Hey guys, hope that last chapter wasn't too much of a bore for you! So to help make up for it, I'm posting another chapter already! Hopefully this one will look a lot more exciting in terms of progress, though there's still not a huge amount of action and sword fighting to be had just yet. That will all come in time. Please sent me your reviews, I'd still love to hear what you guys think!

"Thank you."

The servant who had appeared with food for him bowed low to the captain of the musketeers before he took the tray and removed himself completely from the room, leaving D'Artagnan alone with his thoughts for a moment. A great many things had happened within the last few days, so much in fact that the poor man was hardly able to keep up with the events as he had done in his youth. Granted, a large part of that would be the fact that he was not overly mobile at the moment thanks to the wound on his back, but part of that would also be attributed to the fact that he was no longer as young as he had once been. And now that things were approaching a whole new horizon line, he struggled to come to terms with some of those changes.

Propped up against the pillows of the bed, he had allowed his boots to be removed and only those before he had been lain out on top of the blankets, warmed by the fire that filled the room with a comfortable glow. None of the others were with him, for there had been room enough for them all to have a little privacy thanks to Philippe's generosity. Ah, Philippe. D'Artagnan could feel his heart swell with pride as he thought of the son that he had newly found, knowing that despite his absence from the boy's life he had turned out to be a good man after all. And Anne...seeing her again after his experience at the Bastille had renewed his love for her with a fire that refused to be extinguished, made difficult by the fact that they both still had roles to play at court. Still, she now knew that he was alive, and her earlier concern for his well being said that she still loved him just as deeply as he loved her. All that remained now was for them to decide how their lives would continue, whether it was apart and following the rules laid before them or together secretly so that they might be able to find real happiness for the very first time. Even just the idea of such a possibility brought a small smile to his lips, as it was a dream that he had envisioned many times over in the years since he and Anne had crossed than forbidden line and fallen in love. Now there was a chance at it coming true.

But at what cost, he asked himself. For them to be together, they could not continue to live at court with Philippe. There were far too many people around them constantly for a proper relationship to be established without suspicion, and yet neither of them would be able to leave Philippe alone now, not when they had just found him again. Their circumstances were not looking all together promising, but still he continued to cling to hope. Hope that perhaps something or someone would be able to provide an answer to their plight and finally allow love to be their outcome. After the many years of unhappiness she had suffered during her previous marriage, Anne deserved that much, he thought firmly. The old king had not been cruel to her as far as he was aware, but nor had he been overly kind to his Austrian bride, who somehow managed to find solace in a simple man like himself. If anything, he only wanted Anne to finally have something that she could call her own.

A gentle knock on the door roused his thoughts and brought him back to the present moment as he watched a familiar figure slip inside and close it lightly behind her. Her eyes were kept down as she moved silently about the room, giving no greeting nor immediately coming to his side as she had done in the past. He had been right to sense that something was wrong, he decided, watching her thin frame gather his boots from the foot of the bed and place them carefully by the fire. She straightened them to stand properly and began to stoke the fire itself, ensuring that there was enough wood there to keep the room warm for him before she rose again and rubbed her hands together gently.

"Are you not even going to speak?" he asked, shifting a little on the bed.

Katherine turned herself a little, moving to the chest of drawers by the window as she began organizing his things carefully inside. "I would give you no more reason to be displeased with me, Uncle." Her refusal to look at him was beginning to grow a little more frustrating as the moments passed, causing some of the earlier anxiety at the situation to surface in the old man. When she answered him like that, there really was no room for too many other emotions, not when it came to the dynamic of their relationship and how it had been for nearly twenty years.

Katherine closed the first drawer and removed the jug of water from the top, moving to set it near the flames of the fire in order to warm it a little before she used it. Then to the table beside the bed she put the bowl and sponge, next to which she lay the cloth that she had been using to dress the wound again to help prevent it from staining the white of his shirts. Approaching the side of the bed, she offered out a hand for him to grab onto and pull himself forward so that he was sitting away from the pillows and in more of an upright position. Her nimble fingers slowly began to undo the collar of his shirt, helping him to slip it off of his body almost completely before Katherine moved herself around to stand just behind him. The binding that she had used earlier came undone with a little more force before she took the cloth from his body and started looking the stab wound over.

"Does it hurt terribly?" she whispered, feeling her throat tighten a little as she gently traced her fingers over it.

"Yes...but the pain reminds me that I am still living," he told her, turning his head a little to glance over his shoulder. Again he noticed that she was avoiding his eye as she focused on the task at hand, gently removing the lumps of dried blood from his skin with the material that she had just pulled from his body. Words filtered through his mind as he considered what next to say that might somehow start a conversation between the pair, but nothing seemed to make enough sense without directly asking her why she had grown so distant all of a sudden.

