A/N: Apologies for the long wait, unforeseen events came up. Things never turn out the way you expect... However, I hope you enjoy this little interlude!
Heartfelt thanks to fredbasset on AO3 for the quick beta return! Remaining errors, typos and holes in the plot are all mine.
Following the epilogue in While You Live, Your Troubles Are Many, this story starts immediately after Richelieu left the office (and roughly a month before Grimaud makes a deal with the terrorists in Iraq).
CHAPTER ONE
LaFère Security, Paris, January, 8th
Constance closed the door and glowered at the men around the conference table. "Okay. What? What is this? I want to know. Now."
Uncomprehending eyes stared at the young woman.
"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan asked finally.
"What do I mean? You know what I mean," Constance hissed.
The men shared a few quick, questioning glances.
"I discussed your behaviour with auntie a couple of times, she knows there's something off with you, as well. She's just too polite to ever ask or comment on it. I know that Aramis and d'Artagnan joined only last year, and yet you all behave like you've known each other for many years. You know stories and talk to each other of old times you cannot have shared if you only met last year," she spat, glowering at the men.
"And then the names. Peter Capaldi walked in here, out of the blue and yet completely familiar with you all, and he called you Athos. Why? How can he know this is a kind of nickname for you when to everyone else outside this firm you are Olivier? And what was this talk about Musketeers, and that you still have an obligation towards the king? What king? Is this a kind of joke between him and you? Only, he didn't look like he was making jokes, and you didn't either."
"Constance," d'Artagnan muttered, but was cut off by the young woman.
"Why do you call the commissioner Tréville or captain when his name is Monsieur Peyrer and he's no captain but has a much higher rank? I've heard you addressing him like that repeatedly, don't deny it, and he's never mentioned it. Even Monsieur Capaldi used this name, and one could wonder what business an English actor has with a French commissioner? And I've even heard the commissioner once address Anne as Queen. So, what in the Lord's name is it? What are you hiding from me? And don't dare deny it, from the way d'Artagnan often flounders when we speak, I know there's some secret you all share."
While d'Artagnan was wriggling about on his chair, Athos was glowering at Constance, somehow hoping his grim face would be enough to scare her off and make her drop the interrogation.
Aramis rose and stepped up to Constance, throwing his arm around her shoulder in a familiar way. "Constance," he said in a syrupy voice, smiling at her charmingly.
"Oh, don't Constance me!" the young woman hissed, wriggling free from Aramis' embrace.
Aramis looked hurt.
Porthos laughed lustily. "You should have known, your charm never worked on her." Immediately after the words had passed his lips, he realized his mistake and creased his face, ducking his head.
"Constance," Athos said. "We will give you an explanation, it's time anyway. But not now. We need to discuss-"
"No!" Constance interrupted Athos' speech, putting her foot down. She grabbed the nearest chair and pulled it away from the table. "I won't leave this room before you've told me the truth." To lend weight to her words she sat down and crossed her arms, glowering at Athos.
Athos glanced at Porthos, who shrugged, seeing there was nothing else for it but to come clean.
Aramis, standing behind Constance, nodded his consent to Athos' silent question. He, too, saw no other way out of this situation other than telling her the truth.
When he finally glanced at d'Artagnan, Athos realized that he looked utterly miserable and Athos pitied the young man. The old conflict of whether or not he wanted Constance to remember their old life was visible on d'Artagnan's face.
"Very well, but I'd ask you to hear us out. What we're going to tell you will sound crazy and unbelievable, but you wanted to hear it. We'll tell you the truth, this is not some kind of hoax. Just hear us out before you make any objections," Athos said, and then started his story. "You were right. Aramis joined this firm at the beginning of last year and d'Artagnan joined later that year, and we had never met before. At least not in this lifetime. Yet, as you so very precisely observed, we've all known each other for a long time, from a long time ago. We've met in an earlier life where we all served together. I know it sounds unbelievable and we all had problems accepting it, but it's the truth, plain and simple. I was shot in Afghanistan during an ambush, and when I woke up in the field hospital, I had memories of an earlier life for the first time. Porthos was stabbed and regained his memories, Aramis knocked his head. All these injuries were the trigger for our memories' resurfacing, and we later found out it was always the same kind of injury we had received back in our former life which caused the memories to resurface. What led to our deaths then stirred old memories now. And it keeps going on; Tréville, Anne, Peter Capaldi, my ex-wife, Elodie," Athos enumerated with the help of his fingers. "The list of those people who lived a life before and were somehow reborn in the present time grows longer and longer. All of them being people we knew in the past and who were, one way or the other, related to us." Athos fell silent to give Constance time.
