Well, it was requested that I post another chapter during the month of May, so here you go! This is one of the longer ones, and I spent a lot of time debating whether I wanted to break up the chapter where I did and go in this direction or go with someone else. In the end, I chose to go with this and reveal a bunch of details to you guys so that I wasn't leaving you all hanging quite as badly. Unfortunately, this chapter means that I'm getting ready to slowly bring this story to a close, so I know some of you will not be satisfied with the lack of moments between some of the characters, but hopefully you'll forgive me for that. If you want to read more of my stories, whether they be based on other fandoms or perhaps some more for this one, feel free to drop me a line and let me know. I'm always interested to hear what you guys have to say. So, without further ado, here is the thirtieth installment of this story.

Chapter XXX

"What am I going to go?"

The words were muttered and hurried as he moved through the doors of the palace and into the garden that he had recently become so acquainted with, having left behind several men who had attempted to question their captain before he had brushed them off almost distractedly. They had stopped in their tracks, calling out to him as they tried to figure out what it was that had him so worked up and clearly nervous, but D'Artagnan had heard nothing on his way. He needed time to think, a space in order to clear his head so that he might better assess the situation at hand. And yet he struggled to do so, for the warning bells had gone off in his head and his heart had begun to race, beating madly against the walls of his chest.

There was something afoot here, something he knew nothing of. The risk to Philippe's life he had anticipated due to the unpopular reputation that Louis had created, they had all been prepared for the hatred that France would show the crown until they were able to set things right again. But this new threat, the rumours that had been whispered in the street…despite the vast knowledge that D'Artagnan had come to know over the years, there was nothing that could have prepared him for this. He had thought that the safety they had come to know would go on forever, never once drawing his friends into the danger that now stood boldly on their doorstep.

He had tried so hard, so very hard to keep them all out of harm's way.

"D'Artagnan!"

He turned sharply around to see the figure that hurried toward him, holding her skirts just above the grass so that she could move faster than was customary for a lady of her station. The heart that already beat so quickly in his chest suddenly leapt when he saw Anne hasten toward him like that, reminded of the few times in their youth that they had found themselves alone together and finally allowed to become lost in each other's embrace. But the look that she wore now was one of concern, almost fear really. There was no joy in her eyes to see him as there had once been, no smile upon her lips that foretold of the kiss that he was about to receive from his beloved Anne. Instead there was only the fear that he had once sworn to keep from her, yet another sign of his horrible failure.

"D'Artagnan, why do you flee so quickly?" she asked him, lowering her voice as she approached and took one of his hands in her own in a gesture of comfort. "I know that this has worried you, I can see it in your eyes. But what troubles are you keeping from me?"

It tore him apart to know that she was aware of his deception, though she knew not to what level it truly fell. Over the years he had come to learn many things, not all of which he had wished to become responsible for. But this, right now, went above and beyond all of the things that the man had once dreamed of encountering in his lifetime, for the concept had seemed so farfetched and out of reach that there couldn't possibly be another soul alive who might have such information for their use. It was his fault that things had gotten this far. Had he simply followed orders like he was supposed to then none of this would ever have happened. They would all be safe, living lives that did not include all of the heartache and terror that they had come to know in the last few weeks.

It was his fault.

Pulling his hand away from Anne, D'Artagnan looked down at her with the same expression he had worn for years when in her presence. "It is nothing, my lady," he said formally, his body moving in a ridged bow.

The pain in her eyes spoke volumes where words could not, and as he lifted his head again he couldn't help but long to take her in his arms and hold her close to him. It had become a comfort that he was used to living without, for there were still too many eyes and ears in the palace for him to feel that they were perfectly safe to be together. She understood his actions, after all of the years that they had spent hiding their love from the rest of the world he knew that she understood. But that did not make things any easier for him to handle, not when he knew that she could read him so easily.

"You have worried the others," she said softly, as if she too were afraid that their conversation might be overheard by one who was not meant to hear it. "In all of the years that I have known you, never has Porthos looked so worried."

