18. Epilogue

Paris, five days later

Tréville and the others had arrived back in Paris this morning, and the Captain had insisted that they needed to go to the palace as fast as possible. The journey back home had been torturous. The usually so chatty musketeers had remained deadly silent. It wasn't unusual for Athos, who always chose the moment with care when he opened his mouth, but it was an unusual sight for Aramis. Both of them had all of them worried, and they had to stop multiple times on their way back home to ensure that they were safe.

Now, Tréville was atop of his horse, leading a smaller group of musketeers, including Porthos, d'Artagnan, Francois and Révier, into the court of the Louvre. He did not know where the Cardinal had his spies, and he wanted to be the first one to report back to the King, and, more importantly, the Queen.

Once they had arrived in front of the palace, Tréville dismounted, and he watched how the other musketeers were following his lead. The Red Guards at the door exchanged some worried looks, and Tréville could see how they strengthened the hold around their weapons.

Just as the captain made an attempt to enter the throne room, they spoke up.

"Captain, the King is in a meeting with..." but he didn't even get to finish his sentence.

"Out of my way," Porthos growled, and Tréville could only guess how intimidating he must look. Porthos was still wearing his slightly torn doublet and his blood stained and dirty pauldron. The Captain could tell he had troubles with his shoulder, but he chose not to address it. He knew the answer anyway.

D'Artagnan backed his friend up immediately. "We have urgent messages for the King concerning his safety. You better step away now." D'Artagnan sounded a lot more tired than Porthos, and Tréville had noticed that he still had a hard time walking a straight line. But the wound on his temple had been sewed neatly and looked a lot better.

The Red Guards didn't hesitate for another moment and cleared the path with a bitter expression on their faces.

The musketeers entered the throne room, together, with their Captain in the front. Tréville could the King and the Queen, both on their seats, and the Cardinal was half-standing, half kneeling at the King's side, talking quietly to both of them. When they heard the musketeer's entry, they looked up, and while Richelieu straightened up into a standing position with an almost disappointed look on his face, the King looked surprised and horrified at the same time.

"Captain!" Louis exclaimed, and let his eyes swerve over the assembled men. Out of the corners of his eyes, Tréville noticed the Queen doing the same. She looked a little irritated.

"What happened to you? You were expected back in Paris three days ago!" Fortunately, the King sounded more surprised than reproachful, otherwise Tréville wasn't sure he would have been able to continue this conversation with the respect the King was entitled to.

He shot a quick glare at the Cardinal, who was watching him with a deadly calmness, and he took a deep breath to gather his thoughts.

"Please, Captain," Queen Anne raised her voice, her kind eyes still wide open with horror. Tréville could only guess what he and his musketeers must look like. "Tell us everything."

And so, Tréville started to tell the story. He reported how his men went missing, and what he did to look for them, and he told the King everything about the revolt in front of de Villier's estate and how they had prevented it to turn into a slaughter. He did leave out the role of Richelieu, who was listening attentively to Tréville's words, probably just waiting for the moment Tréville told the King the truth. But the Captain did not mention the letters of Richelieu to Morel, and he left out the part about the Red Guards switching sides, and their threat to eliminate everyone on the battlefield. He merely changed it up a bit, and told them about deserted Red Guards, which Morel had 'hired' to support his cause.

Once he was done, the King was clawing onto the armchairs, his face red with disbelief and anger. "This Morel attacked my musketeers and threatened to kill loyal servants of the crown?" the King couldn't believe it, and he looked really affronted. "That could have ended up badly. Very badly."

"Good thing Captain Tréville and his musketeers happened to be nearby," Richelieu commented through clenched teeth. The Captain could see how every muscle in his body was tense. He knew Tréville had left out a part, and he was wondering when he was going to tell it. And how he was going to use it.

Tréville acted unbothered. "Yes, indeed." He caught Richelieu's hateful gaze. "As if somebody had known." He made a short pause and faced the Kind and the Queen again. "This has not only been an assassination attempt on the musketeers, but it has also been an attempt to undermine your authority on the countryside, using innocent people for the purpose."

"But you said they protested against the Queen!" The King exclaimed. "Against my wife. How can that be excused?"

The Captain had been prepared for that reaction, it was something he had expected of the King.

