The final battle

First of all I want to announce that I decided to stop writing the plots in the same order I get them. I still will write every single one of your wishes and try to not make you wait too long, but I hope you understand that I sometimes don't feel to write something but want to write something different in the moment.

This one is a story, which prompt is from myself. The idea just popped up in my head while I showered and I had to make it alive immediately! It takes place a few years after the series final.

The inseparables may have separated by distance but not by hearts. Athos may lived outside of Paris in a small farmhouse and his family. Porthos may fought at the front for France. D'Artagnan may was the Captain of the musketeers and Aramis may was the First Minister, but deep inside they still were musketeers.

The war with Spain had lasted way to long for Aramis liking. It needed to be ended. Day and night he read through books, talked to Ministers, wrote letters to the Generals at the front and thought about a way to end this endless torture. The people in Paris had suffered from the famine way too long. Too many men had fallen, too many children were orphans.

Dear Aramis,

Or do I have to write First Minister? I'm not sure about this though. It doesn't matter at all.

I'm writing you from Toulouse, but you probably know. The Spanish army broke through the barricades and is about to claim the city theirs, soon. I've lost three quarters of my men, good men. We're outnumbered at least one to ten, if not more. They have cannons, while our gunpowder is nearly empty. We need reinforcement, food and weapons soon or you will not only lose a part of the country to Spain, but hundreds of soldiers too.

Porthos.

Aramis sighed and tossed the letter to the side. They didn't have the resources to get to Toulouse what Porthos required. There was no soldier left who wasn't already fighting for his country, there was no food left he could bring out of Paris. There was no money to buy more weapons. He had to order the men back to Paris or else they would be slaughtered in Toulouse. But this would mean they would give the city to the Spanish freely. They came nearer to Paris with every day, invaded more and more of France.

The First Minister decided that he needed advise. Guards were sent to get d'Artagnan into the palace. He arrived short after that, sitting down across from Aramis. They didn't bother to greet as they met nearly daily in the last days. Exhaustion was written on the Captains face while he listened to Aramis conflict.

"It's hopeless. We're losing this war and there is nothing I can do!" Aramis massaged his temple, before he laid his head into his hands.

"The musketeer regiment is still here. What if we ride to Toulouse?" Aramis shook his head. "Paris would be completely unguarded. And if you lose…" The Gascon nod. "You want my advice?"

"Yes please," helpless eyes looked over to d'Artagnan. "If I were in your place… I would give up on Toulouse. It may be big but not too important. Evacuate the city, order the soldiers back."

Yes. This is what Aramis will do, even though he knows that none of the other Ministers will like his idea. The Queen regent will be on his side, as she always is. "Thank you my friend. I sometimes feel lost in this palace. Here are just a few people I can ask for advice, a few I can trust."

The letter was soon sent to Toulouse and was supposed to be delivered before the Spanish had a chance to attack.

There are things you can't control. You wish to be able to do it, but you just can't. Sometimes things don't work out as they're supposed to do. Sometimes everything goes out well, but most of the time bad luck follows you on every step. You fight and the most times you win. But there is always a day in a man's life on which he loses.

The letter was sent, but never delivered. The couriers were killed in an ambush, the letter burnt with their bodies.

Porthos never got an answer from the First Minister. He never got the message to evacuate the city before it's too late. He never got the chance to save the people, the soldiers or himself.

On a sunny and hot day the Spanish canons crashed the town walls. Men were slaughtered, women abused, children orphaned. Porthos felt the blood rush through his veins as he fought for his country. He didn't count how many soldiers he killed, he didn't know how long the fight lasted. He just knew that he had to fight until there was no one to fight anymore. He didn't feel the bruises and cuts on his body. He felt anger, as he saw his men die. He felt betrayed by Aramis, as he let them die so easily. Weren't they more than flesh? They were humans and souls. Porthos felt lost as he was cornered by a group of Spanish soldiers. He scanned the place, but couldn't find just one Frenchman alive. Porthos growled, which made the soldiers back up. But just for a short moment.

