the Cardinal was a horrible man, but this is just beyond any form of reason." Anne shook her head. "What exactly could he hope by developing such a thing? A zombie army? it's insanity, is what it is!"

"We do not exactly know," Athos admitted.

"So what is it you plan, Captain?" she questioned.

"We have d'Artagnan, and Milady de Winter. There's Gaudet's body at Athos' apartment, and the hybrids at the Court, along with Lemay—And let's not forget the cells of evidence under the Old Seminary," Treville reiterated. "That is irrefutable proof."

Their conversation was sidelined as their was a large rumbling and crashing that blew through the air, and shook the floors. An almightily tremble that felt all the like an earthquake. Aramis quickly reached out and steadied Anne with a gentle hand.

"What on earth was that?" the Queen gasped. "An attack?"

"Aramis, d'Artagnan—stay with the Queen." Treville shouted the order. "We must find the King!" and he, Athos and Porthos rushed from the anti-chamber.

"I must know what is happening," Queen Anne said in a controlled tone, "I must know if my husband is all right."

"My Queen—" Aramis started gently.

The young woman shook her head. "If something has happened, I cannot hide away. I need to be by My King's side."

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked as the man seemed to struggle in the decision of obeying Treville orders and keeping the Queen safe.

Aramis finally sighed and a wry look took his brown eyes as he slowly spoke, "The Captain said to stay with the Queen—so wherever Her Majesty is, we shall surely stay."

Her expression lightened as she looked at him and realized exactly what the Spaniard was implying. "You shall escort my to His Majesty, and stay at my side."

"Yes, My Queen." Aramis bowed, doffing his hat before he straightened and turned towards the doors that the others had left through. "d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan nodded, and without having to be told—took up position behind Queen Anne as they left the anti-chamber.

The halls were a panic as the Palace guards and servants were rushing through the halls. By their response alone, this definitely was an attack as opposed to an earthquake—an explosion and a big one.

Treville grabbed a man, jerking him to a halt. "Where is the King?" he demanded. The attendant gasped out a reply and the older Gascon released him and the trio picked up their pace.

"Ah! Captain Treville!" King Louis exclaimed at the sudden entry of his Musketeer Captain in both surprise and relief taking his voice. "When did you get here?"

"We were already on the premises when the explosion happened, Your Majesty." Treville bowed with the others, "Are you alright, sire? What has happened?"

"That's your job to know, Captain!" Louis snapped, the whites of his eyes clearly visible. "An attempt on my life? You must catch them! Now!"

"The explosion felt far away, sire." Athos interjected calmly, but it seemed to do little to ease the pacing King's worry.

"Here's Captain Trudeau now, sire." Cardinal Richelieu finally spoke, nodding towards the same doors that the Musketeers had entered to find the Red Guards Captain.

Trudeau stepped passed the Musketeers with a barely concealed sneer before he bowed to Louis. "Your Majesty. Cardinal Richelieu," Trudeau straightened. "The explosion occurred on the other side of the grounds."

"Where exactly on the grounds?" Treville questioned and stepped forward, eyes narrowed.

Trudeau glanced at Richelieu who gave a miniscule nod. "The Old Seminary seemed to be the target."

"The Old Seminary," Athos repeated quietly and the four Musketeers' gazes flickered to Richelieu, who wore a rich mask of shock.

"Oh, no!" Louis gasped, looking to his First Minister. "Cardinal, you were just there! The luck—!"

"Yes," Richelieu nodded solemnly. "It seems it pure luck that a different matter pulled me away to your attendance, sire."

"Well, then..." Louis seemed more than a tad less worried on the matter now that he didn't seem to be the target, but the Musketeers knew that this was not accident or attempt against the Cardinal.

"Are there any casualties, Captain?" Richelieu addressed the Guard.

"It's too early to tell, Your Eminence."

"I see." He nodded. "I want a report straight away if you discover anything on the matter."

Trudeau nodded and bowed to Louis before he exited the library.

