A/N

So. I'm back. Sorry for the long wait. Many things happened this year which kept me from writing, and not all of them were good. It's safe to say I'm glad when this year is past and here's hoping the next one will be much better!

All chapters are written, but about half of the story still needs to be revised, so I can't promise a regular update, but I'll try to post once a week. Many thanks to fredbasset on AO3 for doing the beta again and for all the explanations, comments, hints and the fine-tuning and for helping me getting the right dose of h/c (especially in relation to Aramis) to this story. Many thanks to oberon24 who read the story as a WIP, listened patiently to my wailing and brainstormed with me when I ran out of ideas. All remaining errors, typos and holes in the plot are solely my responsibility.

Happy New Year!

What happened earlier in The Wind That Shakes The Lily...

Charlène listened to the caller for a moment, not once replying to anything. Then she let the hand with the receiver sink, staring wide-eyed at Athos. "It was Lieutenant Danglard. He called to let you know that Detective Chief Superintendent Peyrer has been shot. He's being rushed to the hospital right now, but they don't think he'll make it."

Chapter 1

"This cannot be," whispered Aramis in horror, staring at Athos.

Porthos blanched, grabbing Aramis' shoulder for support. Suddenly his legs seemed unable to hold him up any more.

Athos tried unsuccessfully to clear his throat. When he spoke, his voice was rough and scratchy. "Did he say which hospital?"

Charlène stirred from her stupor and finally put the handset down. "He said Saint-Antoine."

"We'll need at least twenty minutes if we take the metro," said Aramis, obviously already calculating their chances of arriving at the hospital before Tréville died. "We might be quicker in a car or a taxi."

"Take mine, I'll catch up and meet you there," Athos replied, fishing the car keys from his pocket.

Porthos, already turning towards the door, stopped. "What?"

Surprised, Aramis looked at Athos, asking "You're not coming with us?"

"I need to check something first. I'll meet you there. Go ahead."

Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other, Aramis stepping up to Athos. "Athos," he said urgently. "There might not be much time."

"I said I will follow you. And don't say there won't be time." Athos glowered at Aramis. "He will not die." Athos' voice sounded more hopeful than convinced, but it silenced Aramis.

"Come as soon as possible," Porthos said, done with wasting any more time on discussion. He left the office to tell d'Artagnan, relying on Aramis to take the keys and follow him.

"Very well. I'll see you there." Aramis darted a last glance at Athos before leaving.

Athos turned and he and Charlène silently looked at each other. "Maybe you can try to reach the lieutenant again or the commissioner's office and find out more," he muttered.

Charlène nodded and sank down on her chair, turning to her computer to scroll through her contact list.

Athos stalked to his office, carefully closing the door behind him. He sat behind his desk with a deep sigh and unlocked the upper drawer, groping around at the far end of it until he got hold of the USB stick he kept there. Staring at the stick in his hand he closed the drawer. It was unmarked, no external hint as to what was saved there, but Athos knew very well what information the stick held. It was the one Tréville had given him, relying on Athos to destroy it after they had watched its content together. He plugged the stick into his desktop and started the programme. Once again, the sound of a male voice speaking in Farsi blared through the speaker, accompanied by Persian writing running over the screen until a high plain somewhere in Afghanistan appeared.

They had relied on the truth of the video, had trusted that Mossad's investigations had been accomplished thoroughly and that the result was precise and truthful. Plainly, they had wanted to believe that what they had seen was real.

Now, Athos thought they all must have missed something. He couldn't put a finger on it, but the feeling that Grimaud was the man behind the assault on Tréville's life today was there; the notion grew that they had started with a false assumption, namely Grimaud being dead. Could they really have fallen for Grimaud's trap just like that with Tréville paying the price for it now? When the close-up of Grimaud's face filled the screen, he hit the pause key.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan entered the Hôpital Saint-Antoine through a side entrance. Aramis knew his way around and where to ask to get information, and two minutes later they made their way to the waiting area on the second floor. Every police officer in Greater Paris not currently hunting the attackers or engaged elsewhere had gathered in the waiting area outside the surgical ward. Through the bustle they could make out Retancourt who was taller than the rest by almost a head. Porthos tried to get her attention and was successful; she made her way over.

"How is he?" Aramis asked, eyeing the big group of police officers who looked the Musketeers over disdainfully.

