A/N: Thank you Suzy Apple, Musketball1, and SnidgetHex for reviewing! And thanks to everyone who's come along on this journey. This verse ended up way larger than I ever imagined, and it's been such a fun one to live in for the past year and a half. This chapter officially closes out the main arc, but I will be posting a collection of random timestamps with the dragons to keep the verse alive. :)

Chapter 5

Three very injured musketeers and one physician made for a lengthy wait to get patched up. Aramis would have helped, except he could barely keep his own feet, let alone hold a needle and thread steady to sew up one of his friends. By agreement, they had Athos go first, since he had captain duties to see to. When he was finished, Aramis tried to wave d'Artagnan on next, but the young Gascon had huffed irritably; apparently Aramis was listing sideways more than he was.

As Athos shuffled off to take command of the situation outside, Aramis gingerly took the seat he had vacated and began pulling his shirt off. The fabric was sticking to a few of the knife wounds, which made the process all the more painful.

"You should soak yours," he told d'Artagnan between gasps.

D'Artagnan grimaced in sympathy and hobbled over to the cabinet to get a pitcher of water.

Once Aramis got his shirt off, Doctor Delacroix leaned forward to examine his myriad wounds.

"This wasn't done by a blade," he commented, running his fingers beneath a gash along his ribs.

Aramis winced. "A bullet grazed me."

Anne, who was standing off to the side, made a soft sound of dismay. "You didn't say you'd been hit."

"Given the assortment of bleeding wounds and the fighting for our lives, it really wasn't important at the time," he said apologetically.

She continued to look distressed as Delacroix began the painful and arduous process of cleaning and stitching all the knife wounds. Aramis was utterly spent by the time he was done, the experience made all the more excruciating by the numerous bruises beneath the cuts the dagger had made. They were all lucky they hadn't suffered any broken bones from the beatings.

Aramis stiffly slipped his tattered shirt back on over the bandages and then pushed himself out of the chair so d'Artagnan could have his turn. He hobbled toward the door, intending to see where he was needed outside, but Anne had followed him out into the hall, her expression pinched.

Aramis stopped and turned toward her, taking her trembling hands between his. "It's over," he said softly.

She lifted wavering eyes to his. "Is it?"

"Those who conspired against you are now all dead, and the hate they've spread will die with them. You will win back the people, I have no doubt."

She nodded mutely. She then extracted a hand and reached up to trace the edges of an abrasion along his cheek. "I was so frightened," she whispered.

He brought his hand up to cover hers again. Her face was inches from his, and he wanted nothing more than to close that distance and capture her mouth with his, never mind they were out in the hall where anyone could see. They stood poised like that for a long moment, on the brink of crossing that line, when a commotion at the end of the hall fortuitously interrupted them.

Constance was hurrying down the corridor, a swaddled bundle in her arms.

Anne stepped away from Aramis and let out a relieved sob at the sight of her son, whom she immediately took in her arms when Constance reached them. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked him over.

"He's all right," Constance assured her, but then flicked a horrified look at the state Aramis was in. "D'Artagnan…?"

"Is getting stitched up in there," he replied, cocking his head toward the room. "He'll be fine."

Constance gave Anne's arm a quick squeeze before rushing in to see her husband.

Aramis stepped up beside the Queen and looked down at the little King. The baby smiled up at him. He smiled back and raised a hand to gently touch his soft head of hair.

Anne's gaze had drifted back up to his. "We could have no better protectors," she said softly.

Aramis felt warmth suffuse through his heart. All his life he had served out of duty. But for this King…he believed he would serve out of love.

.o.0.o.

Porthos's legs cramped as he knelt on the ground, cradling Vrita's head in his arms to hold her still as Jean treated the burns on her face. She twitched and keened under the dragon keeper's ministrations.

"Shh, I know," Porthos soothed.

Jean finished applying the salve, then wrapped a roll of bandages around her eyes. He turned to Porthos with a regretful look. "I've done all I can. The burns are severe, and I don't know if they'll heal without extensive scarring."

Vrita mewled and bucked her head at that.

"Easy, old girl," Porthos crooned, stroking her forehead above the bandages. "No use worryin' over things that haven't happened yet. You jus' rest up, you hear? You did good today."

Ayelet nestled up against her in a gesture of comfort as well.

Porthos spotted d'Artagnan and Constance entering the dragon compound, and he reluctantly laid Vrita's head on the ground so he could go speak with them out of her earshot.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

Constance had already veered away to go speak with her father privately while d'Artagnan headed straight for Porthos. He cast a worried look past Porthos's shoulder and lowered his voice as he asked,

"How is she?"

Porthos ran a hand down his beard. "Nothin' life threatenin'. Jean's concerned she may be permanently blind."

"I'm so sorry, Porthos."

