Note: Set between S1 and S2. Some violence ahead.
Chapter 11: Last Man Standing
In a world without gold, we might have been heroes. – AC Black Flag
Château de Coucy, 1631
"Marvellous!" The King clapped his hands cheerfully, and turned towards Tréville with a broad smile on his lips. The Captain hurried to smile back. "Wouldn't you agree, Tréville?"
Tréville forced a confirming nod, but the King couldn't tell that the Captain actually did not care.
"It's astonishing," Tréville declared dramatically. It really wasn't, Athos determined. The object referred to was a rifle, whose handle was golden and adorned with multiple gemstones. It looked truly ridiculous.
"I'd like to test it!" the King exclaimed and gazed at his host. The Baron de la Riève was a tall, lean man, with a face of, how Aramis had so charmingly put it, a snake ready to kill its prey. But judging from the way the man behaved himself and the way he spoke, Athos doubted he was a threat. He had invited the King to the castle, to offer him some gifts and negotiate some conditions anew. The Queen had stayed in Paris, and Athos was glad. He was thankful for every moment Aramis and the Queen weren't in one room. As harsh as it may sound, it was too dangerous.
Athos, Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan were lined up behind the King, while Tréville had taken the place at his majesty's side.
"As you wish, Sire," the Baron now sneered and gestured his majesty to follow him to the gardens. "You'll be the first to test this weapon's power."
"Murder me," Porthos mumbled grumpily, which elicited an amused smile out of d'Artagnan.
"Manners, Porthos," Aramis admonished, his lips barely moving. A musketeer had to learn how to communicate without moving when being stuck in those endless parades.
"If I've to endure this boredom any longer, I don't know..."
"Porthos!" Athos hissed from the side and didn't bestow as much as a glance to his friend. Porthos still mumbled something offensive, but then Tréville turned around briefly and threw him a murderous glare, which shut him up pretty quickly.
Aramis and d'Artagnan both suppressed a laugh, while Athos just rolled his eyes and focused his attention back on the King.
His majesty followed the Baron through the great castle's hall. Even Athos had to admit, the building was charming. It was impressive in its simplicity, and a welcome change to the pompous and golden decoration of the Louvre. Giant banners were the only decorations in this room, and the Baron's family emblem forced itself upon the visitors.
It was just another routine mission. The King had received the invitation from the Baron de la Riève, and Tréville had received the task to organize everything to secure the King's safety. His four best men had been ordered immediately to accompany him, and the Captain had entrusted his soldiers with the fact that he did not have a good feeling about this trip.
But the King's word was the law, so now here they were, watching his majesty as he went to try out a useless weapon. At least useless in Athos' opinion.
They now left the room through a giant doorway, and the castle's gardens were revealed. It was a small garden, nothing compared to what the Louvre had to offer, but the King, as well as Aramis and Porthos, were focused on something else entirely.
"What a view," Aramis whispered, his brown eyes soaking in the picturesque landscape. Then he froze, his eyes not moving anymore, and Athos knew he had heard something.
Athos also felt d'Artagnan's elbow in his side, and he followed the younger one's gaze and knew immediately what had drawn Aramis' and d'Artagnan's attention. Something was moving behind the trees, very slowly and barely noticeable, at least for untrained eyes.
He looked at Aramis' and saw that the marksman's eyes were locked on something up on the lower roof, and when Athos narrowed his eyes, he was sure he saw the flashing of a light there briefly. Like sun reflecting on metal.
Before he had the chance to do something, Porthos was there, who had followed the whole situation attentively. The big musketeer made a step forward and grabbed the Captain's arm.
Tréville turned around, worry evident on his face. His soldiers knew how to behave, so the Captain immediately assumed there was something off.
"The trigger is cumbersome, but there is barely any recoil," the Baron was explaining right now and handed the weapon over to his majesty. With glowing eyes, the King took it, and started to aim at one of the training dummies the Baron kept in his garden.
Porthos granted Tréville a look, and their Captain knew at once what was going on. He grasped his weapon and quickly surveyed the area. "Okay, on my signal, you know what to do."
"Got it," d'Artagnan confirmed and subconsciously reached for his pistol.
"What's going on here?" the King demanded to know and he whirled around angrily.
"Ambush," Porthos stated bluntly and started to shield the shorter man with his body.
"What? I want to..." the King did not believe what he heard.
"Your majesty," Tréville explained with a low voice."We need to..."