"He is undergoing surgery at the moment, but he might have a chance." With a quick glance over her shoulder she said, "Let's go downstairs. At least half of the officers gathered here dislike you, and most of them think it's your fault that the commissioner has ended up here now." Without waiting for a reply, she brushed past them and left the surgical ward.

With a last glance at the crowd of police officers, the Musketeers followed Tréville's deputy capitaine.

"It seems it's not as bad as it first looked," Retancourt said, taking a deep drag. She had suggested going outside where she could smoke while bringing the Musketeers up to date. Slowly exhaling, she continued, "Oh, it's pretty bad, don't get me wrong, but he might survive. That's what one of the nurses said a few minutes ago. Danglard was the first on the scene, he had been on his way to pick the commissioner up and saw him go down. He made sure that the ambulance arrived less than five minutes later and gave first aid until they got there. There must've been a lot of blood because the chief has numerous bullet wounds on his arms and shoulders, and apparently a neck artery was hit, but it seems there's no major damage to his heart and lungs. It turned out he was wearing a Kevlar vest. That may have saved his life." She paused, taking a couple of drags from her cigarette. "I don't know what made him wear the vest today, because he hardly ever does, even if he's taking part in an operation, but I'm grateful he did."

"Where did he get shot? We had an appointment with him and thought he would already be waiting for us at the commissioner's office," Porthos said.

"He had been to a meeting at the palace of justice. God only knows why he thought it necessary to go there in full panoply. Maybe he had already prepared himself for the meeting with you," she added with a sideways glance, smirking.

"Do you have a trace? Any hints who's behind the attack?" asked Aramis, ignoring the last remark.

"Not really," Retancourt said, serious again. "Danglard saw the car and has a vague description of two men. We currently have a lot of colleagues both on and off duty out there searching for them, but RAID has taken over, two units were put in charge for it."

"Any inkling if this was politically motivated or a personal act of revenge? Was it a terror attack or does it have something to do with the current cases he's working on or was he just collateral damage?"

Retancourt stared at Porthos, sighing deeply. "Not the slightest idea. We don't have much information yet. The only thing we know for sure is that our chief superintendent was shot in cold blood and is fighting for his life up there right now. And that for reasons unbeknownst to us he seemed to have expected something like this to happen, it's the only explanation I can see for why he wore the vest. And now I'd better get back to see if there is any news."

"Thank you for speaking to us," Aramis said. "He means a lot to us."

"I know we're not entitled to police information, but would you let us know if you have any news about the attackers?" Porthos added.

Retancourt nodded. "I have no quarrel with you and I know he has a high opinion of you all."

"And we of him," muttered d'Artagnan.

"Let me give you a piece of advice for the future," Retancourt said, taking a last drag from her cigarette before she dropped the butt and ground it under her heel. "Stop calling him captain. He's in the rank of a commissaire divisionnaire de police and a lot of people are bothered by the fact that you don't respect this and call him captain. I know he doesn't mind, he even acts as if it's some kind of deference on your part, but a lot of people do mind. Call him detective chief superintendent or commissioner if you like but show some respect for his position." She looked at each of them, and it was not in an unfriendly way. She was certainly one of the very few people in the prefecture who did not dislike them. "I'll see you upstairs." She turned and walked back into the hospital, making a beeline for the lifts.

The three looked at each other, each with a troubled expression on his face.

"Who do you think's behind the attack? A terrorist group? Or was it a contract kill for someone Tréville once arrested and charged?"

Porthos and Aramis eyed d'Artagnan. It was obvious from the look on his face that he was thinking about a third possibility he seemed reluctant to voice.

"Or it was someone who has a score to settle with Tréville. Maybe someone from our past," Aramis said gravely.

"We don't have enough information right now to exclude one or the other possibility, but I have a feeling that this has not necessarily something to do with Tréville's job as commissioner or chief superintendent or whatever his title is. What if Gaston is behind the attack?" Porthos asked.

"What reason would Gaston have? No, I don't think it's him, but maybe someone who worked for Grimaud. Just because he's dead doesn't mean that some helpers from his network aren't still after us. The police never confirmed they'd caught everyone," Aramis replied.

D'Artagnan's expression changed as a sudden flash of inspiration made him look up in surprise. "Marchaux! He could be the one behind it, he hated Tréville back in the day, and I don't think his attitude has changed, not now that he's incarcerated in Spain, waiting to be extradited. He has connections to the police here, it wouldn't have been hard for him to get information about Tréville's daily routine, his appointments."