Constance stared at Athos, processing what she had been told, her face looking more than sceptical. Finally, she said, "That's really hard to believe. You mean to say you're all reborn? You've all lived before? And all by chance at the same time and in the same city?"
"Not quite," Athos replied. "D'Artagnan was raised in Canada, Aramis originally hails from Spain, Tréville arranged his transfer to Paris a while ago, but yes, eventually we found ourselves again in the same city at the same time." Athos paused. "You said yourself that there are so many things hinting that we must've known each other for a long time, but there's no way we could have known, for example, d'Artagnan for years when he grew up in Quebec and only returned a short time before we met. I'm telling the truth."
"Mmh." One could see that a lot of thoughts seemed to whirl through the young woman's mind. "Let's presume I believe you, what time are you speaking of here with regard to your former life? You all died and were reborn in the same decade, right? Does it mean you all died around the same time in your former life? Were you soldiers during the war? Did you all die in one of the World Wars?"
Athos quickly glanced at his brothers. "No. It's further back in time, about 400 years ago." Again, he fell silent to wait for Constance's reaction, which wasn't long in coming.
"Four hundred years," Constance whispered in awe. "That's a long time. And you all remember this former life? "
"Yes."
"And you know me, too, from this former life? We knew each other then?"
"Yes."
"And aunt Charlène?"
"No. At least I cannot remember her from my earlier life. I don't think our paths ever crossed back then," Athos declared.
"So, how comes every one of you remembers his old life but I don't? You must admit, that doesn't sound very convincing."
The Musketeers looked at each other, silently debating who would answer the question.
"Athos just told you why," d'Artagnan finally said in a hushed voice. "It seems you only remember if you experience a similar injury or illness like the one that led to your death back then."
"Oh." Constance stared at the young man with wide eyes. "You mean if I knew how and when I died in a possible former life, I could inflict such an injury to myself and I would remember?"
"Basically, yes," said Aramis, "though no one here wants to see you harm yourself in order to regain any memory." He took a seat beside Constance. "Besides, the problem is that if you don't know how you died, you won't know what triggers the memory. You'll only learn of it once you have the same experience in this life."
"And we have no idea when or how you died, because we all died before you. So far, Anne was the last of us who died, and you came to see her on her death bed. She thinks you might have lived a long life and died of old age." Athos stopped, waiting if Constance would connect the dots.
"You mean if I died at an old age in a life I might have led before, I won't be able to remember it in this life, not until the day I die?"
"That's the problem. We can and will tell you about your past life, but what we tell you won't be your own memories. And that will make it easier for possible enemies to approach and harm you if you aren't aware of who they are. That's one of the bigger problems at the moment, because there are more and more people from our past turning up who are one way or the other out of sorts with us. But, above all things, we must hope for your willingness to trust us at all and believe the things we relate. Even if it sounds crazy and unbelievable to you." Athos cleared his throat. "Believe me, even for us it was hard to believe once the memories started resurfacing."
While Athos' words slowly settled, Constance turned her head to look at d'Artagnan. "What made you remember your old life? What happened to you?"
D'Artagnan was lost for words and started stuttering. "I, erm, I was, uh, do you mean in this life or the former life?"
"In both?"
D'Artagnan glanced at Athos, clearly searching for some kind of help from his older brother. This was definitely not going in accordance with the plan they had forged to never let Constance hear of happenings in past times.