But the Captain did not get to explain what he needed to do or not. The Bang that echoed through the gardens drowned out every other noise. Due to their musketeer reflexes, the four guards immediately knew what to do. Porthos and Athos threw themselves in front of his majesty and yanked the King backwards, and d'Artagnan went for the Baron. Aramis fired his pistol and hit the man who was positioned on the roof. However, four more shots followed, and d'Artagnan, despite his efforts, could do nothing but watch as one of the bullets ripped through the Baron's chest and he crumbled to the ground.
"Inside!" Tréville yelled, and the King wasn't even visible behind all the armour and steel that shielded him now. Athos, Porthos and Tréville covered the King and escorted him back inside, while d'Artagnan and Aramis returned the fire and walked backwards. Once they were inside too, they slammed the doors shut. D'Artagnan quickly took a look around, Athos and Tréville were still keeping a firm grip on the King.
"Where to now?" d'Artagnan asked, throwing a questioning look at his captain.
"I kinda doubt we can walk out of the front door," Porthos assessed sceptically and gratefully accepted the dagger Aramis handed him.
"The tunnels," Athos said, already looking for the right way.
"What?" the King interrupted and his eyes were wide open with fear. The others just ignored him, as his safety was their current priority.
Tréville looked at Athos. "The ones that contain the water drains?"
Athos nodded. "We're on a damn hill. There's not a lot of ways we can take."
"Shit, they're getting through!" Aramis yelled from the door he was trying to block with Porthos' help.
In the blink of an eye, Athos made the decision for Tréville and started dragging the King towards the lower levels of the building. He could hear d'Artagnan trying to calm the King, while Louis kept on babbling something about how they were probably safer if they just barricaded themselves into a room here.
"We don't know how many there are, Sire," d'Artagnan was explaining. "If we do that, they'll block every route we could use to escape."
Before the King could respond, the men broke through the doors and started shooting wildly again. Everybody was doing their job. Porthos returned to the King's side and shielded him with his body, Athos kept dragging the man in the right direction. Tréville, d'Artagnan and Aramis kept firing their weapons, but their little company was too slow with their royal package.
At one point, when they were getting close to the stairs that led downstairs, they had no choice but to use their swords. Athos saw d'Artagnan kicking one of the attackers down the stairs, but he was forced backwards and stumbled after another one lashed out with his sword. Athos quickly got hold of his pistol, and without hesitation, he killed the man who was about to stab d'Artagnan in the back. The Gascon looked up in surprise after getting rid of another man, before he gratefully and slightly mockingly saluted and focused back on the fight.
Tréville and Aramis had teamed up and successfully defeated at least five of those attackers.
Athos, who had now entered the room on the lower levels, started yelling at them to rejoin them. He then took a quick second to look at the King. The young man had his arm drawn protectively over his head, his face distorted with fear.
"Your majesty, are you hurt?" Porthos wanted to know, quickly scanning the man from head to toes.
Louis shook his head, clearly shocked. "No, I'm fine." He gazed up at Athos. "The Baron?"
"Shot dead," Athos reported bluntly, and did not go into detail. All he had seen were the musket balls that had torn through the nobleman's chest, and he had watched how he had crumbled to the ground immediately. But, to be fair, he had paid little attention to him. All that mattered to him was getting the King out.
Louis looked honestly scared and devastated. "The poor man."
While Athos kept yelling for the others to come to them, he heard Porthos' slightly insensitive answer.
"Yeah, we will have Aramis say a prayer for him as soon as we get you out of here, your majesty."
Good thing Athos was too busy right now to scold his friend. Finally, he heard the others running down the stairs. Tréville ran in first and headed straight to the King, asking him the same questions Athos had just posed.
Then, accompanied by a hail of bullets, d'Artagnan and Aramis stormed through the door and slammed it shut, using some of their enemies' rapiers to block the entrance. Then, the two of them started to move some of the spare furniture in front of the doors.
"That's probably not going to hold very long," Aramis declared after he finished putting the third chair in front of the doorknob.
"Aramis." Athos' voice was calm, with a pinch of concern. He stared at the red liquid that spread over the marksman's armour, and the hole in his jacket, somewhere around his shoulder.
Aramis, currently busy trying to reload his pistol, lifted his head to look at his friend. "Yeah?"
"You're hit," d'Artagnan assessed, not nearly as composed as Athos.
