This is it! The final installment of my four-story arc. Whew. Many, many thanks to my beta Sharlot. Such a trooper. I hope you all have enjoyed this little adventure and I appreciate all of you who have stuck with me through the journey. I hope you enjoy!

Quarrels and Hazardous Adventures

Aramis took another gulp of his ale, trying to ignore the eyes that had been fixed upon him throughout the evening. It had been quiet in Paris for a fortnight, ever since the Dauphin had been returned safely to the palace after the attempted kidnapping, and it wasn't unusual for the soldiers to relax in their favorite tavern, imbibing spirits and enjoying their shared camaraderie until the next crisis unveiled.

What was unusual was having Treville join them and spend most of the evening sipping wine, listening to stories, his hawk-like eyes watching him whenever he glanced the Captain's way.

It was… unnerving.

Of course, it could've simply been his imagination that Treville's eyes had been on him all night, the perceived scrutiny a product of a guilty conscience. He looked away from d'Artagnan, who was regaling him with a tale of the hunt he and Porthos had accompanied King Louis on that afternoon, only to see Treville's eyes studying him again from across the table. The man quickly looked away, but Aramis had the sense the Captain believed if he stared hard or long enough, Aramis' deep dark secrets would bubble to the surface.

Aramis didn't fool himself into thinking Treville did not know he harbored those secrets. Though he was confident his superior officer was blissfully unaware of the exact content and the danger inherent in the knowledge of them, he was still curious and had obviously decided to attempt to fathom what was going on with one of his most trusted men.

Leaving Paris so abruptly had been Aramis' biggest mistake. Treville had seen his depressive state, knowing something of importance had happened and was being kept from him. Being the good commander he was, he did not pry, trusting that Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan – Aramis' closest friends – could handle the problem.

When Aramis had walked away, resigned his commission, Treville had allowed Porthos leave to follow and drag him back. Since then, Aramis had made great efforts to hide his melancholy, knowing Anne and their son needed him here and fit for duty despite not being able to acknowledge their true reasons. After Cardinal Mazarin's thinly veiled threat in the corridor of the Palace, Aramis had felt a renewed desire to protect and defend The Queen and the Dauphin. Knowing – but unable to prove – Mazarin had orchestrated the kidnapping of the baby for his own end, still infuriated the marksman, but he had sworn, not only to himself but to Athos and Porthos, that he would be patient. The new First Minister would soon enough make a mistake and place his own neck in the noose, and Aramis vowed to be there to tighten the knot.

D'Artagnan, realizing his audience's attention was elsewhere, had moved on to a game of cards with Porthos, leaving Aramis, Athos and Treville at the table. Before Aramis could speak, Treville stood, draining his cup and placed his hat on his head. He excused himself with a claim of mounting paperwork, and with a bow, he took his leave and left the tavern.

Aramis placed his ale on the table and hurried after him.

"Captain!" he called as soon as he stepped onto the cobblestones of the Rue des Rosiers. Treville turned, his eyes highlighted by the moon hanging in the cloudless night sky. Aramis stepped closer, his head down, unsure of exactly why he had followed Treville, but knowing something needed to be said to alleviate the tension between them.

"Aramis?" Treville responded, coolly. He placed a hand on the hilt of his sword and cocked a leg, waiting, calculating eyes once again on the Spaniard.

Aramis took a deep breath and raised his head, meeting his captain's gaze. He was well aware he could not explain his predicament to the Captain. As much as he trusted Treville, the man was loyal to a fault and he took his oath to the King seriously above all else. He would not understand what had led to his tryst with the Queen, and he could not expect a man as honorable as Treville to overlook what was considered a treasonous crime. But he needed to say something to explain the strain this secret had wrought upon them, and he hoped a heartfelt apology could alleviate some of Treville's unease. "Captain, I understand your concern. I know as of late I've –"

Treville held up a hand and smiled gently. "Aramis, I told you when you returned that I respect your desire to handle whatever has been troubling you in your own way. And I can see you have strived to do so. I do not doubt your commitment to the regiment."

Aramis shook his head, confused. "Then why have you been watching me all night?"