"He was stabbed, and that was pretty similar to what happened back in time," Athos said unceremoniously, and it had nothing to with wanting to hurt the young man's feelings but that it was time Constance was brought up to date. If she was going to hear the truth, there was no way to spare her such details. "But that's not the point here. We need to make you aware of people, old enemies of ours, who are currently posing a threat to us. Trust us and you'll hear everything you need to know."
"Richelieu, who is Peter Capaldi in this life, but was the Cardinal Richelieu in his former life and the bane of our existence, just informed us of a new, serious matter that has arisen. Time presses," Aramis added.
"This is all a little much, I think I need some time to process it. It's not that I don't believe you, but it's really hard to … accept." Constance looked from one to another.
"Well, and no matter how much we tell you about it, if you don't remember for yourself, it will always only be stories for you," said Porthos who had been silent until now.
"Maybe not," Aramis added thoughtfully. "I just remembered what an acquaintance of mine told me. There's some kind of hypnosis that can awake lost memories. The police sometimes work with it, if victims are paralysed and can't remember what happened. It's also said to work if people want to remember former lives. I never believed in rebirth, and maybe still don't," he muttered, falling silent for a moment before he continued in a louder voice. "But a lot of people do and the demand for such kind of hypnosis is massive, according to what my former colleague said." He looked at the others expectantly. "Maybe that's something Constance should try. I could make an appointment. He still owes me a favour."
After a short discussion it was decided that they would try it. D'Artagnan was not happy with it, but Constance was determined. If there was a former life she had lived, she wanted to know and feel and see before her mind's eye how her life had been there.
Aramis went to make his call and came back a few minutes later with good news. His friend had just had someone cancelling an appointment and if she wished, Constance could come by in an hour. "His office is in Coubervoie, if you take the metro you'll need at least half an hour."
"I'll accompany you," said d'Artagnan, his face clearly showing that he'd rather be anywhere else than going with Constance to unravel things from their past.
"Here." Aramis grabbed paper and pen and jotted down his friend's contact details, plus the shortest way to get there. With a reassuring smile he handed the paper to the young Gascon. "It'll be all right, don't worry."
D'Artagnan looked every bit like he didn't believe anything would ever be all right again once Constance learned more of their former life, but he nodded and took the paper. "See you later," he murmured, turning to Constance. "I hope you won't regret it if you regain your memories through the hypnosis, but maybe it's really time you remembered some of these things for yourself."
Constance smiled warmly at her boyfriend. "It is, I'm sure. Don't worry."
Athos stepped up to Constance. In a low voice, he said, "I wish we could have saved you from this, but circumstances have changed. Be aware that when memories resurface, wounds can reopen as well. The roads we all walk have demons beneath."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
As soon as the young couple had left the room, Athos fixed Aramis with a stern look to pick up where they had been before Constance had interrupted them. "Did you know about these things? Has Anne ever told you that she worked with my ex-wife? That she gave order to kill Gaston and whomever else?"
"No," Aramis answered disgruntled. "We never talked much about what happened after Rocroi. I told you before, she said it was enough if I knew what could be read in the history books. She has more than once expressed it would be too painful to talk about these things; our son, her time as queen regent and so on. Cowardly as I am, I accepted it, and hardly ever asked."
"Evidently, she had her reasons," stated Athos, squinting at Aramis. "Could you call her and ask her to come? We need to learn more, this whole situation is getting more and more unpredictable and dangerous. The last incident with Grimaud was one near death experience too many for my liking. We need to avoid something similar to that at all costs. Now and in the future."
"She's away on a day trip with some friends and their kids, I'm not sure if I can reach her or when she'll be able to meet us. She's in Versailles." Aramis laughed humourlessly. "Isn't it ironic, she's showing Henri his former domain. Or maybe she wants to wallow in memories of better times..." Aramis trailed off absent-mindedly, dwelling on his own thoughts, then his gaze returned to Athos. "I'll call her." He left the room to make his call.
Porthos and Athos stared at each other for a while. "This's not good," Porthos eventually said with sobriety. "Aramis and you only just escaped death. And Anne and Henri being in danger again won't do any good for Aramis' mental health either. Nor will having to deal with both Louis and Richelieu."
