Disclaimer: I don't own anything. All rights belong to the BBC and Alexandre Dumas.

Summary: What was supposed to be an evening of dancing and celebrations turns into an evening of dodging bullets, clashing blades and unwelcome surprises.

A/N: This is my entry for this month's challenge, I haven't participated since march so I'm a bit nervous. I tried to adapt the theme in multiple ways, not sure if I succeeded. It's not beta read, but I'll assure you I tried my very best to eliminate as many mistakes as possible, it should be readable. If not, don't hesitate to tell me.
Not my best work, but I wanted to post it anyway. Set after S1.
Special thanks to Alwine3003 for the help. Enjoy.

The Flames of the Masquerade
by Luthien17

The silence was oppressing, it was unnatural. He was standing knee deep in a pond, his limbs shaking violently with the cold. He saw blurred outlines of men running through his eyesight, but he barely took notice. He had one arm stretched out to the left, the other one was dangling useless to his right, the blood pounding painfully through the broken limb.

To his left was none other than Queen Anne herself. She looked terrified and worried, her bright blue dress was covered in dust and even blood in spots, but luckily, d'Artagnan knew it wasn't hers. D'Artagnan could see her mouth moving, but no word reached his ears.

He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, and despite the adrenaline that was filling every inch of his body, he was frozen with shock and indecision.

"D'Artagnan!" Tréville's voice reached his ears and he slowly raised his gaze, hastily blinking away the dizziness. The figure of his captain was fuzzy in his eyes, but he would recognize that tone everywhere.

Tréville was seemingly standing in front of him, and was shouting something that he didn't understand. He could feel a hand on his chin, and the next thing he knew was that his vision cleared abruptly and the noise of the riot around him was as loud as a thunder.

"D'Artagnan!" Tréville repeated. "Where are the others?" He threw a side-glance at the Queen. "Your majesty, where is the King?"

D'Artagnan could do nothing but shake his head, not knowing about the fate of his comrades. Queen Anne's face was pale, and small traces of tears were running down her cheeks, but she had her head held up high when she replied with a firm voice.

"The last time I saw him, your musketeers were with him, Captain."

Tréville's eyes were wide open, and he turned his head as if to look for the group. "Where?"

"Library." D'Artagnan's voice sounded far away in his own ears, and he felt numb.

In unison, the Queen, the Captain and d'Artagnan lifted their heads to look for the library, but they were only able to see the dusty wings of the fire enlightening the darkest of nights.

A mixture of red, orange and black devouring their friend's last known shelter.

Flashback: Two hours earlier

"Sir, can we at least act like the rest of the musketeers?" Porthos' voice droned over the open area. "I cannot believe I'm asking this right now," he added quietly, more to himself than to anyone else.

Athos, Porthos, Aramis, d'Artagnan and Tréville were assembled in front of the giant gate. The huge mansion, built only a couple of years ago, was decorated in dark red and blue for the festivities. The King had received an invitation from the Comte Calière to a ball. But it was no usual ball, one they were used to and where they could protect the King easily and openly.

The few people who were already assembled, including the Comte Calière, his wife and his servants, were already dressed up properly, and each of them wore a fancy disguise above their face which made it harder to tell them apart.

This festivity was a masquerade. Whilst the other musketeers had orders to guard the courtyard and the gates according to protocol, with nothing but their armours, Tréville had different plans for the four musketeers standing in front of him.

The captain walked up to Porthos and came uncomfortably close. "Do you question your orders, Porthos?"

Porthos shook his head, slightly disturbed. "No, Sir. But are those really necessary?" He made a wide gesture and finished with pointing towards his own face. All of the musketeers, Tréville included, had similar masks on their faces, of a dark grey colour, covering the upper side of their faces. They all looked alike, but Tréville had made sure it wasn't obvious that they had a connection.

"This is a masquerade, Porthos," Tréville admonished. "And you four are supposed to blend in the crowd, and take notice of everything that might become a threat to his majesty. So you are going to look and try to behave like everyone else except..."

"Except for the fun part," Aramis murmured towards d'Artagnan, and he was lucky that the Captain did not hear him.

"...except for the fact that we will be armed and ready to strike if necessary?" Porthos suggested and Tréville sighed, but nodded.

"Exactly." He let his eyes wander over his four best men. "You have your orders, you know what to do."

He got a weak "Yes Sir" as a reply, but it was enough for him. He sent one last admonishing look towards Porthos, who cleverly avoided it, and hurried up the stairs to meet up with the Comte, leaving the four musketeers to themselves and their costumes.

"I don't know," d'Artagnan said and sceptically tried to fix his sleeve. "It looks a little ridiculous, don't you think?"

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Everyone is going to look like this. Besides, with our choice of colour, I am sure we are going to draw some attention anyway."

Porthos snorted. "If you want to debate with the Captain about fashion, please, go ahead."

Of course, Aramis didn't try to talk to the captain. "I'm just saying," the marksman continued, "we stand out with simplicity. The invited aristocracy is going to comment for sure."

"Let them," Athos threw in from the side, fumbling with his mask. They were all dressed in, as Aramis had put it, 'simple' clothes. Black pants and boots, as well as a dark grey doublet with red decorations along the sleeves. That has been all the King had been willing to pay to support Tréville with his arrangements for the safety during this masquerade.

While Athos and Porthos both wished they had just ended up with guard duty during this evening, d'Artagnan and Aramis had been quite excited to get to do something new for a change. And who knew, maybe being unrecognized strangers in the crowd, they could learn something the others couldn't. Two weeks ago, a prisoner's transport to Paris had been ambushed, and the convicts were now free. It hadn't been far from here, so Tréville had insisted on securing the place as safely as possible, with all measures necessary.

"Athos, you're only making it worse," Aramis commented dryly as he watched Athos readjusting his mask all over again.

Athos scowled. "It limits my damn vision," he growled angrily.

Aramis snorted, his own mask fitted perfectly. "It's classy," he replied confidently, and luckily didn't see the murderous look Athos gave him.

Porthos didn't seem too happy either. He was constantly shifting from one foot to the other, and he was grumbling something incomprehensible into his beard.