Treville chuckled and stepped closer. "Can't a Captain simply spend an evening with his men?"

"Of course. But it is… unusual."

Treville nodded. "True. I will admit I was observing, but not just you, Aramis. All of you. I have a decision to make and I needed assurance that the regiment would be in good hands."

Aramis' relief warred with alarm at the Captain's words. "In good hands? Captain, you aren't considering leaving the Musketeers?"

Treville took a deep breath and rubbed a hand across his face. "That is exactly the decision I must make." At the soldier's stricken look, he quickly continued. "The King has offered me a position on his Counsel. He has graciously given me a few days to consider the request, but we both know Louis is not a patient man, nor does he take rejection well."

Aramis was at a loss. "While it would be fortuitous for France to have a man such as yourself at the King's side, I can't help but regret what such a loss would mean to the regiment."

"Which is why I have to choose my recommendation carefully."

"But, I always assumed Athos would be your choice."

Treville nodded thoughtfully. "He is, but, it is no secret Athos is apt to lose himself in a bottle on occasion. I needed to see if the support system I worked to put in place is still intact."

Aramis was beginning to understand. "Support, as in Porthos and I."

"And now, d'Artagnan to a degree."

"I assure you, Captain, Athos will make a fine leader. And we will always stand beside him."

"As I have observed."

Aramis sighed, not wanting to ask the next question, but feeling it was something Treville needed to answer. "So you have already made your decision to –"

He caught the familiar flash of the musket out of the corner of his eyes, the distinctive sound of the shot ringing through the narrow street. Treville made a muffled sound of surprise before he jerked then tipped forward, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. Aramis reached out an arm to cushion the older man's fall, instinctively reaching for his pistol with the other, drawing and firing into the shadows at the end of the alley where the muzzle flash had sparked moments before.

Treville's sudden weight brought them to their knees, a fortunate shift that probably saved both their lives. Another shot sounded in the darkness, and Aramis felt a white-hot pain in his head as his vision spiraled into a myriad of colors. He fell, not even registering the cold damp ground beneath him, blinking as he attempted to clear the sudden confusion running rampant through his mind.

He was vaguely aware of the Captain's inert body lying close to him, as well as the muffled shouts and sounds of footsteps rapidly nearing, but was unable to make sense of any of it. He blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused, vaguely wondering why the stars were so suddenly vivid in the heavens tonight.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos leaned back in his chair, unconcerned as Aramis darted from the tavern in Treville's wake. He knew the Captain had been watching the marksmen – as he had all of them - but to what end he had not yet determined. Treville was one of the most intelligent, observant men he had met; such that made him a good soldier and even better commander, and Athos had no doubt he knew something was amiss. So far, Treville had kept his own counsel concerning the matter and Athos had hoped he would continue to do so. When the Captain had excused himself, Athos had sighed in relief, assuming the man had come to a satisfactory conclusion to whatever plagued his thoughts.

Of course Aramis hadn't been able to leave it alone. Athos toyed with the thought of interceding before the Spaniard could do something stupid, but had forced himself to remain seated, trusting Aramis' new found resolve to keep him in check. Despite his misgivings about the man's ability to control his feelings concerning the Queen and the Dauphin, he knew he and Porthos could not run interference for their friend forever, and they had to trust he could deal with it on his own at some point. Aramis had seemed to find a new purpose since he'd returned from Perpignan, and Athos was glad to see it. He believed his friend would find a way to deal with the turmoil inside him, just as Athos had learned to deal with his own feelings of unrest. Of course, he hoped Aramis would not take the same path as he – indulging in wine to forget only made the memories that much more powerful when the numbness wore off – but drinking to excess was not Aramis' style. He tended to have a more righteous way of dealing with self-contempt and condemnation, prayer and reparation being the crutches that kept him moving forward.

The sound of a musket shot brought him out of his musings and his eyes sought Porthos', finding the man already on his feet and heading for the door. Dropping his cup to the table, he pushed back his chair in a rush, knocking it to the floor and darted through the crowd, d'Artagnan at his heels.

