Author's Notes: I had come across a number of challenge stories with the tag "Fête des Mousquetaires," each noting a monthly writing challenge. Since I am having difficulty coming up with an original story on my own, I looked into June's prompt and surprised myself by writing an original scene. I apologize if this has already been done, but without reading every story on the site, I do not know if this concept was ever written. I do, however, hope that it meets with the expectations and rules of the challenge, and that it captures the spirit of "The Musketeers."

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Musketeers" in any capacity with the exception of the books written by Alexandre Dumas from where these characters were inspired. There is no money made from this hobby, but that does not stop my imagination from conjuring up new stories.

Summary: A belated happy ending for D'Artagnan and Constance, as part of the June Fête des Mousquetaires challenge: Fathers.

A Belated Happy Ending

It had been over two months since the Musketeers, who were once so inseparable, had done the unthinkable and went their separate ways. It was still hard to accept that the four of them had scattered themselves across France, embarking upon different obligations. Each of their lives were no longer as intertwined as they had been, and there was a different ambiance in the world because of it. At one time they were a solid weave of tapestry, each giving the impression that they knew what the other was thinking and each able to cover the others while involved in battle. Now, they were four threads, flying in the wind in different directions, each grasping to the one anchor that kept them where they had chosen to spend their time.

D'Artagnan was certain that if his brothers still had their home in the garrison, they would each find their way back from time to time to visit, and he was going to ensure that everything was done to give them that safe place of refuge. Currently, the few cadets, the veteran musketeers, and the others who had survived Grimaud's massacre had made great strides to breathe new life into the garrison. They had spent every waking hour removing debris and salvaging what was considered usable. It was a unified effort on everyone's part to bring life back into the old barracks and as the progress became more noticeable, recruits started to come for information on how to join the ranks.

Going over the current roster, D'Artagnan counted at least twenty new recruits in the last three weeks, and Constance had done well to budget their funds from Queen Anne for food and basic uniforms. However, having the leather smith provide the pauldron of the Musketeer was another financial matter entirely, as the budget was much tighter, and it made earning the rank more competitive amongst the cadets. Still, with only a month into the recruitment process, D'Artagnan was not confident enough yet to move any of the cadets up in rank.

As he called out each cadet's name for morning roster and duty assignments, D'Artagnan was well-aware of the fresh faces and the eager want of excitement in their eyes. He was reminded very much of himself at that time in his life, when he was merely a tag-along to the likes of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. He had craved the adventures they shared – and while that chapter in his life was now virtually closed – he could not help wanting to continue those adventures with his brothers, despite how it was practically impossible now.

Moving down the list and assigning training exercises for each of the men under his command, D'Artagnan suddenly wondered if this was the kind of weight that Treville once carried. He had started to grow attached to each of the recruits, learning their strengths and weaknesses, as well as what made them laugh or brood. He knew that it did not take Treville long to learn that about him, and D'Artagnan could only imagine the concern Treville had for Athos, Porthos, and Aramis, the men who had been under his command for many years longer than D'Artagnan had been.

Today, however, was particularly daunting for D'Artagnan. It was the two-month anniversary of Treville's death, and even with the garrison experiencing a rebuilding, D'Artagnan still looked up to the new captain's quarters, awaiting Treville's long-missed appearance as he stood on the railing and looked down amongst his men.

"Um, Captain D'Artagnan, sir?" the nineteen-year-old blonde-haired, blue–eyed cadet named Felix asked.

D'Artagnan looked up from his roster for a moment and felt the weight again. Captain. While he had proven himself time and again as a Musketeer, being reminded that he was the captain still felt foreign on occasion. He was, no doubt, grateful for the promotion, but the change was still taking time to accept.

"Yes, cadet?" D'Artagnan asked, not letting on that he was growing into his role just as slowly as the garrison was being rebuilt.

"I had received a letter from my cousin – Lawrence – yesterday," Felix explained. "He has experience in different firearms, as his father was an avid musket collector. He wrote me saying that he had heard about your call for recruits and hopes to meet with you. He is awaiting a reply from me."

"Well, we could always use a few more recruits," D'Artagnan offered with a warm smile. "When you write him, do be sure to inform him that I will conduct a thorough interview and a skills test to help determine his strengths and weaknesses."

"Yes, sir," Felix responded with a smile. "Thank you."

"Now, you better run along. You're on patrol of the south district today with Alane, and he's already preparing his horse," D'Artagnan told him, as he led Felix his with his eyes towards the new stables.

