I Chose Disgrace, Where There Was No Honor In Obedience

CHAPTER 1

He could not recall a time he had felt so tired and exhausted, not in all these years. Maybe it really was time for him to retire. Tréville opened the cabinet behind his desk, grabbed the bottle of Cognac he kept there and filled his glass with a a good measure of the golden liquid. The past couple of weeks had sucked almost all energy out of him. The business with the visit of the Duke of Savoy, and what came along with it. The increasing quarrels with Richelieu who seemed to gain more and more power over King Louis with each day that passed and he could do nothing more than stay alert and hold his ground.

And now...

The day had not started well, with news of uprisings in the southern districts of France, where the people suffered after a long hot summer without rain, the cattle dying and the fields withering, which left them nothing to store away for the coming winter. And what meager yield they had managed to scrape together claimed by the tax collectors to go to the always empty state coffers. Already rumors were heard of self-declared preachers, seen here and there, who claimed to know who had brought the drought over the land, namely the Antichrist in the shape of King Philip of Spain, fueling the already anti-Spanish attitude further and rallying an increasing number of followers around them.

He would have to send men to quell what could rise to a devastating storm, and so he had spent most of the day brooding over the map, trying to locate where he could gain the utmost success in crushing the riot without needing to send half of his regiment. In particular because he had only a limited number of Musketeers at hand to be sent away for a couple of days. The king was planning a hunting trip where a good dozen or more Musketeers would be needed to protect and entertain the entourage while the pregnant queen and her ladies stayed at the palace. So he also was in need of enough Musketeers for palace duty as well as the occasional delivery of missives should the queen require it.

The summons from the cardinal had come just as Tréville had been about to make his way to the Louvre, to seek a private audience with the king to discuss his plans. Exhausted from the effort of trying to make the right decisions, he had only asked Étienne to get his horse ready and ridden to meet the cardinal, hoping that this was nothing more than just the usual complaint about how his Musketeers were harassing the Red Guards.

Only, it was not.

Tréville had kept his mien neutral, trying to not give away anything, but the revelation the cardinal had disclosed as lightly as if he talked about the summer rain everyone was hoping for, had shaken the captain to the core. Naturally, he had not admitted anything, and Richelieu surely had not expected him to, but his denial had been weak, even to his ears. He had called the accusations outright ridiculous and stated that he would no longer stand there and listen to them, and then he had taken his leave. The cardinal had made clear what he expected of Tréville, had even given him a choice, not that he really had one.

Two days.

He had two days to make a choice which would ruin his life either way. But he would take that chance nonetheless, for to have his life taken from him on the gallows dishonorably and as traitor to his country surely was nothing he strove for. Not that there would be a life for him at all after choosing the other option, but with this he could at least accomplish one last service for king and country. Why Richelieu had not instantly and without warning crushed him with the utmost pleasure before the king, Tréville did not understand, and he didn't trust him either. But maybe this was the one concession the cardinal was willing to grant him, for after all, in the years they had worked closely together, both had served the same cause: to bring France the stability and greatness she deserved.

For eleven long years Tréville had dreaded this day, known with unwavering certainty that it would catch up with him one day, that he would have to account for what he had done. But when the cardinal had brought it up boastfully and arrogantly as he was wont, knowing quite well how deadly a blow he was dealing, it had come to him as a shock nonetheless.

But be that as it may, Tréville thought; he had already made his choice...

x-x-x-x-x

Aramis had stared up to the balcony leading to the armory for a good three minutes, before Porthos deemed it proper to ask him if he would join them for the meal or if Porthos could eat what was piled on Aramis' plate.

"Do not even think of it," Aramis retorted, before finally lowering his head to look at his friends. D'Artagnan and Porthos were still busy with emptying their plates, but Athos looked expectantly towards Aramis.

"Anything of interest up there?" the older man asked.

Aramis let his eyes roam over his brothers once more before he answered. "I am not sure, but there is something not right with the captain. When he returned he seemed kind of …. not his usual self?" Aramis turned what he had intended to come out as a statement into a question, unsure how to express his feeling about the behavior of their captain.