"The people had been misled by a former regiment officer, a deserter at whose side I fought ten years ago. They were just pawns in a game. I can assure you, Sire, that we brought the situation under control. The threat against her majesty is eliminated."

The King seemed to rewind the words in his head for a moment, but eventually, he nodded. "Very well, I always trust your judgment, Captain."

"Oh, and your majesty," Tréville started and looked straight at the Queen this time. "Once my men have regained their strength, we'll be back to full duty. I expect you to give me details about the banquet this Friday soon?"

The Banquet had been organized by the Queen, therefore, the King had told her it was her responsibility. And as Captain of the musketeers, Tréville was sure to have some duties there.

The Queen caught the hint, and she gracefully rose from her seat, exchanging a look with her husband, who just nodded briefly. "I'll await you in the council room this afternoon, Captain," she said and walked down the stairs.

"Of course, my dear," Louis replied and pressed a kiss on Anne's hand. "We'll talk about this incident later."

Anne just nodded, and as she walked past Richelieu, she pressed her lips together and tilted her head. "Your Eminence." Her greeting was brief and cold, and the message to the Cardinal was loud and clear.

Richelieu bowed his head ridiculously low, and waited until she had left the hall before he straightened up again. Tréville just raised an eyebrow, but the Cardinal ignored him.

"Tréville, I want a written report about the past few days soon," the King raised his voice again. "Further on, should you or your injured men need anything, don't hesitate to tell me. Your men fought bravely to protect the Queen."

"All within our power..." d'Artagnan murmured behind Tréville's back, and judging by the grunt of pain and the cracking sound, the Captain was sure that Porthos had just kicked the younger companion against the shin.

"You fulfilled your duty bravely," the King continued and approached the small group. "I suspect that since you've been in that area, you can send one or two of your men to Mailly-le-Chateau soon, Captain?"

Tréville shared a confused look with Porthos. "Mailly-le-Chateau? Why?"

Louis shrugged. "Apparently, I've received a letter from a Knight who seems to reside there. He says his castle has been taken and damaged by local bandits, and he asks for financial support in rebuilding it." The King shook his head. "They do think I can lend all of them money, don't they?" He clapped his hands and chuckled. He obviously didn't take the plea for help seriously. Everyone else managed a faint smile. Before Tréville could give an answer, even though he didn't really have a choice but to send one of his men there, the subject in the room was changed.

"And Cardinal, I wish that you test the loyalty amongst your men," the King continued. "We don't want something like that to repeat itself."

Tréville watched with amusement how Richelieu forced a smile and tilted his head in front of the King. "No, Sire. That would be a shame." He turned on the heel and faced Tréville. "Captain, can I talk to you for a second?" He froze in his motion and returned his attention to the King. "Unless you demand my presence, your majesty?"

The King rose from the throne and just made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "No, I'm going to train with the musket in the gardens. But your presence is required during the meeting with the Spanish diplomat in the afternoon."

The Cardinal again bowed deeply. "I'll be there, Sire."

With a content face, as if Tréville had never told him the horrific story of the past few days, Louis left the room, and Richelieu was alone, facing half a dozen musketeers.

"So, Captain," the Cardinal was asking, utterly respectful. It was a mask, Tréville knew that, but he was going to play along.

"How did this Morel gather the men to march against the Baron? I think you left that part out."

Tréville noticed Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanging some meaningful looks, and he knew too that Richelieu was trying to figure out how much he actually did know.

The Captain lifted his chin. "Ah, yes. It seems like Morel received help from somebody here in Paris. The contact sent him more men for his cause."

"You told the King that the problem is settled," Richelieu was like a vulture, aiming for the last crumbs of bread. "If the contact is still in Paris, I doubt that you have been able to bring your task to an end." He cleared his throat, and put on an arrogant face. "But what else could I expect of the musketeers?"

Tréville smirked, but then his face turned to stone and he made another step towards the Cardinal. "Oh, let me assure you, your Eminence," he sneered. "I'm certain that the case is closed." He lowered his voice, so that only those that surrounded them could hear them. "We don't want to risk more than we have to, wouldn't you agree?"

Richelieu's eyes flashed with anger, and Tréville knew he had gotten the threat, and he was taking it seriously too. The Cardinal made a step back, his cloak slung around his shoulders.

"Then I expect you to watch out for your musketeers, Captain," he sneered. "Who knows how many men like Morel are still out there?"

