A/N: Hey there. I know it's been forever and most of you have probably forgotten that this story - or me - existed, but here's a new chapter for those of your who have lots and lots of stamina and are still here. I truly apologize for the long wait, I simply have not had a calm moment to write for months. On a happier note, I'm now and aunt and my nephew is the cutest storm of activity you've ever seen.

Anyways, enough gushing about personal things. Let's get back to our Musketeers!
Enjoy and review, if you like!

Chapter 11

Gallows should not look pretty, yet this one indisputably did. The shiny polish of newly cut wood and perfect angles suggested mastery of the craft and unsettled anyone who looked at it, as did the wine-red silk noose that swung innocently on a light breeze. There were fine winding stairs that would force the unfortunate prisoner to go around the construction twice before ascending to the delicate looking stool beneath the noose. Graceful, deceivingly pleasant to look at if one didn't know its lethal purpose. Or for whom it was intended.

Athos forced himself to study the gallows extensively and not look away as they rode past it. You couldn't miss the damn thing really, strategically placed as it was right next to the amphitheater that the late King had built during one of his misguided attempts to imitate Rome. Thus, nobody could enter the palace without noticing the gallows, which must have been the intention.

Moreover, Athos noticed that one could watch any hanging conveniently from the throne room without deigning to actually go outside and brave the unreliable weather.

"Damn those snobbish nobles" Athos whispered in a disgusted manner as he was lead past, which earned him a cuff around the head from one of his escorts. "Quiet!"

Fine, silence suited him just as well. Therefore, he didn't say a word as he like once before was shackled in the courtyard of the building and subsequently lead underground into the dimness of the Chatelet. Welcome back, Athos thought sarcastically while the guards opened a cell for him.

Surpisingly, they'd chosen one of the cleaner ones, meaning no visible rats and only a thin layer of slime and rot on the walls. There even was a bit of straw in one corner, although from the smell of it, Athos made sure to give it a wide berth. Even more interesting was that the Blue Guard left one man to stand watch at the entrance of the room, a young fellow with a friendly face who sat on a chair and managed to stay vigilant for about forty minutes before boredom got to him.

"Are you the Athos?", the blond boy said, then blushed like a maid and grinned. "My name's Abraham. Abe, if you like."

"Abe", Athos repeated flatly, uncertain what to think of the youth. He was different than d'Artagnan had been, different than Farouk. Sadness washed over him like rain and Athos sat on the ground, leaning against the stone wall between the straw and the guard.

"I am Athos." Abe could do with that whatever he wanted. And apparently, what Abe wanted was to talk. Athos sighed, fiddling with his shackles and reminded himself that not too long ago, he'd been the one tlaking on the other side of the bars with Aramis and d'Artagnan on the other side. Only now could he appreciate how degrading it could feel to be addressed casually through the bars of a prison cell. Perhaps it was fate, God's method to show him how wrong his actions had been.

"… I don't believe a word, by the way."

"Huh?" He'd been drifting off. Abe was still grinning, standing right in front of the iron bars with both his hands curled around them as if to bend them aside and free him. "They say you kidnapped the Dauphin, which is nonsense of course . Do you want to know how I know that?"

In fact, Athos did not, but he strongly suspected that he was about to be told nonetheless.

"Because you would never endanger Aramis. And d'Artagnan. Everyone knows Captain d'Artagnan was once your protégé – they're your brothers."

"They are", Athos admitted reluctantly, ashamed by the trust a total stranger placed in him. He was about to burst the man's bubble as multiple footsteps interrupted them and three men entered their field of vision. All of them were wearing clubs and nasty expressions, thus causing Athos' mind to jump to the right conclusion immediately. His assumptions were proven correct when one of them pushed the key into the lock of the cell, whereas the others made their weapons ready. This was about to get ugly.

"You better go now, Abe. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Chained as he was it was going to be a very one-sided fight, yet Athos doubted they would kill him. Most likely, some noble simply wanted to express his dislike of the traitor in a more palpable manner.

Abe fumbled around with his gear, glancing at Athos every so often until one of the thugs pushed the Guard into the wall.

"Hey", Athos protested and knocked his shackle against the iron between them with a disinterested expression, "Pick on someone your own size." Abe, meanwhile, let his gear drop to the floor in a heap and fled down the corridor with a last meaningful glance at his prisoner. Athos grinned inwardly. Of course he'd seen the keys his new friend had abandoned along with his other stuff.

This might be fun.

"What is the meaning of this?", Aramis demanded to know as he strode into the audience chamber of the palace. He'd collected his last reserves to appear energetic, severe and firm. Whether that worked, who knew? At least his posture was erect and even though his wardrobe might be dirty, his face was set with determination.

