Sweat ran down his head, wetting the little hairs at the back of his neck an vanishing in the thin white linen shirt that clung to his back. His hands burned even though the skin on his palm had become hard and robust over the time.

It was still early, the sun barely illuminating the small village and it's fields in an orange light. Above him, the birds circled, singing their songs of freedom and love. From the distance came the familiar sounds of a busy market place and children playing. He smiled contently, as he plunged the pickaxe back into earth.

It was a peaceful morning, Porthos thought, contently. He never would have thought that he would start liking this kind of life. Planting their own food, looking after the one pig and three horses they owned, doing chores all day long. The first weeks were hard but interesting. They've found an old abandoned farmhouse with a small barn and a small field. Together, they've renovated and rebuild it, cleaned it and built some of their own furniture. It was nice, doing something together. It was hard work too, causing them to sweat during the day and fall into bed before nightfall, limbs heavy. On a weird sort of way it felt similar to their old life. Less dangerous, of course. But they were working together, laughing and sweating, swearing.

Once they'd been done with the house and barn, things changed a bit. They needed money and something to do and so things went their own ways. Porthos and d'Artagnan were happily taking over the farm. The young Gascon had showed him the tips and tricks of farming and flourished in the familiar work he'd grown up with.

Constance had helped them as well but as her belly had grown bigger and bigger and had made walking harder and kneeling impossible, she'd retreated into the house, doing chores there. As this wasn't enough for her, she did some needlework for the village people and helped in the wash house every now and then. It felt like only a very weeks until her whole time was occupied with the little ball of sunshine, which d'Artagnan and Constance have named 'Alexandre', after his grandfather.

Alex, how he was called most of the time, was a healthy and strong child, which brought another wave of joy and hope into their small, weird, patchworked family.

While Constance was cooing the baby and looked after the house and d'Artagnan and Porthos were on the fields, Aramis had found work throughout the church. He was helping them with the small school they'd built, taught the children how to read and write and showed the boys how to shoot and the girls how to care wounds and sicknesses. He wasn't alone there though. Brother Thomas was helping him with the children as well as a young, strong willed woman called Sylvie. And Sylvie was not only a great teacher or impressive woman, she was also the reason why Athos abandoned his place at the side of the blacksmith more often than not. Of course, when asked, why he visited the school so often, he would always find another excuse.

"Monsieur de Porthau?"

Oh and of course they had to change their names. Only inside their secluded, safely distanced little farm they could call each other by their real names. But soon, once Alexandre would be old enough to understand what was happening around him, they would have to switch to their fake names even inside their own home as well. It would be too dangerous to let a child know a secret so delicate. Porthos always found the thought strange, that the boy would never know the real name of his parents – or his own true surname. His whole life would be a lie. But it was for the best. For a lucky and safe life somewhere far away from the dangers of Paris and it's monarch.

Porthos, or Isaac how he was called by his friends now, stopped hacking at the earth and looked up. A young woman, almost still a girl, maybe only the age of 17, reached him with a small smile. Her dress was dirty on the edges and almost as messy as her wild hair, which she'd tried to put into a ponytail – and failed. Hairs were sticking out from it everywhere. But Porthos wasn't interested in the woman, but more in the sheet of paper she had waved at him with.

"Claire." He greeted her with a wide grin. Claire was the daughter of the blacksmith and she and her father were almost the only persons they trusted. Because Treville had trusted them. Of course they did not know the whole, true story, not even the former musketeers real name, but they knew that the strangers, that had arrived months ago in their small village, were close friends to Jean Treville. And "friends of Jean are friends of me" the blacksmith had told them at their arrival and had never asked a single question about who they were or why they were there.

It was Claire who had ridden to Paris then, and had given the letter, that Treville had prepared, to the wife of a carpenter. They didn't know the exact details, but in his last hours Treville had made sure that they knew that this was a safe and secure way to let the letter reach the Queen, without anyone noticing.

"This letter arrived at the forge today. Monsieur de Sillègue wasn't there and I wasn't sure where he went, so I came to you." She explained, still slightly out breath from the small run over the fields.

Porthos nodded with a small smile. Of course Athos wasn't at work. But other than Claire he knew exactly where he would be now.

"Thank you, Claire." He took the letter from her dirtied hands and pointed with his head towards their house. "Do you want to come in and have a tea with Camille?"

"No thank you Monsieur. I am sure Madame Castlemore is occupied with the little Alexandre. Moreover my father is waiting for me."

Porthos just smiled, as the girl then just waved and hurried back.

He then turned his attention towards the letter in his hands. It was sealed with an official royal seal, one he would recognize everywhere. The Queen.

He looked around, suddenly alarmed. Worried that someone could have seen it, could know it, that they have been detected. But it was just as peaceful as before. Still, he frowned. They've got only one letter since they were here, it had been also from the Queen, but then she hadn't used her official seal not even heir signature, to not endanger any of them. Maybe this was a trap.

He gulped, let his pickaxe fall to the ground and hurried towards the farmhouse. On his way he spotted d'Artagnan in the barn and shouted at him to follow him inside.

"What is it?" The young man asked, once they both had entered the house and reached the living room in which Constance sat, contently cradling Alexandre.

"A letter. From the Queen." Porthos said, whispering the last words. Constance now also looked up, just as concerned as the others.

"What are you waiting for? Get the others!" She then said as neither of the men moved.

"Right. Right." Porthos nodded and placed the letter in the safe hands of Constance before he followed d'Artagnan who'd already ran out of the building.

"Athos isn't with the blacksmith." Porthos said as d'Artagnan was already turning into the direction of the forge.