Before Tréville had a chance to counter, Richelieu strode over to the door and disappeared without another word, leaving nothing but an unsettling silence behind. For a moment, nobody dared to speak up, as everybody was still staring with anger at the place where the Cardinal had been moment earlier.

"Why is it that whenever I'm near him, I can almost feel his poison creeping through my skin?" d'Artagnan asked and shuddered. Porthos smacked his back lightly.

"Because the Cardinal is a snake, d'Artagnan, and a dangerous one as well." Porthos turned towards the Captain, his arms crossed in front of his chest. "What are we going to do now, Captain? Except for telling the Queen all we know. Richelieu has to pay, damn, he almost got us all killed!"

Tréville bit his lip, and chose his words with care. "To kill a serpent, you have to cut off his head. Unfortunately, we are in no position to do so. So, as a matter of fact, we are left with only one thing to do."

"Which would be?" d'Artagnan asked and Porthos just wrapped an arm around his younger friend's shoulder and dragged him towards the exit.

"Make sure the beast loses its poisonous fangs." Tréville exhaled slowly and waited for a reaction of his men. Porthos grinned darkly, and d'Artagnan looked a bit uncertain.

"Then that's all we're going to do? Stand in the Cardinal's way whenever he decides it's a good opportunity to get rid of the musketeers again?"

"Lower your voice," Tréville hissed and nervously scanned the area, but then, he looked at d'Artagnan, who was waiting patiently for a reply. "Yes, d'Artagnan. For now, that's the only thing we are able to do."

Porthos grinned and as they entered the palace's courtyard, Porthos walked straight up to the horses and handed d'Artagnan his reins.

"Asking for permission to return to the garrison, Sir," d'Artagnan asked stiffly, and Tréville sighed, but nodded. Porthos didn't even wait for an answer, he had already returned to his horse. The Captain didn't need to ask what they searched for at the garrison.

"Granted," he replied tiredly, while he mentally prepared for his later meeting with the Queen. "You're dismissed. You have jobs to do at the garrison."

The Infirmary, the Garrison, Paris

"Aramis, for the last time," Athos growled menacingly. "Sit. Down."

"What?" Aramis didn't pay much attention to Athos, as he continued to walk around the room in circles. "Calm down, I'm fine."

He indeed looked much better than a couple of days ago. Aramis was still moving slowly, and he was still limping, but his face had a healthier colour and he was conscious enough to start conversations again, under which Athos' had suffered for the last day, ever since he had regained full consciousness. No matter how annoyed he acted to be, in fact, he was glad to hear Aramis' voice again. It reassured him that they had once more made it out more or less in one piece.

Athos shot his friend a piercing glare. "Congratulations, but your constant pacing is going to make me lose my mind soon, and then I won't be fine. So for the last time: Sit. Down."

Aramis needed another moment to fully comprehend Athos' order, but after spotting Athos' moody face on the other bed, he complied without further resistance. Both of them had been told to stay in bed, as their bodies needed time to regain their strength. Athos still felt uncomfortably weak, and every time his arm was moved the wrong way, his vision whitened out for a moment. But thanks to a miracle, the bullet wound hadn't gotten infected, and it was slowly beginning to heal.

"I mean no offense, my friend," Aramis started talking again, and Athos suppressed a sigh. "But I can't wait for the day we're both allowed to get out of here. The silence here is making me nervous."

"Try enjoying it for a moment, will you?" Athos merely responded, his eyes closed. "You'll be impressed by how soothing it can be."

"I know where to enjoy silence when I need it," Aramis countered. "But after what has happened, the whole story with Morel and the Baron..." He stopped mid-sentence, and when Athos opened his eyes to look for his friend, he found him staring at his folded hands.

"There's nothing left to say," Athos stated with a hoarse voice. "Morel's story is told. No need to tell a story twice."

Aramis snorted. "Don't get me wrong, Athos, I'm still mad about the ambush and all that. But was it fair? What happened to Morel?"

"He had it coming," Athos replied coldly.

Aramis' features hardened. "Why? Because he loved a woman and wanted to avenge his child?"

Athos finally straightened up as much as he could and resisted Aramis' judging stare. "No," he growled. "Because of the way he chose to do it. He was blind, and needed someone to take the blame."