"Hm?" d'Artagnan dared to ask, and Porthos didn't even look up.

"I can't bloody move in this thing," he commented, and clearly referred to the choice of clothing.

D'Artagnan grinned and exchanged an amused look with Aramis to his left.

"Trained to adapt to the circumstances, I see?" the Gascon declared, and stepped aside just in time to escape Porthos' elbow. D'Artagnan could hear Aramis chuckle next to him.

"We should go inside," Athos spoke up and used his unusual red cloak to cover the weapons on his belt. "Before I feel your professionalism fading even further."

"Oh, Athos, please," Aramis replied with fake annoyance in his voice.

"Your worry about us is touching," Porthos added with a smirk.

Athos sent them a look that could freeze hell all over, and Aramis and Porthos rolled their eyes simultaneously. D'Artagnan just sighed, before he followed Athos' example and covered his weapons with his cloak.

Together, they headed inside.

About an hour later, the whole house was packed. Noblemen from all over Paris and its outskirts had arrived and followed the Comte Calière's invitation. Wherever they looked, they could see wide skirts and neat doublets, and all of their identities were veiled through the various different masks.

D'Artagnan had to admit that Aramis had been right – he and the other musketeers, including Tréville, stood out with simplicity. All the different noblemen, Comtes, Vicomtes and Barons, they sported bright, vivid colours – from green doublets to purple cloaks. Their wives wore orange, wide dresses and multicoloured masks. In comparison to that, d'Artagnan and Porthos, who had taken a spot on top of the stairs, trying to get a better view, stood out with their dark, but neat clothing and their grey masks.

Or so it seemed at first sight. D'Artagnan tried to take in all the information he could, and Porthos next to him was doing so as well. They were both so focused on the folk down in the main hall that they both jumped in surprise when a stranger suddenly stumbled up the stairs and almost crashed into Porthos. The big musketeer caught him last second.

"Whoa," the man commented, and while he moved like a drunkard, his eyes and voice showed no signs of alcohol. "My apologies, Monsieur."

Porthos made a declining gesture with his hand, and focused back on his task, but the conversation wasn't done yet.

"Don't I know you from somewhere?" the man asked curiously, and analyzed Porthos' clothes from head to toe. D'Artagnan frowned, this man didn't seem to fit here. He had long brown hair tied in a ponytail, and he wore a dark leathern doublet and a torn, ashen cloak. His mask was just white.

"You must be mistaken," Porthos replied calmly.

"What's your name?" the man dug deeper, clearly not ready to let go yet.

"None of your damn business, I'd say," Porthos countered gruffly and tried to avoid the stranger's gaze.

"Well...," the man whispered and grinned smugly. "If that's the case, how about a glass of wine? To get to know each other better. You look like someone who has great stories to tell."

Porthos did not know what to answer, and helplessly looked over to d'Artagnan, who just nodded vigorously. Porthos had to play along in order to maintain his facade.

The musketeer now nodded briefly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Wonderful," the man said, and Porthos had no choice but to follow. The look he send d'Artagnan however was crystal clear. This wasn't right. And there was something off about this man.

Something dangerous.

"Please, Tréville," the King's annoyed voice rung through the room. "Stop worrying for a second and trust someone here, will you?"

"It's hard to trust them, Sire, when I'm not able to see their faces," Tréville defended himself. He and Aramis were standing at the King's side, while his majesty was enjoying a glass of wine. He wore a golden mask with all kind of ornaments, so his disguise was practically useless. Most people in the room knew who he was, even though Tréville had tried to convince the King to keep it a secret.

The King was currently engaged in a new conversation with a strange looking man. Aramis had spotted more of them, they all had a rather rugged appearance, but all of them behaved like the other nobles, in order to blend in.

The man who was with the King seemed a bit drunk and before any of them had been able to prevent it, he had spilled the wine which now soaked the King's sleeve.

Aramis frowned, and eyed the man sceptically. He was one of those men with the torn and outworn cloaks, and he had combed his blonde hair behind his shoulders.

"My apologies, Monsieur," he said hastily, but didn't sound as if he felt sorry.

"Your...your apologies?" the King repeated slowly, and he sounded very offended. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, otherwise, I'd have you punished for this rude behaviour."

The stranger raised an eyebrow, barely visible under his white mask. "Yeah? And who are you to threaten me?"

Aramis and Tréville simultaneously leaned over to the King, to prevent him from saying something stupid, but it was wasted time.

The King made a step forward, and when his face was hidden behind a mask, he almost looked frightening. "I'm the King of France, you idiot," he spat. "And you should be careful!"

A strange look crossed the man's face for a split second, he looked almost delighted, but in the very next seconds, he bowed his head so deeply his hair covered his face like a curtain.

"Please, I beg your forgiveness, Sire. I did not know who I had in front of my undeserving eyes."

The King seemed to enjoy the man's reaction, and he also seemed to buy it. If Aramis hadn't been so tense, he would've been annoyed with the naivety of France's ruler.

"You are forgiven," Louis replied, fully enjoying the authority and superiority. "Get out of my sight."

The man nodded hastily and made his way over to the dining room, leaving both Aramis and Tréville in confusion and scepticism.

"Captain," Aramis murmured. He couldn't dismiss the queasy feeling in his guts. "Something's going on here."

Tréville scowled. "I know. Check the dining room, follow this man. We need to know who he is and who he talks to."

Aramis looked up into Tréville's eyes for a split second and weighed his options, but then he just nodded and did as he was told.

He followed the stranger into the dining room.

Athos was in a foul mood. Not only that his vision was so damn limited by this mask, but he also couldn't stand the way the people interacted with each other here. They lied to each other with a smile on their faces, and they laughed at grotesque stories about the unfortunate happenings in a poor farmer's life.

Athos was disgusted, but he focused on his task. No matter the circumstances, he had to find out if those criminals attended the masquerade, and if so, what they had planned. He was standing near the table at the wall, where the servants went to pick up the wine and the glasses. Athos had a glass of wine next to him, half empty. He had decided that it could as well be part of his masquerade to consume wine, and also, it helped him to endure all of this better.

