A/N: Thank you guests Laureleaf and Jmp for reviewing! Last chapter here.

Chapter 4

Victor sat at the writing desk in the guest chambers at the palace, his thoughts churning with anticipation and plots for when he would finally be able to confront Richelieu with what he knew. He would have years ago had the secret orders for his assassination not mysteriously disappeared after he had gone out to take care of the Musketeer dogs.

"You run and hide," Christine was saying to their son. "And I'll count to twenty. One. Two."

Small footsteps went pattering into the outer room.

"Three." Christine paused and turned to Victor, leaning against the arm of his chair. "I didn't expect to enjoy so much of your company in Paris."

"I thought you would favor the Cardinal over me," he said.

She ran her fingers over his hair.

"There's a small matter to be resolved before we conclude negotiations," he added.

"I suppose the Cardinal's trying one of his famous tricks," she said. "What a terrible man. You can't trust him at all, you know."

"I have no such intention."

Christine walked her fingers around the back of his neck. "How devious you are. It's one of the things I admire about you."

Victor shifted to snake an arm around her waist and pull her halfway into his lap. "And? What else do you admire?"

"No," she replied. "Now you're fishing for it." She lowered her voice and pressed a finger against his lips. "And I won't indulge your vanity."

"Mama, where are you?" came little Louis's voice from the other room.

"Coming!" she called back but didn't rise.

"What if I decide to defy France and side with Spain?" Victor asked.

Christine's expression was sober. "Whatever you decide, I will support you until the end." She leaned in closer. "And I love you for it."

Victor tipped his head back to press his mouth to hers.

Then someone cleared their throat, and they broke apart.

Christine huffed. "Gontard, you are the most inconvenient man." With a glance back at Victor, she stood and went out into the other room to find their son.

Victor rose from his chair. "Did you get the confession?"

Gontard shifted his weight nervously. "Musketeers arrived before I could."

"What?" Victor spat. "How did they find you?"

"I don't know."

Victor spun away, furious. He would not be thwarted from his course, not when he was so close to bringing Richelieu to his knees.

"No matter," he said, taking a composing breath. "I know enough, and I will make France beg for forgiveness and their precious treaty. And then I might side with Spain anyway," he added.

No one, not the Cardinal, not his wife's brother, and not a lowly musketeer, was going to make him look weak or subservient.

.o.0.o.

Athos watched as Doctor Lemay finished wrapping Aramis's ribs, Porthos helping to hold his arms and shirt up. Nothing was broken, but Lemay had concluded that some stabilization would be beneficial, especially considering the persistent coughs Aramis was wracked with.

Lemay tucked in the end of the bandage and Aramis was finally able to put his arms down. There was some swelling in his shoulders from having been strung up and his wrists had been salved and bandaged, but the worst damage seemed to have come from the water torture.

"I advise you stay propped up as much as you can with some pillows," Lemay said. "I'll mix up a tonic for the pain, and send for me immediately if the cough worsens."

Aramis was too worn out to respond to the instructions so Athos answered,

"We will."

Porthos grabbed several pillows from the other infirmary beds and moved to position them behind Aramis against the headboard. Lemay made up the tonic and left it with them before packing up his bag and taking his leave. Athos went ahead and poured some of the medicine into a cup of mulled wine and brought it over to Aramis, holding the cup steady as those coughs kept interrupting his attempts to drink it all.

The door opened and closed with Treville's return, and they all looked up in expectation. Athos felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach at the grim expression on the captain's face.

"What did the King say?" he asked, fearing the answer.

Treville came to a standstill before them and drew his shoulders back. "The King was aware of what the Cardinal did. It was done with his blessing."

"What?" Porthos erupted.

Athos stood ramrod still, the foundation of his world beginning to tilt off its axis.

"The Cardinal used the Musketeers as a distraction in order to protect France's most valuable spy in Savoy—the Duchess."

"The Duchess?" Athos repeated.

"Her cover was under threat from a Spanish spy," Treville explained. "The Duke's chancellor. The Cardinal led him to believe the Musketeers were there to assassinate him in order to get to Cluzet and remove him before he could expose the Duchess. From what I understand, it was a success."

Athos glanced around at the others, not sure what to make of this revelation.

"We were betrayed…to save the Duchess?" Aramis spoke up, sounding just as lost as the rest of them likely felt.