"Who would do such a thing, hmm?" Louis questioned as the doors thudded shut. "Who would want to harm the Cardinal?"

"Obviously its a political statement—an act against the Church. Myself, perhaps." Richelieu murmured slyly. "But they shan't escape for long. An act on the Church is an act of treason," he crossed himself, "An act against Paris—against yourself, Majesty."

"You will catch these men, won't you, Captain?" Louis turned to Treville.

"Of course, sire. My men are already on it." Treville glance back over his shoulder and nodded pointed to Porthos. The big man nodded back and left, ready to get a picture of exactly what damage to their cause Richelieu had done.

The Cardinal smiled to Treville with faux geniality. "Thank you, Captain Treville. I trust this will be your best work,"

"Of course, Your Eminence." He replied dryly.

"Porthos!" Aramis called as he saw Porthos coming down the hall. Porthos paused and turned to him. "The explosion—what's happening? Is the King alright?"

Porthos nodded. "'E's just fine. It was the Ol' Seminary that was attacked."

"The Old Seminary?" d'Artagnan questioned.

"Where you were 'eld." Porthos pointed out and the boy and Aramis paled in realisation. "It was the Cardinal, it 'ad to be."

Aramis groaned in dismay. "This is what we were afraid of." He lifted his hat and ran his fingers through his unruly hair. "Where are you to, then?"

"Treville wants me to check it out." Porthos eyed the man, "Didn't Treville say to stay with the Queen?"

A smirk curved the corner of the Spaniard's lips. "That's exactly what I'm doing, my friend." He winked.

"An' well see 'ow 'e reacts to that exactly," Porthos snorted. "They're in the library chamber."

Aramis nodded and the two brothers grasped arms briefly before they parted ways.

If Porthos didn't know his way around the Palace or its grounds, all he needed have done was follow the black, billowing smoke and rush of bodies like a trail of ants. The smell caught him on the gentle breeze of the morning before he was even at the site of devastation.

It threw him back to the Court of Miracles when he was just a teenager and the order had been given for the Minneapolis of itself was to be razed and the trash burned away from the body in hopes of culling the disease and taking away useless mouths to feet in the coming months and years. He could still hear the screams and cries—piercing his ears and searing his soul—the fear, the pain...

Porthos shook his head and was brought back to the present as his shoulder was bumped by a passing servant rushing to the rubble with a slopping bucket of water—because as surely before his eyes there was a blazing fire. Servants and Guards rushed back and forth, buckets in hand, leading from the fountain nearby in the garden. A cart with horses was just arriving, its back filled with barrels of water scored from the pond on the grounds.

Porthos stood out of the way and surveyed the wreckage with a the keen eyes of a soldier and a man who had lived the experience. More barrels than he could count of gunpowder had to have been placed, strategically at the structure's weak points, to bring down a building of this size. And crumbled it was, collapsing in on itself for its devastated supports. The explosives must have been placed in the tunnels below, where Lemay had done all of his hellish experiments with d'Artagnan's blood. He shivered at the thought. But even for the explosion, the fire should not be this ravaging. The only explanation for it was that an accelerant like pitch.

This was definitely Richelieu's doing—covering up his tracks, destroying evidence of his plot. He blew up the tunnels, made sure that the building collapsed down into the cells beneath that housed his kidnapped citizens, zombies, and hybrids. The pitch was to burn away what remained afterward. Burn away the evidence of the crushed bodies. Melt the skin away, make it flake away crisply out of existence. The bones would be crushed, and maybe if the fire got hot enough, they'd burn to ash.

The water would hardly do a thing if the accelerant was coating the rubble buried beneath the rubble—they were just going to have to wait for it to burn itself out.

It would be days, weeks, maybe even months before it was cleared away and there was any hope of search for people who might have been in the building when it went down, let alone what skeletons were buried in the basement. By that time, all the evidence of Richelieu's wrong doing would be gone.

With a rough exhale, his eyes watering, the back of his throat clogged with the heavy smell, Porthos turned from the efforts—and went to retrieve Milady at Treville's order.