A spiky lump threatened to choke him. "She's flown into every battle wit' me. I can't imagine that coming to an end."

D'Artagnan reached out to clasp his shoulder. "Give it time, right?"

He nodded, forcibly swallowing back the tears. They'd won the battle, but victory had come at a high cost.

.o.0.o.

It was several days before the aftermath of the battle began to fade as signs of the coup and slaughter were cleaned up and removed. In that time, Ninon had rallied support for Anne as Queen Regent among the refugees, and with Governor Magnier and Captain Lahaye gone, there was less instigated violence against them that was blamed on the Crown. The truth about the Comtesse de Larroque's disappearance all those years ago and her return now had been shocking for Anne to learn, but it was clear the Musketeers trusted her, so Anne chose to as well.

There was still the war with Spain in the background, but as regent, Anne was free to reach out to her brother directly and begin negotiations for peace. All in good time, though. For now, there was healing that needed to be done, both physically and mentally. When she felt steady enough, she summoned a Musketeer and dragon escort to accompany her as she went out to address the people. Treville was up on his feet by then, albeit dependent on the use of a cane. Still, Anne was immensely grateful to have him standing at her side.

She held her head high as she looked out over the crowd in the street at the edge of the gate, gathered calmly to hear her speak where days before they had congregated to watch her execution. She did not want to fear them, though. Savron and Rhaego standing on either side of her were both a show of strength and of resolve.

"Citizens of France," she began. "We are one people. Do not forget all the hardships we have survived and come through over the years, together. Many have sought to divide us in the past, but we have stood strong. We have endured. I would ask you to do so again, with me. In memory of our beloved King."

Ninon, standing halfway in the back, started the cheer that carried throughout the crowd until they were all proclaiming their support.

Anne gestured to the musketeers and their dragons. "My protectors have always served the Crown and France, but they have also served the people. So from this point forward, they will no longer be known as the King's Musketeers, but as the people's."

More applause followed the declaration.

Anne inhaled deeply and let it out. A long road still lay ahead of them, but this was a start.

After the speech, Anne made a detour to the dragon compound. Clara's dragons had proven invaluable in recent days, but now that things had finally settled down, they would be leaving to return to their home.

"I wanted to thank all of you for your help," Anne said, addressing Clara and her dragons directly. "Your actions here will not be forgotten."

Clara bowed her head in acknowledgement.

Anne then looked around for Porthos, who had not accompanied them that morning. She spotted him in the back near the dens with his dragon and made her way over. The other musketeers followed, their gazes downcast solemnly.

"Porthos," she greeted.

He jumped to his feet. "Your Majesty."

"Please," she said, holding up a hand for him to be at ease. She looked at Vrita, whose face was free of bandages but cloudy eyes were staring out at nothing. The sight tugged at Anne's heartstrings; she had received Bonacieux's report that Vrita was blind, despite all his efforts to heal the alchemical burns she'd sustained.

Anne moved closer, causing the dragon to lift her head and swing it back and forth as her other senses tried to compensate and fill in the missing gaps.

"Vrita, the Crown thanks you for your many years of service and your sacrifice. I hereby retire you with full honors, to live out the rest of your life in peace and luxury under the care of Monsieur Bonacieux."

"Your Majesty," Clara spoke up. "If I may, enclosed walls are no place for a wounded spirit. Vrita deserves mountains and forests to live out the remainder of her life. I could give her that at my dragon sanctuary."

Anne blinked, then looked to Vrita and Porthos. "If that is what you want, I have no objection."

Porthos looked torn as he glanced at his wounded dragon, then around at everyone else. He cleared his throat and lifted his chin. "If Your Majesty is willing," he began hesitantly. "I would like to resign my commission and go with them."

A startled sputter sounded from d'Artagnan, and the other musketeers looked equally stunned.

Porthos looked at Clara. "If it's all right wit' you," he added.

She seemed surprised for a moment, but then smiled softly and nodded.

Even though Anne could see how shattering his request was to his friends, she also understood it. Stepping closer to him, she reached out and laid a hand on his arm, gazing up at him fondly.

"For your years of service and all the times you protected me and my family, I thank you. I wish you well, Porthos."

He smiled shyly back at her and bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

Anne stepped back. "Perhaps when this war is over, there will be more wounded warriors in need of your haven."

Clara looked taken aback yet again, and Anne bid them both farewell before turning to head back to the palace.

There was much work to do.

.o.0.o.

The next day, Porthos had his bag packed and was ready to leave with Clara and her dragons. They'd already worked out how the group would help Vrita fly while blind, with a tight formation and vocal directions. He could tell she was nervous, and frankly so was he. But he trusted this clan that was now theirs not to let her down.

