Epilogue

Their first mission out of the city was dull. There was no other word for it. Tasked with delivering a royal summons to a Comte who had been misbehaving in the northern part of the country, they hadn't even been expected to escort the Comte back. No, the nobleman had been given a week to get his affairs in order, and was expected at the palace in no less than 10 days. If he did not show up under his own steam, the musketeers would be gracing his door with their presence once again and take him there forcibly. The four of them had impressed on the Comte that it would definitely be in his best interest if he didn't make them journey back to arrest him. That in such circumstances it wouldn't be the king that he had to fear.

The Comte had paled, gulped, and they could only hope he would take the warning as seriously as it had been meant. Now they were journeying back to Paris, slowly. Treville had issued the orders of the delivery with only a vague timetable. The four of them were hardly needed for such a simple delivery, and whilst Treville had said it was to get them out from under foot, they knew it was his way of gifting them time away from the pressures of Paris. They had stopped for the night on the way back to Paris, in a small copse, unable to find an inn as the light had quickly failed, setting up camp amongst the small shelter of the trees.

The events of last month would leave deeper scars than the physical ones that marred d'Artagnan's legs. They had healed quickly with the vigour of youth and the blessing of no infection, though they were still red, the deeper patches obviously still painful at times. The bruising and resultant concussion from the head injury had produced lingering headaches, and helped blunt and dull the response when they had had to explain that the Duke would not be put on trial.

D'Artagnan had insisted on attending Edwin's sentencing, though they all knew what the likely outcome would be. Athos had tried to persuade him to leave it be, but even so soon after receiving the burns, the horrific bruising still marring his face, Athos hadn't been able to stop the stubborn young man.

Aramis remembered it now as he watched the flickering flames dance idly in the small breeze. He, Athos and Porthos had all attended the trial as witnesses, had seen the defiant young man on the stand. Edwin had never denied his actions. Had never even tried to please his innocence. He claimed he had only done what was right by God and nature and none of them wanted d'Artagnan to witness even a small part of the trial and to have to hear the claims again that he should be dead.

D'Artagnan, however, would not hear it. Could not hear it perhaps. 20 years after his mother had been burnt to death, and he wanted to see at least a partial justice. It wasn't enough, of course. And the Duke was still free. But Aramis couldn't deny that perhaps d'Artagnan needed to see some small part of justice he had been denied so long. Of course, he had impressed on the stubborn young man the need to take it easy, to sit down at all times, to take the pain potions and return to his bed as soon as the sentencing was finished. D'Artagnan had agreed to everything.

His real father had been present at the sentencing, as he had been at all parts of the trial. He had never pled his son's innocence. Had never even looked at his son, as far as Aramis could tell. He looked smaller, older than his sixty years, a broken man who would be returning to Toulouse under a cloud of distrust and rumour about what had happened. He had lost everything, and perhaps that had to be enough.

D'Artagnan had followed instruction, sitting quietly and listening to the magistrate pass judgement. He was pale, still, under the bruises, and Aramis knew he shouldn't be here so soon after the events, that it was wrong to make him listen to a retelling of Edwin's crimes. The only saving grace was the magistrate had refused to let Edwin speak again, sparing d'Artagnan his hatred at least.

Edwin as predicted was sentenced to imprisonment in the relative luxury of the Bastille rather than the Chatelet where he would have been mixing with all other criminals. He should have been sentenced to death, and Aramis could see the shadows of regret again on Athos's face as they listened, that he hadn't carried out the sentence himself in the courtyard. Imprisonment felt too minor a punishment for such a cruel event.

After the trial, as they talked to Treville and a few of the guards in the loud courtroom, d'Artagnan had managed to walk out unnoticed. A feat in itself, considering they had all been paying attention to their youngest, ready to whisk him back to the garrison as soon as possible. D'Artagnan had waited for all of their attention to be elsewhere before simply melting into the crowded room.

It hadn't taken much to find him.

The room next to the courtyard was for relatives to await the criminals, to have a last word before whatever sentence was carried out. D'Artagnan stood in the middle of quiet room, staring down at his father. Aramis had moved to interrupt, but Athos had reached for him, shook his head, recognising that this might be the last time d'Artagnan was able to have his say in the whole manner.

From the profile view he had of D'Artagnan's face, Aramis could see it was pinched with pain, and guessed his legs were starting to trouble him more stood upright. The bruising made him look vulnerable, but Aramis knew better than to be fooled by the appearance.

D'Artagnan was strong. Oh, Aramis had known that before the events that weekend, but had just had the view reinforced with steel. D'Artagnan didn't just beat the odds, he broke them into submission every time with his sheer bloody mindedness. He should have died with his mother, aged five. He should have been traumatised by a fire that had left such deep physical scars on his legs. He should have run screaming from the person that had caused all that, but instead he stood, and looked, examining the man as if trying to work out exactly what he is. Aramis wondered what he was looking for.

'Please, Hen…Charles…d'Artagnan.' The man was pleading with d'Artagnan when they had arrived, seeming to fear something about d'Artagnan though he held no weapon against him.