Aramis, who looked like his adrenaline was slowly beginning to wear off, followed Athos' gaze until his eyes landed on the blood covering his shoulder.
"Ah, well," he said and grimaced as he tried to move it. "Now, that's unfortunate."
"They're getting through!" the King took the word, his voice high-pitched in its fear.
Athos threw Aramis a quick glance to make sure his friend was okay, but Aramis just granted him his usual 'I'm fine' movement, the flick of his wrist. Porthos hurried to his friend's side and offered him a supportive shoulder, and Athos and Tréville continued to guide the King backwards. They had to take another stairs down before they would reach the tunnels, and they had to get there quickly, but more importantly, safely.
They reached the next room, and unknowingly entered one of the main halls, where multiple rooms were connected to. Porthos and d'Artagnan slammed the doors shut and locked it, which gave them all little time to breathe.
"Check the rooms!" Tréville ordered, while he himself aimed his weapon at the locked doors, ready for everything that might come through. "I don't want any unnecessary surprises."
Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan split up, each of them securing a different room. D'Artagnan was the first one to return with a shaking head.
"Empty."
Athos was able to make out some fighting noises out of one of the other rooms. He almost missed it, because the noises the group of men on the other side of the barricaded doors made were enormous, but eventually, Aramis came staggering out of his room.
"Now...clear," he panted and wiped the sweat off his brow. He took his place at d'Artagnan's side, and Athos took a step forward, furrowing his brow as he now made out the clang of steel in the last room. Porthos was in trouble. Athos unsheathed his sword and approached the room.
Suddenly, his world was drowned by the explosion that ripped through the air, and flames suddenly burst out of the room Porthos had chosen to survey, accompanied by a loud and numbing bang.
Athos' world froze, and he stared at the remains of the wooden door in shock. He heard Aramis desperately shouting Porthos' name, he witnessed Tréville slinging his arms around d'Artagnan as the young man made an attempt to rush forward.
"We need to bring the King into safety!" Tréville yelled in order to get their attention back, and despite the unbelievable they had just witnessed, they moved backwards in unison, like a subconscious duty.
Athos and Tréville shielding the King, d'Artagnan and Aramis furiously firing their pistols at the next wave of attackers that came through the barricaded door now. They were coming from multiple directions, and there was no trace of Porthos. Every fibre of his being screamed at Athos to go into the demolished room and search for any sign of his lost friend, but they had to do their duty first.
Their duty. Athos kept repeating it in his head like a mantra, over and over again so his limbs would cooperate and do what his head kept telling him.
They finally reached the top of the stairs that led into the tunnels, a narrow, spiral staircase. Athos forced the King around the corner and he leaned against the wall to breathe for a moment, just a brief moment. He had lost sight of d'Artagnan and Aramis for a second and fear gripped his heart, the one that still could not accept what might have been Porthos' fate. He almost had tears of relief in his eyes when d'Artagnan and Aramis came into sight.
It seemed like they had successfully outrun the attackers for now, and walked towards them, throwing glances over their shoulders all the time and preparing their weapons for the next attack.
"Who are these people?" the King asked, but Athos wasn't inclined to answer. This was no usual ambush. It was a planned assassination – and it had already demanded sacrifices. Athos exchanged a brief look with Tréville, and the Captain nodded. Athos let go of the King and hurried towards his friends.
"They are still tearing down our barricades," d'Artagnan reported, trying to catch his breath. "But I think whatever Porthos did..." His voice broke, and he quickly avoided Athos' gaze. "Well, it distracted them."
"He paid a high price for that...," Athos' voice was low.
"He's alive," Aramis growled. He was white as a sheet, his eyes wet with unshed tears.
"Of course he is," d'Artagnan added confidently, but his voice was shaking too. "He...he is Porthos."
"Damn right," Aramis grunted and walked past Athos to briefly report to Tréville. He was swaying dangerously, and Athos wondered how long he could go on like this. Right now, it seemed to be the pure adrenaline.
Athos exchanged a look with d'Artagnan, and his young companion's face was a mirror of his own worry and disbelief.
"We've got to keep moving!" Tréville ordered. Athos nodded tensely, and his captain's statement was confirmed when suddenly, a few men stormed around the corner with their weapons raised high, yelling angrily.