Aramis really hoped he was exuding the aura he wanted to and some of the schoolmaster display must have worked, because the nobles all diverted their attention to him and his entourage, d'Artagnan and Porthos. The former musketeers stopped right in the middle of the humongous room and it felt a lot like they were the main attraction in a circus.

"Where is the Queen Regent?", Aramis tried again, unaware that he was poking a beehive. The bees were certainly waking up, though, and the loud humming of conversation soon surrounded them on all sides like a swarm of insects.

"She's sick."

"Gravely ill."

"Unable to attend."

"So is little Louis, poor boy."

"Oh, what a tragedy!"

"Poor boy? Have some respect, comte. He's our king!"

"A sick king is no good for a kingdom."

"Respect!"

"Silence! Why on earth is there a gallows on the palace grounds?" From what he could filter out of the noise, Anne and Louis were unwell. Another catastrophe on top of the ever mounting pile of shit that was happening to them recently. But there was no obvious reason to build that… hideous thing next to the palace.

"We're hanging the traitor!"

"The traitor that tried to kill you and his majesty, poor boy."

"Yes! Tomorrow, and none too soon if you ask me."

"Nobody asked you, moron. But yes, Athos de la Fere shall be executed at dawn."

"A hanging, what an adventure!"

"Have some respect, that man used to be a musketeer!"

"So? Now he's all the more traitorous."

"Oh, how the mighty have fallen."

"Be quiet! Who sentenced Monsieur de la Fere to death?" Because unfortunately, there was nobody else they could be talking about. Was there no having a reasonable conversation with these people? Aramis only spoke to one elderly noble in the row closest to them on the left, yet everyone seemed to feel qualified to answer as loudly as they could.

"Nobody did."

"We did!"

"Everyone did."

"Everyone knows."

"They'll lynch him anyways."

"A lynching! That would be an adventure!"

"Respect!"

"No! Not for a man like him. A rat. Lower than even that."

"Is that possible?"

"A snail perhaps?"

"Oh, what a poor snail."

"Be silent! There hasn't been a trial, nobody sentenced anybody?" He was losing his mind, his posture, his patience. Every bee sting got a little deeper under his already fragile skin.

"No."

"Well, yes."

"But it doesn't matter."

"The king and his mother are gravely ill. Somebody has to make sure the realm doesn't succumb to chaos."

"Yes! That's right. A hanging there will be."

"The hangman has been payed already. As soon as the traitor Athos is found..."

"I heard he was brought to the Chatelet not an hour ago!"

"Really?"

"Perfect."

"Let the games begin!"

"There are no games, moron."

"But..."

"Have some respect!"

"Fuck your respect, I will have my games!"

"Everyone, shut up, will you?", Aramis growled, but his voice was lost in the ensuing mayhem. d'Artagnan watched the show with an expression close to awe as the cultivated men and even some fine ladies turned into a wild horde. Their shouting became snarls, fingers claws and fists. A punch was thrown.

Porthos and Aramis, a little more experienced in the not so courtly behavior of French Court without leadership, waited a few minutes until the first wave of violence and tempers had rushed by. Then Aramis marched up the dais and positioned himself on the highest step, just below the throne. d'Artagnan stayed close but didn't ascend from the floor of the audience chamber. Porthos followed Aramis a little further but remained on the first step, looking up at his longtime friend. The First Minister nodded with as much poise as he could muster, bedraggled and bone tired as they all were.

"If you would be so kind, mon ami?"

"Needs must", Porthos answered, then breathed in deeply and put two fingers each into his mouth. The resounding whistle cut through the arguing and scathing voices like a sword through butter. Gentlemen and gentlewomen fell silent and blinked up at the two warriors on the stage. Many glanced at themselves with shame, some other few with pride at their actions. Slowly, the crowd separated and settled. Instead, murmurs and evil whispers took hold like a vine which thrived to undermine any foundation of a stable house.

"What's he doing, up there?"

"He's not even of noble blood."

"Is that where he sees himself?"

"Oh, the audacity!"

"This is not right, no. Pretending he's king."

"He's just a musketeer."

"Somebody get him down from there."

"Impossible. Technically, it is his right."

"Right or no, it shan't be tolerated! I won't!"

"Oh? So you're going to go through the Captain of the Musketeers, General du Vallon and throttle the First Minister?"

"Hah! As if."

"Nobody would dare. He's a musketeer."

"Still not a king."

"Have some respect! In their majesties' absence, Minister d'Herblay is the highest ranking noble in attendance."

"Puh. So what?"

"He could behead you."

"Woe betide you who steps between a musketeer and his sworn brother."

"Brother?"

"Athos."