She did not mention Philippe, but D'Artagnan knew that she was also referencing the son that he had barely begun to know, nevermind the other friends that he had left standing in that room when he had suddenly left without warning. He knew all too well that his son was sure to ask after his behaviour though none of the others would be able to explain the truth of it to him. No one could. For the past twenty years he had hoped and prayed that God would spare them of this day, allowing life to go on as they had come to know it. Was this his punishment for having disobeyed all those years ago? Or was there something more that went beyond that?

The old man realized that he could no longer hold those secrets to his heart, for a little voice in the back of his mind began to hum loudly in warning and it had never steered him wrong before. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, considering his choice of words and what it would soon mean for them all. And when he opened them again, he found that Anne was looking back at him with an almost startled expression now upon her face.

"Listen, my love," he murmured quietly, leaning in a little so that he might address her quickly. "There is much that I need to share with you, much that I have kept from you for many years now. Can you gather the others together in a place where we shall not be overheard?"

While he had come to know the passages and doorways of the palace well, he knew that there were likely to be a few that he was not privy too, and so relied on Anne's knowledge of the palace instead. She nodded to him only once before she turned and moved away again, her pace a little quicker, but not enough that it might arouse suspicion from anyone who had been watching their interaction. As she left him, D'Artagnan breathed a soft sigh and allowed his face to fall into his hands. There was so much that he needed to tell, so much that weighed heavily upon his soul…and now he was finally going to let the truth out. But that truth may very well put them in more danger than they had previously been in, and so he needed to be prepared for the worst of it.

Once before he had found Death to be standing before him, ready to claim his life and forever remove him from this world. He had been spared then. Perhaps this was the reason that he had been spared…perhaps there was still time to set things right before too much blood was shed.

"Captain!"

It was the cry of his lieutenant that brought his hands away from his face and caused his spine to straighten a little, eyes growing wide as he saw the urgency with which Andre now approached him. He ran like a man who had a message to deliver, something of great importance that could not wait, and that caused the fear to swell in D'Artagnan's chest as he took a few strides of his own to meet the younger man.

"What is it? What's happened?"

Andre paused only a moment, to try and catch his breath. "I went to check the guards at the front gate, make sure that the perimeter was secure," he began, panting from the exertion of having run halfway across the vast grounds of the palace. "I intercepted this."

He offered out the crumpled piece of paper that he clung to, which the captain stared at with wide eyes and quickly snatched into his own, pulling it open with trembling fingers. It took him only a moment to absorb the contents of the page, his breath hitching as he came to realize just how quickly things had escalated. Someone was watching them, he could no longer doubt that now. And from what he read, it was only too clear that one of their own had betrayed them to this threat, a threat he was slowly beginning to understand.

"You have read this?"

"Yes, sir."

Andre was no fool. By now he was sure to be guessing at the puzzle pieces himself, but he was wise enough not to voice any of his concerns and thoughts to his captain at this moment. He waited until D'Artagnan had read through the letter perhaps twice more before he shared a look, immediately knowing that they would have to react to its contents.

"You have shown this to no one else?"

"No, sir."

"Good," D'Artagnan nodded quickly, his mind whirling madly. "I cannot leave this any longer. Find them, all of them. Now."

Nodding that he understood the order he had been given, Andre turned on his heel and quickly moved across the garden once more, hurrying to do as directed. There was no time to delay, they both knew that now. And while it was only D'Artagnan who felt the awful pain stab at his heart, it was a pain that would soon be shared. He wished he could spare them all from it, knowing just how much they had already overcome, but he could not bring himself to keep the news away from them. The truth had to be heard, forgiveness needed to be begged…and when it was all over, another life needed to be saved.

"I know what these people are planning."

