Treville

Fatigue was creeping into his thoughts. He was trying to focus on Lemay's notes and analysis, but it was becoming more and more challenging with each minute that passed. The report was far more disorganized than the ones he was used to receiving from his men. As his thoughts began to wander, he found that he could not forget the look of complete devastation on Porthos' face. His musketeer was sitting outside in the cold night air, keeping a lonely vigil in honor of his brother.

His dead brother.

Aramis is dead.

Treville knew that every soldier died-or retired. Musketeers did not die easily, but these days the graveyard had more inhabitants than the garrison barracks. Still, it was difficult to accept the fact that after countless narrow escapes, his best marksman had finally met his end. He understood d'Artagnan's naive hope, but he was too seasoned a soldier to share it.

No one is invincible. Even the best soldier can be brought to his knees. Even the best end up getting killed.

There was a subtle knock at the door, and the confused Captain realized that he must have fallen asleep.

My body clearly needs rest. I'm not young enough to be able to ignore my wounds the way I used to.

He readied a dagger and opened the door, then lowered his weapon when he saw Milady.

She hastily ducked into the room. In lieu of a greeting, she handed him a sealed letter. He raised an eyebrow when he saw that the seal belonged to the head of Spanish intelligence.

"It contains an explicit order for Rochefort to return to Spain," she explained.

To obtain such a letter was an impressive achievement. "How did you get it?!"

"Aramis retrieved it. How, I'm not sure."

"Aramis?!"

"I had to leave him at the port-in the Iron Warehouse. I sent a message to the garrison regarding his whereabouts, so they should have found him by now."

He shot her an accusing look, but she merely shrugged. "I had no choice. He was in a bad way, and was unable to walk."

Everything suddenly became clear. "You were the one who shot him?!"

"There was no other way. If you already know about the fake execution, Athos must have been rescued." There was an unspoken question in her words, but Treville did not plan to make things easy for her.

She hesitated for a moment, clearly unwilling to betray her interest in the swordsman's fate. Finally, she spoke, her voice cold and measured.

"Does he live?"

He waited for a few seconds, then took pity on her. "His wounds are infected. Lemay is treating him."

"Do you trust him?" she asked.

"He has successfully treated the Dauphin several times. There is no reason not to trust him."

She sighed, but said nothing more on that topic. Putting on her gloves, she said,

"I should go. The King needs me."

"I plan to ask for an audience. Do you think you can convince the King to grant me one?" the Captain asked.

"The King doesn't care to have his mistress meddling in political situations-but if the opportunity arises, I'll speak up on your behalf, Captain." She gave him a brief curtsy, then silently left.

Treville glanced at the sealed letter in his hand. Was it enough to bring Rochefort down? Perhaps not, but it should be enough to provoke a reaction from Rochefort-a reaction which might cause the comte to betray himself. The confrontation would be dangerous, and Captain would need his men. The Red Guard could not be trusted.

While Richelieu was alive, the Red Guard never turned against the King. They were certainly guilty of many crimes that were committed by order of the Cardinal, but they never tried to attack the King. Even the assassination attempt on the Queen was carried out by mercenaries.

Treville wrote up an official request for an audience, and left it in the hands of the King's secretary. He stressed that the reason for the audience was of the utmost importance, but his words seemed to make no impression on the man, who appeared tired and ill. The secretary took the paper from him and gave him a slight bow. For a moment, the Captain was sure that the man was going to end up face down on the floor. However, he finally managed to regain his balance.

The man blinked, and seemed surprised that Treville was still standing in front of him.

"I do not have the power to grant you an audience, but I will pass on your request."

"Thank you. For the safety of France, it is very important that I speak with the King." There was no gratitude in the musketeer's solemn voice.

The secretary was probably used to hearing that each and every request for an audience was critically important. If the request was not granted, Treville would just talk to the King without being invited. However, he preferred to be able to arrange it so that Rochefort was in the room.

The Musketeer Captain left the Palace and rode to the garrison. He hoped that Milady's message had reached his men.

If Aramis was able to obtain the letter, he should be still alive. No, actually, if it were other man in the regiment, I could draw this conclusion-but Aramis has the irritating habit of ignoring his own wounds as long as he is needed. Despite this, he always seems to pull through. Still, having been left wounded without medical care could not have been good for him.

He reached the gates. The musketeers on duty stood at attention when they saw him. He nodded, then gave them the order to be at ease. Entering the garrison, he tossed the reins to the stable boy.

"I'll need the horse again soon," he told the youngster. "By the way, do know where I might find Aramis?" It was likely that the boy had seen where they had taken the wounded man.

