A/N: This takes place after season/series 1 and before season/series 2
Prelude
His healed boots descended upon the marble surface like the second hand on a clock, the steady rhythm beating upon his breast. A clock that continued on even when there were those who could not. It did not matter to him of its faithfulness, but only showed him how mortal, how easily ones life can be snuffed out. As of late the ticking sound mocked him in the waking hours and dragged on in the slumbering ones. Counting down what? till all this business would end? in life or in death, he couldn't help but wonder. His steady steps pounded in his skull making the already boisterous sounds ache throughout his head all the way down to his booted feet. Nerves fraying like strips of linen washed too much. He felt rubbed raw, dragged down under by the weight of his position. Yet his sword kept up the beat, clinking across his thigh, and he wondered not for the first time whose sword he would finally die from? For was that not what every musketeer dreamed they would get, an honorable death? Still his boots traveled along the smooth surface without his wandering thoughts to deter him from his true goal.
He would not waste away like some as of late, waiting for the final seconds to shut the breath from ones body. He would not dry up, shriveling into nothing if he could help it…and wasn't that the true voice of his disquiet? Having that control, that all men thought they possessed, be snatched from you like a prayer in the night? That was truly frightening just to ponder on. Perspiration dotted his brow now as he pulled up to the solid doors. Strength that was so sure a minute ago leaving him, making his strong stride falter on the last step.
He berated himself. He was to appear sturdy, immovable especially when the heaviness of the hour seemed to crush him. Taking a deep breath and running a hand through his thinning hair, he straightened his shoulders and put the worries that plagued him to the back of his mind. He was the captain of the musketeers and the King sought his counsel…Treville would not be moved from that, he would have control of that, he thought as he entered the room.
"What news, Captain?" King Louis declared into the echoed halls of the chamber.
The word "captain" floated thru Treville's mind, mocking him with its whispers of leadership…he hated this daily duty of his, yet was reminded of soft words that were spoken to him at another trying time…we're soldiers captain. we follow our orders no matter where they lead…even to death.... Swallowing tightly and clutching his hat to his chest he bowed low and replied, "the sickness has taken nine more, Your Majesty" taking one more deep breath in thru his nose and looking up, he breathed out, "including three of Your Majesty's Musketeers".
A sharp intake of breath reverberated in the chamber so soft Treville almost missed it, but as his eyes met the queens, he took in the pale skin and wide eyes till softly she spoke, "and who might they be, Captain".
Out of the corner of his eye, Treville did not miss the way the Cardinal wet his lips in anticipation of said answer and it suddenly made him sick to gaze upon such single mindedness even in these troubling times. That one would hold onto his hatred in the face of death, made his cheeks burn. Pushing down his nausea to fuel his anger he leveled his stare upon the Cardinal.
"who indeed", slipped past his lips on no more than a puff of sound, as he pierced his eyes upon the Cardinals arrogant stare.
"Captain?", Treville's head turned back to the King, who was trying so valiantly to remain still even if his hands were rubbing raw the ends of his arm rest. Treville next looked to the queen, eyes as wide as saucers, hands stretched across her expanding stomach and lips parted to prevent whatever names he himself would share. And as he saw both of there pleading eyes and nervous hands his anger was snuffed out to fly away like smoke from a candle.
"Captain", the King spoke again, "what say you?"
Treville once again took a deep breath, closed his eyes and with a heavy heart opened them and spoke...
note: "True friendship comes when the silence between two people is comfortable" is from D.T. Gentry