They had gathered together in one of the smaller antechambers attached to Anne's rooms, one that was known only to the Queen, her maid and the musketeer who had slipped in and out of that room several times in his youth. Athos and Porthos had situated themselves against the wall on either side of the door, both armed and prepared to deal with whatever intruder was foolish enough to try and enter the room with them in it. Andre stood close by, placing himself by the small bookshelf that stood only a short distance from the fireplace mantle that Aramis leaned heavily on. Anne and Philippe were both seated at the table, but the looks that they gave D'Artagnan forced him to look away and instead address the room as a whole. Everyone was suddenly alert at his news though, eyes sharply turned in his direction as they waited to hear what exactly he had come to learn.

"It's only been a few hours," Athos stated. "Have they already started moving?"

"I'm afraid they have," D'Artagnan nodded gravely. "A letter was delivered to the palace gates for us not even an hour ago."

With a furrowed brow he held up the now worn piece of paper in his hand, pulling it open so that he might read it to them. But he paused, looking at them and inhaling deeply as if he were trying to prepare them all for what the contents would shortly reveal. His gaze swept across the room and came to rest on Aramis for only a moment before he began to read.

"We have taken the King's bastard and hold her now at the Chateau Montblanc outside the city. You are to take the imposter to the heart of the city and publically declare him as a usurper at your hands by noon tomorrow or the girl will suffer the consequences of your disobedience."

"Wait," Aramis interrupted, holding out a hand so that D'Artagnan would stop his reading for a moment. "This letter makes it sound as though the girl in question is not involved in their plot as anything more than a pawn. The rumours sounded as though she were leading this rebellion herself."

"There is more," answered D'Artagnan slowly.

"Should you disregard this order, we will be forced to expose her as a traitor to her country and thus condemn her to death by order of King Louis XIV. It is recommended that you follow the order as given, for we would hate to detach Katherine's lovely head from her neck."

The entire room seemed to have frozen completely until Aramis crumpled against the mantle, losing his grip upon the edge and falling to his knees with a pitiful cry that immediately brought his friends to his side. Standing on either side of him, Porthos and Athos helped him back to his feet and into a nearby chair where he began to tremble violently under their hands. Anne had pressed a hand tightly to her mouth in shock and Philippe had quickly grabbed hold of her other one, but all eyes were on the quivering form of the old priest who could not even pretend to hold it together when his daughter's name was read aloud.

"How?" Athos demanded, remaining by Aramis as his eyes seemed to demand the answers from D'Artagnan. "How has Katherine been dragged into all of this?"

D'Artagnan closed his eyes. "Because she is the child of the old King."

Again, there was a stunned silence that was broken only by the sharp intake of air that brought Aramis back into a more comprehensive state of mind. Though the tears stained his eyes and his age had begun to show through once more, he looked at D'Artagnan with such a sense of loss that the captain could barely stand to be under his gaze. There was such question in his eyes, such a hurt that it took all of his will not to turn away and instead look at the floor or the wall, neither of which could harm him with such looks as the one that Aramis now wore.

"You knew," he whispered, his tone broken as the words tried to choke themselves in his throat. "You've known all these years…"

"Yes," answered the captain.

"D'Artagnan, how could you not-"

"Because it was the only way I could think of to keep her safe."

There was tension mounting in the room, he could feel it. And when all eyes were turned in his direction with a combination of confusion, shock and anger, he could really feel it all coming down heavily upon his shoulders. Again his heart began to thump wildly in his chest as he allowed his own concern for Aramis to show in the depths of his eyes, momentarily ignoring the fact that most of the anger was currently radiating off of Athos once more. The last time he had seen his friend that angry had been the day that he arrived at musketeer headquarters, the death of his son hanging over his head. He still hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that Louis had sent Raoul to his death, but having Katherine around had greatly eased the sorrow that he had felt and D'Artagnan feared what might happen to Athos if they were to lose her as well.

"Perhaps you should explain," came Anne's soft voice. "Tell us what happened…how you know."