"That's right," d'Artagnan claimed with his mouth full, "when he came back he missed noticing that Arnaud and Gayot were waiting for him outside his office to report back, he just walked by them and vanished into his office."

The young Gascon furrowed his brow. "Though, when I think about it, it's not that unusual. Only the day before yesterday I stood a full five minutes in front of his desk to attention and he totally ignored me and did not give the slightest hint he even knew I stood there. Until suddenly he yanked his head up, looked at me and said 'make your report, Musketeer, I don't have all day', as if I had not been standing there forever," d'Artagnan pouted.

"And I am sure this has absolutely nothing to do with said Musketeer being more often than not rash, impetuous and anything but the epitome of obedience," Athos stated, eyebrow raised and the mouth twitching as if he had problems restraining himself from smirking.

"No, surley not-" d'Artagnan started, but trailed off when he heard Porthos laughing heartily and saw Aramis grinning ear to ear.

"Now, that's not fair!" the young man growled, pouting even more, and made a fuss of pushing away his plate and rising to his feet.

"Easy, whelp, we are just saying," Porthos said, putting an arm around the Gascon's shoulder. "And this coming from Athos you can take as a compliment, not a criticism." The big man winked at Athos.

Before Athos could do anything more than throw an icy stare towards Porthos and squint his eyes, which was message enough, Aramis spoke. "Leaves us still with what mystery is behind the behavior of the captain." The marksman emptied his plate, pushed it away from himself and grabbed his hat. "But I guess there's always tomorrow to solve it."

They all rose from the table, grabbing hats, rapiers, harquebus and whatever else they had relieved themselves of before sitting down to eat dinner.

"Messieurs, I'll see you tomorrow." Porthos headed off to find himself a card game, while Athos announced he had a bottle with his name on it waiting for him, not forgetting to ask if d'Artagnan cared to join him. He had found that since the young Gascon had made his way into their midst, drinking alone was not as compelling as it used to be. In fact, he enjoyed the company of their youngest more often than not and if it left him drinking less than his usual quantity and helped him keep the shadows at bay, who was he to complain?

D'Artagnan gladly accepted the offer to spend the evening with his mentor in a tavern. It was seldom enough that he was able to spend some time alone with Athos. Besides, there were always things to learn from the older Musketeer and by now he also felt comfortable enough in the company of his lieutenant, which had not always been so. Even if Athos was not in the mood to talk much, it would be an enjoyable evening nevertheless.

Aramis could not be convinced to join either of them but insisted he had a warm bed waiting for him. So none of them saw the shimmer of light pouring out of the captain's office well into the early morning hours.

x-x-x-x-x

The next morning, Aramis was the last of the Inseparables to arrive at the garrison, but he walked in with a swinging step and in an exceptionally good mood.

"Bonjour messieurs," he announced, full of verve, and with an elegance only the marksman could accomplish, pulled off his hat, bowing slightly. "Isn't it a wonderful morning!"

Porthos grinned, "It is indeed, and I guess there is a very happy madame in Paris right now, whose bed is just cooling off. But please tell me you did not have to hop from a windowsill again. I'd hate if I had missed seeing it!"

"Ah, mon ami, you live and learn," Aramis retorted and collapsed on the bench beside Porthos. "I made sure that her husband is at least a day's journey away. It's so much more convenient if one does not have to rush out of bed with just his smallclothes on and can bid the lady a decent farewell. Now, would you pass me the cheese, d'Artagnan, I am starving."

"Maybe you should not only make sure that the husband is absent from Paris but that there is no husband at all? You know, there a lot of agreeable widows out there. It would make the pleasure last a bit longer without having to leave the lady in the morning, and in a hurry at that."

"Come now, Porthos, where would then be the fun in it?" The marksman smiled, eyes sparkling full of mischief.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I'll never understand how you can so lightly talk about loving someone," he murmured.