"The traitor?"

"The musketeer."

"They're one and the same person."

"Duh."

Aramis let them quibble amongst themselves for a while with the reduced volume, listening, asserting the temperature of the water before he dove in. Definitely hot waters since only about a third of the nobles expressed relief that somebody was back in charge. Very few men seemed to support Aramis as a person being here. And nobody at all spoke well of Athos.

In fact, the spinsters and the royal rumor mill of idleness had been dragging every little skeleton and spiderweb out of Athos' closet. Admittedly, there were a few, but most of the tales, which had most likely been exchanged between chocolates and whiskey a hundred times, were pure fabrication.

"Enough! I understand that there have been questions regarding Musketeer Athos' conduct. Those questions will all be answered. And in the Queen's absence, ..."

"He'll pardon his friend."

"Corruption!"

"That's ridiculous. They can't let a traitor live! What if he tries again?"

"Clearly, Aramis has lost his Spanish mind."

He heard the slurs, the distrust and suddenly realized that no, this was not a circus and he was not a schoolmaster. This was the Colosseum and he was a gladiator, albeit armed with words instead of swords. Nevertheless, disregard the peoples' will and he would loose his position. It might also cost his life. And Anne's. And Louis'. Despite this, the peoples' will currently lead to hanging Athos for crimes he had only partially committed. But how to explain, how to show them?

"In the Queen's absence, there shall still be a trial. A fair and impartial trial. We shall inform you all of the proceedings tomorrow", Aramis declared, very much aware that his speech elicited grumbles and glares everywhere. "Until then, anybody who tries to take the law into their own hands will loose their head. Is that understood?"

Silence. Now that they were supposed to speak, the bees had settled. One brave individual piped up: "We shall not interfere with a fair trial." The noble stepped forwards and smirked like a hyena. "However, in the name of the nobility of France, I must persist that should the traitor… should Athos de la Fere be found guilty, his punishment shall also be appropriate and swift."

Aramis swallowed forcefully, backed into a corner with very few ways out. He needed to strengthen his position and regain their respect if he was to be useful during the trial. Therefore, he looked at the troublemakers and then loudly proclaimed: "If Athos is found guilty, I will personally execute him for his crimes!"

After that announcement, he left as quickly as etiquette permitted. Limping, one hand pressed against the wall in order to steady himself, Aramis used the back door to vanish from the crowd and excused himself from his brothers. Every step felt like a marathon with the weight of responsibility he now carried on his shoulders, which made even breathing a chore.

How could he have said something such as that? How could he save Athos? What if he couldn't? Could he do it, kill his own mentor, friend and brother? Kin-killer, kin-slayer, curse you, curse you!

He stopped, lungs filled with doubts like water, causing him to cough and fight for air.

He'd been betrayed. He'd been beaten. He'd been abducted, imprisoned and tortured. He'd survived being suffocated and being burned alive and being drowned. And still he'd given his all to learn to trust Athos again. And finally, after searching his soul, he'd forgiven. Reached out again. Loved again. And it would nevertheless all be torn away at dawn. He couldn't take it, couldn't, couldn't, couldn't do anything.

Somewhere deep in the bowels of the unforgiving stone palace, Aramis d'Herblay cried. Bones cracking under the strain, he slid down the wall until he half sat, half lay on the cold marble tiles of the corridor. His whole body was racked with sobs, shoulders shaking and chest heaving. A cry of anguish crawled up his throat but he kept it inside even though it hurt. Aramis didn't make a sound, not a note of distress passed his lips.

His hands, loose on the cool stone, ached to curl into fists. He wanted to pummel the whole world into submission or at least throw a tantrum suitable for a Titan and bang his hands and feet against the ground uselessly like a baby. Yet he didn't move, afraid that his breakdown might be witnessed and the scandal would throw down the house of cards he'd built in the audience chamber just now.

Aramis moaned quietly. He felt empty. Rusted. Rotten. Like all the life had been sucked out of him by the bees outside and the trials he'd been forced to endure the last weeks. All Aramis wanted to do was lie here in the corner until time turned to dust.

An endless stream of heartbeats ticked by, uncounted. Tears dried to a desert of salt that tasted lonely on his tongue. He uncurled his fingers, ignored the bloody crescent moons they'd dug into his palms and placed them on the floor. Painstakingly, he returned to his feet. After another small eternity, he took a stumbling step, then another and another until the movement resembled a normal walk.

It was in this state that he reached the royal quarters of Queen Anne of Austria.

A/N: I will definitely finish this story, so stay tuned! However, it might take some time since I have to finish some papers for college first. Business before pleasure and all that jazz.
Please be patient and continue to be as awesome with your reviews as you are!