Grateful for her gentle approach to the matter, D'Artagnan's eyes softened a little as he gazed in her direction, looking between the only woman he had ever loved and the son that had come from that love. Poor Philippe had no idea of what to think, that much was evident in how he stared back at his father blankly. A sigh escaped his lips. There was not much more he could do now but tell them the truth that he had kept to himself for twenty years, the truth that he had not even been able to share with Anne.

"It was a few years after Louis and Philippe were born," he began, careful to address Anne from the start lest he should falter and lose his nerve by seeing Aramis. "The old King had never been attentive to you, but he was beginning to question many of the things that were happening around him, growing even more cautious of the people who offered their advice and watched over his son."

Anne nodded slowly, encouraging him to continue.

"You had a maid, a woman that you had come to trust because she had helped to keep you from harm several times. She alone knew the truth about the paternity of the young Prince and she kept our secret safe. Celeste, her name was."

Dear Celeste, he thought to himself. He remembered a creature of fair skin and blonde hair, with bright blue eyes that shone brightly as she went about her tasks in the palace day after day. She had been one who went from place to place without much of a fuss, rarely drawing any attention to herself because she was so mild of character. Once before she had been trapped in a loveless marriage to a man many times her senior, and when the old man had died not even two weeks after their marriage had been consummated, she vowed never again to enter into a relationship that would see her subjected to the cruelty of a man. D'Artagnan remembered her well, for she rarely spoke in the presence of men, but the two had somehow found themselves to be one each other's company one night and a conversation was struck that neither had been anxious to abandon. In him she found a friend who might be willing to keep her from suffering a lonely life, while he found someone in whom he could confide.

"At this time, Cardinal Richelieu was staging one last attempt to discredit the King in the eyes of his people, for his health had been declining for quite a while. He arranged for foreign ministers to come and discuss their policies and potential alliances with the King, knowing how their pressuring would result in the consumption of wine that went beyond what the King could tolerate."

A look was exchanged between Porthos and Athos, both of whom remembered all too well the antics that they had once fought against when the Cardinal held power over the old King. They had spent many days duelling with the guards who wore his red tunics, which inevitably had resulted in their befriending D'Artagnan in the first place.

"He then sent the King upstairs in good cheer after announcing that all had gone well, having drugged Celeste and placed her in the King's bed for the night. It was his hope that by creating a bastard child and planting lies in Anne's ear, he might be able to cause a feud that would shake the monarchy until it could barely sustain itself."

Here, D'Artagnan paused and closed his eyes, rubbing at the corners with his thumb and forefinger. "His plan worked," he added bitterly. "But Celeste was not to be used again. She awoke the next morning and found herself in a compromising state of being, and she quickly left the chamber and set about as if nothing ever happened, swearing she wouldn't tell a soul about the altercation. When she learned that she had fallen pregnant, she came to me."

D'Artagnan pressed his lips tightly together in anger. He could still remember how terrified the young woman had been when she had come to him, tears in her eyes to confess the entire affair to him. He had wanted nothing more than to find Richelieu and tear him to pieces for having abused the poor girl so, but he knew that he held no such power or influence against the man most trusted by the King. So he had gone directly to the King himself and whispered in confidence that he knew of the liaison between himself and one of the maids in the palace, alerting him of the fact that she had fallen pregnant in their single night together. Whether it was out of panic or a lack of caring, D'Artganan did not know, but the King had waved his hand at the issue and demanded that D'Artagnan send the girl away to a foreign country to deal with the pregnancy on her own. He couldn't be bothered with such a trivial thing now, not when there was a threat of war with England on the horizon.

"I disregarded my orders from the King," he confessed. "I took Celeste to a cottage in the country, where she would be cared for by an old woman until the baby arrived and she decided what she next wanted to do with her life. But when the child came early-"

The haunted look returned to his eye, his jaw quivering slightly as the ghostly images of the past began to move before his eyes and remind him of the various pains of the past that he long wished to forget. It was only when Anne rose quietly from her chair and touched his shoulder that he seemed to snap out of his daze, covering her small hand with a larger one of his own. The pair locked eyes for a moment, allowing D'Artagnan to take a breath in order to steady his nerves.