Athos sighed, deeply troubled. "I know. And Feron is also still somewhere out there, and we have no clue what his agenda is, if he remembers his old self and if he was working with Grimaud again. I need to speak with my ex-wife, she'll be able to contribute more to what we're dealing with here. I should have known that there's more behind her returning to Paris than the longing for familiar places. Has Elodie told you anything that could be of interest in this matter?"
"No, nothing I can think of right now. She left Paris a while after the war was over. It seems the Queen provided her with a generous widow's annuity and she was able to buy a small place in the Bourgogne to fend for herself and provide for her and Marie-Cesette's life. She never returned to Paris as far as I know." Porthos halted, adding a moment later, "But I only met her three days ago, so I don't know for sure. I'm meeting her later and will ask if she knows anything." Porthos sighed deeply. "I really had hoped Elodie and I could take it slow, that we would be able to gradually get to know who we really are. We had so little time together back then, and now it seems I need to speed up things just to hear everything from her past life. I don't like that."
"I'm sorry, mon ami," Athos said full of sympathy. "Let's hope she left Paris and never returned, then at least she'd be off the target list from whoever wants to do us harm."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Aramis paced up and down in front of his desk, mentally formulating the short message he would leave on Anne's mailbox once the bleep had sounded. As he had expected, she had not answered his call; it had been forwarded to voicemail on all the three attempts he had made. The fourth time he had decided to finally leave a message.
"Hola, mi corazón! I hope you and Henri are having fun! Erm, I just called to ask you if, erm, you could give me a quick call when you have a minute. It's nothing important, nothing to worry about, it's just that Athos wanted to know something and asked me to call you." Inwardly, Aramis cringed about the stammering message he was leaving on Anne's voicemail, and his cowardliness using Athos as a pretext. "Only if you find the time. Otherwise I'll see you tonight. Have fun! Take care and give Henri a kiss from me! Je t'aime, chérie."
Mobile still in his hand, Aramis stared into the grey January morning, wondering if he should worry about the fact that he couldn't reach Anne. Half an hour ago he hadn't even spared a thought about the unusual time of the year Anne and her friends had picked to make a day trip to Versailles. He vaguely remembered some argument about fewer crowds and the short notice closure of the day care facility for children some friends' kids attended. Now, after everything this morning had come up with so far, he felt a slight feeling of unease rising at the back of his mind. Maybe he should have talked her out of it...
Tearing himself away from his pondering he returned to the meeting room where Athos and Porthos were waiting for him.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Aramis carefully closed the door.
"Did you reach her?" Athos asked.
Aramis shook his head. "I left a voicemail message."
"So, what are we doing now?" asked Porthos.
"Did you speak to Milady? She can tell us everything we need to know just as well as Anne." Aramis slumped down on the chair beside Porthos. "She was the one who murdered Gaston, so I think if Gaston seeks revenge, it will be Milady de Winter he's looking for. Maybe he even never got to know who sent the contract killer? Milady wouldn't have told him, maybe he never even saw who killed him."
Athos shook his head. "I couldn't reach her. And I'm sure she knows a lot of what we would like to know. I've still not found out why she quit her job and returned to Paris."
"And why should Gaston bear a grudge against Louis at all? Louis wanted to reconnect with him, he even pardoned him. At least that's what I thought." Absentmindedly, Aramis rubbed his shoulder where a dull pain bore witness to the fact that it was not so long ago that he had been at the mercy of Grimaud's torture. "Does Louis even know for sure that Gaston remembers his old life?"
"I don't know, you all heard what Richelieu said. These are questions only Louis can answer, and I'm intending to get those answers soon. But first I'll call Tréville to hear if he really believes that we should still have some kind of obligation towards Louis," Athos replied with a growl in his voice. He couldn't believe Tréville would unleash Louis and Richelieu on them without giving at least a short warning. "Then we'll have to see where we stand at the moment." He hit the speed-dial button on his mobile. The call was answered almost immediately. Activating the speakerphone function he said, "I'm sitting here with Aramis and Porthos, we have just had a visit from Richelieu. Did you in all seriousness send him to us, telling him we would act as Louis' bodyguards out of some sense of obligation and sentimentality?"