Treville nodded gravely. "As much as I cannot condone the way it was done, yes, it was done to protect France." His gaze hardened. "This is a state secret," he emphasized. "I shouldn't even be telling you, but Aramis especially deserves the truth, and the King didn't expressly forbid me from sharing what I learned with you." His expression pinched with regret then. "The Cardinal manipulated him, playing on his love for his sister to get him to sacrifice his musketeers."

Silence filled the room.

"So what now?" d'Artagnan asked, breaking it.

"Nothing," Treville said. "We cannot pursue the matter without risking the Duchess."

"The Duke isn't jus' gonna let this go," Porthos pointed out. "He knows about Aramis now; what's ta stop him from comin' after him again?"

Treville's lips thinned. "The Duke cannot stay in France indefinitely. He has only two choices: sign the treaty or not. Either way, he'll have to return to Savoy soon."

"He's going to accuse the Cardinal," a feminine voice intruded.

They all snapped their gazes to the door which none of them seemed to have heard open. A stunned hush fell over them as the Duchess herself drew back the hood of her cloak from her face.

"Your Grace," Treville said in surprise.

"I have come to ask for your help, Captain Treville."

"Why should we care if the Cardinal's schemes get brought to light?" Porthos spoke up.

"The security of France is at stake," she replied. "This treaty is of utmost importance to protect France from Spain."

"She's right," Treville said. "We should get to the palace before things get out of hand."

Athos wasn't sure how exactly the captain thought this situation could be salvaged, but they could not ignore their duty.

Porthos looked reluctant to leave Aramis but Treville shot him a sharp look.

"D'Artagnan will stay with Aramis," he said.

D'Artagnan gave a staunch nod, and Athos knew the boy would look after their friend—and protect him should the Duke make another move while simultaneously confronting Richelieu.

The rest of them started to file toward the door, but the Duchess paused and turned back, eyes swimming with remorse as she looked at Aramis.

"I'm sorry for what happened five years ago. When I found out what was sacrificed in order to protect me…" She trailed off, looking at a loss for words. Really, what could be said?

She inclined her head in silent gratitude.

Aramis didn't respond, and Athos didn't blame him. The shock of these truths and the brutality he'd just gone through would be overwhelming to the stoutest man.

As they exited the infirmary and made their way out of the garrison, the Duchess slipped away. She'd completed her duty as France's spy and now it was up to the rest of them to figure out what to do about the looming explosion.

They reached the palace just as the Duke and his first minister barged into the hall where the King and Cardinal were convened.

"Victor," Louis said nervously.

The Duke's scathing glare was fixed on Richelieu. "You tout the importance of an alliance between Savoy and France, but I know you tried to assassinate me five years ago," he declared.

The Cardinal's brows shot upward in apparent disbelief at the accusation and he scoffed. "I did no such thing."

"My chancellor Cluzet showed me the orders from you."

Richelieu's lips twitched almost smugly, though he quickly attempted to smooth his expression. "By all means, present these so-called orders."

The Duke sneered at him. "After I thwarted the assassination attempt on my life, I returned to find my chancellor murdered and the orders gone. Obviously someone got through. But you still failed."

"This is ridiculous," the Cardinal exclaimed.

The Duke snapped his vitriolic gaze to the King. "Present all your musketeers and I will pick out one of the would-be assassins that escaped that night."

Athos stiffened. He would not allow Aramis to be paraded as a scapegoat for these machinations. "Are you saying you're responsible for the slaughter of twenty musketeers five years ago?" he spoke up loudly.

The Duke whipped that scathing glower toward him. "The only thing I am responsible for is defending my land and family."

The Cardinal let out another derisive scoff. "This whole thing sounds like one huge misunderstanding. We should focus on the present, not rumors and speculation from five years ago that cannot be substantiated. The treaty is what's important now."

"To hell with your treaty!" the Duke exclaimed. "I demand satisfaction."

Athos stepped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword. "I will give you satisfaction."

"Athos!" Treville snapped. "Stand down."

The Duke held up his hand, eyes alight with intrigue and a thirst for violence. "No, I will fight a duel with this musketeer."

He doffed his jacket and handed it off to his first minister. Athos removed his doublet as well and passed it to Porthos to hold.

"What is going on?" a familiar voice inquired as the Duchess swept into the room.

"That matter I spoke of must finally have some recompense," the Duke replied.

Her eyes widened in what Athos thought must have been feigned surprise. She hastened toward her husband, lowering her voice though it still carried in the large hall.

