This fic is the fifth in a series, starting with All for One, then One for All, then Scarlet Letter, then The Clock Strikes, and finally this one. I reccomend reading the previous two before tackling this one, otherwise you won't know who Rogue is.
A battlefield, France:
Treville, captain of The King's Musketeers, limped through a bloody battlefield, searching for his men. His brave, loyal men that died for France. He had already seen so many die, held them too, but he was hoping he would not have to inform any more families that someone wouldn't be coming home.
He came upon a small dip in the valley, and looked down into the large grassy slope. The birds had begun to sing again now that the battle had died for now, and the sun shone down on the valley, chasing away the storm clouds that had been there hours previous.
There was a small group of people beneath him, and he recognized five. And with that five, his heart broke.
He drew in a heavy sigh and signaled to the men behind him, so they could come and collect those brave people.
He staggered into the dip and studied the scene in front of him.
Athos, brave leader and loyal friend, was laying on the ground, facing the sky, with a bloody hole in his stomach, a pool of blood beneath him.
D'artagnan, passionate friend and loyal to a fault, was next to him, folded over his legs slightly, as if he was attempting to protect his mentor.
Porthos, the gentle giant, was slumped against a large rock, bloody smile on his face, eyes closed never to open again, and he cradled Aramis in his lap.
Aramis, sharp shooter and kind healer, had blood covering his torso, his rifle across his knees. He leaned against Porthos, one hand curled around the big man's hand, and the other seeming to reach for something.
That something proved to be Rogue.
Rogue, who was still breathing.
Treville hastened forward when he saw her kneeling on the ground, sword held limply in her hand as she pointed it towards a dead enemy.
He collapsed on his knees in front of her, grabbing her shoulder.
Her hat had vanished somewhere, her hair a tangled and slightly bloody mess. A cut ran down the side of her face, and dull blue eyes stared at him through the dirt and battle haze.
She was covered in blood, and Treville knew not whether it was her own or that of her enemies.
Her fierce black blade was stained to the hilt in blood, and so was her bare hand. On her hand he could faintly see the curved silver lines of an old injury caused by a whip. She had earned it standing between Aramis and someone who wished him harm.
Over the four years she had been with them, she had proved herself time and time again that she was a damn good friend, affectionate and loyal, and she had given Treville many a heart attack and grey hairs when she jumped in the line of fire. He knew she'd rather die than let someone get hurt.
Treville thought back to that morning, when the new day had dawned bright and eager, right before the battle began.
He had ordered his five best to stay together, and to protect one another. He had received affirmations from all of them, but Rogue had given him a cheeky grin, blue eyes alight with fire and good humor, and asked if she should send her boys back with pink bows.
That seemed like a life time ago. And his memory of Rogue did not fit the dead eyed one he saw before him.
"Rogue?" He asked, voice cracking. One hand went up to cradle the uninjured side of her face, and she jumped slightly at the contact.
Her eyes flooded with recognition, "Ca…ptain." She greeted, voice thin and weak. Nothing like her normal boisterous and musical voice that Treville had become accustomed to over the years.
As he looked her over quickly, any hope he had that she'd live diminished. The injuries he could see were dire, but even if they weren't, he'd no doubt by the lack of fire in her blue eyes that she didn't want to live. It looked wrong on her, Treville was used to her being on death's door yet still having that fire. But in those times, she had always had the other four still living and encouraging her to do the same.
There wasn't any of that now. Treville wasn't certain he completely wanted Rogue to go on without her four friends, and it was only his selfishness that wanted at least one of his five best to survive.
Any fool could see she was in pain, and further inspection of her proved to show shrapnel. Probably from one of her bombs that had torn through enemy lines.
From what Treville could see, her legs were cut and bleeding out. If she lived, she probably wouldn't be able to walk. It was amazing that she was still kneeling now, despite the battle having ended an hour ago.
"Yes, Rogue." Treville confirmed, and adamantly refused to register the fact that his voice wobbled.
She gave him a broken smile, "Tried to…. Put pink... bows on them…. Sir…. They didn't…. like that idea….." Then her face fell, her blue eyes becoming darker than Treville would have thought possible. "Tried to…. Save them…. Didn't work…. M sorry."