'What are you asking for?' D'Artagnan asked, and he sounded genuinely curious. Aramis wished he could see the young man's face properly.

'I didn't know Edwin would do that.' The Duke sounded desperate.

D'Artagnan shrugged, though the action was sharp and carried weight. 'He's in prison for his crimes. And my brothers got to me in time.' D'Artagnan's overly pleasant agreement sent a chill down Aramis's spine.

'Yes, you are well.' The man jumped on the words, like a dying man to his rescuer.

'You're a fool!' The change of tone, the harsh words seemed to take the Duke by surprise. 'You are no better than your son though you plead his case. You believe your actions just.'

'I…I'

'I want to kill you.' D'Artagnan admitted. 'I knew you were alive still, but never thought I would have to see you again. I sometimes wondered what it would be like to see you again, whether you would you regret your actions at all. But you don't, do you?' D'Artagnan cocked his head to the side. 'You honestly still think that your actions were right.' He shifted his weight, looking for a more comfortable position to ease the pressure on the burns, and Aramis wanted to make him sit, at least, but he knew that he couldn't interrupt now.

'I lost my mother that day, but I gained a real father. It might not have been the fairest exchange, but I grew up with a man who loved me as his real son. And when he died, I found the rest of my family here in Paris. I wasn't sure I could be anything but angry at you, but truly I pity you. You wanted everything to be perfect, but when God didn't give you a son with your wife, you tried your own plan instead. And when God gave your wife a son, you tried to right your wrong the only way you knew how, by erasing the mistakes you had made. And now you have no sons. You have no one who will carry on your name, because I will see to it that Edwin is never allowed to inherit your name. You will be returning to your home alone because you played God and lost everything. No wonder your son turned into a monster!'

'I never meant for him to hurt you.'

'Why not? You tried it first.' D'Artagnan flung back. 'like father, like son, right? Well my father will forever be Alexandre d'Artagnan, my brothers will always be at my back, and you have no one. It's not enough. It's never enough. But at least while I am assured of my family, you have nothing left of yours.'

No one had said anything, the Duke's snivelling the only sound as they had turned and followed d'Artagnan out. D'Artagnan had made it as far as the courtyard before he stumbled slightly, Athos catching him easily and keeping him upright, leading the young man to the stables as he was blinded with tears.

From that day, d'Artagnan had flung himself back into training, in the end Treville running out of excuses to keep him off guard duty at the palace, or off patrol. The others tried to protest but quickly realised that the physical activity helped to exhaust d'Artagnan enough that the dreams did seem to improve. When this mission had come up, Treville had quickly ordered them all on the simple delivery, a way out of Paris, and a break from the memories the city now held.

The dreams had, almost inevitably, been brutal. Watching d'Artagnan as he slept now, they had been aware that the physically easy mission, and sleeping mostly outside wasn't helping them. Aramis was waiting for the nightmares that night, ready to wake d'Artagnan as they had all been doing as soon as there was any sign of them returning. Watching him now, d'Artagnan was restless but that wasn't unusual, tossing and turning under his cover as he slept. Porthos, who was asleep sitting against a tree next to him reached out and gave him a none too gentle shove, something all of them had done a time or two when the restlessness disturbed their sleep (there was a reason no one liked to share a bed with the young Gascon)

Aramis couldn't help but laugh, covering the sound with his hand as d'Artagnan startled awake, looking affronted at Porthos as he realised what had happened. Porthos, or course, had settled back to sleep just as quickly, as if nothing had happened. D'Artagnan huffed, clearly considering revenge until he realised that Aramis was watching.

'You were restless.' Aramis explained, not bothering to hide his grin.

D'Artagnan huffed again and sat up, moving closer to share the log Aramis was sat on. 'Was having a strange dream, anyway.' Aramis waited for him to continue but d'Artagnan was studying the fire that burnt low, warding off the cold of the night, reminding them all that winter would soon begin in earnest.

Aramis bumped his shoulder, forcing his look, and his mind, away from the fire. 'You can sleep more.'

'I'm meant to be relieving you anyway.' D'Artagnan said with a shake of his head.

Aramis rolled his eyes. 'And I suppose you promise to wake Athos in a couple of hours.'

D'Artagnan turned wounded eyes on him. 'I don't know what you mean.' He said innocently.

Aramis snorted quietly in response before turning a serious look at the young man. 'You will wake Athos.'

D'Artagnan quickly bobbed his head. Aramis glared at him threateningly. D'Artagnan nodded more.

Aramis was still not surprised to wake the next morning and find d'Artagnan had left Athos to sleep. Not that he could really blame him. Staying awake seemed much easier than facing the dreams that lurked in sleep. He still cuffed d'Artagnan over the back of the head as he passed by him, pulling an affronted look from the young man, though he mostly looked relieved when Aramis squeezed his shoulder in silent support as well.

XXX

Thank you for taking the time to read this story. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Hopefully I will be back at some point with a new story. I have an idea, a sort of follow on The Dauphin that is currently percolating in my mind. Hopefully it will eventually begin to form a more complete narrative, and I'll have time to write it. Anyway, thank you once again for reading and reviewing and favourite-ing and following- they all mean so much to me.