"You cannot do this."

"Spoken like a true daughter of France," he said contemptuously.

She took him by the arms earnestly. "I am the Duchess of Savoy and your loving wife before I'm anything. Think of Savoy and our son."

Athos waited as the Duke eyed him intently, the cogs of the man's mind visibly turning.

"Very well," the Duke finally announced. "We will not duel to the death." He jabbed a finger at Athos. "If he wins, then we discuss the treaty. But if I triumph…then I return home immediately."

Athos furrowed his brow a fraction.

"Sorry," the Cardinal sputtered. "I assume you're joking?"

The Duke drew his blades and rolled his neck to stretch his muscles in preparation.

Athos unsheathed his rapier and parrying dagger as Richelieu turned to Treville.

"Will your man win?"

"Athos is the best swordsman in the regiment," the captain replied, though his gaze was tense.

"That's not what I asked."

"Is this a good idea, Cardinal?" Louis asked from behind them.

"That rather depends on the outcome."

Athos turned away from their debate. The outcome of the treaty was not his concern here; avenging Aramis for the torture he'd endured, both today and five years ago, was. He raised his blades, prepared to exact every ounce of fury on behalf of his brother and the other twenty fallen musketeers.

"He who draws blood first is the winner," the Duke said.

Athos gave a clipped nod. Then they advanced, no warning, no fan flourish, just deadly resolve and righteous retribution. Steel collided in a series of staccato screeches as both swordsmen parried and riposted in a flurry. They locked blades at one point, their faces inches from each other. The Duke's cheeks puffed with exertion and rage; Athos felt himself vibrating with the same fiery wrath.

They broke apart, spinning around so they'd changed places on the floor. The Duke struck again, the clash of metal resounding throughout the hall and amplified by its echoes. Athos drove the man back, all the way to the throne dais where he finally caught the Duke's rapier with his own and gave a deft twist that wrenched the sword from the Duke's hand. The Duke backpedaled to avoid a slice from Athos's parrying dagger and ended up tripping on the bottom step and sprawling on his back at Louis's feet. Athos moved in and pressed the tip of his sword to the Duke's throat.

All he had to do was give a small cut, draw first blood. But his blood was singing for justice and in his mind all he could see was Aramis strapped to that bench, half drowned.

He saw him lying pale as death in the snow under the wing of his dragon long since cold…

"Athos!" Treville snapped in a low voice.

For a brief moment, he considered defying it all and killing the Duke anyway.

But then he reined himself in and delivered a quick score across the man's collar bone. First blood. The duel was won.

The Duke was seething up at him. Athos crouched down as though to offer him a hand up and lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "The musketeers in Savoy were not there to assassinate you. Whatever players chose to mislead you in their game, the lone survivor knew nothing of it."

He stood then and sheathed his blades, turning his back on the man responsible for so much death and suffering.

Porthos whistled softly under his breath as he handed Athos back his coat. "I woulda killed him."

"I almost did," he confessed. "But the treaty between France and Savoy is for the good of the country, and that is our duty above all."

"I'm glad you realized that before doing something irreparable," Treville muttered, glancing over his shoulder at the Duke stumbling over to his wife and first minister in humiliation. "You both get back to the garrison. I don't want the Duke to see either you or Aramis for the rest of his stay."

Athos couldn't agree more with that.

Treville's gaze shifted to Richelieu and his expression crinkled with regret. "I'm sorry true justice could not be won here today."

Athos inclined his head in acknowledgement. There would be no such justice for Aramis and those twenty musketeers. All they could do was come to terms with the truth and hope to move on.

.o.0.o.

The infirmary was quiet, save for when a series of coughs would break the silence. Aramis pressed an arm across his chest to brace against the jarring movement. The coughs themselves were not that bad, but coupled with the beating he'd taken and tightness in his lungs from repeated asphyxiation, he was in misery.

Not the least of which was trying to make sense of all the recent revelations. For five years he'd believed the deaths of his friends had been some random, senseless waste of life. Now it turned out it was to save France's spy in Savoy—and yet it still felt like a waste and still felt senseless. For so long after it had happened, Aramis had wrestled with those feelings and questions. He'd taken them to God, trying to find answers in his faith as to how something so meaningless could have been allowed to happen. Now it had meaning, but only partially; the Cardinal's actions had been guided by his personal vendetta. And knowing the truth now didn't bring Aramis any solace as he had prayed for, because the ones responsible were out of reach, just as those nonexistent Spanish raiders had been.