"A message was sent to me, here at the palace," he continued slowly, feeling his insides begin to knot themselves in the pit of his stomach. "I made it just in time to have her make me promise that I would help to find the child a good home before she died in my arms."

He brushed his thumb along the knuckles of her hand, soothing both himself and Anne with the gentleness of his touch. "But I was still fairly young. I knew nothing about how to raise a child and I knew that my job as a musketeer would not permit me to take on such a responsibility, especially when there were sure to be questions of how she came to be in my possession. So I approached a local monastery late one night, cloaked so that no one could recognize me if they were to see. I'd wrapped the child carefully in a blanket and rang back to watch after I had rung the bell. I waited only long enough to see someone come and carry her inside before I left again."

Now his gaze returned to Aramis, who continued to sit in the chair with his head in his hands. Moving slowly so as not to startle him, D'Artagnan moved across the room and knelt down before his friend, lightly taking the hands away so that he might better look up into the face of the person who had come to be so central in the happenings of the next twenty years.

"I never dreamed that you would keep her," he whispered honestly. "I had forgotten that you had retired to that exact place to live your life as a priest. But when I found out that you had chosen to keep the child with you, given her a name, I saw it as an opportunity. I could never recognize my King as being my son, so perhaps this was a second chance from God to help ease that pain."

Aramis blinked, staring at D'Artagnan on his knees before him as if it were the most bewildering sight that he had seen in a long time. His mind seemed to be considering something, a thought that had touched his mind only briefly and was now weighing heavier than it had before. "Why did you not tell me the truth?"

At this, D'Artagnan sighed and lowered his head a little. "I have seen and heard many of the same things that you have. We both know that illegitimate children are treated with poor regard, even worse than the children whose parentage is unknown."

But this answer would do little to satisfy Aramis, and he knew it. "Not telling you the truth would make Katherine yours completely. I saw, right from the beginning, how much light she brought into your life despite your desire to remain a priest, and who was I to deny that? You would never have to look at her and feel the sympathy that I felt for the mother who had been used as a pawn, nor the father who had cared nothing for her existence and tried to send her away. You could just love her for what you had raised her to be, the woman she was always meant to become."

Aramis seemed to consider this, the muscles in his face relaxing as the weight of D'Artagnan's words slowly sunk into his body. There had never been any malice in his intentions, but simply a desire to let them all have their happiness with the child that they had come to love so dearly. To them she had always been a daughter, a pillar of strength for those moments when life decided to try and bring them down. To Athos he had been a great source of comfort after losing his wife and then his son, someone who could help to heal the wounds that had been so cruelly left open to fester. Even Porthos had found an unexplained joy in the concept of having a child around during her early years, for who else could he teach about his love of life and spoil from time to time? She had kept them together for nearly twenty years, in a time when they had all taken different paths and might have forever wandered away from their friendship.

And now she was a prisoner.

"I stole your child away from you for twenty-five years," he murmured, pressing a hand to D'Artagnan's shoulder so that the captain might look up at him once more. "And you brought me a child that was my entire life for twenty of those years. I believe God had a great hand in this, my friend."

Knowing these to be his words of forgiveness, the captain bowed his head again for a moment to say a word of silent thanks before he pushed himself back to his feet, aided all the way by Aramis' steady hand. As he glanced around him, he could see that neither Porthos nor Athos carried any anger in his direction, though the glint of it could still be seen in their eyes. Of course they were angry though, he reminded himself. Katherine had been put in harm's way, and none of them seemed entirely sure of how they were supposed to save her without bringing harm to Philippe.

From behind them, Philippe cleared his throat and caught their attention. In his hands he held the letter that had fallen from his father's grasp during the telling of his story, and he looked at it again with a tight frown on his face.

