Evening My Lovelies

PLEASE NOTE this is the second of 2 chapter's I've uploaded tonight, as a little early present for you all, though considering its 5 to midnight here it's not all that an early present but hey, the point still stands :D

As the title of this chapter says this is the final chapter for this story which has taken me an entire year to write thanks to the devil that is writer's block and my own darn laziness. I can't thank you all enough for sticking with me through all the long delays on updates and I hope you'll join me again in my next stories.

A million thanks, hugs and kisses for following/favouriting/reviewing/reading

Love you all!

Enjoy!

xxx

Chapter Eighty-Four: Epilogue

The week that followed Treville's offer was spent preparing the injured musketeer for travel. A lot of importance was placed on ensuring the injured man could and would handle the travel without further worsening his wounds and as such Tristan stepped up and volunteered to accompany the marksman to the church, intending to see to it that the man's physical wounds did not become infected during travel and that they healed as they should when they reached their destination.

Things between Aramis and Porthos remained tense until the night before he was set to leave which saw the musketeer sheepishly appearing in the infirmary room doorway, a bottle of the marksman's favourite wine in his hand.

"Travelling with a hangover is going to be hellish you know," teased D'Artagnan the following morning when he and Athos arrived to get their brother ready for his trip, only to find both of their brothers passed out drunk, Porthos snoring loudly as he slept with his head in Aramis's lap.

Grunting in acknowledgement the two musketeers forced their hungover bodies to wake up, none of the inseparables sure if the nauseous look on Aramis's face was because of the drink or due to nerves.

Chuckling at his brothers Athos passed over a couple of warm bread rolls. "Eat, we need to leave soon if we're to get to the church when Treville told his friend we would."

Treville had just finished seeing his men off, the inseparables acting as guards to their injured brother as they escorted him out of the city, though they would not be staying with him when they reached their destination, when a familiar palace guard crossed the garrison threshold, nodding to Treville when he saw him.

"Sir," greeted the guard, though the look on his face did little to settle the unease that always ignited at the presence of the royal guard.

"Has something happened?" asked Treville, his voice low so as to not be overheard by the musketeers around them.

Nodding the guard stepped to the side, "The King demands your presence, it is of the utmost importance."

Schooling his expression Treville nodded once before turning to inform his men, instructing them to keep up with their duties while he was at the palace.

The trip to the palace did little to ease the growing unease Treville was feeling as the guard accompanying him refused to answer any of his questions, instructing him only that he needed to talk to the King.

"Majesty," greeted Treville as he bowed low to the royal before approaching, the dark look in his eyes immediately setting Treville on edge.

"Leave us," instructed the King as he dismissed the rest of the room's occupants with a wave of his hand, further confusing Treville who rarely saw this serious side of his ruler.

"What has happened?"

"I've received word from our agents in England," stated the King, Treville immediately tensing at the mention of the country Rochefort had been exiled to. "The ship carrying Rochefort never arrived."

Treville was stunned but before he could try and find a reasonable explanation for it the King picked up a small letter from his desk, glaring at the parchment before handing it over.

"I then found this on my desk this morning."

Frowning Treville took the letter, opening it as ice flooded his veins as he spotted both the familiar handwriting and signature at the bottom of the page.

Yours,

A concerned friend.