"What a lovely ball, don't you think?" A man had approached Athos, and took a glass of wine into his hands. He was small, in his fifties, and wore a bright blue doublet as well as a white wig.

"Marvellous," Athos replied with a languid expression on his face.

"I've been told the King is invited," the man whispered, as if it was about secret state affairs. "And judging by the amount of musketeers guarding the place outside, I'd say there's a damn good chance he's actually here with us."

Athos wordlessly dumped the rest of the wine down his throat.

"You'd be surprised."

He continued to ignore the man as best as possible, when he spotted something that drew his attention. There were men, clothed similar to Athos and his brothers. Simple, and dark. But they all wore white masks, and their doublets and cloaks looked rather worn out.

Athos furrowed his brow and leaned over to the man.

"These people," he asked innocently and pointed towards the few men, who moved carefully and nervously. "Who are they?"

His neighbour just snorted and leaned over to Athos.

"I've heard that they are part of the King's guard," the man whispered conspirationally. "There are rumours that his majesty has some members of his elite guard disguised in the crowd."

The musketeer tried to act all surprised. "Really?" He raised an eyebrow.

The man nodded. "You don't happen to have seen someone that could indeed be the King?"

"Why? What would you want from his majesty?" Athos inquired suspiciously, and narrowed his eyes.

"I want to ask him for his tailor, you know," the man replied full of excitement. "My own moved away recently, and let's be honest, there's nobody in this country that could be a match to the King's elegance."

Athos instantly relaxed. He was a good judge of character, and this man looked so honestly excited that he didn't seem to be a threat. "I'm sure his majesty will appreciate that. Try it downstairs," he lied, just to avoid any unnecessary conversation.

The man looked up with wide eyes and almost spilled his wine. "Yes, yes, you're right. Thank you Monsieur."

Without wasting another word, he made his way over to the stairs that led downstairs, and Athos took in a deep, relieved breath when he was finally able to concentrate on his task again. The music was loud, but not loud enough to diminish the noise of the dozens of voices all engaged in different conversations.

An unusual movement caught his sight and he looked up behind the balustrade of the first floor, only to spot Porthos. His friend stared straight at Athos, and made some strange and somehow rude gestures, pointing at a room on the other side of the floor.

What? Athos mouthed, having not the slightest idea of what Porthos was so unprofessionally trying to tell him, and he was already considering to make his way up the stairs to meet with the others when the music stopped and started anew.

"May I ask...?" a female voice interrupted Athos' rigour.

"I don't dance," Athos replied brusquely, his eyes still locked on Porthos in the distance, who seemed to try to tell him something before he seemed to disappear in the crowd again.

Suddenly, he felt the warmth of the woman's breath on his neck. "Oh, I bet you do," she replied and he shrank back as if stung by a poisonous blade.

He knew that voice. He knew the coldness hidden in it. He recognized the sharpness, weirdly mixed with a melodic touch. It was the voice of his past life, the voice he used to love.

His pale eyes snapped down and they fell on the dark locks falling freely over the naked shoulders, he saw the green dress and the red lips, and the black mask, resembling a bird, hiding the rest of her devilish face.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I left Paris," she countered, not sounding a tiny bit affronted. "And in case you care, I'm here to help you." The music began again, and Athos had no choice but show no resistance when the woman forced him into a dancing position.

"It's hard to believe," he hissed quietly, and elegantly avoided dancing into their neighbours. They circled each other like all the others who were dancing, only that for Athos, it felt like two predators ready to strike.

"I'm just here to inform you about the prisoners transport that has been ambushed not so long ago," she purred, and came closer. It had nothing to do with the dance anymore.

"I'm aware of the threats in this house," Athos growled. "At least now I have my eye on all of them." His gaze met hers, devoid of all emotion he had once felt.

"My dear Athos," she said, and the corners of her mouth formed a thin smile while her eyes flashed dangerously. "Always the soldier. And I thought you came here to enjoy an evening of celebration. Like you did before."

Her words just collided with the internal wall Athos had built a long time ago.

"I am not that man anymore," he simply replied.

"Oh Athos," her voice rung in his ear. "You've worn this mask for so long that you forgot who's beneath it."

Athos grabbed her hand tightly and bowed his head, not loosing eye contact for a moment. His whole body was tense when he sensed her coming closer, and their faces were only inches apart. He gritted his teeth and tilted his head to the side, whispering the words so only she could hear them.

"Or perhaps I got rid of my mask the day I found out about yours."

He was ready to let go, he was ready to drop her hand and get as far away from her toxic presence as possible, but when the music stopped, she came very close to his ear. For others, it must've looked like a romantic embrace, for him, it felt like the most dangerous threat. One of his hands rested on the hilt of his dagger, hidden beneath his cloak.

"Cluzet is here," she breathed. "Ready to strike."

Athos held his breath and pushed her away a little violently, hiding how alarmed he was behind his usual, indifferent expression.

"Milady," he brought out between clenched teeth and bowed his head a tiny bit as a polite farewell.

"Athos!" D'Artagnan's voice rung out behind his back, but he didn't even flinch. He just watched how Milady granted him one more devilish smile, and disappeared in the crowd.

He could feel d'Artagnan's presence next to him, and he turned his head. The Gascon stared at the place Milady had been moments earlier.

"Was that...?"

"What is it you need to tell me, d'Artagnan?" Athos interrupted harshly, and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Milady de Winter...?" d'Artagnan murmured, more to himself than to Athos. He shook his head, before his eyes locked on Athos. He frowned when he saw Athos' expression. "Are you okay?"

"You really thought I didn't care?" Athos snapped surly; and grabbed d'Artagnan by the arm. "Pay more attention. You clearly don't know me yet."

He didn't hear d'Artagnan's answer, he just continued to drag the young musketeer up the stairs, where they ran into a giant of a man, with dark clothing and wild hair. His grey mask was slightly crooked and he was breathing heavily.

Athos recognized Porthos.

"What happened?" Athos interrogated immediately.

"Cluzet...," Porthos replied, trying to catch his breath.

"I know, he's here."

"Not just him," Porthos didn't bother to ask how Athos got this information, he focused on their duty. "It seems like he recruited the other prisoners. They are here. All of them, they're here."