"Down!" Athos yelled and grabbed the King's arm again, Tréville by his side. Aramis and d'Artagnan followed on their heels. When Athos and the King made it down the stairs, the swordsman took a second to look back, only to find Aramis and d'Artagnan engaged in a fight. There wasn't a lot of space for a battle, and Athos was about to help his brothers, but Tréville held him back.
Then, an agonized scream tore through the air, and Athos' heart sank when he spotted Aramis pinned against the wall, his opponent getting closer and closer with a knife, while his fingers dug into Aramis' shoulder wound.
Now Tréville wasn't able to hold Athos. The musketeer lunged forward and by chance managed to take one of d'Artagnan's enemies out. But when he lifted his gaze, he saw more and more attackers pouring through the open doors at the top of the stairs.
"Where do they all come from?" The King, for once, was asking the right questions, Athos thought. All their efforts, but somehow, the flow of men who wanted to see the King dead did not stop.
Athos and d'Artagnan tried to run upstairs, but they had no chance. Aramis was still pinned against the wall, his own arms trying to steer the knife away from his flesh, while he grew even paler. His eyes landed on Athos, and for the first time in a long time, Athos felt helpless.
"Go!" Aramis' words barely managed to reach his ears. Athos was still fighting, but the attackers forced him backwards, towards d'Artagnan, Tréville and the King. He tried again to fight his way through to his friend further up the stairs, but the only thing that happened was that he felt a stinging sensation in his leg when a parrying dagger buried itself in his thigh.
He looked up to Aramis again, and he felt like he was in trance.
"For God's sake!" Aramis choked out, his eyes were begging them to leave. "Just go!"
Athos could hear d'Artagnan shouting Aramis' name, but the young Gascon also stood no chance against the number of men that attacked them in this narrow space. Suddenly, Tréville's hand was on his shoulder, and Athos turned around to look at his superior.
"Get the King into safety!" he ordered and roughly shoved Athos towards Louis, before he grabbed his pistol and managed to shoot the man who had a hold on Aramis. Both men went down, and they lay sprawled on the steps, unmoving. But there was no way to get through to Aramis.
Athos cursed vividly and did as he was told. He and the King stumbled into the tunnels, and he could feel the water soaking his boots up to his calves. Despite the King's complaints, he continued to run, feeling the presence of Tréville and d'Artagnan behind him.
Finally, they reached a tunnel where the water got even deeper, and on the other side of the grid, Athos was able to see the daylight. That was their way out. He came to an abrupt stop, and he turned to Tréville and d'Artagnan.
"We need to swim and dive underneath it," he explained matter-of-factly and handed the King to d'Artagnan. "You're the best swimmer, you'll take the King," he added. Louis himself opened his mouth to protest, but Tréville threw the young King a look that tolerated no protest. It was unusual how much authority Tréville had, even when he was in a room with the King.
"Give me your pistol!" Athos said to the Captain. Tréville did not hesitate for a second and handed him the weapon. Athos fired the shot the second one of the attackers came running around the corner.
"Go!" he heard Tréville bark at d'Artagnan, and the sound of splashing water behind him assured Athos that d'Artagnan was indeed guiding the King towards the grid. Tréville followed him and Athos only started to move after his superior's urgent yelling. He turned on the heel and wanted to run towards the others, who were already diving underneath the grid, when he felt a flash of pain ripping through his leg and he crashed to the ground, his face plunged into the dirty waters. His hand reached for his leg, and he could feel the warm, sticky liquid pouring out of the flesh wound.
He gasped for air and turned around to lie on his back. The voices of the nearing attackers came closer and closer.
"Athos!" he heard d'Artagnan's shouts, but he could not see his friend. He merely started reloading the pistol, while he was lying on his back, his leg not cooperating anymore.
"Run!" he yelled. "I'll hold them off."
"No way!" D'Artagnan replied, swallowing a mouthful of water.
"Right now! Protect the King and do your damn duty!" Athos shouted while he shot down another attacker. It was harsh, but he needed d'Artagnan to do as he was told. And then, the enemies came running towards him.
And d'Artagnan had no choice but to leave.
MMMM
D'Artagnan had no idea how this day had just taken such a dramatic turn, but he also wasn't given the time to think about it. He had brought the King to the other side, but when Athos hadn't followed, he had returned to look after his brother, only to find him injured and about to be overrun on the wet and dirty floor of the tunnels.