He just hoped that it was going to be enough.

Indeed—Richelieu was not a fool. When Milady never returned from the previous night, he knew only one of several things could of happened: She was captured or killed or fled. She was too smart to do the very latter. The Musketeers were too smart to do the middle fee. That left only the former.

That left him to do a fast and dirty clean up job with the stocks of gunpowder that he had stowed away in case something like this had happened. His operation in the tunnels below the Old Seminary were just too big and spread out to do it any other way. It was a pity, of course, all these years of obsession—but he had to admire the results. The building collapsing into the tunnels, burying his sins, and the remaining dead consumed in a hot hell-fire of his own making. And if any bodies or bones were eventually found, he would proclaim it an old hidden crypt, long forgotten.

His suspicions on the matter were confirmed when Treville, Athos, and Porthos arrived. None were meant to be at the Palace today, and they arrived only fast enough to have already been in Louvre. He couldn't have set the explosion soon enough

Now... what was Treville's plan?

The question was answered soon enough as not long after Porthos left, the Queen arrived with another Musketeer—and d'Artagnan, the object of his obsession. Athos shot a glare at the Spaniard for his sudden and unannounced arrival, but Aramis' only response was a flicker of the brows; it was too late now.

Queen Anne gave the Cardinal a flashing cold look before her eyes landed on Louis and she rushed to her husband, and worried mask on her face. She clasped his hands and Louis sighed in relief at the sight of her.

And Richelieu forced himself not to be distracted by the marvellous boy and keep his mind keen, for Treville had no choice but to make his move now or forever stay his peace.

Athos and Aramis shifted their positions so that they now stood between Richelieu and d'Artagnan, cutting off the sight of each other for either of them.

"My husband," Anne murmured, and Louis perked up at the term of endearment. "In light of recent events, Captain Treville has something very serious that he wishes to speak with you about."

"Serious?" Louis sighed. "After everything I'm quite sick of serious." Anne's light brows flickered and he sighed, looking over to the older man. "Oh, alright. What is it that is so urgent, Captain?"

Treville nodded firmly and straightened. "I do not believe that this is an act against the Church or yourself, Majesty—but the Cardinal's undertaking."

"The Cardinal's doing?" Louis sputtered in laughter at that. "I didn't take you for the joker, Captain."

"This is no joke, sire. I assure you—"

"What you're claiming is preposterous!" the Cardinal exclaimed indignantly. "Why on earth would I attempt to destroy the Old Seminary?"

"To destroy the evidence of your misdeeds that lay in the secret tunnels beneath Old Seminary—which has now just been blown up. Coincidently, the same morning that I was going to relay all of this to you." Treville fought to keep his voice even. "He's been kidnapping people for years no doubt with the aid of his Red Guards, and experimenting on them—hoping to find a cure. And he had been creating an army of the walkers—"

"Treville, have you gone completely mad?!" Louis gaped at him.

"d'Artagnan here—"

The King seemed to notice d'Artagnan for the first time, and the fact that he wasn't a Musketeer, nor a grown man for that matter. "Why on earth would you bring a homeless boy to Palace at a time like this, Treville?" Louis was bewildered.

"The reason for his state is Richelieu's doing." Treville answered evenly. "d'Artagnan is witness to exactly how cruel and manipulative His Eminence is, Your Majesty. He has suffered at the hands of his cruelty."

"I have never touched a hair on that poor boy's head!" Richelieu protested.

But that was in fact, notthe truth. It was hours after d'Artagnan had first awoken in the cell beneath the Old Seminary, chained, when he'd first met the Cardinal—who had in fact, backhanded him. The Gascon still had the healing scabs on his cheek. But other than that, the man had just systematically hunted him down for the last four years of d'Artagnan's life.

