(A/N: This is the sequel to Banished, my drabble fic, so I would suggest reading that before this. If not, that's totally cool. I probably cover enough about it to let you know what they're talking about.)


The sun rises slowly as I stare out the window. The country is always so beautiful in the morning with the rolling hills that reflects the newly-risen sunlight off the fields and grass. It's one thing I have always missed about Gascony no matter where I went and what I saw.

What did I see? Miles and miles of rolling land. Hundreds and hundreds of people. Paris; from the ground and the sky. And as much as I love Gascony, it's not my home. It hasn't been for over twelve years. Not since I had arrived in Paris so many years ago.

I sigh quietly, and then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I don't have to look to know who it is. "You should go back," my mother whispers in my ear.

I can feel the pressure build behind my eyes. "But it's been so long."

"I know. But you made a promise to him."

I can't help it anymore. I burst into tears and lean into my mother, who wraps her arms around me.

I did make a promise to him. But I made it so long ago. And I want so badly to keep it, but I'm not sure I can. Not after all that has happened. Not after what I was accused of.

Tomorrow will be the eighth anniversary of my banishment from Paris.

"Corinne D'Artagnan, I hereby banish you from Paris. If you ever try to challenge my executive order, I will have no choice but to sentence you to a warranted death."

I'm not sure I can face him after so long, after not being able to clear my name. It will just hurt so, so badly. And how do I know he still even wants to see me? It's been twelve years. He's probably forgotten about me. He's probably married or at least engaged by now.

My mother gently rubs the back of my head. "Corinne, you made a promise to Louis eight years ago. You said you would come back to him."

"I'll come back, Louis. I promise."

I suck in a breath. "I know, but… I haven't seen him, haven't heard his voice. What if he hates me?"

My mother furrows her eyebrows. "Have you read any of his letters?"

No. I hadn't. I couldn't bring myself to.

I shake my head.

"You should, Corinne. You should read them on your way to Paris."

"But Mama—"

She cuts me off. "I know you want this, but you're too afraid to go and get it." She pauses. "You've always been so strong-willed and stubborn. Don't stop now when you need those traits the most. Go find and reclaim your true love, my darling."

I look up into her eyes and see the same spark I'm sure she saw in me back when I was seventeen. And then I know I have to do this. I have to go back.


I left that morning with a very happy yet tearful goodbye. I will never know how to repay my mother for what she's done for me. For not only supporting my dreams, but for taking in her disgraced and emotionally unstable daughter.

My stomach is bruised and purple. I lean over the wash basin and rinse my face, and I look into the mirror again.

I start to cry.

And I can't stop.

The weather is fair as I ride at a slow trot with my horse Darcy. It's a different horse, but somehow he knows the way to Paris just like Alexander did twelve years ago. I haven't packed anything besides an extra set of clothes and Louis's unopened letters that have been sitting in the bottom of my clothing chest for all these years. I grab my satchel and take out the first one dated 10 March, 1683. Two days after I was banished. It read:

Corinne,

You left only two days ago, but it feels as if it's been a decade already. I miss you so much, and I have no idea how I'll be able to last these next eight years.

Viveca, Aramina, and Renée are being questioned in their involvement of this plot of my assassination, but I can assure you that I will not allow them to be punished for false accusations. I already made one mistake not trusting you. I will not do it again.

I have no idea who could be plotting against me. And I wish I could find out because that would mean your innocence in everything, but there is nothing.

Again, I must say how sorry I am for all of this happening to you. It causes me unspeakable pain to know you're hurting. And I know sorry cannot and will not fix it, but it is the best I can do.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

With all my love,

Louis

He's right. Sorry wouldn't have fixed it. Sorry doesn't fix anything.


It's noon before I'm even close to halfway through the letters. There are dozens and dozens of them sent throughout these past years. I never opened one. I don't know if it was the pain, or the grief, or the anger, but I just couldn't.

19 June, 1685

My dearest,

I would ask how you are, but I know you will not answer, so I will get straight to the point of this letter.

It is official. Tréville has retired. He is being replaced by former musketeer Alexandre Baudin. I don't necessarily like him, but I am sure I will as I get to know him. He is not much older than myself; around six-and-twenty, if I had to guess.

Tréville is doing fine, but I can tell he's missing his job already. He is leaving tomorrow for the south to visit his daughter and grandchildren, so I do hope that is distraction enough for him.

There is not much else to say since it's only been two weeks since I wrote my last letter to you. And, yes, I know it's been over two years that you have not replied to any of my letters. I can only hope you read them.

With much love,

Louis


It took months after arriving in Gascony to even think about getting out of bed. I had a broken rib from being beaten and a pneumonia from traveling in the rain, but that wasn't the only reason I was bed-ridden. My mother said I was suffering from a broken heart. And she only recently told me that she wasn't sure if I was going to survive those first few months. She had said I'd given up the will to live.