At this both of them shared a short grin before braking into a run towards the school. Of course d'Artagnan reached it much faster than Porthos, leaving the older man gulping for air as d'Artagnan stormed into the classroom and called Aramis and Athos out of it.

"René! Olivier!" Aramis looked up from where he kneeled in front of a boy, who'd was reading in the bible with a strained expression. Once the former marksman noticed the strained lines of worry on d'Artagnan's face he pushed himself upwards and walked towards him. He still limbed slightly, his left food has never regained full use since it was injured. Another reason why he was rather working in the school than on the fields. Standing or walking for long period of time was still exhausting for Aramis and could cause him pain in his foot.

Athos, who'd stood in the corner with Sylvie, followed right after.

"What is it?" He asked once they were in the streets, making their way back towards the farmhouse. They did not run, in order to not exhaust Aramis too much, even though Porthos and d'Artagnan wanted to rip that letter open as fast as possible.

"We've got a letter." Porthos explained, keeping his voice low. He decided to not tell from whom in the open streets, but getting a letter was a big thing for them either way. Outside this village, there was no one left who could have an interest into writing them. No one despite the Queen or their enemies.

Once back inside, they all settled around the fireplace. Constance waited that everyone was settled down, even Athos who'd checked trice that all doors and windows were closed and that they were truly alone, before he sat down as well.

Constance then gently opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

Dear loyal Musketeers, Dear Constance, Dear my Champion Aramis,

The last one grinned slightly at the title, his fingers twitching towards his crucifix. He'd changed the showy one of the Queen against a simple, wooden one. Still he felt somehow connected to her through it.

I hope you are all well. I am writing you to inform you of the Death of my late husband and the former King of France Louis XIII. He has fallen ill some weeks ago and had not woken up this morning. You are the first I inform, as you are the ones I trust the most. I am the Queen Regent now until my son will be old enough to take the throne.

I want to let you know that I will acquit you from the crimes that you've been accused off. When this letter reaches you, you will be safe and free to go wherever you like. I am convinced by your innocence, always have been and I apologize for all you have had to go through.

I understand that you have build yourself a new life. Maybe a better one. I also know that I ask much from you. But being the Queen Regent now I need people around me whom I trust. I ask you, not as your Queen but as your friend, to return to Paris and stand by my side.

I guarantee you safety and freedom. You will be welcomed in the Louvre with open arms and will never have to worry about a place to stay. I will find a suitable position for each of you.

I hope to see you again soon,

Queen Regent Anne of Austria

A few minutes long, silence followed. Each one of them needed some time to comprehend all the new information. Their whole life just has taken a 180° turn. Again.

"We're no searched criminals anymore?" D'Artagnan then asked, relief and disbelief filling his voice as he stared at his wife. "We're safe?"

"I think so." Constance answered, a smile tucking at her lips before her gaze fell from d'Artagnan to Alexandre who was beginning to wake. Their son could grow up with his true name, could know his parent's history, and most importantly, he would be safe.

"Do you want it?" Aramis then asked into the round, his fingers playing with his crucifix. "Return to Paris?"

A few months ago, no one would have even asked this question. They would have saddled the horses and rode back before they would have read the last words of the letter. But things were different now. They had work and a home. They've grown together even tighter, become a true family – even though it was a weird mix, but it was what they were. And they were happy, all of them.

"I will."

Porthos then decided, showing off his white teeth.

"I mean I like it here, I really do. But I miss the adrenaline, the danger. And if the Queen asks, who am I am to decline?"

Aramis nods, his gaze straying out of the window and towards the school, where children were playing outside now.

"It feels wrong to leave the children. But I – it's –" he sighed, shaking his head.

It's Anne. It's his son. He wanted to say.

But he was worried. What would he even do in Paris? He doubted he would ever regain full use of his foot. He could not return to the Musketeers and after all that had happened, he wasn't sure he even wanted to. In the past years he'd fought against Frenchmen, had killed Musketeers. Even though he'd had no choice and good reasons, he could never forgive himself for it. He could never return to the Garrison nor look the ones in the eyes who's brothers he had killed.

"Come with me." Porthos then said.

He did not want persuade any of them. Who wished to truly stay here, should stay. But he'd seen the look in Aramis' eyes, the longing for the woman he loved so dearly and to see his son, to be able to protect him. Aramis deserved this. He deserved a family, even though no one could know about it. But he deserved to be close to them.

Aramis then nodded. Maybe he could open a school in Paris as well. Take something from his life here with him. It could work. And if it didn't, he could return. Because he was truly free now. Not from his demons nor his guilt, but free from false accusations. And that was something.

On the opposite of the small room, d'Artagnan and Constance shared a short look, searching for something in the other's eyes before they turned to the other men.

"We're going to Paris as well. We're not letting the Queen down."

"And you, Athos?" Constance asked, voice gentle as she addressed the silent man.

Athos lips twitched and his eyes wandered over them before it stopped at the window. The others followed his gaze. Beside the children that were playing in front of the school, stood Sylvie, talking with another woman, laughing.

"I think – I think I will stay here for a while longer."

THE END.

As this story has found it's end (a satisfying one, I hope) I want to thank everyone who'd read this story.
Especially I want to thank the ones that have supported me from the beginning and have always commented and reviewed.

So I want so say ab big "THANK YOU!" to pallysAramisRios, beeblegirl, GingietheSnap, lizard1969, Fleuramis , Uia, Jmp, elbcw, Issai, Enigma TM , Deana ,FierGascon and everyone else!

I would love to hear what you're thinking now about the story as a whole or the ending it self.

Lots of Love,

Vivien99 xx