Blood pounded in d'Artagnan's ears as he stepped forward and bowed. "Your Majesty..." he straightened. "A woman that works for the Cardinal misled me, and I was taken at the gate of the city by some Red Guards. When I woke up, I was chained in a cell that was secreted under the Old Seminary. I was there for days, as I was tortured and experimented on like so many others—at the hands of your very own physician, Lemay. Cardinal Richelieu visited. It was the Inseparables that rescued me and have kept me hidden from him until now. Just last night, we confronted his Agent and she countered with an onslaught of the zombie army that he has been creating. We barely escaped..."

"It's why we're here now," Athos continued. "It cannot go on any longer."

"d'Artagnan is special, sire." Aramis added, even though he knew that d'Artagnan disliked the term. "Unlike the rest of us, he is immune to the zombies bite. He does not die and transform—but he simply fights it off like any fever."

"A cure?" Louis asked incredulously.

"His bite, sire." Treville nodded and placed a light hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Oh..." Louis enthusiasm ebbed away at that. "To be bitten?" he shivered and shook his head. "What a grotesque thing to endure."

"It saved my life, Your Majesty." Aramis spoke up. "If it weren't for d'Artagnan, I would not be here now."

"That's all well and good, I'm sure. And while I find that both amazing and impossible, it does not explain why Cardinal Richelieu would do such things..."

"And as I've already stated—" Richelieu tried to helpfully remind.

"Yes, Cardinal. You've said." Treville said sharply. "But what you have yet to admit, is that you have people like Milady and Lemay to do it for you."

"Who the hell is this 'Milady', now?" Louis demanded, irritated at the mention of this woman at every turn, it seemed, and he had now idea who she was.

"She works for the Cardinal, Porthos is bringing her here now."

Richelieu silently cursed at his proved suspicion. Too bad Milady wasn't dead, it would make things all the more simpler for him.

And not a moment too soon, Porthos returned with Milady in tow, her hands tied in front of her, in the same torn and dirtied dress from the previous night—she wore a convincing mask of fear and confusion.

"Another of your wayward's, Captain?" Louis threw up his hands in disbelief. "A woman?"

"This woman is an Agent of Cardinal Richelieu's, sire." Treville reminded him. "She is a murderer and an assassin—"

"Of course she is." He muttered. He straightened and looked irritated. "I am finding it extremely hard to believe any of this, Captain. A woman—a murderess and assassin? I highly doubt that." He sniggered, "All women know about is dresses and children."

This was one instant where Milady was going to let a comment like that slide. It played in her favour.

"Please, Your Majesty. I have done nothing wrong. I was minding mine own business when this big brute of a man snatched me from the street and tied me up!" Milady sobbed.

Porthos glowered at the woman; he should of had the forethought to put a gag in her mouth.

Louis gave Treville a rather sour look, it seemed he was inclined to believe a sobbing woman over his Musketeer Captain; but if one didn't know for a fact that Milady was a poisonous snake, her charades were convincing.

"We have proof of her involvement, Your Majesty." Athos stepped forward, and that made Milady pause. "Written letters addressed to myself and signed in her hand. I've known this woman for nearly fifteen years, sire. I was married to her for three years. I have the marriage licence here." He reached into his doublet and held out several pieces of folded parchment.

Louis looked at them dubiously, but made no move to take them in-hand and read them himself. He shook his head and waved his hand. "I believe you," he stated. He did not hold the belief that the Musketeer would hold out proof to him that was not true. He was a King's Musketeer, he would not lie to his master.

Athos simply nodded and tucked the parchments back into his doublet. The truth of the matter was, that while one of them was in fact the letter that Milady had written to him, calling him out to the Court of Miracles the previous night—the others were forgeries. The only thing of his past life that he had kept, was the forget-me-not locket hidden beneath his scarf around his neck that he had gotten for Milady, back when she was Anne, as a wedding gift. The documents of their marriage were long lost or destroyed, and she'd gone by so many different names he wasn't even sure which was her real name. He didn't believe even she knew anymore.

"I have seen her around the Palace with the Cardinal, husband." Queen Anne's was the last murmured prompt the King needed to make his decision.