"No, of course not!" Tréville sounded harried and angry. "I merely told him what I've told Louis a couple times before. That it's not the assignment of the préfet de police to augment the security level, he must turn to the police national for it. And let's see how far that gets him. I offered to assign two additional police officers to monitor the area around his house more frequently, but there's hardly anything more I can do at this point, even if I'd like to. Which I don't. I told Richelieu Louis should hire a security firm, hire more bodyguards if he feels threatened. And so far as I remember, I explicitly told him that LaFère Security would not be at Louis' disposal for this, should he consider it."
"Then he's playing his old, scheming games again. In any case, he had some alarming news for us. Did he tell you about Gaston, and the Queen and Milady's role in Gaston's violent death?"
"Yes. I didn't know anything about this, but it's certainly a point to consider, as is Gaston's appearance." Tréville's voice faded and then only muffled sounds could be heard. Apparently, the captain had put a hand over the mouthpiece. A moment later, he was back. "Listen, I need to go, but we can talk about it later. I also need to talk to Aramis about the Marcheaux case. I won't be able to fly down to Spain with him, but it seems that the Spanish police is willing to extradite Marcheaux to France earlier than we'd thought, so maybe there's no need to fly to Spain at all. I'll get in touch as soon as I have a few minutes." He hung up without farewell.
Athos switched off his mobile. "I suggest we wait until d'Artagnan is back. I have a couple of urgent matters to handle and a few phone calls I need to make now. Let's try to finish with what's on today and then we can meet again later when d'Artagnan and Constance are back." Athos rose, pocketing his mobile. "Seems we have a new priority project on our hands."
"I'll be out for about two hours," Porthos announced, checking his watch. "We can meet for lunch if you like, I'll be through with work no later than noon."
"One more thing," Athos said, gazing at Aramis with a questioning stare. "Do you trust him? This friend of yours. Is whatever Constance remembers during her hypnosis safe with him?"
"Claude?" Aramis frowned, pondering about his answer. "Well, if you mean do I trust him that he won't tell anyone about what he gets to know during a session, then yes. I trust him. He's a friend and a good doctor." He hesitated, adding, "If you mean would I entrust my life to him? – No, I don't think so. There are only a handful of people I trust implicitly, and you know every single one of them." His gaze swept to Porthos; half of the people he spoke of were in the room with him. "But I'm sure he won't tell anyone, not unless he's forced at gunpoint."
"Then we should hope that none of our enemies learns of his existence or at least of Constance's visit there."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
D'Artagnan had walked into the psychotherapist and healer's surgery with mixed feelings. One side of him hoped that the healer would be able to stir Constance's memories, to help her remember so that he would never have to tell her himself; it hurt too much thinking about all the grief he had caused his beloved one. The other side prayed that the therapy wouldn't work and Constance would leave the healer's office none the wiser. That she would remain blissfully unaware of how much sorrow d'Artagnan had burdened her with when he had left her and their child behind in a war-torn Paris.
He lounged on a settee in the waiting room, flipping through a magazine without reading anything. He was nervous. For his liking, Constance had been in the therapist's office for too long now. He couldn't decide whether this was a good sign or not. Either it hadn't worked and the therapist was desperately trying to achieve something, if only to oblige Aramis, or it had worked and Constance was trapped in a world of sorrow and hardship and couldn't tear herself away. D'Artagnan groaned, briefly closing his eyes. He should at least have told her that she'd given birth to their child after his passing, or that that's what he had been told, for technically speaking he couldn't remember it himself either. Ack, what an intricate affair this was!
The door to the therapist's office opened, and in his rush to get up, d'Artagnan dropped the magazine and stumbled over his feet, nearly toppling down in front of Constance. Straightening, he looked into Constance's beaming face. He frowned. A smiling face was the last thing he had expected to see, anger and disgust or disappointment was what he had rather envisaged. "Constance?" he asked, and now he could see that there were trails of dried tears on her face, too.