"Porthos took him to their quarters, Sir."

He nodded. So they were in either Porthos' or Aramis' room.

Treville knocked on the door, then cautiously opened it. Porthos was sitting on the chair next to the bed where Aramis lay. The marksman seemed to be in a deep sleep, and was probably unconscious.

The big man showed no reaction to his entrance.

"Porthos?"

The dark skinned musketeer slowly turned his head in order to look in the direction of his commander's voice. He was pale, and his eyes were red. Treville suddenly realized that he could not be sure that Aramis was still alive, and his heart sank. The marksman was covered with thick blankets, and lay completely still. It was impossible to say if he was still breathing.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice echoing in the quiet room.

"Lemay said he should survive." There was an angry edge to Porthos' voice. Instead of being soothed by the good news, Treville felt himself becoming more anxious.

"Will he recover?" he asked abruptly.

"Lemay said nothing about any permanent impairments."

"So what is the problem?"

Anguish was suddenly replaced by fury.

"He regained consciousness for a moment-and … they had hurt him. Deeply."

Treville closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, fixing his gaze on Porthos.

"You'll make him whole again. Milady enabled his escape, but he was the one who was able to obtain some documents. Very important documents. So he was not only able to understand the situation, but also to able to deploy his wits in a brilliant game of persuasion." He was silent for a moment, then said, "I will need you for my audience with the King. The King has especially requested your presence. You and Athos are to be commended for saving the Queen."

"As far as I know, Athos is in no condition to be anywhere except his bed," Porthsos growled. "D'Artagnan is with him now."

"I know. That's why I want you and d'Artagnan to be there. I expect that our comte may still be nervous and unpredictable, and I understand that Aramis is in no condition to be with us."

"Lemay emphasized that his condition is fragile, and that we must be careful not to worsen it!" Porthos was ready to defend his brother from his commander if necessary.

Treville nodded, then left. He believed that Porthos had the ability to help Aramis recover. In all honesty, if the dark skinned musketeer failed, there was no one else who would be able to save the marksman.

D'Artagnan greeted him with a smile.

"Have you seen Aramis, sir?" he asked immediately.

"Yes, but he's unconscious. How is Athos?"

The swordsman was obviously still in the grip of a fever.

"Lemay cleaned his wound again, then left a new balm. He seemed disturbed by Athos' condition." D'Artagnan sighed, anxiously watching his mentor."But he does seem to be better now. His nightmares seem to have let up."

Treville observed his lieutenant for a few minutes, then bid his leave. He felt useless in the face of his men's grave injuries.

He hoped to finally get some rest. However, once he came to the palace, he was surprised to find that his request for an audience had been granted. He was to meet with the King in an hour. He sent for his men immediately, and made himself presentable.

He entered the audience room flanked by Porthos and d'Artagnan. He was concerned when he saw the Queen sitting at her husband's side. The woman looked incredibly fragile. He suspected that makeup had been used to cover up the dark circles under her eyes, as well as the pallor of her skin. She looked beautiful, but so sad. Constance stood behind her throne, and when Treville's eyes met hers, he understood that she was ready to defend the Queen with her life. He was very grateful for her presence.

Rochefort stood near the throne. There was a smirk on his face, and a challenge in his eyes.

"Treville, I hope that you have managed to apprehend the men who dared to abduct my wife?" Louis asked the question in an oddly detached manner, with no hint of fire in his voice.

"I have a few suspects. However, as they reside in the palace, I need your permission to search their rooms. My men discovered that a gunsmith's shop served as a communications center for the bandits. Orders and reports were found there. Those documents hint that the Spanish and Savoy ambassadors here in France are actually working for Spanish Intelligence. The only problem is that we don't have enough proof. We did manage to intercept a letter-actually, it is likely an order- that bears Vargas's seal. It may be important."

Louis gave him a bored look. "So, did you read it?"

Treville shook his head. "No, Sire-but I have an idea of what may be inside. I decided that it would be best to present it to you with the seal intact." He bowed, and passed the letter to the King. Louis glanced at the seal, then broke it. He read the document and paled.

"Rochefort! What does this mean?!" he shouted. He waved the letter at the comte. The man obviously could not read it from such a distance, but he nonetheless paled visibly.

The King didn't immediately issue an order to have Rochefort arrested. That does not bode well.

Rochefort's reaction so far has not betrayed him.

"Sire, I don't know…" the comte replied, appearing confused and dismayed.

"Rochefort name was specifically mentioned by the Queen's captors. They named him as their leader," Treville said.