Outside he stopped, his mind taking a moment to register what his eyes did not want to believe. Just down the road from the tavern in a pool of moonlight, two forms lay crumpled against the cobblestones. It was silent, as if the world had stopped, frozen in this one horrific moment.

"No!" Porthos' voice broke the trance and the sounds of the tavern spilled out onto the dark street, swallowing the unnatural stillness of the moment. The big man moved with alacrity, kneeling in a puddle next to Aramis, while Athos fell to a crouch beside Treville. D'Artagnan, harquebus drawn and primed, ran past them, searching the shadows for any sign of further attack.

Athos ran a hand along the Captain's back where the moonlight reflected against a murky stain. His hand came back wet and dark – blood. The familiar scent registered even as his eyes recognized the substance. Pulling his scarf from his neck, he wadded it into a ball and placed it over the wound in Treville's back, pressing firmly, concerned that it elicited no response from the prone man.

"Aramis?" Porthos' shaky voice caught his attention and he looked up to see Porthos turn their friend's head, the bleeding crease at his temple dark in the low light.

"Porthos?"

"Looks like the ball just grazed him," Porthos said with a sigh of relief. "He's breathin' fine. Just knocked out. What of the Captain?"

"Shot in the back," Athos growled. "He's losing blood. We must get him to help immediately.

Running footsteps approached and they both looked to d'Artagnan in question as he returned. The young Gascon shook his head. "Nobody," he said between breaths. He motioned to Aramis' pistol lying on the ground near Porthos' feet. "Aramis must've got a shot off, though. Hit someone, too. I found blood. Lots of it."

"Best shot in the garrison," Athos smiled grimly. He looked back toward the tavern and recognized two recruits who had recently joined the regiment standing just outside the doorway. "You there," he racked his brain for the either of the young men's names. "Guitaut, correct?"

Nodding, the taller of the two stepped forward, his eyes wide as he took in the bloody scene before him.

"Go, find a surgeon and meet us back at the garrison."

The recruit nodded again and took off at a run. The other stepped forward, silently offering assistance.

Athos looked back to Porthos who was wiping the trickling blood from Aramis' face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Can you handle him?"

Porthos nodded and shifted, unbuckling Aramis' weapons belt and letting it fall loose. He stood, keeping hold of Aramis head, took hold of one arm and in a fluid movement pulled him up and over his shoulder, securing him with an arm around the back of his legs.

"I got 'im," Porthos grunted as he shifted his friend's weight. "You think you can handle Treville?"

Athos motioned d'Artagnan to the opposite side of the Captain, and they managed to roll him over and pull him up, one arm over each of their shoulders. Treville's head lolled forward to a degree Athos felt would've been entirely uncomfortable if the man had been the least bit aware. Athos replaced the scarf over the wound as he supported the Captain's back and motioned with his head for the other recruit to step closer, instructing the lad to take the Captain's legs so that they were cradling him in a sitting position. The recruit first stooped to collect Aramis' belt, receiving a grunt of appreciation from Porthos, then complied with Athos directive.

Porthos once again shifted Aramis' weight over his shoulder and began to lead the way back to the garrison.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Guitaut and the surgeon arrived as they rushed the wounded men into the courtyard, other Musketeers emerging from the barracks to lend a hand. While Athos and d'Artagnan moved to secure Treville in one of the infirmary rooms on the main floor, Porthos carried Aramis up the steps of the barracks to his own quarters, where he gently laid him down on the narrow bed. The marksman's head lolled to the side, the ugly gash catching the light of the lantern one of the other men graciously provided.

Porthos took a moment to light a few more candles, giving the room a warm glow, before turning back to his unconscious friend. He quickly pulled Aramis' doublet open, relieved to see there was no other source of blood other than the crease to his head. He brought the lantern closer to the bed, squinting as he examined the wound in the brighter light.

The ball had left a trail of bruised and abraded skin directly across Aramis' temple and an inch or so into the dark curls. Porthos chuckled, knowing the Spaniard would not be happy with the damage to his hair, but thankful the injury was not worse. The wound was no longer bleeding, but it looked painful; a narrow, red gash surrounded by dark bruising already rising to the surface.

