Chapter 8

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The sun light was warming up her legs, Athos rested his lips on her forehead. Emma stirred awake as she felt his lips against her forehead.

"Go back to sleep." Athos whispered against her forehead.

"Is everything alright?" Emma asked sleepy.

"Yes, don't worry." Athos reassured her. "I'll be back quickly." His lips brushed hers quickly, as she went back into a deep slumber.

When Emma woke up, Athos was already gone for the day. She had asked Deauville If she had seen the Captain. She had not.

"Morning, Emma." Constance greeted her as she walked down the stairs.

"D'Artagnan." Emma smiled at her.

"Have you seen, Petit Lord this morning?" Constance asked her.

"He left with the Captain earlier." Brujon told them walking past them.

"Thank you, Brujon." Emma and Constance walked up to the two musketeers that were sitting at the table.

"Thank you." Constance took Aramis' coin purse from his hands. "You, boys, are expensive to feed." Porthos laughed. "Especially you." Constance glared at him. Emma laughed at his face. "Come on, give." Porthos muttered angrily. Constance pulled out the coin purse from his hands.

"Half of that." He protested as Constance walked away from him.

"D'Artagnan…this came earlier." She handed him a letter.

Emma laughed at Porthos grabbing an apple. The latter climbed the stairs pouting. "Porthos." D'Artagnan called him. "It's a letter from Tréville. We are to meet General Verdet's aide in Bourgogne and escort him back to Paris. He has news from the front."

"What, now?" Porthos asked him, irritated.

"No, not now. Go to sleep. The War'll wait!" Aramis retorted, sarcastic.

"The four of us are to leave immediately." D'Artagnan continued.

"And by 'immediately,' I do presume you mean after breakfast?" Porthos said. "Since, I've paid for it." Emma and Constance smiled at each other, amused.

Emma turned to D'Artagnan. "We should let Athos know where we're going." She put on her hat. "He may join us later."

They set off to the rendezvous point. Emma wondered where would Athos could have gone this early in the morning? And why take Charles with him? Although, it would be most likely that Charles had followed him. She did not know where he could have gone. Or why he would not tell her. Why keep it a secret from her?

"Hold, hold!" D'Artagnan called behind them. They stopped and they heard the familiar sound of hooves hitting the ground. "Do you hear that?"

"How many?" Porthos asked.

"Five riders." Aramis answered.

"Maybe more." Emma said.

They moved away from the road. To a safe distance where they would have the advantage on their enemies. They pulled out their pistols. The riders—whether foes or friends—were getting closer.

"Red guards." Emma spat as the riders finally made their appearance.

"Aramis; You are to return with us to the palace." Marcheaux informed the musketeer. "The King commands it."

"We have business on behalf of Minister Tréville." Aramis said back.

Marcheauc pulled out his pistol. "Are you questioning a royal order?"

"Oh, believe me, if we were, we wouldn't be taking it up with the messenger boy." D'Artagnan countered. Emma snorted.

Marcheaux laughed. "If you come now, you won't be arrested."

Porthos pulled out his own pistol while Aramis hesitated. "Very well." He exhaled deeply. "I'll see you back at the Garrison."

Emmanuelle did not like that the Red guards were asked to come and fetch Aramis. She did not like that she didn't know where Athos went this morning and with Charles. And although, this mission was a simple escort mission, she did not like that there were just the three of them. She was starting to have a bad feeling about this day.

They finally reached their rendezvous point by midday. It was isolated and abandoned. The ruins of what was once a farm.

"Why would a general's aide choose to meet somewhere like this?" D'Artagnan asked as they stopped near the abandoned farm.

"That's a good question." Porthos replied. Emma looked around her, looking for any signs of potential enemies. "Let's go see what's inside."

"I'll wait here." D'Artagnan said while Porthos and Emma led their horses further into the farm.

Emma jumped down from her horse; her pistol withdrawn as she investigated the ruins of the farm. They found nothing, just an empty farm. Except maybe for the few barrels of wine that they found lying around. Emma was sitting on the table in their new shelter while they waited for the General's aid.

Porthos laughed. "Now, we've found a nice spot in the shade, we can wait." He sat on a barrel. "Properly." He had found a wooden tap and hammered it into the barrel. "Come on, come on. That's it. Good girl." He filled a cup and whispered to himself. "Please be good, please be good, please be good." He took a sip of the wine. "Oh, this could turn out to be good after all."

"Yeah, I imagine the General's aide will be a little while longer yet." D'Artagnan said taking the cup Porthos handed to him.

Emma smiled, she, too, taking the cup that Porthos offered her. It was not too bad to wait there for the General's aid, a cup of wine at her lips.

"How many battles did we fight, eh?" Porthos turned to DArtagnan.

"Too many." D'Artagnan answered. He then turned to Emma.

"As much as you." Emma said to him. "Too many."

"Hm, yeah." Porthos nodded. "We've served our country, often and well. So, if we're rewarded with the odd mission like this, I won't complain."

"In that case, I'd like to propose a toast." D'Artagnan raised his cup. "To easy missions well earned."

"To easy missions well earned." Porthos and Emma said in unison.

