Chapter Twenty

Constance sat in the back of the room and tried to stay out of sight. She may have removed herself from the musketeers in deference to her husband's wishes, but she was not totally out of the loop. The area had been abuzz with rumours that musketeers had been attacked and possibly killed and she had casually wandered past the garrison too many times in hopes of picking up information. The fact she had not seen any of the four men she had been looking for had finally prompted her to ask. Captain Treville had been kind enough to fill her in, while wary of treading on d'Artagnan's choice to distance himself from the Bonacieaux's home. He was not privy to the details, but was no fool. Something had transpired that none of his men would talk about. And yet when Constance came to him for answers, he could clearly see the anguish on her face. When he informed her of d'Artagnan's injuries, her face had drained of colour and he thought she may have been about to pass out in his office.

As she listened to the testimony being given against the six men in the dock, her blood ran cold. She listened as a father and husband told the packed room of his wife's murder and his sons being attacked. He barely kept his composure as he told of raiders who thought nothing of taking whatever they wanted and who would trample anybody who got in their way. She heard the bitter edge to his voice as he explained how he had come to Paris before, looking for help. Constance looked across at Treville and saw his stoic face shift slightly. The whys and wherefores did not always make sense, but she knew him to be a man of honour and compassion. If he had not sent immediate help, there was a reason, although she was hard-pressed to think what that may be.

At some point her concentration had lapsed as Armand had stepped down and Athos had taken his place. She leaned forward to hear what he had to say. Athos recounted his part of the saga with a measured tone and cold eyes. She heard the pride in his voice as he described d'Artagnan's efforts to save two boys from marauding men who thought nothing of killing children. She gasped, along with several other ladies in the room as Athos described their first moments of seeing their injured friend and not knowing if he would live.

She felt tears in her eyes as he described the further injuries of men operating under his command, while he had been lured elsewhere with the intent of being murdered in their beds. Her stomach clenched in disgust as she heard about three men being trapped in a barn and left to burn to death. Her mind reeled as she finally understood how close they had all come to being taken from her life. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to compose herself. She possibly would have managed to if they had not called d'Artagnan to testify next.

Aramis and Porthos walked on either side of him and she noted how drawn his features were. It was crystal clear to everyone in the room that it was painful for him to walk the steps to the seat. The fact he was allowing his friends to help him, only emphasised his distress. Even when Athos had shot him, she had not seen him look so weak. Tears spilled from her eyes and she pulled a kerchief from her pocket.

By the time the testimony was done and the judge had given the accused a chance to defend themselves, Constance was thoroughly exhausted. It was clear to everybody in the room that there was only one possible verdict and nobody was surprised when it was announced that there would be a hanging at dawn the next day.

She tried to slip quietly out of the room before anybody could see her. As she stepped into the street her emotions finally boiled over and she found herself almost doubled over in pain and unable to breathe.

A firm hand on her elbow jolted her back to reality and she looked up to see Athos watching her with concern. Behind him she saw the rest of the group. Once again, Aramis and Porthos stood guard on either side and the man she knew only as Armand stood behind them all with his arms around two boys. She looked across at the man she had vowed to leave behind and could not contain herself. If for no other reason than to reassure herself that he really was alive, she grasped his shirt in her hands and clung to his chest. She felt his arms around her and could feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. Fresh tears soaked into his shirt front.

He breathed in the scent of her hair. Somehow her presence blotted out the pain, if only for a few moments. He felt her trembling in his arms and wanted desperately to reach down and kiss her. He noted how the others seemed to have circled around them as if to shield them from prying eyes. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and soaked in the moment of peace. All too soon he felt her pulling away from him. Neither could find anything to say and he watched helplessly as she forced herself to walk away from him again. It took all she had within her not to look back over her shoulder as she walked. Tears streamed down her face as she blindly followed her feet home.