Athos, who sat beside d'Artagnan and had listened to the bantering of the other Musketeers without a comment, now glanced towards d'Artagnan. "Don't judge Aramis on the many affairs he has, or is said to have. He loves deeply, perhaps deeper than any of us is capable of, though it may not appear like it."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to protest, but Athos interrupted him, "Yes, we know, there's nobody who loves as wholeheartedly and passionately as you love the respectable Madame Bonacieux." When he saw the hurt look on the young man's face he added, "There's no offense intended d'Artagnan, but you still have to learn a lot in life. Women can be scheming and cruel, and in the end you'll have your heart ripped out and left to bleed to death." He paused and then continued, "If you are angry with me for saying so, then I'll gladly abide it if it keeps you from being hurt."

D'Artagnan was surprised by the serious words and the sad look accompanying them, and unsure how to respond.

Athos glanced fondly over to Aramis who was busy with slicing pieces of meat, but nevertheless aware of the conversation his brothers had across from him, even though he gave no hint that he did so. "It's something our charming breaker of hearts has yet to experience," Athos said loud enough for Aramis to hear it. And in a much softer voice even d'Artagnan had trouble hearing, he added, "Though I rather wish he never will for all his deep loving is helping him to keep his ghosts away."

"Athos. A word, please!"

The shout from above startled the four Musketeers who were still busy with finishing off their meal. Athos looked up to give a sign of acknowledgment, but Tréville had already stepped back into his office. If his brothers wondered why the captain had only called upon Athos, no one voiced their thought, but Athos could see the questions in their eyes when he glanced towards them, probably the same question he himself had been turning over in his mind ever since he had set foot in the courtyard this morning. There was a slight change in Tréville's behavior, the way he carried himself. Like Aramis had voiced yesterday, something was not as it should be with their captain. Athos got up from the table, put on his hat and ascended the stairs to meet his captain's summons.

"What do you think?" Porthos was not sure if he liked this. "We in any trouble? I didn't brawl with no Red Guard," he stated, and after a short pause "at least not this week."

Aramis followed Athos up the stairs with his eyes until he was out of sight. "I don't know, my friend, but I am sure Athos will find out soon enough. I told you there's something going on. D'Artagnan, are you going to keep that all to yourself or would you mind sharing some of it with your beloved brother?"

D'Artagnan startled. He hadn't been aware that he was still clutching the tankard with sweetened wine in his hands, still distracted from what Athos just had uttered as well as from the shout from Tréville. Aramis grabbed the tankard and filled his goblet, taking a gulp before putting away the last chunks of meat. For all the amenities he was wont to receive during a night he had the pleasure of spending in the presence of a willing lady, there never seemed to be enough time to get a proper disjune. He cleaned his dagger before sheathing it away and looked over to Porthos, who still stood with a frown on his face, trying to figure out the meaning of this all.

"Come on Porthos, you will not solve this by staring into the air all day. Athos will tell us what the captain is up to upon his return."

x-x-x-x-x

Athos carefully closed the door and took a step towards the desk Tréville was already seated behind. He had not looked up when Athos had entered, nor had he shown the slightest inclination that he was aware of the Musketeer's presence, so Athos waited.

Finally, the older man looked up. If Athos had not had years of exercise schooling his face into a mask of indifference, now his face would have given away the surprise and shock he felt when he saw how the captain seemed to have aged between nightfall and daybreak.

"Athos," said captain now addressed his lieutenant, "today I will inform the king of my decision to resign my command. I want to suggest that he appoint you as commander of the Musketeer Regiment." Tréville raised his hand to stop Athos, who just had regained his composure and was about to speak. "No, please let me finish. I know you will argue you do not deem yourself suited to lead the men, but you are. There is no one in this regiment with your upbringing and your strategic ability. I could not think of anyone better suited than you. If the king will accept my recommendation I would beg of you to accept the appointment."

It seemed like Tréville wanted to add more, but could not find the words to do so. He looked away, turning his eyes on the papers in front of him, apparently dwelling on thoughts he was not inclined to share, and waited for any reaction from his lieutenant.

Athos had not moved yet nor did he show if or how the short speech of his captain had affected him. After a moment's silence, which Athos used to scrutinize the older man before him, he voiced his answer. "No."