And they drank their cup. Emma was not on the battlefield with them but she had fought her own battles. Apart from losing her child, she had made sure to weaken the Spanish forces as much as possible. With the help of Milady and Planchet, of course. When her fellow Musketeers fought on the front lines, she and Milady worked in secrets, in the shadows.

The horses neighed, drawing their attention. D'Artagnan got up to check on them.

"What's wrong?" Porthos asked him.

"Wait." D'Artagnan stopped as he walked to the door. The horses neighed again. "Look at the horses." The horses were agitated. As though something was scaring them.

Emma had come closer to the door. Her eyes roamed the perimeter quickly. "I don't see anything."

"Me neither." D'Artagnan kept checking the perimeter. His back to the wall. "Did you see that?"

"No." Porthos and Emma shook their heads.

"Opposite wall."

Emma leaned slightly to be able to see outside. While D'Artagnan went to grab the barrel of wine, Porthos took his spot by the door.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Not the wine, not the wine!" Porthos protested as D'Artagnan wheeled the barrel towards the door. Before pushing it outside with his foot.

As soon as the barrel was outside, it was shot several times. All fired from different places.

"Well, that answers that!" Porthos said. "How many do you reckon we got?" The three of them pulled out their pistols.

"I'm not sure, but I think we can assume it's more than two." D'Artagnan replied.

Emma stood by one of the windows. "My ammunition's out there." D'Artagnan informed them.

"Yeah, mine too." Porthos sighed.

"Yeah, well, we weren't exactly expecting that sort of company." Emma let out a long breath.

"How much do you got?" D'Artagnan asked them.

"Not enough." Porthos answered for the both of them. "Stupid!" The Musketeer shouted.

"When you were, ere, searching before, you didn't happen to see…?" D'Artagnan started.

"No. No other entrances or exits and there's no way we're getting out of these windows." Porthos answered before he could finish his question.

"Of course not, because that would be to our advantage."

"There's no aid, is there?" Emma asked.

"We're trapped here." D'Artagnan shook his head.

Porthos grabbed a plate on the table. "You had to throw it out, didn't you?" He turned to D'Artagnan. "Of all the junk in here, you had to throw out the one cask of wine to be shot to pieces? Well done."

"Easy missions well earned, Porthos." D'Artagnan reminded him and Emma chuckled.

Porthos threw the plate outside and immediately it was shot down. The horses neighed. Emma fired and one of their opponents fell to his death. More shots were fired as the horses fled away. The musketeers were taking some of their men down but they were outnumbered, outgunned, and trapped. It seemed that they were no way out for them.

"It's eight hours until dark. And what is it? Four shot balls left." Porthos said.

"Eight hours, four shot balls—not the most encouraging numbers." D'Artagnan replied.

"Besides, I doubt they will let us live until dark." Emma added. "That'd just be stupid."

Torches were thrown in their shed. "D'Artagnan." Porthos shouted.

D'Artagnan shot the man that was on the roof while Porthos and Emma worked to put down the fire. There was nothing more they could do in that situation. They were in a dire situation. Surrounded by enemies, being shot at, the only shelter they had, had just become unsafe.

"The last thing they're expecting is for one of us to go out that door." D'Artagnan said.

Porthos chuckled while Emma looked at them confused. "Because that would be suicide."

"Cover me." D'Artagnan threw his pistol to Porthos who caught him.

"What?!" Emma exclaimed rushing to the door. "D'Artagnan!"

He rushed outside and pulled the dead body of the man who had been on the roof, inside their shelter.

"Good, good, good!" Porthos helped him once he was back inside. Both men started to search the dead body.

"Yes, yes, yes." D'Artagnan had found a small pouch that contained shot balls.

"Good, good. What we got? What we got? What we got?" Porthos asked. "Oh, you beauty!"

There were a few shot balls in it. It would not be enough to last them until night, but it was better than nothing.

"That was suicide." Emma patted D'Artagnan's shoulder. "But lovely work." She laughed.

Their chances of survival had increased slightly. But their situation was still the same. They were still surrounded by their foes with no way out. This was not the first time they had been in situations like that, right? They always had found a way out. They always had been able to defeat their enemies. After all, Musketeers did not die easily.

Still, Emma felt as though that this time there was no way out. They did not have much ammunition, no more rides and it was just the three of them. They had no idea of how many there were on the other side. Too many unknowns. Too many uncertainties. They might not survive this day.

Porthos chuckled. "Ah, after all the battles I've been in," All three of them were now sitting on the ground, their backs to the wall facing the only way in and out. "I cannot believe that this is how I'm going to die. Watching the last barrel of wine spill into the dirt."

"I'm sorry about that, by the way." D'Artagnan apologized.

"I know." Porthos replied. "Yeah, death is mocking me."

"This is not the day we die, Porthos." Emma nudged him. "Not like this."

"You might want to tell them that—" Porthos turned to her.

"I'm not ready." Emma cut him off. "I can't die without seeing Athos one last time. Or before giving him another child. One that he would see grow up. One that he would hold in his arms. I want to see his face when he does—I want to see his face when he does." Emma's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't die like this."