Constance flung her arms around d'Artagnan's neck. "We had a son! I've seen our son! I can remember him, a beautiful little boy." She laughed, and then she sealed his lips with a kiss before he could utter anything.
D'Artagnan, surprised but not the least bit averse to kissing right now, deepened the kiss, shoving aside any dark thoughts. Only when he thought he'd choke any moment due to lack of air did he release Constance's soft lips, drawing breath before he spoke. "So, you're not angry with me? That I never returned to you and our son? I didn't even know you were pregnant when I died at Rocroi. I only learned of it last year from Anne. I had no idea. I loved you so much, Constance, and I'm so sorry I didn't keep my promise and return to you," he whispered.
Constance smiled at him, tears dwelling in her eyes. "Oh, Charles, I'm not angry. I'm only sad that you never had the chance to see him. He looked so much like you! I'm so glad I was able to see him, to remember him." Constance caressed d'Artagnan's cheeks with both hands, fondly looking up at him. "I've seen you in your Musketeer uniform. And Athos, and the commissioner, and I have seen Anne. Obviously, I have memories of this time, but they're buried so deep..."
The therapist had appeared in the door frame, silently watching the scene before him. He harrumphed. "We were able to reach those areas of Constance's mind where her recollection of former lives is stored. She experienced some of those hidden feelings and moments, but we only scratched the surface. Now that we have the assurance that it worked, I'd suggest you come back for more sessions. Today, we've done enough, we were able to breach the barrier holding back those memories."
"I will," replied Constance. "I want to feel and see it for myself, and not hear it through tales from you." She looked at d'Artagnan. "I had no idea about it, it's so … exciting."
D'Artagnan looked at her, his face earnest now. "Yes, but it's also dangerous. That's why it's best if you remember it yourself. We made a lot of enemies in those days, and some of them are showing up now." He turned to the therapist. "I assume you're bound to a doctor-patient confidentiality, can we count on it that no one will ever hear of this?"
The therapist looked at the young man with a mixture of hurt and anger. "Of course, I've signed the Declaration of Geneva and am bound to it."
"I'm sorry, but we've gone through too much in the last year, there are many people out there who want to do us harm. This is a very delicate subject."
The therapist smiled lightly, possible ire already gone. "I know, René told me a little about the background, and also made me swear to never ask any questions and never tell anyone about what I learn during a session. He promised me the torments of hell if I did, and I believe him." Now he grinned. "René can be very convincing, if he wants to."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Constance beamed at d'Artagnan all the way back to the office. It was obvious that the memories she had been able to regain had been of a lighter nature than the years of widowhood – or the years being married to Bonacieux – would be. Seeing her son, knowing that she had given birth to d'Artagnan's child certainly outshined any darker events she might have experienced during the session, too. D'Artagnan was grateful for it. He couldn't take his eyes away from Constance, kissing her hand which was firmly interwoven with his, again and again. He still was afraid of all the sorrow and pain Constance would have to remember the more she regained of her memories, but he was glad that she finally did. It seemed he was able to breathe a little lighter now when the two of them were together. And he would finally be able to hear everything about his son.
"You must tell me more, everything! Dr Girard said that more memories could be triggered by stories I hear. He said sometimes a word could be enough, or some places I've been before, or a familiar scent."
D'Artagnan mused about where exactly in Paris they should be able to find the scent of horse manure, or Musketeer uniforms soaked with sweat. A smile flashed over his face. "Are you hungry? We could eat something around the Pont Neuf. I'll call Athos and let him know that we'll be back a little later."
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
"What do you mean, you're not coming home tonight?" A queasy feeling started spreading inside Aramis. "I thought you said it would be a day trip and you'd be back in the afternoon? You said nothing of staying overnight." He hadn't meant the last words to come out accusatory, but they did.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but we've hardly seen half of the palace complex, it's more spacious than I remember. There's still so much I want to see, the Grand Trianon and the little hunting lodge Louis expanded. And we weren't able to visit the east wing today."