He coughed again, the pain in his chest and heart feeling fit to burst. D'Artagnan sat by his bed, watching him worriedly.

"What was Grettir like?" the boy asked out of the blue.

Aramis blinked, startled, and his chest constricted further at the mention of his first dragon. He swallowed around the spiky lump in his throat. "She was brave. Loyal. A little mischievous at times." His mouth quirked at the unbidden memory. "She liked to steal my things and hide them. Especially my hat."

D'Artagnan's lips curled into a wry smile. "You have a type."

Aramis couldn't help but laugh at that, even as grief anew made moisture prick at the corners of his eyes. "She gave her life to save mine," he said, voice breaking.

D'Artagnan's expression was full of empathy. "Because she was brave and loyal."

Aramis blinked the tears away. "I would have given anything to save them."

Not a single one had come back from that forest. Just him. It was a heavy burden to carry.

"I'm sure each one of them would have willingly done the same for you," d'Artagnan said quietly. "They did."

Aramis closed his eyes. D'Artagnan was right.

And that was another heavy weight to live with.

The door creaked open and he looked over to see Porthos and Athos had returned.

D'Artagnan leaped to his feet. "What happened?"

"The Duke is going to sign the treaty, and then hopefully depart as soon as possible," Athos reported.

Aramis frowned. That was it?

"What about the massacre and the Cardinal?" d'Artagnan pressed impatiently.

Porthos let out a loud chuff. "Yeah, they were almost at each other's throats there fer a minute. Then Athos basically challenged the Duke to a duel to settle it."

"He was the one who demanded satisfaction first," Athos put in blandly. "I merely presented him with the opportunity to try."

Aramis gaped at his friend in disbelief.

Porthos snorted. "Yeah. Athos thrashed him. An' they'd decided not to duel to the death, but the winner decided whether the Duke was gonna sign the treaty or not."

Athos turned sober eyes to Aramis. "I'm sorry we can't get you and the other musketeers justice."

Aramis gave himself a small shake. "We're soldiers," he finally said. "We follow our orders no matter where they lead. Justice was never part of the arrangement."

"It should be," Athos said seriously. "But in any case, hopefully the Duke will abandon any vendetta against you personally."

Aramis's stomach churned at the thought.

"So, that's it?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes," Athos replied.

Aramis honestly didn't know how he felt about it all. Hopefully it would get easier once the Duke was back in Savoy.

He pushed himself up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Whoa, where do you think yer goin'?" Porthos exclaimed, rushing forward to grip his arm. D'Artagnan grabbed his other one.

"I need to get up," he said adamantly.

"You need ta rest."

Aramis shook his head. "There's something I need to do." The small cough that punched its way up didn't lend support to his state. "Besides, I need to move around some," he added. "So the water in my lungs doesn't settle too much and cause pneumonia."

Porthos's eyes widened with new worry, which Aramis felt only slightly guilty for causing. But he wasn't lying when he said moving around would help. It just wasn't going to be very comfortable.

Giving in, Porthos and d'Artagnan helped Aramis into his boots and then to his feet. Walking was indeed laborious but he doggedly made his way out of the infirmary into the yard.

"Can't it wait until tomorrow?" Athos asked, eyeing him sharply as his breaths started to wheeze slightly.

Aramis shook his head.

The dragons were outside and Rhaego immediately scampered over, whimpering worriedly as he sniffed Aramis's hair.

Aramis patted his muzzle. "You found me, didn't you?" He didn't remember much of his rescue, but doubted the others would have found him so quickly without Rhaego's tracking skills.

The russet dragon dipped his head lower, and Aramis pressed their foreheads together. "Thank you."

After a moment, he straightened and used Rhaego as a crutch as he slowly made his way across the yard and out a side door into a field—the Musketeer cemetery. It was a small plot of land, but filled all too soon in its early days with twenty fallen brothers in arms and a marker with the names of Aramis's and Marsac's dragons.

Aramis stood in front of the rows, grieving the loss all over again. The pain would never fully go away, but Aramis felt his brothers step close, silent yet supportive. He was not alone. No matter what, they would help him carry these burdens whenever they became too much for him to bear. There was still room in his heart to love again.

Because he'd survived. And he owed it to the lost ones to live.

NEXT TIME

In the forests of Savoy, one dragon gives her all to save her rider. And his brothers have to pick up the pieces.