D'Artagnan would be angry at Athos for making him leave him behind, but he simply did not have the time. Once he had rejoined Tréville and the King and they had swum towards the edge of the big pond, he had to pick up a fight again. Two or three men followed them through the water, and with a heavy heart, d'Artagnan came to realize what this possibly meant for Athos.
A few other armed men came running down the hill, as they had taken the main route from the castle down here, and d'Artagnan, whose pistol was no use after their dunk in the water, started a swordfight as soon as the men came into his range.
It was an endless dance. Parry, strike, dodge. D'Artagnan did have so much training, but only half of his heart was in the fight for the King's survival right now. The other half was still in the castle, with his friends and brothers. His inattentiveness came with a high price. As he whirled around to face the next man, he saw the gun aimed at him.
He stumbled backwards, in a ridiculous attempt to avoid the bullet if it came. For a second, he made eye-contact with his future executioner, brown eyes meeting green, one man in defeat, the other in scornful amusement.
And suddenly, a giant figure jumped at the attacker who had his gun levelled at d'Artagnan, and he knocked him out with his bare hands. The man was soaked in water and blood, but he was alive.
Porthos.
"We thought," d'Artagnan yelled, pushing the King behind his back. "We thought you were dead."
Porthos laughed. And right now, it was the sweetest sound for d'Artagnan's ears.
"Takes a little more than an explosion to get rid of me, whelp," he said and saved his captain from an assailing enemy. Porthos then laid a firm hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.
"Where is Athos?" he looked around. "And Aramis?"
D'Artagnan did not respond, and he could not look in Porthos' eyes. What was he going to say? He did not know? Or that Aramis stayed behind with a gunshot-wound, and Athos took it on himself to prevent the enemies from following them through the tunnels? None of it was what Porthos wanted to hear, and none of it was what d'Artagnan wanted to say. Because if he said it, it meant he believed it.
But Porthos did not get the time to think about it, neither did d'Artagnan. They were attacked with swords again, and all remaining three of them, Porthos, d'Artagnan and Tréville, were forced to participate in the fight, leaving the King to the side. Which proved to be their fatal mistake.
"I'll suggest you drop your swords now!" D'Artagnan whirled around and looked into the faces of the two remaining attackers. They were outnumbered, but the two men both had their pistols aimed at none other than the King himself. Louis had his eyes wide open, his hands raised in defeat. He was shaking hard, and if d'Artagnan did not have such a rough past hour, he might've had pity.
And so there they stood. Swords against pistols, a battle they could not win. Not with the two of them. Why didn't they shoot? It had been their goal to get rid of the King in the first place, so why didn't they just do it, no matter the consequences?
"'Cause they're afraid what we're gonna do to them," Porthos whispered into d'Artagnan's ear, answering the question he hadn't asked aloud.
"Again," one of the attackers said, not lowering his pistol an inch. "Drop your damn weapons or I'll shoot his majesty on the spot."
"Do what he says," Tréville ordered with a quick side-glance on the King and he dropped his weapon into the grass.
Suddenly, they heard a loud shot.
D'Artagnan jerked in shock and his eyes widened, fearing the worst for the King, but then he saw how one of the attackers fell to the ground, a gaping hole in his back. Before the other one had the chance to do anything, d'Artagnan used the opportunity and threw his dagger with as much force as he could muster. It buried itself into the last man's chest and he too crumbled to the ground.
Slowly, d'Artagnan lifted his eyes, searching for the source of the gunshot, trying to determine who the King was staring at with so much admiration.
And then there, behind the two men on the grass, was the Baron de la Riève, on his knees, lowering a still smoking, golden rifle. His entire upper body was stained with red.
"Well," the nobleman whispered and stared admiringly at the weapon in his hands. "The recoil is harder than I anticipated."
MMMM
The first thing Athos was able to feel was the cold water he was lying in face-down. His head was pounding, and his leg throbbing. But he was alive. He did not know how, but he was alive. The last thing he remembered was the awkward brawling with the man whose body was lying in the pit behind him now. And then, there was nothing. Sluggishly, he opened his eyes. His vision was blurry, but he was sure that there was someone gently tapping his face.
"For God's sake, Athos, finally." That was d'Artagnan's voice. Wasn't he supposed to be with the King?
Athos weakly slapped d'Artagnan's hand away and crawled backwards, until his back rested against the walls of the tunnels.
"The...," He cleared his throat as his voice failed to cooperate.
"King?" d'Artagnan finished for him with an annoyed expression on his face. "Yeah, no, he is alive. We did it."