A stab of jealousy pierced Aramis' soul, and it settled before he could shake it off. Her words hurt. He had not lived to see his son reside and thrive in Versailles, had no memories of that palace other than the few times the Musketeers had accompanied Louis XIII on some of his hunting trips when Versailles was nothing more than a minor hunting lodge. He had never felt the need to go and visit Versailles, it meant nothing to him. Not once in his lives had he set foot into the palace's east wing. Now he realised that with the sightseeing in Versailles Anne was reliving the childhood years of their son, the first years of his regency, Louis' rise to power and him becoming le Roi Soleil. And he was the one who was excluded from it all. He swallowed to get rid of the lump in his throat. "But where will you spend the night? Do you even have something with you for an overnight stay?" If Anne would reply that she did it would mean she had planned it all along, and therefore lied to him when she'd said she'd be back in the evening. He had to admit to himself that he dreaded the answer.
"Nanette's parents live in Rocquencourt, we can all stay there for the night, they have a large house. And no, I have no overnighter with me, because we didn't plan to stay, but I'm sure we'll cope. Nanette will find some spare T-shirts and toothbrushes for us." Anne laughed, lightly and bell-like, and Aramis felt ashamed for his bad thoughts. "Don't be angry with me," she whispered. "We have so much fun together."
"I'm not. I'm just... I'm just a little worried. Grimaud's helpers may still be out there somewhere, and it seems a new threat is looming ahead. Richelieu was here this morning."
"Richelieu?" Anne's voice sobered immediately. "What did he want? He really had the nerve to come to the office to see you?"
"He asked for personal protection for Louis."
Anne huffed. "Louis? He's never giving up, isn't he? What is he up to now and why is he sending Richelieu?" Anne sounded angry when she spoke on. "Will we never get rid of him? Has this to do with whatever it is Athos wants to know?"
"Yes and no, but it would be better to discuss this when you're back. Just promise me to be cautious and always stay with the others. Don't wander off alone in the spacious palace gardens."
"Promise!" Anne replied earnestly. "I'll call you again later when we've settled at Nanette's parents' house. I have to go now."
"Okay. Take care, mi reina."
After some more exchanged words of love Aramis ended the call. He stared out of the window. The winter sun had already disappeared behind the city's rooftops, but the twilight hadn't set in yet. There was still enough daylight to watch the doves soar up from the streets and alight on the trees. The bad feeling from the beginning of the call deepened, mixed with a jealousy he only remembered from the time when Anne had been married to Louis.
x-x-x-x-x-x-x
Three pairs of eyes looked expectantly at Aramis when he returned to the meeting room after leaving to take Anne's call a moment ago.
"She's not returning to Paris tonight, we'll have to wait until tomorrow to get to know more about Gaston," Aramis said lightly, trying to ignore the inquiring looks on his friends' faces.
Athos regarded Aramis intently. The look on the other's face and the tone of his voice told Athos there was more behind it than just the belated return of Anne and Henri. Something else was nagging at the marksman. "It can't be helped then, but it doesn't change much, we'll have to focus on Gaston's whereabouts. Any ideas how to approach the problem?"
"Someone should talk to Louis," Porthos said.
"I presume by someone you mean someone who is not you," Athos asked wryly, raising one eyebrow.
"Aye, that's right." Porthos nodded
"I'll see what I can find out online about him. I mean, beside the facts you can read in papers everywhere. Do we know anything about his registered residence?" D'Artagnan already had his mobile in his hands, apparently starting with the online search then and there. "A fixed address would be great."
"I'll ask Richelieu if he has such information and let you know. I'll also ask him to arrange a meeting with Louis. I can handle it alone, if no one else wants to join me for an encounter with Louis." Athos looked over to Aramis.
Aramis raised both his hands defensively. "Don't count on me. I don't want to see any of them. Not now, not ever. It won't end well."
"I only hope we can limit possible meetings with Louis and Richelieu to an unavoidable minimum. I fear nowadays I don't have the same composure that I used to have," Athos sighed, resigning himself to his fate of being the one who would have to deal with the former King of France and his First Minister.
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