"The letter says that they would execute her in the name of the King," he said, holding it back out to them. "But if they want me in the city to be declared an imposter, they cannot mean that they would execute her in my name."

Athos shook his head, grinding his teeth together. "Someone else knows about Louis," he snarled. "Someone has betrayed us."

"And if that someone is a musketeer, there is a chance that we can find them out," Andre interjected, coming forward to stand behind Philippe. "Louis would never write a letter like that in his own hand, he sees himself as being above such things-"

"Which means the one responsible for taking Katherine is probably with him now," Porthos finished. "And we shall find out who."

Athos nodded in response and moved toward the door with Porthos and Andre in tow. It would not take the three of them long to assemble the musketeers and discover who was missing among their number, and by that time D'Artagnan hoped to have some kind of plan in place. He was not going to let Katherine suffer for these mistakes. He would her back in one piece or he would die in the attempt to do so.

"They are keeping her at Chateau Montblanc," recalled Aramis, touching his chin in a manner that looked far more like his old self. "The chateau is heavily fortified, and unfortunately for us it has remained in good condition since the days of Richelieu."

"Let me go."

Heads snapped around to where Philippe stood for the second time that night, eyes wide and alert at the softness of his request and the dangers that they knew it contained. The young man now knew everything that they did, and that put him in a rather dangerous position. With this information he might try something foolish, something that would once again put his own life at risk because he wanted to protect those he cared for most. And while this was an admirable trait for most young men, it was something they could not consider for many reasons. Being identified as the King aside, Aramis knew that neither Anne nor D'Artagnan would allow Philippe to walk into the middle of the city and proclaim himself as a pretender to the throne. They would lose him forever if he did that.

Aramis was the first to react, shaking his head quickly. "While I appreciate the fact that you want to help, we cannot allow you to be involved in this, Philippe. Your life is far too important to be traded away…even for Katherine."

It pained him to say those words, and he turned his gaze away from Philippe as soon as he had spoken them as regret filled his stomach and made him feel sick. There was nothing in this world that meant as much to him as Katherine did, and he knew that the others were aware of that fact. But while his own child's life hung in the balance, he could never again ask that Philippe risk himself the way that he had before. Not now that he knew D'Artagnan was his father. Had he known this truth from the beginning, he might have still ventured to set the boy free from his prison, but he never would have endangered his life the way that he had in order to set Philippe in Louis' place.

He could sense the boy stiffening, upset that his offer of help had been turned down so quickly without even being allowed a word in his defense. Aramis closed his eyes tightly as he heard the slam of the door that announced Philippe's departure from the room, breathing a sigh that saw his shoulders sag a little from the strain he was under. He heard Anne hurry to try and call him back, following him out of the room and closing the door behind her so that only he and D'Artagnan remained.

"I am sorry that I have upset your son," the old man said in his low growl. "I understand why he wishes to help us, but I cannot ask him to."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "He cares for your girl more than I thought," he confessed, scratching the back of his head. "I know what it feels like, to be so in love that you would risk your own life to save that person from any amount of hurt. I almost wish I could let him go."

"But you cannot."

"No, I cannot."

It was a comfortable silence that formed between the two friends for a moment, a silence they had come to understand well when they had both been serving the King with the dark black material of their tunics sitting proudly on their shoulders. These were the moments that could not be shared with anyone else that they knew, for while they loved Athos and Porthos as dear as brothers, the personalities were just too different to use the stillness as a form of communication. Aramis had grown rather used to the quiet that he found in his prayers every day, and it was D'Artagnan's patience that allowed for him to finish before the two would share a verbal conversation. Now there were times when words were not needed, and they both understood just when those times were.

Aramis turned his head to glance over at his friend. "Do you have a plan?"

"I believe I do."

"Good," he stated, moving to stand straight upright and fix the captain with a look of determination not seen since his younger days. "Than with your permission, Captain, I would like to go and get my daughter back."

Despite himself, D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile. "Permission granted."