D'Artagnan decided to participate in the conversation too. "How do you know?"

"Those men with the ragged looking clothes?" Athos added questioningly.

Porthos nodded into Athos' direction. "One of them tried to poison me, when we were engaged in a polite discussion about the siege of Ile de Ré."

Athos firmly grabbed Porthos' shoulder, a bit of worry written all over his face. "You took care of it?"

Porthos rolled his eyes. "I managed to swap our glasses in a moment of inattentiveness." He noticed how d'Artagnan was gaping at him. "Some things about growing up in the Court de Miracles can be useful at times."

"How did you hide the...?" d'Artagnan wanted to know, but Porthos interrupted him, obviously in a hurry.

"I managed to persuade the others that he has had too much wine. I isolated him before the poison did its job. He's currently..." He cleared his throat nervously, and a sarcastic spark lit up in his eyes. "resting on the canopy outside the window."

"We have to warn Aramis and Tréville," Athos explained matter-of-factly. He let his eyes swerve over the assembled men. "Where is the King?"

"Last time I saw him, he was with Tréville and Aramis," d'Artagnan said, his voice dripping with worry. "In the music room."

"The Queen is over there," Porthos added and pointed down the stairs with his head, where her majesty the Queen was politely engaged in an intense discussion with another woman. She didn't say a word, but just occasionally granted the other woman a thin smile.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan asked urgently. "This man, Cluzet. What exactly has he been imprisoned for?"

Athos swallowed hard, but Porthos cut in and answered in Athos' place. "He was in prison for a failed attempt to assassinate the King."

"But that's a crime punished with death!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, and grabbed Athos by the sleeve so he would give him the answers he needed. "Why didn't the King execute him?"

"Because the King did not know about it," Athos growled. "We were able to foil his plans in time."

Before they could waste any more time on discussing the backstory, a deafening shot rang out and silenced all ongoing conversations at once. Someone screamed, and the assembled crowd ducked their heads in unison.

"Where did that come from?" Porthos yelled and turned his head hectically to look for the source of the shot.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos commanded, easily falling back into focusing on the important things. "Get to the Queen!"

D'Artagnan caught sight of something moving behind Athos, and his eyes widened with alarm.

"Watch out!" he shouted, before he felt someone slamming against his ribs. The impact pushed all the air out of his lungs. His vision swam, and time seemed to move much slower.

He could see Athos drawing his sword, he could hear Porthos roaring when a man tried to stab him from behind, and as soon as d'Artagnan realized that the mysterious thing that had slammed against his ribs was indeed a man, his hands automatically reached for his weapons. Everything felt like a blur.

But he was too slow. The stranger knocked him off his feet and he lost his balance. His opponent swayed too, and before one of them was able to prevent it, d'Artagnan and his attacker both fell backwards over the fancy balustrade.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos watched in horror how their young friend fell backwards and collided with the floor underneath them. His young friend let out an infuriated yell, and judging by how he was cradling his arm against his chest, Porthos was sure he must've broken something.

But d'Artagnan was a man of duty, and he immediately scrambled back on his feet and threw himself in front of the Queen to protect her against assailing enemies.

The people were all fleeing into different directions. It was hard to make out where the gunshots were coming from, and where most of the fighting took place. On the floor above him, Athos could make out an incredibly loud noise, and the shouting grew even louder.

Athos narrowed his eyes because of the ongoing turmoil above him, and before he had a chance to do anything, a loud crack announced the outbreak of a fight. The railing of the staircase above him was smashed into tiny pieces by the sheer force of two men engaged in a brawl, both of them seemingly without a weapon in their hands. They hit the ground hard, and without having a closer look Athos knew what had happened, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Ow," Aramis commented breathlessly after his dramatic entrance and kicked his attacker away with both feet, which sent the man down the stairs. In one motion, he pulled out his pistol, and saved Porthos from getting impaled by a poker.

"Good timing," Athos growled over the panicked noise that surrounded them, and Aramis less elegantly got back on his feet.

"Cluzet is here, by the way," he informed them casually, as if he was talking about the weather.

Athos overpowered his opponent and forced him to his knees, but had to cross blades with another one right after. "Oh, you don't say?" he asked sarcastically and threw his opponent into Porthos' awaiting blade.

"Athos!" Aramis shouted after he head-butted one attacker so hard he tumbled over the unsteady balustrade. "Where's the Queen?"

Athos knew Aramis' worry wasn't rooted in his deep loyalty for France, but his love to this woman, but it was a question he deserved an answer for.

"D'Artagnan's got her, where's the King?" he countered and with the help of Porthos, he got rid of the last attacker on this floor. Aramis was distracted for a moment and he was able to spot d'Artagnan down near the exit, the Queen by his side. He managed to catch the younger one's gaze and nodded briefly, before he returned his attention to Athos.

"Upstairs, in the library I think. Tréville is there too!"

"Then that's where we have to go," Porthos grunted and reloaded his pistol. He headed past Aramis and Athos, but froze and put a reassuring hand on Aramis' shoulder. He sent a sceptic look to what remained of the balustrade on the floor above them.

"You okay?" he asked Aramis. "You have an unhealthy habit for breaking things."

Aramis just nodded.

"Fine. Let's go." And the three of them sprinted up the stairs into the second floor of the mansion, only to be greeted with gunfire and roaring enemies.

"Where's Cluzet?" Porthos yelled over the noise,

"No idea. It's not that easy to tell," Athos replied calmly as he knocked one man unconscious.

"May have to do something with the masks they're all wearing," Aramis commented, and Athos thought it wasn't very helpful.

"Come!" Aramis yelled and Athos and Porthos both followed him into what had to be the library. There were people, men and women, running down the stairs in order to escape, and every now and again, they stumbled or tried to run over the musketeers.

The three of them did the best they could and with a lot of yelling, cursing and punching, they finally reached the entrance of the library.

Their eyes immediately caught the threat of the scene in front of them. The library was an impressive room, with bookshelves up to five metres to the ceiling. It was so big that the different bookshelves formed some kind of a labyrinth, but that didn't hide the chaos right in front of their eyes.