Alane was a seasoned Musketeer, and D'Artagnan's experience with his friends had given him the common sense to pair up the cadets with the veterans. If there was any way to sum up Alane's personality, it would be a man a few years older than D'Artagnan who smiled easily but was far more cautious in his decisions than was necessary. He needed the reckless abandon of a cadet to keep him from inaction, and a cadet needed Alane's caution to keep from accidentally getting himself killed.

"Treville would be proud of you," Constance reassured him as she took the roster from his hands and set it upon the table. She would take it back to the office for updating later, after the recruits and musketeers returned from their assignments.

Wearing her brown uniform, her dark hair neatly wrapped upon her head, Constance stood beside D'Artagnan and took in all that they had achieved together. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that she was no less a Musketeer than any of the men under his command, and he often thought back to the days when she had asked him to teach her how to use weapons. The joy in her eyes at learning to fire a musket was something he had never forgotten, and to this day, she would go out and continue her practices. Sometimes the two of them would spar with swords, and he would teach her new tricks, but he had no doubt that she definitely preferred the musket.

"I miss him," D'Artagnan said, as he watched the garrison empty out again as the others all left on their assignments. "There are days I feel more like their father than their captain, and I wish Treville was here to give me advice about how to handle that."

"You have Treville's memories, and your own strong instincts, D'Artagnan," Constance smiled as she took his hand in hers. "You're doing everything you can, and I'm certain Treville would tell you the same."

D'Artagnan laughed briefly, his eyes taking in his wife and all that he had always loved about her. "One day, I want to be one for real, not just playing one under the role of a captain."

"One what?" Constance laughed. "A Musketeer – you already are. A captain – you are that, too."

"A father," D'Artagnan smiled, taking her fingers between his and lacing them. The more he spoke, the more wistful his smile became. "I want to know the sound of children's little feet, not men's stomping. I want to hear my own child's soft giggling, not the deep laughter of grown soldiers. I want a little one who I can tell happy stories to at night, not a garrison of cadets that begs for old war stories."

"They'll be time enough for all that," Constance said, looking away, her smile fading slightly.

"You don't want children?" he asked, growing concerned.

Constance took a heavy breath. "D'Artagnan, I'm scared about it. I never quite imagined myself as a mother when I was married to Jacques-Michel. It was more of an obligation, but with you I feel free and liberated. We have adventures together that I had never thought were possible."

D'Artagnan was confused and touched a hand upon her cheek, showing her he meant his words. "Do you think I would simply make you give up everything we have just because we have a family?"

Bringing her eyes to him, Constance took a breath. "Do you truly mean that? I am fearful that I would not be able to be everything I want with you – with us – and I want nothing more than to continue to share in this madness that we live."

Taking his hand from her cheek and clutching both her hands within his now, he asked, "Why would I confine you and take away everything that makes you who you are? Have you not figured out that I never wanted a simple woman? I wanted you, Constance. You belong here with us in the garrison and as part of the Musketeers. I don't see how having a child would change any of that for you. If anything, I believe it would make you even fiercer."

Constance caught D'Artagnan's eyes with her own and felt the way he grasped her fingers so tightly. Taking breath to give her strength, she took his hand and pressed it lightly against the small swell of her stomach that she had just become aware of in the last couple weeks. She had her suspicions about it for quite some time – suspicions that only a woman would truly understand – but she had ignored those suspicions, not wanting to give D'Artagnan false hope in the event that she was wrong. But, now that she had D'Artagnan's assurance that she would not lose her rank and all that she fought to achieve for herself, she was finally brave enough to tell him that she was far enough along to be certain of what her growing stomach revealed.

"You're going to get your wish," Constance breathed, watching the questions pass in his irises. "And, I could not bear the thought of you seeing me as anything less or weaker because of it."

"Constance…" D'Artagnan whispered, his eyes looking down to the way her hand cupped his as it covered her belly. He felt the joy sting his eyes and swell in his throat. "I'm going to be a father."

"No," she told him, unable to hide her own joy, "We are going to be parents."

"Of course," he replied in laughter while nodding his head. He didn't care about the single tear marking his cheek, but there was no doubt that this was his Constance, the most forward-thinking woman he had ever met. "We will be fine parents."

"Living in madness," Constance smiled as she leaned upwards.

"And adventure," he whispered against her lips before closing the gap and kissing his wife, with the knowledge that he would be a father and she a mother, and they would be the best parents the garrison ever had under its roof.