Tréville's head shot up and he looked sharply at the younger man. "Athos..."

"No. Tell me why."

Tréville drew a deep breath before he spoke. "I already told you why. There is no one I could think of who is-"

"That is not what I mean. Why ever would you want to resign your command? You are a soldier thru and thru, you formed this regiment, you would never abandon your men. What's with your oath to serve the crown, faithful unto death?" Athos was utterly perplexed from the statement he had just heard and what could have transpired to lead to such a decision, and he let that confusion shimmer on his face and color his timbre.

"It is not your place to speak to your captain in such a way, nor to question his decisions," Tréville countered more sharply than he had wanted to. "It is my personal decision; I do not have to justify this to my subordinates, and if I think I have served enough for king and country who are you to question it?"

Tréville was angry, not so much that Athos dared to question his captain's decisions, but more that he himself had nothing but weak arguments to proffer, leaving him with only the option to cut off any discussions before they could arise.

"I am not asking as one of your soldiers," Athos voiced with a touch of sadness in his tone, "I am asking as a friend." He took a step towards the desk and Tréville slumped back into his chair.

"I fear you will have to accept it as it is. You can think about it and let me know of your decision by midday; then I will inform the king." Tréville looked away, eyes seeking something on the far wall, before he once again locked eyes with Athos. "I only ask of you that you consider it like a soldier would. You have sworn an oath to the crown, pledged to serve as best as you can. This is your chance to fulfill it."

Tréville started shuffling with papers on his desk, not looking at Athos anymore, but speaking once more. "I always believed you to be a man of true honor, I hope I was not mistaken there."

Athos knew he was dismissed, but could not bring himself to move. This was ridiculous, or maybe more serious than he was able to handle. Tréville was a man of principles, he would not lightly make such a decision without intention to stay the course.

"Was there anything else?" Tréville asked without lifting his head, already working on some papers, quill in his hand.

"No, captain." Athos darted one last glance towards the captain and took his leave.

After the door had shut behind Athos, Tréville had trouble concentrating on the field reports and missives he tried to sort out on his desk. Maybe he should just stack them up to a neat pile on his desk, for tomorrow it would be none of his business anymore anyway. He sighed again.

He knew his men were loyal to him, and the four Musketeers everyone now called the Inseparables for the rare bond which tied them firmly together, were perhaps even a little more unswerving than the rest of the regiment. More loyal than he deserved.

They had learned of his role in the whole miserable business with the training exercise in Savoy, knew the truth behind his part in the slaughter of twenty fellow brothers as well as his involvement in the death of Marsac, whom he was responsible for all the same. And still, they had never treated him with anything less than honest respect and unconditional loyalty, both of which he felt more than unworthy of. How Aramis was able to still call him captain was a mystery to him, but he was glad that the decisions he'd had to make back then were accepted for what they were; the service a soldier was bound to render for his king, at all costs.

Musing about these things, Tréville made a decision there and then. If Athos or one of his brothers came to demand answers, and here he was pretty sure that it wouldn't take long before one of them, or most likely all four of them together, would make an appearance within these walls, he would answer them truthfully. They deserved no less, for they had never forsaken him and if he wanted Athos to accept the position as captain of the Musketeer Regiment, then he needed to tell him the truth. Otherwise the Comte de la Fère would never even consider taking over the command, no matter how qualified he was, and then Richelieu would have once more prevailed. If it meant that afterwards they would no longer hold any respect for him, then that was everything he deserved. He would willingly pay the price if he could ensure the cardinal's plan to gain control over the Musketeers was thwarted.

Tréville was still pondering over how much he would be willing to reveal, staring with blind eyes at the sheet he held in his hands, when he heard heavy boots hastening up the wooden stairs towards the balcony leading to his office.

There was a knock at the door and even before Tréville could open his mouth to answer it, the door was pushed open and Aramis entered with forceful strides and in a grim mood. Following behind him were Porthos, with a furious expression on his face, and d'Artagnan. Athos brought up the rear and closed the door with a soft thud. He stayed back at the door, while Aramis and Porthos had planted themselves in front of the captain's desk, not sparing the tiniest thought to whether or not they should stand to attention, but rather appearing threatening and irate.