The air was filled with torn pages and the smell of gunpowder. On the other side of the room, Porthos saw a bookshelf that had tumbled to the ground, and a motionless figure lying right underneath it. Then, his eyes fell on the King, who had his arms over his head and his eyes clenched shut. Tréville was at his side, disarmed, shielding the King with his body the best he could.

"Just...do it already," Porthos could hear the King's shaky voice. "What are you waiting for?"

"Cluzet," one of the men replied and didn't lower the rapier he had aimed at Tréville an inch. "He should be here any second."

Tréville caught sight of Athos, Aramis and Porthos in the doorframe, but his face was a mask of indifference. "You don't seriously think I'll let you get the King, do you?" he growled, and Porthos and Aramis followed Athos, who had entered the library on light foot.

Together, they hid behind one of the shelves, and Athos performed a row of gestures to explain his plan without a word. Aramis had understood and sneaked back to the door, his pistol firmly in his hand. He was supposed to shoot the first one down.

Porthos exchanged one last look with Athos, who was already eyeing the three men surrounding Tréville and the King. He held up a hand, and counted with his fingers to give the signal.

One.

"Shut up, Captain. You and your rank are not of importance here," one of the strangers muttered with a devilishly amused voice, and Porthos had to surpress the urge to strangle him at once.

Two.

"You and your musketeers have failed Tréville," they said menacingly, and Porthos could tell they were trying to buy time. They were indeed waiting for Cluzet, who was hopefully occupied somewhere else in the building.

Three.

"I don't think so." That was Athos' disturbingly cold and calm voice, and then, they attacked.

Aramis' gunshot felled one of them at once. He crumbled to the ground with a gaping hole in his chest. Porthos first threw his dagger towards Tréville, so the Captain could defend the King. While Athos finished his opponent off with elegance, Porthos took his bare hands and smashed the third man against the wall. He blinked in confusion and anger, but before he was able to resist, Porthos had used a candleholder to knock him out.

But the noise had drawn the attention of other masked, ragged looking men. At least four others entered the room and immediately started to attack.

"For the love of God, how many of them are there?" Aramis yelled over the noise. He too had now thrown himself into combat, and he was jumping around his opponent with an agility only Aramis could master.

Athos, as usual, fought with elegance, and combined with the dark aura of the masks they still wore, it was a menacing sight how he used tricks in sword-fighting only he knew to overpower his enemy.

Porthos was engaged in a heated combat as well, and he stumbled backwards when his opponent's blade tore a hole in his arm. He was a bit isolated from the others, but it didn't matter. Porthos was seeing through a curtain of red wrath.

He landed a heavy punch on the side of the man's face and tried to dive for his blade, but another strike of his opponent's sword forced him backwards.

"Oh, the mighty Porthos," the attacker scoffed, his eyes flashing dangerously behind the mask. "Now all frightened and lost. Good for you that you have the mask on your face, otherwise, everybody would see the pure fear in your eyes."

Porthos knew the man was aiming to anger him, but he was better than that. He laughed it off and tensed his body, ready to defend himself.

"Bring it on, bastard," he growled. "If you ask nicely, I promise you to make it quick."

The man just grinned smugly and threw his blade at Porthos, who dropped to the ground in order to not get impaled. The attacker ran over to Tréville, who was already in defensive mode, and with the help of his comrade, the two of them disarmed the Captain. Porthos could do nothing but watch as Tréville was thrown into another bookshelf, which collapsed into itself due to the impact. It rendered him unconscious at once.

Now Porthos, Athos and Aramis were the only thing standing between the assassins and the King. The King was still covering his head, and he ducked every once and again to evade the gunshots.

With a cry of savage rage, Porthos grabbed an abandoned pistol on the ground and luckily, it was loaded. Without hesitating a moment, he took his aim and pulled the trigger. He could hear a strangled cry and then, another gunshot tore through the air and killed the next attacker.

Porthos risked a look to his side and saw Athos lowering a still smoking pistol.

"Get the King!" the swordsman shouted at Porthos, and movement returned to Porthos' body. He cursed vividly and pushed himself up into a standing position again, before he hastily made his way over to the King.

"Are you unharmed?" he questioned, and raised an eyebrow when he noticed the King's shaky appearance.

"Unharmed, no," he replied with a small voice. "But I'm not injured, if that's what you are asking."

Porthos released a relieved breath and looked for Athos and Aramis. Both of them had won their duels and rejoined them.

"We need to get you downstairs, your majesty," Athos explained matter-of-factly. "If we stay here any longer, we are trapped."

"Wait, the Captain!" Aramis exclaimed and gestured at Athos to help him out, but they were interrupted by the King's frightened voice.

"Behind you!"

Athos and Aramis turned around in one motion and managed to lift their rapiers just in time to avoid getting beheaded by the swords two of the masked men wielded.

"Thank you, your majesty," Aramis half-yelled, half-growled as he struggled to gain the upper hand. Porthos instinctively reached backwards with his hand and got a hold of the leathern binding of a book.

Without hesitating, he threw it at Aramis' opponent with all the force he could manage. It collided with the man's head and he stumbled backwards, where Aramis was able to finish him off with a precise stab to the chest. He looked up at Porthos, panting.

"How comes that you aim better with a book than with a musket?" he asked with a childish grin on his face, while Athos just pushed him out of the way to get to the King.

Porthos shrugged. "You're welcome, by the way."

Aramis chuckled weakly. "Yes." He picked up the book Porthos had thrown and eyed it sceptically. "Machiavelli would be proud."

His eyes wandered up and caught sight of something behind Porthos. In one fluid motion, he threw the book into Porthos' direction.

Porthos ducked his head, ready to give his friend a lecture that it wasn't the time for childish plays now, but he just heard a dull thud to his right and saw that Aramis had just saved him from being attacked from behind.

The marksman imitated a slight bow. "You're welcome."

"Could you at least try to act professional for once?" Athos asked sourly, and Porthos just rolled his eyes while Aramis surprisingly acted serious again.

The King was distracted, he was standing several feet away and had his hands on the side of his face, his eyes wide open with shock. The Captain's figure was still lying in the corner, and Athos and Aramis once more strode towards it. Porthos could hear more potential attackers running up the stairs in the main hall.