"The others?" He had to admit, his thoughts were with his brothers, not primarily with the King.
D'Artagnan seemed to hesitate for a second. Athos lifted his head to look at his friend. The Gascon leaned against the opposite wall, he was completely drenched, and he looked beyond tired, but he was alive and well. That's all that counted.
"Porthos saved my life outside. Turned out the explosion threw him right out of the window and with a good amount of luck, he landed in the water. He's mostly fine, though he has some bad bruises."
Athos closed his eyes in relief. Of course Porthos made it. He had known it, deep inside.
"And Aramis?" he asked, a little scared of the answer he was going to receive.
"Tréville found him where we were forced to leave him," d'Artagnan said, clearly ashamed. "He's unconscious, but he will be fine."
Athos tried to catch the younger one's gaze.
"We had no choice," he stated, but his own voice sounded very distant.
"I know." D'Artagnan stayed silent for a moment again. "Just another day in the regiment, right?" He laughed sourly. "An almost-successful assassination, three close calls, and too many bruises. I should probably get used to this."
"Well," Athos breathed and the corners of his mouth hinted a grin. "Musketeers don't die easily."
MMMM
Two hours later, Athos was limping over the green grass towards the bench Tréville was seated together with the King, who was clutching the golden musket in his dirty, bloodstained hands.
"And you are sure you are fine, Sire?" Athos head Tréville ask just when he joined them. The King nodded.
"I'm fine. Physically, at least." He straightened up. " But I need to know their motives. Why did they do what they did? And why here, and not when we are on our way back to Paris?"
Tréville sighed and stood up. "Some people don't need a motive. Some act out of pure hate. All that matters is that they did not succeed."
The King bit his lip, thinking.
"When we return to Paris, I want to have a special ceremony held for the Baron," he declared out of nowhere.
"What for?" Athos asked bluntly and he could feel the Captain's warning stare in his back. He shifted all of his weight on his uninjured leg, which caused his crooked posture.
"To honour his bravery, of course," the King explained slightly upset about Athos' lack of understanding. "I want my entire musketeer regiment to be there as well."
He turned around to Tréville.
"How long until we can return to Paris?"
The Captain tensed visibly. "Well, we have three men down, plus the Baron. Knowing my musketeers, they'll probably insist on leaving as soon as possible, so maybe tomorrow. Depends on what will happen to de la Riève."
"I want to stay long enough until someone can tell me the Baron will make it," the King said in a voice that tolerated no protest.
"Sire?" Tréville asked doubtfully.
"This man saved my life, Tréville," Louis declared in an urgent voice and leaned over to the Captain. "I want him to receive the best treatment we can offer."
And then, Athos saw a look on the Captain's face he had never seen before. Disgust and disappointment. In front of the King.
Probably thanks to the recognition the King failed to give his own men. Athos watched as Tréville made a step forward and opened his mouth, but then Athos quickly grabbed the captain's arm, only to end up being supported by the man when his leg did not seem to carry his weight anymore.
"Sir, I'm going to need your help over here," Athos said, his cool eyes locked on the captain. Tréville bit down whatever he was about to say to the King and nodded, before he accompanied Athos to the other three musketeers, who were awaiting them in one of the smaller rooms of the west wing. They were greeted with the scent of blood and sweat.
When he entered the room, Athos spotted his friends immediately. Porthos was lying on one of the two beds, his torso tightly bandaged but judging by the amount of force d'Artagnan seemed to have to use to hold him down, the big musketeer had regained a lot of his strength. Aramis was sitting on the ground, leaning against the bed, his eyes closed due to the exhaustion. He was pale, but alert, though he did not seem to see the need to interfere in the wrestling behind him.
Athos approached and without a word, he dropped on the edge of the bed, almost falling over when his leg denied him its service.
D'Artagnan jumped in surprise, as he had been too busy keeping Porthos in check that he hadn't noticed Athos and Tréville entering the room.
"How's the King?" d'Artagnan asked casually and granted Porthos one last, stern look before he stood up.
Tréville sighed. "A little shaken, but alive, thanks to all of you."
"Actually, thanks to the Baron," Athos added coldly, not able to hide the bitterness in his voice. "His majesty wants to honour him for his bravery. With a ceremony and a ton of gold."
"No need to be sour, Athos," Aramis remarked, after having seen Tréville's and Athos' expressions. "We don't need the glory."