"Have it your way, Captain." Louis nodded his acceptance. "Take her to the Chatelet. She will be hanged and then beheaded with all the others at the end of the week."

"What?!" Milady sputtered, her mask forgotten at the sudden forecast of her life to death to dead.

Though Athos knew this was to be one of the outcomes of this play, he still found it as a shock. She had been ingrained into his life for so long, he couldn't seem to comprehend that soon, she was going to no longer be in it.

"Your Majesty, please! This is some big mistake!" Milady shouted. Louis turned his face away and ignored the screaming woman. "Athos—you can't do this to me!" she shrieked as Porthos started to drag her back out the door at Treville's order. Athos stared at her with blank blue-eyes. Aramis squeezed his shoulder. "Athos—!" and then the doors slammed shut and her screams faded fast.

"And what of the Cardinal, sire?" Treville questioned quietly after a moment.

Louis gave a tired exhale. "Captain,"

"My King, please." Treville took a single step forward and no more. "All we have said to you is the truth. We can show the proof of the bodies to you—Gaudet at Athos' apartment; Lemay and the other zombies at the Court of Miracles." He paused for a moment as he caught the corner of Richelieu's mouth twitch; but it wasn't from dread, it was... satisfaction. Now it was Treville who filled with dread as he shared a quick look with Athos. Richelieu had sent a clean-up crew in the time they had been here and he realized that he'd lost Milady.

(When Porthos would think back on it—he never did see Captain Trudeau at the explosion sight.)

"This ridiculousness has gone on long enough, Treville!" Louis shouted. "Accusing the Cardinal of plotting against me—King and Country—and God knows what else." He shook his head, his thick wavy hair shaking around his shoulders. "That is the most preposterous thing I've ever heard. Richelieu? He would bleed—trade his life if it meant the safety of myself or Paris."

"As would my men and I." Treville stated.

"I simply cannot believe a word of what you have said here, Captain." Louis denied him. "I have given you that woman, clearly she despised each of you, I could see that clearly—but what you say of the Cardinal... no."

"Your claims are pure insanity!" the Cardinal shouted. "I am simple humbled to be in the position that I am, First Minister to France and His Majesty. Grateful to my God and My King. These are dire times that we are in, Captain. They have been for some time and we need to be united, not divorced."

"I don't know what to say, Cardinal, other than I could not agree more." Louis nodded to the tall man before he turned to Treville with a stern expression that fit oddly on his boyish features. "As for you, Captain... this has been a simple disgrace upon your record—I hope that you will not bring up this wild and unholy and unfounded accusation again."

"If I were to do such a things, it would not be to overthrow your rights to the throne, sire—but as another such defence for Paris, for France. Who would dare attack us if we had our very own army of walkers?"

"I'm not quiet sure if I should be glad to hear that or not, Cardinal." Louis said dryly.

"I was simply making a valid point, Majesty." Richelieu smiled simply.

He inhaled sharply. "Come, My Queen—I'm feeling peckish after all this drama." He took her hand in the crook of his elbow and left out the doors opposite the Musketeers had come through.

Anne sent a look over her shoulder to the Captain before the doors closed, leaving the Musketeers, d'Artagnan, and Richelieu in a tense and pregnant silence.

Richelieu looked greatly amused, despite the fact that he was greatly outnumbered by hostile bodies. "Well, amusing try, I'll confess. Better luck next time." He boldly started to walk forward, towards them, then passed to the doors that lay behind them.

"This isn't over, Cardinal!" Athos shouted. "You won't get away with this—"

Richelieu let out a light chuckle at that. "Believe me..." he paused at the doors and looked over his shoulder. "Oh, and Charles..." his cold steel gaze found the boy easily. "Don't stay too far from the herd."

And he left, the doors thumping closed. There was even more muteness in the large room now, like a suffocating stillness. Porthos finally returned, looking incensed and confused.

He looked at them all. "What the 'ell 'appened after I left?" he demanded. "I jus' passed that bastard comin' up the stairs and 'e looked smug as Satan!"