Then, two other musketeers appeared out of nowhere and lifted up Tréville. "We got him, get the King out of here!" one of them yelled and started dragging their Captain towards the Exit.

Athos complied at once, but Porthos and Aramis were both distracted when another salve of gunshots pierced the air. Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos could see how Athos dragged the King deeper into the labyrinth that was the library, the only way he could go to prevent the King from harm.

Aramis and Porthos were still engaged in several duels, but they followed walking backwards. They worked together to get rid of the assailing enemies, just like they had always done. Aramis pulled two attackers into a duel and moved quickly and precisely, while trying to turn the two men against each other against their will. As they were distracted, Aramis easily pushed one of them into Porthos' awaiting dagger. Porthos on the other hand was able to draw a lot of attention and he required more enemies to be dealt with. Aramis knew that and while Porthos fought three of them off at the same time, Aramis was able to use their tiny moments of inattentiveness and knock them unconscious.

The men were soon dealt with, and Aramis and Porthos rejoined Athos, who was talking hastily to the King. Porthos knew it was supposed to be a soothing message to his majesty, but Athos didn't have much talent or patience for such things.

"They are coming from everywhere!" the King was declaring once Aramis and Porthos arrived at Athos' side. "How are you three supposed to find a way out?"

"When they are coming from all directions, it means we can also flee into all directions," Athos used all of his self-control to stay polite. "Take this," he said a little gruffly and threw his pistol into the King's arms.

"You know how to use it, your majesty," Aramis added when he saw the King's confused face. "It might save your life."

"But...you're protecting me, right?" the King did sound a little more self-conscious than before, but he still looked frightened.

"With our lives, Sire," Porthos replied honestly.

Athos grabbed the King by the arm, the other hand wrapped around the hilt of his rapier. "You don't happen to remember which direction we have to go to get to the main hall?"

Porthos narrowed his eyes. He could hear the noises of at least four men, also in the library, but he had no idea where. Suddenly, his eyes began to water, and it wasn't due to exhaustion or the prior fighting.

A disgusting smell reached his nose, and all alarm bells started ringing in his head.

"I believe it's this way," Aramis told them and he shielded the King, while Athos and Porthos watched their backs.

"Wait, Athos?" Porthos put up a hand. "You smell that?"

Athos, who had gotten rid of his mask with a satisfied, but grim smile, froze.

"Fire," Aramis stated, and his eyes widened with panic. "They're trying to burn this whole place down."

"With us in it?" the King exclaimed, but Athos politely ignored him.

"We're trapped in here," Porthos threw in. "We need to get back to the exit, now!"

Athos just nodded briefly, and Aramis cursed vividly under his breath as he was reloading his pistol. "We could've been everywhere when they set a fire, but no, we had to be in the damn library."

Porthos couldn't help but look amused. "Would be borin' otherwise, don't ya think?"

Aramis replied with a snort, and after Athos' annoyed bark from the front, the two of them hurried up. Porthos could see the tongues of the flames in the middle of the room, and the fire spread fast. Way too fast.

"This way!" Aramis had taken the lead and now pointed at an already smouldering bookshelf.

"Aramis, it's...," but Athos had no time to point out that they were on the wrong side of the labyrinth. Porthos had taken the hint and together with Aramis, he kicked the shelf over with so much force that the wood shattered into tiny pieces.

"Here," Porthos said and lend the King a helping hand to climb over the remains of the books. "Careful." The King didn't say a word, but the sweat was forming on his forehead due to the heat, and the expression in his eyes didn't need much explication.

"Shit," he heard Aramis voice in his back, and he didn't even have to look. He had already seen the bright red and orange flames enlightening the wood of the exit.

"Quick," the marksman added. "Before the whole place comes..."

"Aramis, watch out!" Athos barked, and Porthos just heard the thunderous crack when the beam on top of the exit crashed down with a deafening sound. Aramis jumped backwards just in time, and Porthos saw the shadow that had approached them too late.

His warning got lost under the sound of Athos' yelling and Aramis' cursing, but another one of the attackers, one of those they had rendered unconscious, had had the same idea as Athos. He had run towards the exit, and he had been unarmed. When Aramis stumbled backwards to escape the fire, the man picked up a flaming piece of wood from the ground and wielded it like a weapon. Aramis was caught unprepared, and the hot and flaming piece of wood was slammed into his side.

He cursed loudly, and grabbed the man's arm, wrenching it so hard that they both crashed to the ground. Porthos finally reached them, picked the man up by his hair and threw him into the remains of the books. He didn't bother to see whether he had killed him or just knocked him unconscious, but his attention returned to Aramis on the ground.

The musketeer was clutching his bloodied side with one hand, and had his sleeve pressed against his mouth with the other.

Porthos offered him a hand and pulled him back on his feet, not able to ignore the grunts of pain coming from Aramis. He didn't even ask, he knew that it probably hurt like hell, but he could read from his friend's face that his mind was somewhere else already.

"There's no way of getting through there now," he panted, and doubled over in pain as he tried to take control.

"We can't get to the other exit," Athos explained matter-of-factly as he pulled his scarf up against his mouth to shield it from the smoke. "There's no way of getting through there."

He pointed towards the bookshelves, all on fire now, devouring wood, paper and ink.

"Over here!" To everybody's surprise, it was the King's voice that pulled them out of their thoughts. He had run over to the other wall and was waving violently at them to come over, a hankerchief held against his mouth.

"Can you get this one away?" he asked Athos and pointed towards a halfway burning bookshelf on the wall.

"Why would you...?" Athos wanted to ask, but the King interrupted him.

"Just do as I say!" His voice left no space for objections.

Porthos half-guided, half-dragged Aramis towards the King and Athos, and even though he wouldn't admit it, Porthos knew Aramis was grateful for the support. Meanwhile, Athos tried to rearrange the shelf, while trying at the same time not to get burned and not to drop it on top of their heads.

After about ten seconds, it turned to the side and crashed into tiny, burning pieces.

"What's that?" Porthos demanded to know as he spotted the door that had been revealed. It was a tiny door, Porthos for sure would have to duck his head, but right now, it looked like their only way to go if they didn't want to end up as another victim to the fire.