"I want to see Constance's face one last time." D'Artagnan said. "Or laying eyes on the children we'll have together. Seeing them play. Holding them in my arms. And teaching them how to ride and shoot—and love." D'Artagnan shook his head. "No, this is not my day."

"I have none of that." Porthos said. Emma turned to him. "No wife, no children, no one."

"You have us." Emma told him.

"Yeah." He nodded.

"I have no doubt that one day you will have a wife and child of your own." D'Artagnan assured him.

"Yeah." Porthos nodded again. "Yeah, one day. And I won't let anyone take that away from me. They won't kill us today."

"That's the spirit." Emma chuckled.

"WE REFUSE TO DIE." Porthos and D'Artagnan shouted. A shout of rallying on the battlefield when all hope was lost.

"We refuse to die." Emma repeated.

Their pistols at the ready, the three musketeers got on their feet. A deafening sound followed by a flash of light sent her body flying against the nearest wall. Her ears were ringing, she felt hands pulling her up on her feet. She could barely make out any sounds. The hands pushed her towards their only way out. Again another flash of light, she was thrown on her back as the already broken house collapsed onto her form.

When she came to, she was buried under the debris. Coughing and barely being able to move, she looked for her friends.

"Porthos!" She grunted. "D'Artagnan!" Her voice inaudible, even to her.

There was a hand that came out from under the debris, She ignored whether it was Porthos or D'Artagnan, she grabbed it. Tightly. Tears was gathering in her eyes as she called again. But no answer came.

"Please, please," She said shakily. "Answer me."

The hand she held tightened around hers. "Emma," It was Porthos.

"D'Artagnan?" She asked as she felt some relief to know that Porthos still lived.

"It's not our day." D'Artagnan groaned.

"We refuse to die." Porthos said. "We refuse to die!" He shouted again.

As an answer that came from the sky, the debris over their heads was being moved. It seemed that the cavalry had arrived. This was not the day they die. Slowly, the light of day hit her face, the weight on her chest was being lifted. Soon, hands pulled her out of her grave.

She breathed again. Although sore, she was alive.

"He's not here." She heard D'Artagnan said. "He's with the King."

"From the palace." She took in deeper breaths.

"Gaston has escaped the Bastille." Minister Tréville informed them. "And the King and Aramis have not returned form the mausoleum. This is not a coincidence."

"We ride for Saint-Denis." Athos said.

There was no rest to be had. They could not afford it. Not when Gaston had escaped. Not the King was in danger.

Her body hurt. Every limb, every inches of it groaned in protest as she rode to Saint-Denis. It demanded rest. A rest that she could not afford at the moment. Someone had wanted them dead on this day. It was no coincidence that they were sent to collect an imaginary General's aid. It was no coincidence that Gaston had escaped his cell. Someone had wanted to kill the Musketeers and they almost succeeded. She knew who it was. Grimaud. With the help of Feron and his red guards. But why did they act now?

When they made it to Saint-Denis, Grimaud and his men were already surrounding the mausoleum. Emma climbed down the horse, unsheathed her sword, and threw herself into battle. Tired and broken, Emma fought with newfound energy. She had survived Grimaud, Feron, and their wicked plan. This was not their day.

Most of Grimaud's men died in battle, those who survived fled the scene. Lucien Grimaud, he too, had fled the scene. Once again, he had slipped through their grasps.

"Governor Feron?" Athos asked as they joined the King.

"He died saving my life." The King answered. His dead body rested against the tree. "He will have a full state funeral. Nothing spared." The Red Guards had arrived on the scene, Marcheaux in the lead. "Cover him, please. I will not have him be a spectacle."

Marcheaux climbed down his horse, shocked to see Governor Feron dead. He took off his cloak and solemnly covered Feron's form as the Musketeers and Minister Tréville left.

"No, Gaston couldn't have escaped the Bastille, not without help." D'Artagnan said as they all sat in the Minister's office.

"Grimaud." Tréville sighed.

"What does Grimaud want with Gaston?" Athos asked him.

"The King is dying." Aramis informed them.

"What?" Emma turned to him in shock.

"He told me today he's dying." Aramis continued. "He has—months to live."

"You knew?" Athos turned to Tréville. "When were you going to tell me?"

"When you needed to know." Tréville answered.

"I would have put Gaston under heavier guard." Athos told him. "Now, he's in the hands of Grimaud primed to seize power the moment Louis dies." Athos stood up and left. Soon, Emma followed him.

The King of France would soon be dead. The Dauphin would have to sit on the throne earlier than he was expected to. He would not be safe not as long as Gaston was alive. This news changed everything. This would change everything.

"Sorry." Emma apologized when Athos winced. She was cleaning up his wounds. "We look quite the pair."

"We do." He chuckled, resting his hand on her thigh.

"What happened?" Emma asked quietly.

"Grimaud attacked me on our daughter's grave." Athos answered, her hand froze.

"On our daughter's grave? How did he know where to find you?"

"I have been there, often." Athos continued.

"Athos." She breathed out.

He brushed a strand of hair behind her shoulder. And pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'll make him pay for this." She buried her face in the crook of his neck. "I promise."