The Musketeer dragons were currently gathered around Vrita saying their own goodbyes, while their riders stood a ways apart, looking no less sullen over it. Porthos's shoulder felt unnaturally light without his pauldron as he walked over to them.

"Please understand," he said, "I can't abandon Vrita like this. She's always been there for me and I need to be there for her."

Aramis gave him a sympathetic look and clasped his forearm. "Of course we understand. And I know you'll do good work helping those dragons."

Porthos pulled him into a fierce hug, forgetting he was still healing. He quickly pulled back when he felt Aramis wince and shot him an apologetic look. "Keep out of trouble, ya hear?"

They all scoffed at that, which elicited a few grins.

D'Artagnan stepped forward to lightly embrace him. "I'll miss you," he said, choking up slightly.

"I'll miss you too. But I'll visit, I promise."

D'Artagnan pulled back, and Athos bid him farewell next, and finally Constance, whom he was able to hug firmly. She handed him a stuffed satchel.

"Dragon medicines," she said.

"Thanks."

He shifted his weight; there was nothing left to say. So with another nod of farewell, he turned and made his way over to Vrita where Clara was waiting.

"Are you sure you want to leave?" she asked carefully.

Porthos placed a hand on Vrita's head, and she pushed into the touch. "I'm sure. Me an' the old girl gotta stick together. Besides, I like the work you're doing. I want to be a part of it."

"Is that all?" Clara asked with a coy mien.

He grinned. "Maybe there's more," he said evasively. "Guess we'll jus' have to find out."

With that, he climbed up on Vrita's back, rubbing her neck reassuringly as the other dragons got into position. With a series of calls, they flapped their wings and took flight. Porthos felt Vrita thrumming with trepidation, but he leaned down and crooned encouragements in her ear. She had paid a hefty price fighting by his side, but he had hopes for their future and new home.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan stepped out of his room in the barracks, pulling the collar of his jacket up over his neck in the chill of the morning air. It had been a few days since Porthos and Vrita left, and things were quiet and almost back to normal. He headed out to the dragon dens to feed the three still in residence, only to pull up short when he found Ayelet and Rhaego curled up together in the same den. It was hardly cold enough yet to warrant that, but then something else caught his eye.

"Constance!" he yelled.

She came hurrying out of the kitchen and across the yard. "What? What's wrong?"

He pointed into the den.

Constance stopped at his shoulder and gasped.

Ayelet was nestling a sandy colored egg.

D'Artagnan looked at her and then Rhaego. "You two…?" he spluttered.

Rhaego responded by nuzzling Ayelet's nose, then the egg.

Constance grinned. "Well, would you look at that."

D'Artagnan just shook his head, then scrunched his nose up. "Does this make us grandparents?"

Constance laughed. "Not quite. Actually, I've been meaning to tell you…" She placed a hand over her stomach and looked up at him meaningfully.

He gaped in stupefaction. "What? Really?"

She nodded, barely holding back an excited grin.

D'Artagnan let out a euphoric laugh and picked his wife up and spun her around. He was going to be a father.

.o.0.o.

Athos watched Ninon wrestle a rotted piece of board away from the wall of the building she was fixing up to be a school. Even after everything that happened with the printing press, she was determined to provide free education to the people, and the Queen was continuing to support her efforts.

"Why don't you let me do that," he said dryly.

"You're still healing," she rejoined tartly, finally wrenching the board away. "You can hold the nails." She dropped the broken board on the floor and reached to pick up the replacement, but Athos snatched her hand and pulled her aside. She arched her brows at him in question.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple gold ring on a chain. Ninon's brows rose further as he held it up in front of her.

"I know neither of us is the marrying kind, and I'm not asking for that. I'm not asking for a submission under the laws of God and man, just offering a promise, to love and cherish you, for as long as we both shall live."

Ninon gaped at him, then at the ring. He held his breath for her response as she lifted her eyes to his again.

"I do."

Athos's heart felt fuller than it had in a very, very long time. He draped the chain over her head and around her neck. She reached up to finger the ring. Then with a smile, she pulled him in for a kiss.

.o.0.o.

Aramis and Rhaego stood guard over Anne and the infant King as they sat on a picnic blanket in the garden. The child laughed and kicked as his mother tickled him. Aramis couldn't keep the fond smile off his face. He knew he shouldn't, but he already loved them both as if they were his own. And he would watch over them as though they were.

Anne looked up at him with a smile, then got to her feet. There was no one else around, all the attendants having been instructed to give the Queen Regent and her son privacy. She slowly closed the distance between them, resting her hands upon his chest and tilting her head up to kiss him. When they broke apart, Aramis leaned his forehead against hers.

"I will always be at your side," he promised.

Rhaego stretched his wing out, angling it around to shield them from view, and they fell into a passionate embrace once more.

One for all.

And all for love.

THE END