"What happened to his child was not his fault," Aramis explained weakly, and Athos nodded.

"No. But it wasn't the Baron's either. Leave it be, Aramis." Athos tried to be comforting, but realistic. "We did what we thought was right. Save your thoughts for those who didn't try to kill you."

Aramis chuckled weakly. "Yeah, you're probably right." He didn't seem convinced though, and Athos saw him clutching his pendant. He had to ask. There was this one question that had been stuck in his head ever since he had learnt the truth about Morel.

"Doesn't it remind you of something?" Athos asked indifferently, and he could see he had hit a nerve. Aramis wasn't stupid. He had seen it too.

"If you're implying that I'm going to end up as a violent madman, blind to the truth and deaf to everyone around me..." Aramis rambled, but Athos just raised a hand.

"I'm not. But see what has happened to Morel because he loved the one woman he could never have – and accept it as a warning."

"Very helpful," Aramis grunted, but his eyes were locked on his own hands. "No matter what my personal feelings are, I would never, ever, do something that cruel."

Athos raised his gaze dangerously slow. "I'll cover you, Aramis, but if the Cardinal fi..."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Aramis hissed. "Tell me, Athos. I'll do anything. What am I supposed to do?"

"Pretend it didn't happen," Athos replied coolly, and he could almost see how his words hit Aramis like sharp daggers. But it was the harsh truth, whether he liked it or not. And deep inside, Aramis knew that too.

The marksman threw his head back in his neck and closed his eyes.

"It's your duty to protect the King, the Queen and the future heir to the throne," Athos explained calmly. "But for your own sake..."

"I got it," Aramis snapped, and before Athos could continue to lecture him about how to save his head, they were disturbed by the door being opened loudly.

As expected, Porthos appeared in the doorframe first. Judging by his appearance, it was raining outside, and he cursed under his breath while he entered the room. D'Artagnan followed closely behind him, shaking his hair like a wet dog, and replying something to Porthos Athos couldn't put together.

"How are you two doing?" Porthos asked straight away and dropped onto a chair, while d'Artagnan leaned against the wooden table.

"Fabulously," Athos muttered dryly and slowly tried to ease his muscles. There was still a flash of pain shooting through his arm every time he moved it just a tiny bit. He bit down a grunt.

"It's hard not to be bored when you share a room with Monsieur 'Sit down and Shut up' over there," Aramis complained and pointed at Athos, who simply raised an eyebrow.

Porthos huffed. "Sharing a room," he repeated mockingly. "That sounds like this isn't the damn garrison's infirmary. What do you expect, a whole apartment for yourself?"

Aramis just rolled his eyes.

D'Artagnan grinned. "Good to see that we're back to the usual. But, I'm sorry. We were interrupting something?"

Porthos too nodded to underline his friend's question. "What were you talking about?"

Athos exchanged another, slightly worried look with Aramis, but he acted unbothered in front of Porthos and d'Artagnan. He leaned his head back against the wall.

"Nothing," he just grunted, and thankfully, d'Artagnan took the hint and quickly changed the subject, reporting them how the Cardinal had reacted when he had learnt of the news.

Athos' mind however was still troubled with what was uncertainly left to come, and he feared that the incident at the convent had repercussions, whose shadows still lingered in the present and future. And he knew that he had been involved the moment he had opened that damn door at the convent, but he chose not to tell Porthos or d'Artagnan about it. It would be too dangerous for them, and he felt the need to shield them from it.

The incident with Morel had shown him what love made other people do, and even though he knew that Aramis was a reasonable man, he was also impulsive. He shot Aramis a meaningful look, and even though it seemed like the marksman was closely listening to Porthos right now, Athos knew that he had received the message.

But some things were better left unsaid.

-The End-

This is the end – for now. Maybe I'll do a sequel, but I'm not sure yet. First, there are some other ideas that need to be written.
A million thank you to everyone who read this story and stuck with me, to everyone who favorited and of course those of you who shared your thoughts with me. It's been the greatest joy to read all of your comments, and it's what encouraged me to keep writing. I hope you enjoyed it.

A special thank you to my dear friend Alwine3003, who helped me out with the plot and invested a lot of time to make sure I never left a chapter unfinished.
Also thanks to MountainCat, who unknowingly inspired parts of this story.
Thank you for reading! Until next time,
- C