D'Artagnan stared after her, every fibre of him wanting to run after her and bring her back. Aramis grasped d'Artagnan's elbow and quietly steered him towards where their horses waited. Treville stood on the steps behind them and watched as his men helped the young man onto his horse and led the way home. He stood still, long after they had disappeared from view. He had almost allowed himself to believe they were not going to return. The testimony he had spent the day listening to, did nothing to relieve his dark thoughts.

Armand had spent most of the night pacing the floor. He could not decide if he wanted to allow his sons to accompany him to the prison or not. Finally he gave up and seated himself on the bed. Somehow, his sons slept soundly and he allowed himself to rest in the normality of the moment.

By the time Porthos knocked on his door, he had finally decided his boys needed to see justice done. Based on the conversation by the fire, he knew his eldest son was still hurting deeply. His youngest had begun to show signs of recovery and he hesitated to undo that. As he ushered them out the door and into the courtyard, he wondered how the day would end.

It was a sombre ride across the still-sleeping city to the Chatelet prison. Nobody seemed to be in the mood for talking and Armand wondered what each of them was thinking. If anybody had asked, he wasn't sure if he could have explained what he himself was thinking. He followed the lead of Treville as they were escorted into the prison courtyard where multiple gallows had been set up. Philippe was barely awake and he clung onto his father's neck, while trying to stifle a yawn. Henri stared at the hangman's nooses and tried to appear unaffected by the sight. His father knew better and he watched carefully as his eldest son took his seat. It was one thing to want justice and even revenge; it was quite another to watch it dispensed.

D'Artagnan took a seat and refused to make eye contact with anyone. As Athos sat next to him, he felt the older man's calming presence washing over him. His mind kept wandering back to his conversation with Henri and he wondered how the lad was faring. He knew from bitter experience that the death of the person who stole a loved one from you did nothing to ease the pain. It just closed a door that needed to be closed. Without justice, that door stood open and taunted the victim's family.

His feet were burning in his boots and he longed to pull them off. He would not allow Aramis to know, lest the man embarrassed him by trying to tend to his wounds where everyone could see. He refused to give Villeneuve one inch of satisfaction as he was sent to his death. He felt the ever-present dull ache of the wound in his side and wondered if he would ever feel whole and strong again.

He glanced around as others filed into the courtyard. He wondered how many of them were victims of the condemned men and how many were just the usual hangers-on that seemed to turn up for public executions.

The sun was just beginning to crest the rooftops as he heard a gate creak open. The prisoners were marched out in single file and the small crowd fell silent. D'Artagnan felt Athos' hand on his shoulder and he appreciated the reassurance. It felt strange that they were in the same place where Athos had once stood to face a firing squad. The ghost of the memory rose up in his mind and he recalled the day when he had stood on the stairs and watched as Aramis delivered the stay of execution. He glanced up at the stairs, half expecting a representative from the palace to appear and halt proceedings.

By the time he pulled himself out of his reverie he was surprised to see the men had been lined up in two rows of three. The first group already had the nooses in place and one of the three began to squirm in his restraints. D'Artagnan felt a cold detachment settle over him as he watched half the group meet their fate. He looked at the three men standing behind them and noted the look on Villeneuve's face. For all his clout amongst his men and all the fear he had generated across the countryside, he suddenly looked very small and insignificant.

Henri forced himself to watch as the man who nearly destroyed his family was prodded forward and a noose placed around his neck. He had expected to feel something more akin to satisfaction. Instead, just as d'Artagnan had described, he simply felt cold and empty. He leaned over to squeeze Philippe's hand and smiled at his brother. The little boy could feel the tension in the air, but he felt safe wrapped in his father's arms.

In the end, the whole thing was over very quickly. The bodies were removed and taken away to be buried in anonymous unmarked graves. For men who had sought their own power and glory, it was an ignominious end. Armand stayed in his seat, trying to process the emotions competing for his attention. What he had put into motion a couple of weeks earlier had taken his family along the most unexpected path. Now he had the overwhelming task of putting the pieces back together and figuring out how to go on from there.