He turned around, twisted his knife, shot, stabbed, punched, kicked. He didn't think, didn't feel. He just noticed how strength left him more and more. Porthos saw a blade sink into his chest. He stared in shock as it twisted, causing his knees to buckle. Porthos fell to the ground, but not without killing his opponent with his dagger. General du Vallon looked up to the sky. It was blue, the sun shined as if it was the most beautiful day in the year. Birds flew peaceful above the roofs of the town.

"He left us die. Why?" Porthos mumbled before he caught out some blood. The remaining Spanish soldiers went, leaving him to die.

All for one and one for all. But where were the others, as Porthos fought for them? He was alone, lost, confused, hurt. Betrayed by his brothers.

Constance ran into the garrison, crying. "Where is the captain?" She screamed at the cadets.
"I'm here." D'artagnan entered the court in confusion. "What happened?" He asked, his eyes full of fear as he noticed the tears on his wife's cheeks. She held out a letter with shaky hands.

The Musketeers are ordered to Toulouse to bring the fallen soldiers back to Paris. The Spanish had allowed them to get the dead ones.

- The royal council

The Captain looked up in disbelief as he tried to understand what that meant. "They didn't rode back. Porthos was there." D'Artagnan sat down as he felt the world around him spin. "Porthos was in Toulouse," he repeated. He read over the letter again and again but the words didn't change. "Porthos…"

The cadets turned around, acting as if they would be working, as their Captain broke down in the arms of his wife.
D'Artagnan had seen many men die, had killed a lot of them by himself. He was used to the death. He had buried his father, cadets, Musketeers and good friends he had made in the last years. He had always managed to overcome to pain and sadness that claimed him in these days. But this time he felt different. He felt lost and alone. He felt broken, as if some part of his soul had died with his brothers.

Aramis was informed of what had happened in Toulouse later the day. He wasn't at the meeting the royal council had, because he was in negotiations with a Spanish ambassador. If he had known about Toulouse, about Porthos, he wouldn't have accepted to the terms so easily. He would have decided to fight the Spanish. To kill every single one of them and even this wouldn't be enough to revenge the death of his friend, his brother. It wouldn't end the pain he was in, the guilt he felt. He had sent Porthos to Toulouse. He had ordered him to be there. He hadn't reacted fast enough. Every single death that happened in Toulouse was his fault. He was a murderer, a slaughterer.

Aramis didn't cry. He drank until his limbs felt numb. His vision was blurry as the door opened and Anne rushed in. "We are in big problems," she took his hands in her, tears streaming down her beautiful face. "The council… they are all against you. They want that I dismiss you or even better let you be executed. They say what happened in Toulouse was your fault, but it wasn't! Aramis!" She shook his shoulders, as the First Minister didn't seem to listen. "They're right. It was my fault, Anne. I killed these men."

The Queen shook her head, crying even more. "No! Don't do this Aramis. Don't blame yourself for something no one could have prevented."

Aramis stood up slowly, the chair scratched at the floor loudly. "It's late. You should rest for now," he opened the door. The queen looked at him in disbelief before walking out slowly. "We will talk tomorrow again, when you feel better."

More than a week had passed, as d'Artagnan ran into the rooms of Aramis, who just got out of bed. The Captain stopped shocked. "It's already noon." Aramis just shrugged, why did he even care? Everything they did was for nothing. They fought for lives but just got innocent people killed.

"The Spanish are coming to Paris. Only two hundreds of them by now, but if we need to be prepared." Aramis sighed. "Why the work? We will lose anyway."

D'Artagnan looked at his friend in disbelief, before he grabbed him at the collar. "I know you're hurt. We all are. But he wouldn't want us to give up. We need to fight! Protect the innocent people. The army of the Spanish isn't so big, we can win."