"My God, you're right, pup," Porthos growled, furrowing his brow in anger. "I bet he's in contact with Feron and Feron's the one who orchestrated the assault from outside the prison. They both clashed with Tréville all the time. You could see the hatred in their eyes whenever they had to deal with Tréville."

"Should we tell Retancourt about it? It would be a trace," Aramis said.

"No, you heard her, RAID has taken over, I doubt they would listen to us, or her," Porthos replied.

"Are you suggesting we should do this on our own?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I can't see a reason why not. Marcheaux and Feron are our concern anyway. We should concentrate on those two."

"Porthos is right, though I don't know where we should begin. As you know, I've just returned from Spain, and I couldn't get any information out of Marcheaux about Feron's whereabouts or if he's in contact with Marcheaux." Aramis rubbed his brow with the back of his hand. "To think that I spoke with him while he had already made plans to take vengeance on Tréville… The way he smirked at me all the time makes sense now."

"You couldn't have known," Porthos said, grabbing Aramis shoulder and squeezing it encouragingly. "Let's go upstairs and see if there is any news about Tréville."

When they entered the surgical ward again, the crowd had dwindled. There was still quite a few police officers waiting for Tréville to be wheeled out of the operating theatre, but most of them had left, probably to help with the investigation or support colleagues on duty. The friends sat down at the furthest end of the aisle, far enough away from the officers that none of them would feel disturbed by their presence.

After a few minutes silence, d'Artagnan said, "Shouldn't we tell the others? Constance and Anne and, I don't know, maybe Richelieu?"

"Yeah, you should do that," Aramis answered absent-mindedly. Rising, he added, "There's a chapel on the first floor, I'll be there for a little while if you don't mind."

"No worries, we'll let you know when there're any developments. Take your time," Porthos replied.

Watching Aramis make his way to the lift, d'Artagnan asked, "And what, for crying out loud, is keeping Athos? What could be more important than Tréville right now?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's important. He'll come as soon as he can," Porthos said. "If you call Constance, can you tell Anne as well? I'm not sure if Aramis will remember."

"I can do that, but I won't call Richelieu or Louis. Athos can tell them if he wants." D'Artagnan fished his mobile out of his pocket and got up, walking away a few paces to make his calls.

Porthos closed his eyes, letting his head sink back on the wall. He wished he wasn't condemned to inactivity at the moment. He was not one to sit idle while the world was falling apart around them.

Outside, it was getting dark, dusk setting in even earlier than usual because it had been a grey and sun-less day. Porthos didn't notice it, though, he listened to the sound and noises around him. He could hear d'Artagnan talking to Constance, and the murmur further down the corridor where the officers waited for news. He felt someone sit down on the seat beside him and wondered if Aramis was back.

"Any news?" Athos asked.

"Not yet," Porthos replied, opening his eyes. "But we have a suspicion about who's behind the attack."

"So do I. Where's Aramis?"

"Praying. Retancourt spoke with us, she said Tréville might have a chance, but he's still in surgery."

D'Artagnan ended his call and came over. "What kept you?"

"Research," Athos answered tersely, turning to Porthos again. "So he's still alive?"

"We haven't been told otherwise. Like I said, he's still in surgery, but it turned out he was wearing a Kevlar vest which may have saved his life. His condition's still critical, but he seems to have a chance."

Athos sighed deeply. "Thank God, that's good news for now." Turning back to d'Artagnan, he asked, "Did you tell Constance?"

"Yes, I thought we should let the others know. Constance is calling Anne now, I don't think Aramis has called her yet."

"No, I don't think so either. They haven't talked much lately," Athos muttered.

"Can you call Richelieu or Louis? Or should we tell them at all?" D'Artagnan asked.

"We can tell them later. What was your theory about who might be behind the attack? What are the police saying?"

"They don't have a clue, could be everyone and his dog, from terrorists to anyone who's carrying a grudge against Tréville or the Parisian police as whole. RAID has taken over, obviously, and they don't share much information. Every officer who's not otherwise engaged is out there, though. We think this is Marcheaux's doing, with the help of Feron. Both clashed more than once with Tréville, and Marcheaux especially hates Tréville enough that he'd want to see him dead. Somehow, he must have got in contact with Feron who organised the attack. Aramis thinks that's also the reason why Marcheaux smirked all the time when he was in Barcelona to talk to him. Marcheaux already knew."

"That sounds logical and we should follow that line. However, I think someone else is behind the attack." Athos looked from Porthos to d'Artagnan. "I think it was Grimaud."