Athos held the glass in his hand and looked around the room. He noted that Aramis hovered near d'Artagnan, while appearing to hold a conversation with Treville. The young man sat on a chair with his feet planted on another chair. He had refused Aramis' push to rest in bed, but had willingly chosen to sit down. Athos smiled as he could foresee it being the first of many such conversations in the coming days.

It was clear to all of them that the effort of the last two days had cost d'Artagnan a setback in his healing. Aramis was clearly concerned about him wearing boots, but there was no way d'Artagnan would have set foot in the courtroom without them. He would not give Villeneuve the satisfaction. Although he had been forced to allow his friends to help him walk the length of the room as well as getting on and off his horse.

Armand sat beside him and Athos wondered what they were talking about as they seemed to be deep in conversation. He knew the family would be heading home in the morning and he glanced across the room to where Armand's boys were engrossed in a game of cards with Porthos. He smiled as it was not the big man's usual choice of victim.

Within the safety of the room, Athos allowed himself a moment to breathe in the calm. He had spent so many days on high alert that it felt strange to relax his guard.

Armand leaned in closer to d'Artagnan and tried to find the right words. "You told us that you hoped to make your father proud of you. Speaking as a father, I can guarantee he was already proud of you." He looked up to see what impact his words were having. He found d'Artagnan staring at the floor and he tried again.

"Would you blame Henri or Philippe for what happened to us?"

D'Artagnan's head shot up. "Of course not! They are just boys."

"Their age has nothing to do with it. Evil men chose an evil path. My boys did not do that." He waited to make sure the young man was fully listening.

"Evil men chose an evil path that intersected with yours. You did not do that either."

D'Artagnan felt himself struggling to keep his composure and as he looked up, he saw Athos watching him intently. Armand noted the exchange and smiled.

"These men … they accepted you as one of their own, did they not?"

D'Artagnan barely nodded.

Armand felt he was pushing the limits, but continued anyway. "I watched those men drag you back from the brink of death."

He waited a moment to allow that to sink in. "They love you. They refused to let you go. You must have done something right to earn that. And something about it was strong enough to keep you here. My boys are alive because of you and I will never be able to repay that debt. Trust me when I tell you, your father would be proud of you."

Athos watched as d'Artagnan dropped his face into his hands. He was about to move when he saw Armand clamp a hand on the back of his neck.

"Believe me, I understand how much you have lost. I know you have found a family here, but I hope you know that if ever you need us, you have us too. If you are ever passing our way, there will always be a place at our table for you. Of course, if you find yourself missing ploughing fields, you are welcome to drop by and take a turn at that too."

D'Artagnan laughed in spite of himself. In the last few years he had driven his father crazy as he craved excitement away from the routine of farming and yet since finding himself in Paris, there had been days where he missed the simpler rhythm of country life. Somehow Armand had seen straight through him.

He looked across at the father sitting beside him and chewed on his bottom lip. He picked up the glass beside him and rolled it in his hands as he tried to compose himself before taking a drink.

D'Artagnan sat on the bench and watched the sparring. It had only been a few days since Armand and his boys had left for home and he had spent much of the days since, soaking up the warmth of the sun. He itched to get out and join in the practice and cursed at his imposed rest. It felt like exile being left on the sidelines while everybody else got to participate. While his body was finally healing, Aramis had been explicit in the boundaries he had laid out. D'Artagnan knew the whole regiment was aware and there was no getting around it. It was pointless trying to argue as not one of them was prepared to cross Aramis when it came to the welfare of his brothers.

"Brothers." D'Artagnan barely breathed the word to himself. Somehow, after all that life had thrown at him, he had walked out of it with three brothers. Actually, after recent weeks, he felt like he had gained two more.

He smiled as he recalled Henri's parting words. "One day, I'll be back here as a musketeer."