"A little thank you is too much to ask?" d'Artagnan wanted to know and only received a brief nod from Athos.
"Well, no good news for you, Porthos," Tréville now said, his face a mirror of pity.
"Excuse me?" Porthos did not seem to be sure what his superior was referring to, nor did he know what was wrong.
"You all will have to return to your duties very soon."
"Meaning?" Aramis chipped in, his eyes wandering from Tréville to Porthos and back.
Tréville's mouth formed a crooked grin and he held out a helping hand to Porthos. "Parades, Porthos. Another Parade. And if I catch you complaining about the lack of excitement again, you and Aramis will be put on stable duty for a week."
"Hey, what do I have to do with this?" Aramis weakly protested from the side.
Tréville just raised an eyebrow. "Just because you don't say it as loudly, don't think I don't know what the two of you keep murmuring when you think I don't hear it." He smiled.
And with the look of guilt on Aramis' face, Athos could hear Porthos and d'Artagnan laugh behind him. And in the end, he managed a grin too. Because they were still here, they were together and they had survived. Just like they always did.
MMMM
Le bouclier rouillé, Paris, 1656
"Damn," Rissé commented, and he looked truly shocked. "I did not know about that one. Seems like things got really precarious."
Brujon snorted.
"Well, I do believe you have been in similar situations, am I right?"
Rissé grimaced. "Yeah. Well, it doesn't matter now." He threw a quick look at Verde. "Also a part of being a musketeer. But no worries, most of the days are not that…dangerous."
Verde just frowned but he did not say anything.
„I think our evening is about to get interesting," Gaulier suddenly commented and Brujon noticed his eyes were locked on the tavern's door.
Brujon turned on his chair and saw that the woman every man's attention was drawn to, was Madame d'Artagnan. She entered the sticky tavern gracefully, her long, brown hair pinned up loosely, and she wore a dress of a bright, red color. Next to her was Alexandre, her ten year old son. He gripped his mother's hand as if his life depended on it, his dark, brown eyes roaming all over the place, taking in every detail of the tavern that was by now mostly filled with drunken men.
Constance's eyes searched the area, until they landed on Brujon and his table filled with musketeers. She shot a disapproving look at Gaulier as she noticed his son sitting on his lap, but then she hurried over to them, dragging her tired son with her.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Brujon noticed Rissé sinking even deeper into his chair the closer the Captain's wife got. Brujon couldn't help but chuckle at the sight, but he quickly shut up the moment he felt Constance staring at him.
"Madame d'Artagnan!" Gaulier greeted and raised his cup at her, "What a pleasure that you decided to join us today." He made a short pause and grinned broadly at the child clinging on to her hand.
"And you too, Alexandre. You and your mother are always a welcoming sight for my sore eyes."
"Spare me your blandishments, Gaulier, and save it for your wife," Constance countered sharply, but her eyes glistered with amusement and the wrinkles around her eyes made her look even friendlier.
Gaulier obeyed and finished his cup quickly.
"What are you doing here, Constance?" Brujon asked her. It was unusual for her to see what her husband's soldiers were doing so close to midnight. And Alexandre wasn't awake at this time usually as well.
She sighed.
"D'Artagnan sends me. It's time, Brujon. You and the others are expected at the garrison." She scanned the men assembled at the table. "And bring your son home, Gaulier, it's way past his bedtime. I'm sure your wife is wondering already."
"As you wish, Madame. Come, Verde," he said, threw a few coins on the table to pay for his wine and guided his son out of the building.
Brujon rose from his seat as well, and he apparently wasn't able to hide his nervousness. Or maybe it was the wine.
Constance chuckled weakly.
"No worries, even though d'Artagnan tries to play it down, he is far more excited than any of you."
Brujon managed a crooked smile.
"Well, it's been some years I've seen all three of them. And I can't wait to see them reunite again."
MMMM
We're done with the little tales. Two to three story chapters will follow. I've been nervous doing this, but I just felt like it would be so interesting to think of this scenario. I'm curious what you guys will think. Thanks for reading, I hope this was a worthy closure to the tales!
The Chateau de Coucy was built in 13th century. The family who owned it in this story is fictional. Unfortunately, the castle was demolished during World War I. Therefore, I have no idea what this castle's inner architecture looked like. I just made stuff up.
Thank you to all the feedback to the last chapter, also to Guest for your lovely review, which I couldn't respond to personally.