"What?" D'Artagnan sounded surprised. "You think he had this all planned before he died? That someone is still carrying out his orders, even though he's dead?"

"No," Athos replied. "I think Grimaud is still alive and is looking for revenge."

Porthos and d'Artagnan glanced at each other, not sure what they should think of Athos' statement.

"Grimaud is dead, you remember? We saw him die," Porthos said slowly. "Why do you think he's still alive?"

"It's just a feeling. I re-watched the video."

"The video Tréville received from his friend at Mossad and which you duly destroyed after we watched it?"

Athos arched a brow, staring at the young man. "The very same. There's something odd about the tape, but I can't put a finger on it. Or couldn't, it's nagged at my mind ever since we first saw it. Remember when the picture froze for half a second? I always wondered why." He watched his brothers closely to gauge their reaction. "I think the video has been manipulated, even if both Mossad and our police's IT specialists say it's genuine. I think that before the men were beheaded, they switched Grimaud with somebody else. I just can't find proof of it."

D'Artagnan sighed. "Maybe it's time that I took a look at the whole video. See what I can find out."

"I'd be grateful," Athos said with a nod. "Something in the far background caught my eye, though I can't say what it was. Maybe you have ways and means to zoom in without everything getting blurry."

D'Artagnan nodded. He was sure if there was something, he would find it.

"I need to talk to Aramis." Athos stood up. "Where can I find him?"

"Aramis says there's a chapel on the first floor, that's where you might find him."

Athos looked down at his friends. "You two are aware of that sitting here and waiting won't help Tréville in the slightest, right?" He paused a moment before adding, "But I'm sure he would be deeply touched if he knew." He smiled fondly at them. "I'll be back."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When Athos entered the chapel, the quiet immediately enfolded him, keeping the hospital's hustle and bustle outside. The chapel was bathed in warm light and a few rows of chairs led to a head-high cross and two statues, one of with was a statue of the Virgin Mary, the other showing Saint Denis, the patron saint of France and Paris, if Athos wasn't mistaken. Aramis sat with bowed head and folded hands in the first row, near the Virgin Mary. Athos walked over to Aramis and slowly took a seat beside him.

Aramis startled and looked up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you," Athos said in a low voice.

"You didn't, I was only dwelling on thoughts."

"Good, I need to talk to you. You must speak to Anne. Sort this out. I'm not willing to stand by and watch any longer." He put his hand on Aramis' arm to stop him from saying anything. "I mean it. Do you really think I wouldn't know that you've stayed at Porthos' place for the last three days?"

Aramis stared at Athos with a frown. "Who says so?"

"Not Porthos. I'm not dumb, though, I know you two better than anyone and I own an investigation firm, should this fact have slipped your mind." Athos paused briefly before continuing, more insistently, "You need to get over it. I understand you, I wasn't thrilled either to hear about the service my ex-wife offered the Queen and what it ensued and how well they worked together. But it can't be helped. What's in the past should stay in the past. You can't change it, but you can accept it and get over it. She had no choice, and this wasn't your fault. I know it weighs on you that you were not there for them any more. That you think it's your fault she had to turn to Milady for help. That's nonsense, and if you think about it you'll see it. Anne had been raised to rule and to make far-reaching decisions, she has always been much stronger than Louis ever was." Athos' voice softened to almost a whisper. "For God's sake, Aramis, I committed treason to protect you and Anne, I won't watch your relationship and happiness go out of the window now for nothing."

"Athos," Aramis interrupted the stream of words.

"No, I'm not done yet. You must stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong around you. You're not responsible for decisions other people make, or fate, if you will. And you must stop blaming Anne for having led a life without you at her side. You can't begrudge her the memories she has of your son. It was neither her choice nor yours, that's how life goes. Sort this out before you ruin everything, I'm not sure how long Anne is willing to be lenient with you. And, last not least, you'd be surprised to hear of the relationship Milady and Anne forged back then. That's also something you should become reconciled to, and sooner rather than later. When you were in Spain, I spent an enlightening evening with Anne and my ex-wife. You won't believe it, but it was damn pleasant." He drew a deep breath. "And now I'm done."

Aramis remained silent for a while. "If you'd let me speak earlier I would have told you that what you've said in so many, lengthy words is pretty much the same as my conversation with God just showed." He paused for a second. "Well, that and Porthos' lecture last night. Anyway, I know I've behaved like an idiot. A caring and worried idiot, mind you, but I see now that we have no influence on the paths God has laid out for us. We can only try to live up to them. Make the best of it. Decide what we want do with the time that is given to us. Life is too short to get worked up over things we can't change."