Footsteps heralded company and Porthos looked up to find d'Artagnan leaning through the open doorway.

"Treville?" he asked immediately.

The younger man shrugged wearily. "The surgeon is working on him as we speak. Athos thought I would be of more use here."

Porthos nodded, relieved to hear the Captain was still alive and receiving care.

"He's still out," Porthos said, his hand brushing back the side of Aramis dark curls. "We should get this cleaned before he wakes. I don't think it'll require needlework, but we'll need some water, some brandy and something to bind it with to keep it clean."

Without a word, d'Artagnan was out the door, returning momentarily with the requested items.

"That was quick."

D'Artagnan smiled. "Serge was already on his way up. Said to tell you he'd have some broth heated when Aramis was ready for it."

Porthos snuffed a laugh through his nose, his fondness for the garrison's old cook apparent. The man had been around longer than Porthos could remember, and he took a special pride in keeping the King's finest fed and fit.

He directed d'Artagnan to set the bowl of water down on the floor next to the bed, then proceeded to gently cleanse the wound and surrounding area. While he worked, d'Artagnan slid Aramis' boots off and laid a thin blanket over his legs. When Porthos was satisfied the wound was clean, he poured some of the brandy over a cloth and dabbed it against the gash, eliciting a moan of protest from the wounded man.

"Aramis?" Porthos called, his voice pitched low and soft in deference to the ache that must be pounding inside the Spaniard's head.

Aramis groaned and moved, trying to escape the pain the alcohol created against the open wound.

"That's it," Porthos coaxed. "Come on back. Time to open those eyes and tell me off."

D'Artagnan chuckled as Aramis' unfocused eyes opened for a moment. He reached up and pushed at Porthos' arm weakly. "Get away fr'me," he mumbled.

Porthos rumbled a relieved laugh. "It's all well and good till he's the one on the other end of the hurt."

"So it would seem," d'Artagnan grinned in agreement.

"Open your eyes, Aramis. I need to check that you're all right," Porthos attempted to entice his friend to full awareness.

"You're enjoying this far too much." Aramis voice was stronger, but he didn't open his eyes again.

"How's your head?"

"Pounding, as you could well assume." He squinted up at his friends in the low light of the room. "What happened?"

Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged a look.

"We were hoping you could tell us," the younger man said.

Aramis closed his eyes again and pressed a hand to his forehead. "We were drinking?"

Porthos snorted a laugh. "Oi, but you hadn't even started your way to a hangover yet."

Aramis frowned, his eyes opening, but unfocused. "I was speaking with the Captain… outside…" He suddenly shot up on the bed. "Treville!"

Porthos placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Treville is in good hands. Athos is with him and the surgeon is already takin' care of him."

Aramis sighed and dropped his head to his hands. "I saw a flash… a musket?"

Porthos nodded. "You managed to return fire. Did you see anything? Get a glimpse of whoever it was doing the shooting?"

Aramis shook his head slowly and drew his knees up, resting his arms across them, his forehead lowered, cradled in his hands. "Just shadows. I saw the flash and fired at it. I have no idea if I even hit anything."

"You hit something – or someone," d'Artagnan assured him. "I found blood in the alley, enough to know whoever this assassin was, he isn't going to be feeling very good tomorrow."

"If he's even still alive," Porthos added.

Aramis sighed and raised his head, squinting at Porthos, the candlelight obviously too much for him at the moment. "Treville. How bad?"

Again the other two Musketeers exchanged glances, both silently wondering how much to tell their friend. Porthos opted for the truth.

"It looked bad," he admitted. "The ball was in his back, bleedin' pretty heavy."

Aramis took a deep breath and shifted his feet off the bed, pushing himself weakly to the edge.

"And just where do you think you're goin'?"

"The infirmary, of course," the marksman said as if it was a ridiculous question. "I can be of assistance." He pushed himself up and teetered for a moment on shaky legs before groaning and pitching forward as his tentative hold on equilibrium betrayed him. Porthos managed to catch him and eased him back down onto the mattress.