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak again just as Katherine turned away and moved back toward the fireplace, throwing the soiled bandage to its mercy. The sight of her retreating form was beginning to feel a little normal to him now, and he wasn't liking the fact that it had become so. What had happened to the young girl who came to him with everything? What had changed so much over the last few days that she could leave her father at the Bastille out of concern for his life and then proceed to go on as if they were nothing more than strangers?

"I do not know what I have done to upset you so."

"I am not upset," she said quickly, returning with the jug to pour the now warmer water into the waiting bowl. A sigh fell from his lips as he lifted a hand to rub down the side of his face, feeling the weariness of the day beginning to creep over his body.

"Then why do you avoid me as if I am already dead?" The bed beneath him shifted a little when she climbed up behind him and lightly pressed the damp sponge to his back, working on the edges of the wound to first clean the surrounding flesh before she would venture deeper into it. He straightened a little bit when he felt the cool water touch his skin, breathing slowly so as to keep focused with his attempts at coaxing the information out of Katherine in a kinder way.

"Because it is better for me to play my role now and not risking angering you or Papa further while we are guests of the King."

Her answer made it all sound so simple, he noted. As if those were the only reasons she would ever need in order to keep her thoughts to herself and her sharp tongue in check, which was not the way that Katherine was. Pain shot through his back as she approached the wound with the sponge and applied a little bit of pressure closer to the puncture mark in his skin, causing D'Artagnan to hiss in discomfort and lean a little further forward to escape the pain.

In an instant, one of Katherine's arms was wrapped around him in support, her forehead lightly pressed to the back of his shoulder. "Breathe," she reminded him gently, allowing him a moment to regain control before she withdrew her forehead and again pressed to the wound. He was ready this time and exhaled slowly against the burning sensation that coursed through that part of his back, trying to keep himself as relaxed as possible during her ministrations. Closing his eyes and lifting his head a little, he established a slow breathing pattern of inhaling and exhaling to keep himself calm, then moved his arm to softly lay on top of the one she held against his stomach. His fingers closed around her smaller hand and held it captive, reminding himself that he wasn't alone in the pain that he bore despite their current places.

"How is your side?" he asked her, holding her hand firmly when he felt her stiffen a little against him.

"Fine," Katherine said shortly as she tried to pull away from him.

"Katherine-"

"Uncle, I need my other hand to tie this bandage properly." Again he sighed and released his hold on her, feeling a cool sensation creep over his skin in place of where her arm used to be. He could hear her rip the fabric to the right length and begin to wrap it around him, binding the wound tightly so that nothing else could get into it and cause infection. He had seen it done often enough in his service as a musketeer to understand just how important it was to the healing process. Too many men had died due to infection and poor doctoring. But he was safe in Katherine's hands, of that he was sure, for he knew her better than almost anyone else in the world, save for Aramis.

"You need to rest now," she instructed, sliding off of the bed and back to the floor as she busied her hands with the contents of the side table.

"Let me see it," he said gently, reaching out to touch her arm.

But the girl shook her head. "You need not concern yourself with me, Uncle."

Not one to be bested, especially now, D'Artagnan wrapped his fingers around her a little tighter and waited until she looked over at him, establishing eye contact for the first time since their arrival. "I was not asking, Kate."

The girl looked a little startled by the tone of voice that he took with her, much as she had earlier on that day when he had warned her against her choice of words in front of Anne and Philippe. She seemed to hesitate for a moment and simply look at him, unsure of what she should do before a knock on the door sounded and thus spared her from having to make a choice. His gaze was distracted just long enough for Katherine to turn her body out of his grasp and catch sight of the figure who moved elegantly through the door before she was instantly down on a knee, her head bent low. "Your Majesty."

It had taken her a moment to recognize the face beneath the hooded cloak that she wore, especially since there was no elaborate gown that would identify her as the Dowager Queen either. Instead it was a dress of simple grey that lacked the usual volume of her other dresses, her body void of all jewels as her dark locks hung loose around her shoulders. And the smile she wore as she looked down at Katherine was one of a motherly nature, which only added to the growing discomfort that she felt in the pit of her stomach.

"Please," the older woman said as she stepped forward and offered Katherine a hand to bring her back to her feet. "I should be at your feet. You have given me back a part of my life I had long thought to be lost." At that her eyes turned slightly to glance over at D'Artagnan, who sat on the bed open-mouthed and still shirtless from before.