"What, you thought the Louvre was the only place with secret passages?" Louis looked seriously affronted. "I'm insulted."

Aramis grinned. "You are full of surprises, your majesty," he commented and looked at Athos, as if waiting for orders. Athos was confused for a split second, but then, his strategic nature came through.

"Alright, Porthos, you go first, Aramis, you take the King and follow. I'll make sure we aren't followed," Athos instructed.

Porthos shot a questioning look at Aramis, but his friend gestured him that he was well enough to do this. Porthos ducked his head and opened the door. He was greeted with absolute darkness.

"Here," Aramis' faint voice could be heard and he handed Porthos a longer remain of the bookshelf, still burning brightly. Porthos used his bandana, which was bathed in sweat due to the heat, and wrapped it around the piece of wood so the fire wouldn't spread any further.

"Careful, Sire," Porthos heard Aramis' voice behind his back. He turned around, only to see Athos still frozen in the doorframe.

"Athos, you're coming or what?"

Athos didn't reply for a moment, he just stood there, completely frozen. Then his eyes widened and seconds later, they heard loud gunshots in the room they had just left. Apparently, the remaining attackers wanted to escape the fire too.

"Go on, move!" Athos barked, and if Porthos hadn't known it any better, he could've sworn there was panic in the swordsman's voice.

"Where does this tunnel lead?" Aramis asked the King, and pushed him forward with one hand. The other one was still pressed against his side.

"The basement, I think," the King replied in confusion, and his mild protest against Aramis' slightly rough treatment got lost under the noise that had erupted behind Athos.

"Shit," Porthos cursed bluntly. "If anyone else knows about this, they can cut our path."

"Porthos, you hear that?" Aramis asked and put up a hand to signal them to stop. Athos almost collided with Aramis and granted them a disapproving growl.

"Come on, we have to...," Athos started, but he was interrupted by the King.

"They're here!" He was panicking, and pointed at something behind Porthos. The musketeer turned around just in time to block a sword. Three men had run towards them, and they must've entered this tunnel through the basement.

"They knew where we were going," Aramis commented needlessly and shielded the King as best as he could with his slightly crooked posture.

"My apologies," Porthos could hear Athos' indifferent voice, as he almost crashed into Aramis and the King. The men behind Athos had caught up and launched their attacks too. But Athos had no problem of dealing with three of them at once, as they were all weakened by their prior fight against the fire. Still, the tunnel wasn't exactly a good fighting spot.

Porthos on the other hand was a different story. He had three very fit and awake men against him, and since Aramis was in no condition to help him, he was on his own. He had knocked out one of them, but he was struggling against the other two, especially in such narrow space.

With a lot of luck, he stepped aside and grabbed his enemy's sword arm, then, he steered it to the side and into the flesh of the second one, who went down with a gurgling scream. Before Porthos could gather himself, he felt an elbow collide with his face and he stumbled backwards against the wall. Then, there were clawing fingers, enclosing his neck and digging into his throat.

"Porthos!" Aramis cried out and tried to lunge forward, but he stumbled and fell against the next wall. Without hesitation, he pulled out his pistol attached to his belt and loaded it as fast as he could, knowing it was his only chance.

Porthos' vision swam, and the more the seconds passed, the weaker his resistance grew. All he was able to see were the eyes of his opponent, red and teary, flashing with a wrath Porthos could not understand.

Bang.

The man's eyes widened and he dropped to the side like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Porthos gasped for air, and immediately reached for his neck, rubbing it as if it could help him take in the air any faster.

"Took your time," he rasped and also shot a glare at Athos. The swordsman looked grim, and he was bleeding from a nasty cut above his eye.

"My apologies, I was distracted by those three gentlemen," he commented and pointed towards where his three enemies were lying on the dirty ground.

"We should go," Porthos said with a hoarse voice and he continued to stumble forward, knowing that the others were following him.

"Finally!" the King exclaimed and pushed himself past a protesting Aramis only to be stopped by Porthos' awaiting arm. The tunnel had ended, and they had reached another door, or what remained of it. By the looks of it, it had been opened violently.

Slowly but surely, Porthos took a look around and set a foot into the basement. He could see nothing but dirty cobbles and rotten wood.

"Lovely," he murmured under his breath, and after taking another step into the basement, he felt the others following him. He noticed how several drops of blood decorated the ground on which Athos was standing now, and Porthos discovered a cut right above his knee.

"When did tha' happen'?" he asked worriedly, but Athos just ignored him.

We are not alone, he mouthed towards them and subconsciously made sure the King stayed behind their backs.

"Well, well, who do we have here? Exactly where I wanted you to be!" A voice sounded out of the shadows and the first thing Porthos saw was the bright tip of the sword pointed at them. Shortly after, the man revealed himself. He was tall, and dressed like half of the other noblemen as well. He had blended in perfectly, and he still wore his silver mask.

"Cluzet." Athos' voice was nothing but an intimidating growl, and the musketeer rolled up his sleeves as if to prepare properly. "I didn't take you to be such a fool."

Cluzet laughed. "What, because I have you in a trap? Because I told the King about the secret passage? I believe you need to rethink your definition of foolish, Athos."

Porthos laughed audibly. "Nah. He's referring to the fact that you were unfortunate enough to have to face all three of us at the same time."

Cluzet shot a look at Aramis' bloodied side and the red marks around Porthos' throat. He grinned and made an inviting gesture with his rapier.

"Oh, I do believe I'll manage the infamous Inseperables." His face darkened. "I'm lucky that it's you who are protecting the King. Now I can finally get my revenge."

Aramis turned towards Athos. "Tell me my friend, is he referring to how we captured him or to when you beat the living hell out of him back in the days?"

Those words, as expected, triggered the wrath of Cluzet. He lunged forward and launched an attack on Athos, who parried it in time but stumbled backwards as it destroyed the bit of balance he had with his injured knee. Porthos used the moment of distraction and landed a heavy punch on Cluzet's face, but the man seemed absolutely unbothered by it. He forcefully kicked Porthos against the shin and elbowed him hard against the ribs.