"You can't even stand, my friend. Just how much help do you think you're gonna be, eh?"

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed convulsively. "Perhaps you're right."

He didn't object as Porthos lowered his head to the pillow and lifted his legs onto the bed. D'Artagnan pulled the blanket up to his chest and he sighed in relief as he relaxed into the mattress.

"Of course I'm right," Porthos smiled fondly. "Ain't I always right? Athos will let us know the Captain's condition as soon as he can. Right now, you need to sleep. We'll wake you when there's news."

Aramis mumbled something that Porthos took as agreement, the pain lines around his eyes smoothing as sleep claimed him.

"Do you think the Captain will be all right?" d'Artagnan asked, his face expressing the worry they all felt.

"Captain Treville is the strongest man I know," Porthos said confidently. "He'll pull through." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince d'Artagnan or himself.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

When Aramis next circled round to awareness, he noticed the room was much lighter and winced as the brightness pulsed behind his eyelids. He took a deep breath through his nose, lifting a hand to rub at the ache that seemed to be centered on the left side of his head. A firm grip aborted the attempt and he cracked his eyes open and squinted up at the fuzzy outline perched on the edge of his bed.

Blinking rapidly, he waited as the outline coalesced into the more familiar form of Athos. The older man smiled, but his eyes were grim.

"Treville" Aramis asked, his voice husky from disuse.

"Alive," Athos responded. "For now."

Aramis sighed in relief and closed his eyes. "The others?"

"Porthos is getting some rest and d'Artagnan is sitting with Treville."

"Rotation," Aramis observed.

Athos merely grunted in return.

"What about the coward who fired on us?"

Athos took a deep breath and rose, pacing a few steps from the bed. "D'artagnan found blood near the alley, but there was no other sign. Whoever it was, is wounded, thanks to your remarkable aim."

"If I had remarkable aim, he would be dead."

Athos gave him a lopsided grin. "Be that as it may, Paris is a large city with many places to hide. This assassin may be difficult to ferret out without more to go on."

"I'm sorry, Athos. I didn't see anything – at least anything I can remember."

Athos crossed to the bed and patted Aramis' leg fondly. "Do not worry, my friend. Porthos and I intend to return to the alley as soon as he has rested. If there is something there, we will find it."

Aramis pushed himself up with a groan, pausing a moment to allow his brain to slosh back into place. Once the flickering lights in his head subsided, he took a deep breath and swung himself around, letting his feet fall to the floor with a thud.

"If I advised against moving, would you listen?"

Aramis grinned. "I have had concussions before, my dear Athos. As long as I move slowly, I should be fine."

Athos stepped closer. "You and I have different definitions of the word 'fine'."

"We are more alike than you care to admit."

"Insulting me will not gain you my assistance," Athos said dryly. Despite his words, he placed a hand on Aramis' arm and helped him to stand, keeping a firm hold until the marksman appeared steady enough to move on his own. "And just where do you plan on going?"

"To check on the Captain," Aramis said as if it were obvious. "Take d'Artagnan with you when you leave to investigate the alley. Three sets of eyes are better than two."

Athos sighed but deigned not to argue with his stubborn friend. Knowing he'd won the battle, Aramis favored him with a triumphant smile. "If the surgeon is available, I shall like to discuss the Captain's prognosis."

Athos nodded, his eyes warily following the wounded man's unsteady progress across the room. "I will see that he speaks to you when he returns."

"Thank you." Aramis sat precariously on the chair near the door and reached for his boots. He was sweating once the task of putting them on was complete, but he felt a surge of pride at accomplishing it. Pushing himself from the chair, he swayed and felt Athos' hand grasp him beneath his elbow.

"Aramis, this is foolish. You should be in bed."

Aramis nodded, suddenly serious and looked his friend in the eye. "There is no time for weakness, Athos. I have been weak far too long." He patted his friend on the shoulder. "I appreciate the concern, my friend, but be assured I will be able to rest much easier knowing my friends are out searching for the man who did this. I will stay with the Captain. You must do your duty. We owe Treville that much and more."

TBC