D'Artagnan lingered halfway between the door and the desk, unsure who he should side with. He still fought nerves whenever he had the bad luck to be on the receiving end of a dressing-down from the captain and it appeared the captain might be about ready to explode all over someone. The more promising decision, d'Artagnan deemed, would be to retreat back to Athos. That way he could at least put some distance between himself and Tréville. He stepped back, planted a shoulder to the wall, clamped his hands beneath his armpits and dipped his head, letting his hair fall forward to cover his eyes. It might be safer to wait for the storm to break from this vantage point.

"'this true?" Porthos growled.

Aramis swiped his hat off his head and took one more step closer to the desk, interrupting Porthos.

"I thought I must have misheard, because Athos here," Aramis waved a hand back toward the door where Athos still stood watching the scene unfold, "just told us you are resigning your commission and giving up your command. Only, it seems, that's exactly what he said." And after a short pause, he added "So, are you?"

Tréville had kept a straight face as the men he held in higher esteem than anyone else he knew, had stormed into his office, anger rolling off them in waves, but now he had to look away.

"Yes. And the rest is none of your business. Now leave my office. I am still your captain and this is an order!" He tried one last time to suppress their desire for answers with a rough voice.

It lacked the usual sharpness he was able to add to his bawling out when he was furious about orders not obeyed, but it would still have been enough to shoo away at least half of his regiment, for everyone knew about the strict discipline and unquestioning obedience he demanded from every soldier under his command. Not so these four, and he knew it. Though they were the most loyal and brave soldiers he had ever met, they all seemed to lack a certain degree of self-preservation if confronted with orders not converging with whatever agenda they had set their minds on and were determined to see through.

"This is the cardinal's doing." Aramis asked, though it was more a statement than a question, not one bit impressed with the order they had just received.

Why ever he still was surprised about their sharp minds, Tréville did not know. But he knew that now was the moment to either tell the truth, if he wanted to save the Musketeer's Regiment from Richelieu's greedy hands, or order them to leave and forfeit the one chance to secure the survival of his men.

Porthos was still glaring, his hands continually in motion as if they needed to punch something or someone. Aramis had put one hand on his hip, the other still clutching his hat and it would not have taken much for him to start tapping his foot.

Tréville remembered not long ago, when they also had come to him and asked for a truth he could not offer, had denied giving. Back then, they had accepted that he was not willing to share what was not for them to know. All but one. Aramis had not stopped there, had sought for the truth as if his life depended on it, and it very probably had. Tréville could not explain the relief he had felt after he had spilled out everything, the feeling that he could breathe again properly for the first time in long years. It had been like a stone, which had kept the sun out for too long, had been removed from the grave he was living in for the last years, cold and alone.

Tréville swiped a hand over his face and looked up again. If this was the end for him, then he would bear it with his head held high. They had once before learned that he was not the man and captain they saw in him, maybe now it would be more than they would be willing to overlook. But it would still leave him with the one chance he had. And if afterwards Athos would be willing to accept the position as their new captain, it was all he could ask for, even if none of them treated him with respect any longer.

Tréville pushed himself up from his seat and walked over to the cabinet where he kept glasses and his good cognac. He filled five glasses with the fine liquor before he returned to the desk and put down four of them.

"I think you might need this, at least I do." He downed his glass in one go. "Sit if you will, this is not a short story to tell."

Since there were not enough chairs available and none of them felt comfortable or calm enough to sit down anyway, the four friends just grabbed a glass of Cognac each, and started scattering around the room.

Unsurprisingly d'Artagnan was pulled towards Athos and leaned against the wall where Athos had already taken up position, while Porthos just stayed where he was, standing with his legs apart as if he had to prepare himself for the brewing storm. Aramis had set one foot on the lone chair in front of the desk, one arm propped up on the knee, and all eyes now looked expectantly to their captain.

Tréville started to speak.