It was so hard. It was so hard to function again in the tiny little house after living in luxury for so long. It was hard to think about the life I had given up. It was hard to breathe without getting choked up by the tears I'd been holding in. It was hard to move without having that ache in my heart. It was hard to watch the sky without remembering I had been up there, flying like I had wings of my own. Everything was just so hard.

25 December, 1685

Darling,

It is Christmas morning, and I am about to go to church, but I wanted to write you to tell you how much I love and miss you. It is so hard to be alone, where you really can't talk to anyone about personal things. This is the worst feeling in the world. This sense of solitude and misery. I just wish I could see you again at least once anytime soon. It's still so long until you can come back. I regret everything that happened that day. I wish I hadn't been such an idiot. Sometimes I lay awake at night, thinking about why I hadn't known better than to think you my attempted killer.

I must go now.

With love,

Louis


Afternoon turns into early evening as I sit atop Darcy, reading letters as he stays at his steady walk. There are so many letters. Some are short, some long. Some written in black pen, some in blue. Some are aged with some words beyond recognition, some as crisp as if they were sent merely hours ago. But no matter how many have been written or how long it's been, there is always his neat, elegant cursive, perfectly lining the paper.

Some days I would hold these letters and stare at them for hours on end, hoping, praying that my banishment was all a dream, that I would wake up at any second in the darkness of my apartment in Paris.

8 March, 1686

Dear Corinne,

I am sure I don't have to remind you of what today is.

Five years left.

Time is going so quickly yet so slow at the same time. This is getting harder and harder every day. I miss you so much. Not a day passes where I don't think about you, think about what I could have done to stop this from happening. I could have done so much, Corinne. If only I had acted. If only I had thought straight and used my head. But I don't think anyone was able to use their head that day. If they were, someone, just someone at least, would have come to their senses and stopped it before it started. My head was so clouded with anger and deceit that I couldn't think clearly. I was hardly able to fathom that you would be able to do this to me. It didn't make any sense then.

It doesn't make any sense now.

You have no motive to try to hurt me. You've always been honorable, albeit a little hot-tempered, but there have always been plenty of musketeers with that trait. You have no motive, not to mention you don't have a killer's heart.

My heart yearns to see you again. I am still wishing, hoping, praying that you will come back on this day in five years.

With all my love,

Louis


With every passing moment I grow more and more nervous. What will I do once I'm in Paris? Do I go straight to the palace? Am I able to see anyone beforehand? Can I freshen up somewhere? All these questions slur together inside my head.

This is so scary. I usually hate being afraid, but this time I have a right to be. They could kill me if they wanted to. They could throw me in the dungeon to rot with Philippe. They could do anything to me.

Then my mind wanders off to Louis. How has he changed? He has to be around thirty by now. Is he the same as when I left? Probably not. I know I look different from how I looked when I was one-and-twenty. Will he still want me there? I don't know. I just don't know.

22 June, 1687

My beloved,

I miss you. That is the only news to tell. Not that it is news, exactly. You already know this about me.

I really do wish you'd answer these letters. I miss hearing your voice, but I know that it's not possible. A letter is our next best thing, Corinne.

Please. If you are reading this, I need to know you're doing well. If not, I will send you money, I will send you anything so long you ask.

I am still counting down the days of which you will come back. It is so hard without you here. People think I'm sick most of the time. They tell me my eyes are lifeless and my skin pale. It's painful to be without you, but there's only less than four years left until you can come back. That has been my mantra lately.

Four years left.

Four years left.

Four years left.

Please write to me.

Louis

I never did write to him.


I sit on the ground next to Darcy and watch as the sun sets. One more rising of the sun and that's it. I can go back. And to think, less than a day ago I wasn't going to come. This is all so nerve-wracking.

I can't help but think of all the "what-ifs." What if he doesn't like me? What if he changes his mind? What if he sends me away? What if he hates me? What if I'm too different? What if he doesn't love me anymore? That's my big question.

When I was first banished, it was so hard to imagine a life without him. I woke up some mornings not knowing where I was until the memories of my last days in Paris came flooding back. The memories of him holding me as I cried. The memories of me begging for him to stop it, even though I knew he couldn't. Sometimes I wished that I never became a Musketeer, never met Louis. But then I remembered all of the amazing times we had together for so long, and I decided that I would rather have the heartbreak of remembering than the terrible longing that I couldn't.

I turn to my satchel again and pick up the sixty-seventh letter.

31 December, 1688

My dear Corinne,

It is New Year's Eve. Everyone is so happy and celebrating the holiday, but I just feel so anxious without you here. I usually keep to my room on holidays now. I doubt anyone misses me, anyway. I hardly ever smile and when I do is usually out of politeness.

Some of my family is here today. My cousin Emilie and her husband and their children Isabelle, Georgiana, and Rowan. They are a great distraction, and I feel rather guilty for leaving them alone, but I had to find solitude to write you this letter.