Athos rose. "I don't know what your God revealed to you, or what it was Porthos threatened you with, but somehow I doubt your insight into the big picture will last long. You've always been too kind-hearted and compassionate for this world," he muttered. "Come, we should go back upstairs and see if Tréville is out of the operating theatre. I'll fill you in on our way up about what kept me at the office. I'm sure Grimaud is behind the attack."

Aramis looked at Athos in surprise, rising, too. "What makes you think so?" He followed the older man outside and together they made their way upstairs, Athos explaining Aramis everything he had told the others earlier.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

A few minutes after six o'clock the murmur at the far end of the corridor reached a crescendo and the Musketeers got up to see what had happened.

"Do you think he's out of the theatre or did they just receive information about the attackers?" Porthos asked.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Athos replied, taking a few steps towards where the officers had gathered around someone. Brujon peeled himself from the crowd and walked towards them. By the look of him, it was at least good news they seemed to have received.

"Good evening," Brujon greeted. "I thought you'd like to know that the detective chief superintendent is out of theatre now, the operation went well and the doctors are cautiously confident that he'll survive." The young man beamed at Athos.

"Thank you, Brujon, that are really good news."

The others had joined Athos and Brujon and a collective wave of relief ran through everyone.

"He's still in critical condition and they say he has to survive the night to be out of danger, but I'm confident that he will live."

"Do you have new information about the attackers?" asked Porthos.

"No, only that they are still on the run."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Aramis unlocked the door and before it was even halfway open Henri came running towards him hooting with joy. "Papa, papa," he screamed before flinging himself into Aramis' arms.

He scooped up the little boy. "Why are you not in bed yet? It's too late for little boys," he said jestingly, giving Henri a smack on the nose.

Anne appeared in the kitchen door, a smile forming on her face. "Good evening," she said.

Aramis gave Henri another kiss before lowering the child to the floor. "I'm so sorry, my love," he whispered to Anne. "Can you forgive me?"

"You're such a fool sometimes," Anne replied, putting up a hand to cup Aramis' cheek. "But you're my fool, and there's nothing that needs to be forgiven. I love you."

"I know," Aramis breathed. "Forgive me." He pulled Anne close. When his lips touched hers, he couldn't remember what had made him treat her the way he had over the past few days. He opened his lips and let his tongue dart forward. He played with her tongue, exploring every corner of her mouth as if he hadn't done so a thousand times before. Pressing harder against her smaller body, he lowered his hands, running them up and down over her back until he cupped her buttocks, pulling her even closer to him.

Anne sighed into his mouth and the sound aroused him even more. But he was aware of Henri standing next to him, tugging at his coat, and with a sting of remorse he wished for just a second that Henri was somewhere else. With a last forceful thrust of his tongue he elicited another moan of pleasure from her. Quickly biting at Anne's lips, he finally released her mouth and parted from her. His breath had quickened considerably and when he looked into her eyes he could see the same desire there that he felt raging through him.

"Henri was just on his way to bed," Anne said, holding Aramis' gaze. "I promised to read him a bedtime story, but now that papa is here, maybe he can do it."

Aramis heard the words, but her eyes conveyed something else entirely. That, and her rosy-tinted cheeks, aroused him even more.

"Papa, papa," Henri chanted, hopping up and down. "Yes, yes."

"Of course, my little one," he rasped, bending down to Henri. "Find what you want me to read to you, I'll be with you in a second."

Henri dashed away.

Aramis planted a kiss on Anne's half-open mouth, resisting his urge for more deep kisses. "I'll be right back." He knew Anne was anticipating the promise of a passionate night and the blush on her cheeks deepened. When she bit her lower lip, he almost gave in to his desire to bed her on the spot. "I'll be right back." He turned to follow Henri when suddenly a thought crossed his mind. He looked back. "Did you hear what happened to Tréville?" He felt ashamed that for a moment he'd forgotten that their captain was still hovering between life and death.

"Yes," Anne replied. "Constance told me, and Charlène called as well. Constance called again five minutes ago to tell me how the surgery went." She made no mention of the fact that Aramis not once rung her himself, but that was secondary now.

Aramis nodded, and with a last glance he finally made his way to Henri's room.

A/N

The Musketeers are property of Alexandre Dumas and BBC One. I only borrowed the characters and the concept of the show for this work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.