Treville gently pushed his fingers through her short hair, "You have nothing to be sorry about." He soothed. "You did all you could, I couldn't ask for more."
She tried to give him another smile, but he could see she was tired. "I ever tell you…. You were like a father to me?" Her voice was getting quieter the more she spoke, and Treville stubbornly held back tears.
"And you were a daughter to me." He said.
Another fractured smile was his reply. Then the fire he was used to seeing burned again in her eyes, if dull. "My… My sword." Blood coated her lips now, and Treville could hear her ragged breathing, see her chest stutter. The blue cross she couldn't be seen without was there, dangling and coated halfway in blood. "And my cross. Could you… save them… for me? Clean them…"
Her two most prized possession besides her friends and her horse.
"Of course." Treville replied easily.
She smiled, her eyes flicking upwards, fire dying again to an ember.
"The sky's pretty." She murmured, before she slumped forward, head pillowed on Treville's shoulder.
He felt her take one more shaky breath, before she joined the other four.
Treville heard more of his men coming down, so he gently set Rogue on the ground, her face upwards and facing the sky. He closed her dead blue eyes with shaky fingers, then staggered to his feet.
He gazed around the clearing, taking in the sight of his five best.
They lived together, laughed together, fought together, and died together.
Despite himself, a small smile grew on his face. Broken and wet, but a smile nonetheless.
Inseparables indeed.
He looked up at the sky. The storm clouds in the distance, lightning still racing through it, and at the setting sun that turned the sky a dark blue and purple.
It was very pretty.
M
It would be centuries later when they would be born again, and meet again. They wouldn't have their memories of the previous life until they met a blow much like the ones that killed them.
Athos and Treville found each other first; predictably the heart of war. Athos was a young General, and he had just received a blow to the stomach that would send him home for good. It was at that point when memories rushed back to him, memories of battles and a different century, of royals and nobles, and of four idiots he had been in charge of protecting.
His history had repeated itself, younger brother dying at the hands of psychotic lover, and while he laid in the medic tent, awaiting his discharge, he made a resolve to find his other brothers, and his sister. Even if they didn't remember him, he would find them.
As luck would have it, Treville found him first.
Treville died of old age, and had, in a strange twist of fate, been born with his memories.
He had hunted for the others, and had almost given up the chance that he wasn't alone. Until he heard of a young general named Athos.
He had already been stationed at the same post, but was close to retirement. This would be his last tour, and he just happened to stumble upon a drugged and in pain Athos.
That had started a quest to find the others. Treville had already been accepted into an agency started by their majesties, a recreation of the Musketeers long lost, as the Captain. Athos was later accepted as well, the moment he had recovered from his injury.
Athos had found Porthos in a bakery where he worked with his mother, who, in this new history, still lived. Though Porthos had no memory of Athos, they still became fast friends.
Then, after a particular nasty robbery gone wrong, and Porthos had gotten hit in the head, much like he had when he had died, he remembered. He spent nearly a week in the hospital, but he remembered.
With Athos and Treville helping him, he too became a Musketeer again.
Porthos in turn, found Aramis. A young doctor, one of the youngest in the business. Porthos had forced his way into Aramis' life by getting numerous injuries, insisting that Aramis helped him, then wrestling Aramis to coffee. There had been a betting pool that Porthos was flirting with Aramis for weeks.
Then Aramis got shot in hit and run, and nearly died because of it. However, he remembered everything.
Within a month, he had gotten a spot on the growing team on the Musketeers Agency. The Original Inseparables were back.
D'artagnan had stormed into the agency, calling for Athos' blood, much as he had the first time.
He had already joined the Agency when his memories were forcefully returned to him, and his piece fell into place.
Now they only lacked one member.
Who was already a part of a different agency.
Under the Horsemen Taskforce.
History does have a funny way of repeated, after all.
Hey guys! Sapphire here! You know, no matter how often I do that in my notes, it still sounds so cheesy.
I know I've been gone for a while, and for that I apologize. Holidays and getting back into the swing of school was hectic and headache inducing, but I'm back now! So, I'm a little nervous putting this up, so tell me if you like the idea!
ST