God, these years cannot go quickly enough. Every day I feel so depressed and lonely and broken. I don't know how I lived before I met you.

Captain Baudin has still not gotten on my good side yet. Maybe it's because I've had only one captain in my life, but I'm not that fond of him and neither are many of the musketeers, but this is who Tréville picked to be his replacement, and I will honor his wishes as best I can.

Viveca wanted me to tell you that she got married to a very kind and respectable man named John Abbott, a Brit lawyer from London.

Renée just had her second child with Will a few weeks ago; a boy this time around. They named him Jonathan after Will's father.

Aramina scheduled her wedding with Elijah for this April.

They all wish you could've been there. I feel as if they blame me for you being banished. Not that I blame them. It is my fault, and I'll never forgive myself.

Happy New Year.

With love,

Louis

This shocked me. If I had read these letters, I would've known that everyone had gotten married, that Renée had children. What did I expect, though? That everyone would put their life on hold because I had gotten banished? Louis, maybe, but not them.


The pain is so much to bear. Every punch, every word spat at me is torture. Everything is a blur as I run. And run. And run. And run. The crowd is so thick. People grab me and hit me and push me. I can't think clearly. All I know is that I have to get out. I push the crowd aside and run until I can't breathe anymore.

I hide in an ally to try and catch my breath.

It's like there's an angry mob trying to destroy me. Do they even remember that I kept them safe every day for four years?

I stand and start walking into the dark ally. I turn a corner and run straight into someone. I fall, but he doesn't. I stare up at him and gasp. It's Louis, his eyes as dark as coal. He raises his hand and—


I shoot up from my sleep. My chest heaves heavily as I bury my face my hands and let the tears fall slowly and then all at once.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

I stay in that position for a while; face in my hands, knees up against my chest. I try calming myself several times before I'm actually able to do it. This isn't even the worst dream I've had and it still makes me react like this.

I stand and take deep breaths. It has to be before four in the morning, but I mount Darcy and let him walk along the path. I use the light of the moon to read the seventy-eighth letter from Louis.

16 April, 1669

Corinne,

Aramina and Elijah were married today. They invited me out of courtesy, I'm sure, and I went out of that same reason. It was a nice ceremony full of flowers and singing, just like I knew Aramina would have.

Spring came late this year, and the snow has just barely melted off the ground. I'm not sure what it's like in Gascony, but it can't be much more different than here.

My advisors are trying to get me engaged to a duchess, but I'm not budging. They don't understand why I am not over you yet. I will never be over you. You are my first love, and I dearly hope that you will be my last.

You puzzle me as to why you don't write to me. Everyday I wait for a letter from you, but it never comes. It should be expected by now after six years, but I just can't help it. The possibility of hearing from you seems so wonderful that I just can't help it.

I wish I could write more, but my next letter should come soon.

With much love,

Louis


I can tell the sun is going to rise soon. The moon is going lower and lower to the ground until the light is barely visible against Louis's letters. I take a deep breath as I take the next one. The last one.

8 September, 1670

Corinne,

I'm not sure I can do this anymore; me writing you letters that I'm not even sure you read. You have no idea how hard this is. I feel like you don't even care anymore. I'm lowering my expectations of you coming this March. I've about given up hope on you and everything.

People look at me and see a heartsick fool. People think I'm weak. Hell, I am weak. I am weak without you, without your encouragement, and without your outlook on everything.

I've given up on my balloon. I haven't aired it up since you were banished. It just doesn't feel right without you in it. That creation is yours too.

I miss you, Corinne. I miss your face. I miss the way you look at me with that beautiful sparkle in your eyes. I miss your determination and stubbornness and the way you'll stand up to me with no second thought whatsoever.

I want you back so much.

Please. Answer this letter. It will be the last one I write to you unless you tell me because you so obviously seem unhappy about getting them.

The last time I told you this was on my balcony over seven years ago, and it didn't seem right to put it in writing, but this may be the final time I'll ever get to say it to you.

I love you.

I love you so much.

Louis

I can't help it anymore. I burst into tears and tighten my grip around Darcy's reigns. So this is why Louis had stopped writing to me six months ago. Why was I so stupid as to not read any of these letters?

My horse halts abruptly. I look up from the letter, my eyes still filled with tears, and see it. There, sitting in front of the rising sun, is Paris.


(A/N: Hey, guys! Long time no see. :D So I was actually going to write the Pony Tale sequel first, but I had little to no inspiration, so I decided to do this one! I just came up with a legit idea two days ago and started writing nonstop. I gotta admit, I'm going to try to make this story ah-mah-zing, because I have a REALLY interesting plot planned. So hang on tight!

I'm going to try to update this story once a week on Tuesday afternoons/evenings my time, but I make no promises!

Thanks so much for reading and review if you have the chance!

Later, peeps!

Weatherbug02)