Disclaimer: Spoilers for the entire series

XXX. Epilogue

The Garrison, Paris, October 1641

It was late in the morning when the tall, black stallion entered the garrison courtyard through the gates at a fast trot. A few musketeers were sparring, others were still seated at a table trying to eat their breakfast. It was obvious that nobody had expected visitors at this time of the day. They all looked up in confusion at the rider who skillfully brought the animal to a halt and dismounted quickly.

As soon as the first musketeer recognized him, the others jumped up to their feet as well, but the rider gestured with a smile for them to remain seated and handed the reins of his horse to the waiting stable boy.

"Min...Aramis, we did not expect you here today," a young cadet named Bernard spoke loudly. He knew that the First Minister wanted the musketeer garrison to call him by his name. In a way, he still behaved as one of them. Perhaps at heart he still was.

Aramis grinned. "Nor did I, but the Captain sent for me earlier this morning. Is he…?"

"In his office," Bernard confirmed and pointed in the direction with his head.

Aramis quickly headed up the stairs to the captain's office in the newly rebuilt garrison. It looked a lot like Treville's office all those years ago, with the simple wooden beams and a few simple windows.

The minister did not waste any time and opened the door forcefully.

Captain d'Artagnan, buried deep into a recent mission report, looked up when he heard someone enter, ready to scold a cadet for not knocking, until he recognized his old friend.

Aramis let the door fall back into place. "You know, usually when there is a meeting scheduled between the First Minister of France and the Captain of the Musketeers, the Captain makes his way to the palace, not the other way around." D'Artagnan could hear that Aramis did not really mean a single word of what he said.

D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "Well, we are testing new recruits at the moment, so I cannot attend at the palace today." An amused spark lit up his eyes. "My wife made it quite clear that she won't do the recruiting by herself once again."

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "She hasn't forgiven you the incident from last year yet, has she?"

"I don't think she ever will. But besides, I thought getting out of the court and its politics for one morning would be a welcome distraction for you," the Captain added.

"And that, my young friend, is why I like you," Aramis sighed, took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair.

"I mean, you could go and argue with Constance about it…," d'Artagnan said with a devilish grin and he almost had to laugh at Aramis' slightly apprehensive facial expression.

The minister grimaced. "I'd really rather not." He made a pause and stepped forward. "Then tell me, what is it that couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

D'Artagnan stood up and handed Aramis a letter, whose seal had already been broken. "This was delivered to the garrison this morning, by a merchant saying he came from England. It is addressed, and I quote, 'to Athos, Aramis and Porthos of the King's Musketeers.' Since Athos is not here, and Porthos is not expected back in Paris until next month, you are the only person left to hand it to."

Aramis frowned. "Well, who sent it?"

The musketeer's Captain looked affronted. "Why would I know? It is not addressed to me, and I really should not open a personal letter to one of you three."

The minister leaned against a table. "D'Artagnan?" Aramis asked again, giving the Captain a certain look.

D'Artagnan sighed. "Do you know a Mathis Fabre?"

Aramis furrowed his brow, and his eyes widened as the name he had buried very deep inside his mind brought forth memories he had locked away for years. Memories of faces he had never forgotten, of stories he hadn't talked about in a decade.

He made a step forward and snatched the letter out of d'Artagnan's hands, a little more forcefully than he had intended.

"I'll take that as a yes," d'Artagnan commented dryly, but he stood back as he watched Aramis unfold the letter. The minister's eyes quickly read over the letter, taking in every word of the crooked handwriting.

Dear Athos, Aramis, Porthos,

I don't know if this letter will ever reach you. The merchant owes me a favor, but he is a crooked man and a scoundrel, so I'm not too sure about his reliability. If it does find you, I want you to know that I am alive and well. I know this information comes fourteen years too late, but I felt that I owed you not just an explanation, but an apology.

I know you did not leave me behind on Ré Island. You would never leave one of your own behind. During the battle, I was captured by the English and later brought to Buckingham's camp. After he fled back to England, I and the other captured men, including a few of our comrades who had gone missing at Saint-Blanceau, spent a little over a year in a filthy, cruel English prison. To this date, I don't know where it is. The days were dark, and the pain after a time unbearable. Only I and one of our brothers were left when we were brought to London after Buckingham's murder. After a few months of imprisonment, we were eventually released and left with nothing. I turned to stealing and begging in order not to starve, always with the goal of returning to Paris if I could. But there was no way for me to leave London.

I was one of the fortunate ones. I was caught stealing from a blacksmith and the fight that resulted was what probably saved my life. A noblewoman saw me, and she took me in as her sons' teacher. I have been given shelter and food, and in return, I instruct the sons of the nobility in how to defend themselves. They are kind to me, and even taught me some English. I have made a decent life here and have done well.

About a year ago, I was able to contact my sister and learned that she and Arthur were together. Arthur convinced me to write to you, explain myself and maybe ease the weight you have been carrying all these years. Through him, I heard about what happened to Treville, and though my heart is heavy, I never expected him to go down any other way than to protect the King and France.

I haven't worn the pauldron in years, but I don't think I ever stopped being a musketeer. Like Treville used to say, it is something rooted in the heart, not the uniform. I didn't understand it then, but I think I do now.

By the time we had landed on Ré Island the war had been going on for almost a decade already, and now, another decade later, there is still no end in sight. I know you are closer to the conflict than I am here in England, and I wish that I could fight by your side again. I thought what happened back on Ré Island was bad, but the battlefield that central Europe has become is something we would have never believed back then.

Ré Island was hell on earth. And to this day, I am not sure that I have left it all behind me. But in a way, I believe I have found my place, and I am left with the fond memories of my time with the musketeers that I will always hold close to my heart. I don't know where you are, if you are even still alive, but if you are I hope you have found your places as well. And I hope it is by each other's side.

I hope you are well, and I thank all three of you for everything you have done for me – as comrades on Ré island and as brothers in the musketeer regiment.

Mathis Fabre

Aramis lowered the letter between his shaking fingers but he kept staring at it as its content still worked its way to his consciousness.

"We need to show this to Athos and Porthos as soon as they are back in Paris," Aramis murmured, deep in thought.

"So?" D'Artagnan's voice managed to cut through the memories flooding Aramis' mind and he diverted his gaze from the letter and faced the Captain. "You never answered my question. Mathis Fabre?" d'Artagnan continued. "Who is he?"

Aramis smiled; reaching over he put his arm around his friend and together they walked out and stood on the balcony, watching the new cadets spar in the courtyard.

"Who is he?" Aramis echoed, his eyes far away. "He's an old friend the three of us thought we lost a long time ago. . . . In a hell called Ré Island."

-The End-

A/N: Make sure you didn't miss chapter 29 as this is a double upload.
Thank you to everybody who made it here with me. It is the longest story I have ever written. I am very grateful for the kind words of encouragement I've received and the support you all have given this story. Also, thank you to the guest comments I couldn't reply to personally. I loved writing this piece, and I hope that the ending was somewhat satisfying. I'll probably stick around with a few shorter stories or one-shots every now and again.
And a very big thank you to MountainCat for not only proofing this story and eradicating my weird second-language grammar mistakes, but also for her all over support and ideas, which improved this little story of mine tremendously. I like to think of this as a co-production. Thank you!

And at last, in these weird times we live in: Be kind to each other. Be kind to yourself, and let's make sure we get out of this stronger. Stay safe and well.

Thank you for reading and for your support.