"The King denied our claims," Treville was the one that replied. "He simply could not believe the Cardinal's guilt."

Porthos scoffed. "Didn't you tell 'im about the Court, Athos' apartment?"

"Of course we did!" Aramis snapped angrily. Porthos held up his hands in placation at the outburst. "This was something we suspected might happen, but..." he trailed off, disappointed and unable to finish the fact as he pushed his fingers through his unruly hair.

"I..." d'Artagnan's utter was almost too low to hear. "I don't understand." He confessed. He was numb, dull. Overflowed with complete disbelief. They had everything in place, Milady, himself, the Cardinal—and then the next moment it was gone, vanished in crumbling brick and marble and flame. "How could the King just ignore all we had said to him so baldly? I don't..."

"d'Artagnan," Aramis' own anger sudden vanished at the lost tone of the boy's, his slumped shoulders. He put a hand on his narrow shoulder. "We'll figure this—"

d'Artagnan suddenly spun from his grasp, his fists clenched at his sides and his teeth gritted. Anger flashed through him, fanned the flame in his belly with righteous anger. "Figure this out?" he cried. "The Cardinal's still out there. He threatened me clearly that he was still after me! He's never going to stop... he'll keep coming until he has me! I'll never know when he'll make his move. Around every corner, in every dark alley... I can't—" he gasped, fingers clawing through his uneven locks, one clawing at his tightening chest. "I can't—!"

"d'Artagnan!" Athos grasped either of his shoulders, his fingers digging into the narrow bones to close to the surface, inching him from his panic. "This is not over. We will not stop until Richelieu is finished. He's out of players, there's nothing to him. Lemay is gone," he nodded at Aramis. "And Milady will be by the end of the week," he said it almost breathlessly. "He only wins if you let him." He ducked his head to catch the boy's eyes.

d'Artagnan let out a shaky breath as he stared into the blue-eyes of the man that he had once believed murdered his father, but had shortly thereafter become his friend and then brother. His touch grounded the Gascon, his steady gaze anchored him.

"The bastard blew up 'is whole operation today, didn't 'e? And 'e'll never be able to build it back again—not without you, at least." Porthos reasoned. "And 'e'll never get 'is 'ands on you."

"You won't have to face him alone," Aramis said.

"In the meantime," Athos straightened and nodded to Treville, "You can stay at the garrison. We can help sharpen your sword skill, marksmanship, and hand-to-hand—and show exactly why it's a bad idea to try and mess with you."

"We can't replace your father, d'Artagnan," Aramis added, his voice soft. "And that something that we would never try to do. But we have you back, and as you've shown, you have ours."

"I'll be proud to call you brother." Porthos said.

"We all would," Athos agreed.

d'Artagnan looked around at the friendly and open faces of the men around him, and realized that this was exactly what his father wanted him to find in bringing him to Paris. The slumped curve of his shoulders levelled as he straightened with determination.

Richelieu was the Puppet Master in the shadows, that was where all his power lied. In the sun, he wore a mask and acted the part. Under the moon, he was the true beast. He manipulated—the King was his greatest Muppet.

Now, all d'Artagnan and the Inseparables had to do,

was cut the strings.

[the end]

the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht

End Note: And so that includes this epic tale of insanity, zombies, and Musketeers. Yay!
(I can almost feel the death glares from here, but you'll never find me!)

This is my most popular fic by-far and I just want to send out a huge and appreciative thank you to all of those who paused a moment in their day to read this zombie fic of mine, not to mention write all those amazing reviews, and click on those favs and follows. I seriously love you all and am so grateful— :D

Thank you all who have read this and reviewed. Thank you so much for the amazing words of encouragement that helped chug-along with this insane zombie fic.

And I just want to say to Rita Marx, that your review for Chapter 9 put out there some intense thoughts on Lemay that was alarming and amazing. It was quite a pickled conundrum of what might have actually happened with Lemay had Aramis not killed him. I just wanted to say: wow and thanks. :)

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