"I'm sure you are capable of leading your men by yourself." Aramis gestured at the door, his eyes empty. The Captain wanted to argue, but didn't know what to say anymore. Aramis seemed to have lost all his hope and strength with Porthos. He had lost hope.

Hope was the only thing that was left for d'Artagnan. Hope that they could save France, or at least Paris. Hope that no innocent people would be killed by the Spanish. So the Captain of the Musketeers rode back to the garrison. He planned where to place guards, organized every weapon he could get, and gave orders to the Musketeers. Soon the streets of Paris were filled with the kings guards.

D'Artagnan thought that the Spanish may would wait for further troops to arrive, but they seemed to think that two hundred men would be enough to claim Paris. If it weren't for the Musketeers Captain, they May would have succeeded. Still, the Gascon was surprised at the soon attack. Moreover he was surprised about the many canons, that weren't to be seen earlier. The first barricades were soon crashed and an endless seeming battle began. The night brought restless breaks of the battles, in which the injured were treated and the dead gathered.

The sun hadn't risen yet, as Aramis wandered through the palace. The halls were empty and silent. A sight which was rare and he enjoyed to the fullest. Soft voices broke through the silence, making Aramis stop at a door where the light of a candle shone through. It wasn't closed completely, so he risked a look inside. Two Ministers, Lefevre and Roux, stood together and talked quietly. Aramis had to hold his breath to understand them.

"We are lost. We should save ourselves and hide somewhere in the Gascony till it's over. It will end the same well it did in Toulouse."
"But what happens if we win?"
"I don't believe we would do. There is no one who supervises all of this. Captain D'Artagnan won't win this alone and with the First Minister nearly gone I don't see a chance. But I wouldn't with him either. We should have let him killed as we had the chance."
"This is not the point we're discussing, Lefevre! But I think you may be right. We should go before it's too late. We still can come back when it's over and the streets are clean. Don't like walking over corpses."

Aramis hid behind a corner as Roux left the room. His thoughts were messy as the alcohol was still in his system, but he was clear enough to make a decision. He ran to his rooms and washed his face in cold water before dressing in fresh clothes.

The First Minister sat at the long table short after, the Queen ahead, the Captain of the Musketeers at his sides and more important soldiers and Generals. D'Artagnan was impressed how fast Aramis caught himself and relieved that he didn't need to carry that burden alone anymore.

They sat together until noon and until Aramis was satisfied with the plan. They would surely win this fight.

D'Artagnan rushed to his men and gave them the new orders. Soon the Spanish soldiers found themselves alone in the streets of Paris. The locals had hidden in cellars or churches, while the musketeer lay on top of the roofs. It was treacherous and maybe not the most honorable way to fight, but it was the best chance to win this fight with the less deaths. Soon the Spanish were shot down or thrown with stones. As there were only a few left the musketeers came down to the streets to fight man against man. D'Artagnan was, of course, with them. Aramis had thought about fighting with them, but knew he got rusty. He decided to stay at the palace with Anne and plan how they could go on after all of this. How they could end the war and make peace with Spain.

The Captain of the Musketeers smiled as he was finally sure that they would win. There weren't many Spanish soldiers left, the most were killed, a few deserted, some imprisoned. Through a window he thought a little boy watch the battle interested but scared. D'Artagnan smiled again. They saved them. They saved Paris, the people and also his musketeers. He had lost a few good men but not as much as he had feared before. It wasn't good, but it was okay and that was the best he could get.

"Captain!" D'Artagnan turned to one of his newest cadets, his smile faded as he saw the shocked looked in the boys face. "What-" He wasn't able to talk further as he felt his flesh being ripped apart, blood running out of body. D'Artagnan looked at the bullet wound in his stomach, then turned around to see who did it. The Spanish soldier was already dead – the last one. The musketeers rushed over to their Captain as he got paler with every second until he fell down. He gripped the nearest of the cadets he could get at the collar. "Constance… she has to… safe."

"She will be. She will be safe, I promise." The cadet whispered, before the grip loosened.