D'Artagnan had no doubt that the young man would be. And when he did return he knew exactly who he'd be looking to as a sponsor. His thoughts wandered to his own good fortune in finding men who had taken it upon themselves to see he was trained and equipped. There had not been a day that he did not appreciate it, but after the last couple of weeks, he knew he would never take any of them for granted.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Treville sat down next to him. The older man didn't say anything, but simply watched the sparring. Eventually it was time for a break and his friends wandered over to join them. Athos headed for the water barrel and poured out a cupful.

Treville waited until Aramis had seated himself before turning towards him. "I had a message this morning from Comtesse de la Roche for you."

Aramis frowned at the mention of the woman's name. Porthos turned away and tried to stifle a laugh. It was well known amongst the garrison that the wealthy widow had her sights set on their friend and was quite persistent in her attentions. Unfortunately her lack of teeth and questionable personal grooming were somewhat of a problem. Not to mention the fact she was a close cousin to the King and insisted on asking after Aramis whenever she saw her dear cousin.

"Yes?"

"Apparently she is expecting you for supper tomorrow night after she received your … now how did she put it? Your delightfully amorous acceptance letter."

"What? I never sent her any such thing!" Aramis looked around at his friends, desperately trying to work out how to turn down the Comtesse without causing undue fallout for himself.

Porthos leaned on the bench and shook his head. "You did give me two letters to have delivered last week. I'm sure one of them was for her."

Aramis stared at him in disbelief as understanding hit him. "You fool! You mixed them up!"

"Did I? How clumsy of me."

D'Artagnan looked across to where Athos was trying to hold a straight face. Aramis looked up and Athos was a fraction too slow to school his face into impassivity.

"What the … you didn't … Porthos!" Aramis leapt to his feet and glared at his friend. "You would stoop to pulling the Captain into this?"

"As I recall, that's called payback! Now, that's one down and one to go."

"What are you talking about? I only pulled one prank on you and you quite rightly have returned the favour." Aramis felt the overwhelming relief of the moment as the thought of giving the Comtesse any hint of attention was horrifying.

Porthos stalked towards him menacingly. "I do believe you challenged me to a wrestling match and we were interrupted."

Aramis began to laugh at his friend, but quickly found himself being hoisted into the air and thrown over Porthos' shoulder. He looked around to see if Treville was going to intervene, but his captain was laughing as hard as his friends.

"Wait! Don't forget … I have a head injury!"

"Then I will be merciful and just dunk the bottom half of you." Porthos stalked towards the water trough and unceremoniously dumped his friend into the water.

"Now, we are even," he declared as he sauntered back to the bench and sat down. Athos hadn't moved from his post and simply shook his head at their antics, while a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. There were days when he had to question just how old the two of them were.

Aramis sat in the water and watched as the entire garrison seemed to be enjoying the spectacle at his expense. He looked across to where d'Artagnan was laughing at him. It was worth it, simply to see his brother laughing again. It had been far too long since he had seen laughter in those eyes.

Treville had stepped back onto the stairs and began headed for the landing. For the first time in weeks, things felt right with the world. He watched the men in the courtyard below and smiled as Aramis climbed out of the trough and proceeded to theatrically embrace the others. He heard something about sharing and shook his head as he walked into his office. Somehow the four of them added a whole new level of meaning to brothers in arms.

Well that's all folks! This story has consumed my time and energy, but I think it was worth it. I always struggle to wrap up any story I write, but I thought this needed something lighter after all the pain and drama. Besides, I can't imagine Porthos missing a chance for payback. I can't thank you enough to all those who reviewed and messaged and made me laugh. This is a generous fandom and I truly appreciate your time. I have one more story idea that came up while I was writing this and I had to detour to get it down while it was there. It's a one-shot AU idea so I will post it as soon as it's polished. Other than that, I have no idea what else will turn up. Thanks again!