Aramis and Athos both took their chance, and tried to land multiple strikes on their opponent. Cluzet, who had been a French infantry soldier before he had become a criminal, was experienced in sword fighting, and blocked the attacks. His counter attack forced both of them back into defence, but Porthos had regained his focus and his strength. He grabbed the hilt of his long dagger and made a step forward, ready to plunge it into the man's torso, when suddenly, he could see the flash of the metal and he ducked his head just in time. With his other hand, he grabbed the improvised torch from earlier and swung it like a mace. Little sparks of the fire sprayed into all directions and Cluzet grunted with pain as some of them hit his eyes.

His blade caught Porthos' with surprise, and due to the impact on his dagger, Porthos lost his weapon. With his bare hands, he approached Cluzet, and out of the corner of his eyes, he could see that Athos and Aramis both were back on their feet and ready to strike.

Porthos grabbed Cluzet's arm, and wrenched it violently into his direction. Cluzet swung his rapier like a wounded animal, and Porthos used the opportunity to wordlessly push him into Aramis' awaiting arms.

The marksman cut through the leader's arm, who screamed with indignation and anger. He lost his balance and stumbled sideways – right into Athos' awaiting blade.

Cluzet's eyes widened as realization hit him and he grabbed Athos' shoulder for support. Athos stared him down mercilessly and with a sickening sound, he pulled the sword out of the man's torso. Cluzet looked at the blood on his chest, his eyes wide with disbelief, before he hit the ground and stared at the ceiling.

"What an idiot," Porthos spat and collected Cluzet's fancy rapier from the ground. "Going against all three of us at once."

"He had a remarkable confidence," Athos replied calmly.

"Well," Aramis commented and slid down the wall he had been leaning against. "That was fun. I could do without the fire though."

Athos grunted approvingly. "No time to take a break." He limped towards his friend and lend him a helping hand.

"Come on, let's get out of here."

"Easy, d'Artagnan!" Tréville commanded. He and some other musketeers had gone back into the mansion, starting with the basement, to search for survivors and any remaining assassins.

"You hear that, Captain?" d'Artagnan asked when he heard the sound of clashing steel. Tréville sped up too and when he and the young musketeer turned around the corner, the scene they were met with was relieving and grotesque at the same time.

There was Porthos, looking quite beaten, talking quietly to the King. Athos was helping Aramis stand, and both of them looked more than exhausted.

"Your majesty!" Tréville exclaimed, while d'Artagnan let out a "Finally!" between clenched teeth.

"I'm fine," the King immediately said and turned towards Tréville. "Please, Captain. Get me out of here. Where's my wife?"

"D'Artagnan brought her into safety, Sire," the captain explained. "Come on."

"You three are hard to kill," d'Artagnan said towards his three comrades.

"Do I here disappointment, whelp?" Porthos asked with amusement in his voice.

"No, no," d'Artagnan said and grinned childishly. Without wasting more time, they hurried towards the exit as fast as they could.

Once they had arrived outside, the King had demanded to see Anne immediately, and the King had told one of his musketeers to take care of it. He was also sure to have seen the figure of Milady de Winter somewhere in the waiting crowd, and judging by Athos' face, the swordsman had seen it too.

Athos and Aramis had dropped onto the grass, and Porthos and d'Artagnan were standing in front of them. All of them were staring at the giant fire that was still devouring parts of the mansion.

"You did a good job, all of you," Tréville explained, and shot a meaningful look at all of them, d'Artagnan included.

"Not like we had a choice, heh?" Porthos replied, but there was a smile playing around his lips. Aramis chuckled affirmatively, but Athos just stared at something only he could see.

"What is it, Athos? I can almost taste your disapproval of my words." Tréville raised an eyebrow.

Athos was still sitting on the ground next to Aramis, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked up to face the Captain, and an expression of resignation spread across his bloody face.

"I just came to realize: I really hate masquerades."

"That's a little exaggerated," Aramis commented from the ground. "But let's put it this way." He lifted his head, his pale face scrunched with irony.

"Next time, captain, I'll gladly take stable duty."

There was a soft chuckle from all and a slightly annoyed grunt from d'Artagnan, but Tréville once again realized how lucky he was to consider this band of brothers part of his regiment. Yes, they were playing with his nerves at times, and yes, they were definitely responsible for a lot of his grey hairs, but their loyalty towards one another was endless.

But as he watched them now, sitting on the wet grass and staring at the remains of the mansion, he noticed that they shared something more than that. As ironic as it was, he knew that they all wore their masks, and they all hid something behind it.

Athos seemed cold and calculating at times, yes even ruthless some would say, and a man who'd put honour above all else. But underneath that, there were the reasons why he did what he did, and how much he treasured the friendships he had gained in the brotherhood of the musketeers. And Tréville knew how far Athos would go to make sure no innocent soul is harmed.

Porthos had a reputation of being a man who loved to use violence to sort everything out, a man who breaks more than he could repair. Loud, cheerful, and easily tricked according to his enemies. But in reality, Tréville knew that Porthos had a very strategic mind, and knew how to use his enemy's weaknesses to his advantage. He was the rock, keeping them all together at times. And God help those who'd dare to harm one of his brothers.

Aramis was the Casanova, not only to the musketeers but to half the women of Paris. His brothers loved him for his compassion and hunger for fighting, and enemies hated him for his annoying charm. Or for sleeping with their wives. But every now and again, Aramis dropped that mask, and all the years among the ranks of the musketeers had formed him into a loyal friend, and someone who cared deeply about those he shared his time with.

And as reckless as d'Artagnan could be, and as much as the other three acted like he was still the whelp, the new one who lacked experience, Tréville knew that there was a side of the young Gascon he hadn't seen yet. His overwhelming sense for bringing justice to the world had clouded everything else they may know about him, but Tréville had seen how Athos, Aramis and Porthos had looked at their friend. With something that resembled fear, fear of knowing what a couple of years serving as a soldier and a musketeer could do to some people. Perhaps, they sensed something in d'Artagnan Tréville couldn't see yet.

But all of them, they had once thing in common. They weren't afraid to drop the masks and show the whole truth.

At least to each other.

-The End-