D'Artagnan wasn't alone as he died. He had his Musketeers beside him and his brothers in his heart. He had died while he fought for his country, as he always wanted.

Aramis sank down in his chair shaking. "We won. But I've lost again," he muttered, clenching to the Queens hand. He was glad they were alone now. "I'm so sorry," Anne stroke his cheek, not sure what to say to help him. There was nothing. She was scared he would fall into the same whole had before, but this time Aramis was stronger. He stood up and looked into the eyes for which he would die. "Roux and Lefevre… they ran away as they heard from the battle. They wanted to come back as soon as it's over and act as if nothing had ever happened. Anne, I know you always trusted these men but I fear we should… we should make sure they won't come back."

"Come in." The First Minister announced as it knocked at the door. He was surprised as it wasn't the Queen or a Minister that entered, but a guard. One of roux' guards. "What do you want?" Aramis stood up, after he hid the letter carefully in the drawer. The letter which sensed Roux and Lefevre to death. The guard closed the door behind him, coming closer to the First Minister. Aramis gripped his dagger. "What do you think you are doing?"

"You should know, you wasn't well liked, First Minister." The guard spat out, coming closer. "Only the Queen was always on your side, but everyone else in the court… oh if you knew how many people have already tried to bring you down." Aramis frowned in confusion, as he had never felt as he was in danger.

"The poison in the wine that you spilled before you drank it. The bullet that hit a deer while you were out hunting and not you. I could go on like this forever. But I fear your time is up, First Minister."

The guard was now near enough that Aramis could smell his rotten breath. He drew his dagger, ready to fight. Aramis avoided the first stab and hit the guard right in his arm. The man hissed, but reached out for the former musketeer once again. He stabbed him in the shoulder, twisting the blade before he pulled it out. The fight went on for several minutes, each one with bruises and cuts all over their body. Aramis finally managed to kick away the guards legs and sat onto his chest.

The blade sank into the guards chest. Aramis stood up satisfied with himself. He had turned his back to the dying man as he gathered his last strength. The First Minister didn't even have a chance to notice what has happened has he fell to the ground, lifeless. A blade stuck in his throat.

Dear Athos,

Terrible things have happened, which I can't write down in a letter. I fear for the Queens and the Dauphins life. We left Paris yesterday. I hope we can find help in your home. We will be there tomorrow.

Constance d'Artagnan

Athos read the letter again and again, thinking about what could have happened while he waited for their arrival. Sylvie had already cooked for the three and was just as nervous as her husband. Standing at the window, the former Musketeer noticed the two horses coming up to his house. He stepped out and recognized the familiar features of Constance, the Queen and her son.

"So what happened?" Athos asked, feared for the answer as he looked in the exhausted faces of the women. They sat at the table, each one staring in their glass of wine while Constance started.

"I wish I could say this on a more comforting way but I don't know one and I don't have the strength for it. I'm sorry. Porthos had fallen in Toulouse and Aramis was murdered in the palace." The Queen sobbed at the mention of her lover, but added, so Constance wouldn't need to say it, "D'Artagnan fell in Paris as the Spanish came."

Athos so often emotionless eyes felt with anger and sadness. He felt the world he built about break down around him. He felt as if he had lost everything, even though he knew he didn't. He still had Sylvie, but what was he without his brothers? Even though they were miles away, they always gave him strength and happiness. But now they were gone and he lived because he was a coward. Because he didn't want to fight any longer. Because he wanted to find his own peace he had given up onto his brothers.

All for one and one for all. But what happens if only one is left? He will live and he will fight, he will dedicate his life to his brothers and to seek revenge for their deaths. He won't rest before he haven't revenged every single one of them. One for all. But no one for him.
Even the inseparables as separated by death. But the love they felt for each other and the memories they shared will always live on, as thousands of people will tell their stories. They will never be forgotten.

This story was something different than what I've done, I hope you still like it.