"Anne..."

Sensing that she was intruding upon a private moment, Katherine bobbed her another curtsey and hurried toward the door without waiting to be dismissed, praying that the Queen had not been followed that night for any reason.

"Kate." She had half pulled the door aside and paused at the calling of her name, turning slowly to look back at D'Artagnan with the same distant eyes that he had seen before his lover had entered the room. "Our conversation is not over."

With a quick look out the door, Katherine edged toward it a little more before she looked back, glancing between the two. "Please...be careful."

There was no time for either to respond before she had slipped out the door and closed the door behind her, leaving them alone. In an instant, Anne had crossed the distance that lay between them and leaned across the bed, claiming his lips in a powerful kiss that instantly sent them into a battle of dominance. He was absolutely breathless from the way that she had attacked him, initially shocked by force with which she had started to kiss him before his body merely accepted her presence and moved to wrap his arms around her tiny waist.

When at last they parted Anne was seated across D'Artagnan's lap with her own arms wound around his neck, fingers entangled in his hair as both of their chests heaved from the passionate moment they had shared. "I thought you were dead," she whispered sadly, leaning forward to bury her face against his shoulder. "I thought I would never see you again." D'Artagnan for his part simply cradled her as best as he could against his chest, eyes closed as he inhaled her familiar scent.

His fingers stroked her hair gently in a soothing gesture as he tried to keep himself upright, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "I did not think so either," he began, holding her close. "But God smiled down on me and gave me a second chance. He brought me my son...and he brought me you."

Anne pulled back slowly from him, allowing her eyes to fully take in his face before she shifted herself in his lap and gently placed a hand against his chest to push him back against the pillows. His own blue eyes were so entranced with having her so close to him again that he did not resist her movements, nor did he complain when she laid herself down beside him, resting her head on his arm. "She saved you." He turned his head a little to look down at her, initially confused by her words and the turn in conversation. Anne in turn lifted her own head a little, tilting her gaze upward until it met with his. "The girl...the daughter of Aramis. She was the one who saved you." He exhaled slowly, lifting his head to fall back against the pillows with a resigned sigh.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Louis tried to kill Philippe, and I got in the way. The only reason I am still alive is because of Katherine."

Her fingers gently traced patterns against the bare skin of his chest as her mind wandered back to the night that he had left the red rose for her at the end of the path that lead to her chapel. She had watched him then, absent-mindedly touching her lips as she remembered the last time that they had shared a kiss at the risk of being found out. It had almost felt as if he had been saying his final farewell to her from a safe distance that would not incriminate either of them. But she remembered his uniform as well, the black one that had been worn in the days when her husband had been king before Louis had retired the colour entirely. It was then that she had come to realize that something else was going on.

"Louis still does not know," Anne whispered softly, pressing her cheek to him. Immediately he understood her words, knowing that there would not have been a chance to tell him the truth of his parentage before he and Philippe were switched. And while D'Artagnan had watched over Louis all his life from afar, he feared what it would mean for Anne if ever the truth were to be told to him, for Louis was a vengeful spirit who thirsted for the blood of others.

"Perhaps it is better that way," he murmured a little sadly. As much as it would pain him to have a son not recognize him as the father that he was, he knew in his heart that the truth would never be accepted by Louis...nor could anyone else have that knowledge in their hands. It would endanger everyone around him, most especially Anne and Philippe, for their part in that truth. "Louis was raised to believe that he was the son of a King...to have him learn the truth could be fatal for all of us."

Her eyes closed softly as she breathed deeply for a moment before pushing herself lightly off of his chest. D'Artagnan watched her with questioning eyes as Anne gave him a soft smile. "You need to rest, my love," she whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to his lips. D'Artagnan accepted this without complaint until she pulled away from him and began to move toward the edge of the bed, making to leave the room entirely when he reached up and caught her fingertips.

"Anne."

She turned back to him, a little startled at how forward his actions were when compared to their normal encounters. "When will I see you again?"

The Dowager Queen again smiled down at him, wrapping her fingers around his hand for a brief moment. "I shall never be far, my love."

Taking this as her silent promise to return to him again soon, he allowed her fingers to gradually slip out of his own and watched as she pulled her hood back over her face yet again before she travelled to the door. There she paused, looking back at him for but a moment before she caught herself and slipped silently away. He could feel his heart pounding where he lay, swelling at having seen her such a short while after his arrival with the promise of more visits to come. His head rolled lightly to the side, his blue eyes looking over toward the flickering flames in the hearth before they closed slowly and D'Artagnan fell into a much needed sleep with a small smile placed on his lips.