There was a moment of silence

The musketeers waited for the order to be given to arrest the comte. The King was staring at his Prime Minister, his eyes wide with disbelief. Constance shifted her position in order to stand slightly in front of the throne, ready to act if necessary.

"These accusations are ridiculous. It's obvious that they are trying to frame me." Rochefort remained composed, his voice still calm.

"Read it!" King motioned to the comte to take the letter from his hand.

This is not good. Rochefort is way too close to the King.

Rochefort turned to the Queen. "So, Your Majesty-you asked Vargas to help you escape to Spain after the musketeers failed in their attempt to assist you?"

"No, Rochefort," she answered firmly. "I did not try to escape to Spain. You had me kidnapped."

The King interrupted them. "My Queen, you told me that you were unconscious most of the time."

"Most of the time, Sire-not all of the time.

Rochefort gave her a triumphant look. "So, your Majesty, you cannot really be sure of what you saw or heard while you were in a drugged state."

He approached her throne, and she cringed, nearly melting into her chair to avoid him.

"I demand an investigation. The men who have dared to falsely accuse me must be punished." Rochefort spoke with emotion, his blue eyes indignant.

"This is a grave accusation." The King began to speak, but he halted, and seemed to to have trouble focusing. "However, I believe there are enough grounds, Treville, to issue such an order."

Treville knew he was failing. He saw the despair in the Queen's eyes, the silent plea for him to defeat Rochefort once and for all. The poor woman was terrified, and the comte was obviously aware of that fact.

"Sire, an accusation of high treason must not be made lightly," the Captain replied.

"And by accusing the Prime Minister, you're putting the entire country at risk. So, who's committing high treason now, Treville?" snarled Rochefort. He turned to the King. "I warned you once before, Sire- this man is an enemy of the state. I demand that Treville and his man be placed under immediate arrest!" As he spoke, he took a step closer to Anne. Constance tried to position herself between them, but failed.

"Treville agreed to help your wife escape," Rochefort blurted out. "Perhaps I was wrong to assume that returning to Spain was her aim. I may have been mistaken. I understand, Sire, that you want to give your traitorous wife another chance. I am truly amazed and humbled by your mercy, but I must insist that this man-the man with whom your wife tried to elope-be given the death penalty!"

"He's lying!" Anne stood up, her voice trembling. "Rochefort is the man who kidnapped me-and raped me! Arrest him!"

Before anyone could make a move, Rochefort struck. The blade was aimed at Anne. Treville lunged towards them, knowing that the young monarch was destined for death. However, it was not Anne who crumpled on the floor, but Constance. She lay still, the dagger buried in her chest to the hilt.

Treville heard D'Artagnan's desperate scream as the lad attacked Rochefort. At the same instant, several shots were fired. Obviously Rochefort had had his own men ready to act.

The Captain dodged the blade aimed at his head, and immediately engaged his enemy. His opponent was quite skilled with a blade. Treville knew that he needed to get rid of him quickly. He could see Rochefort making an escape. Porthos was desperately trying to follow him, despite the four men who were determined to stop him.

D'Artagnan fought with two other men who were trying to reach the monarchs. Anne was on her knees, cradling Constance in her arms. Meanwhile, the King seemed to be frozen on his throne.

"Protect the King!" the Captain shouted. As his sword ran through his opponent, his wound protested at the sudden movement. It was an especially inconvenient time, as another enemy immediately attacked him. The man wore the uniform of a Red Guard, but Treville had never seen him. His opponent managed to cut the Captain's arm with his first lunge, and was immediately on guard once again. He exactly knew how Musketeer's Captain had been weakened, and used it to his advantage, forcing Treville into a very painful defense.

The man's blade slid over the musketeer's, but the pain slowed down the Captain enough for him to be slashed by his opponent's main gauche. Treville knew that he had to end the fight quickly in order to have a chance at surviving, so he went on the attack with a vengeance. His opponent wanted to tire the Captain out, and he was succeeding as long as Treville had to focus solely on his defense. Suddenly the man froze, and dropped to his knees, revealing the dagger that was buried in his back.

D'Artagnan gave his Captain a quick salute. He was the only person in the room besides Treville who was still standing. The men who had tried to stop the musketeers lay dead or dying.

"Fetch Lemay!" Anne cried desperately.

"D'Artagnan, go!" Treville ordered. He knelt near Constance.

The redhead lay unconscious, all colour drained from her face. The Captain touched her neck, and sighed with relief when he felt a rapid pulse.

She fought well…

These are the only words that come to mind, but she did not just fight well. She just gave her life for the Queen… the wound is probably fatal...