A/N: Thanks to everyone for your patience! i just woke up from the food coma I've been in since Canadian Thanksgiving. I am thankful for the amazing and continuing support I have found on this site and for the great outlet for my creativity. I'm thankful for every PM and review i receive, and I'm thankful for you readers and this magical community. Cheers!

Weighted Scales

Chapter 4

The courthouse was filled with courtiers. Louis would be presiding over the proceedings and his decision would be final. Christine stood to one side of the room with Captain Treville, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan. A murmur arose as the doors opened and the prisoner was dragged into the courtroom.

Christine gasped. She felt Porthos tense next to her as they took in Aramis' appearance.

Heavy manacles had been fastened tightly to his wrists and ankles. His shirt, already dirty when he was thrown into prison clung to him. There was a suspiciously dark patch on his side that hinted at a wound beneath it, and the dark circles under his eyes gave some indication as to his treatment by his jailors.

Christine made to protest, to push forward and ensure he was alright, but Athos' grip on her elbow had her hold her place.

Louis' eyes were narrowed as Aramis was pulled to the stand. The Queen lifted her hand to her mouth in surprise, her eyes immediately finding Christine's.

"Aramis, I hardly recognized you," said the King quizzically.

"Forgive me, your majesties, I was not allowed to make myself presentable for your audience," he said bemusedly.

"Yes," said the King sadly, "Perhaps we should just get to the matter at hand…"

"Indeed sire," said an older man, stepping forward from the opposite side of the hall. "I am owed retribution for the life taken from me. Justice must be served," he said.

The Comte de Gaulle was once a tall and bullish man, but was now stumped prematurely with sickness. His dark hair was streaked through with grey and was pulled back at the nape of his neck. His pale skin was powdery and hung oddly at his cheekbones adding to his aged appearance; the Comte had been a robust man in his prime, but his sunken features resembled those of a partially melted waxen figure, and his hanging jowls shook as he coughed into a silk handkerchief. Though barely older than Captain Treville, illness had stolen the man's strength and he leant heavily on a cane with a golden handle that shook in his knobbled hand when it was not supporting his weight. He leered at Aramis and for a fraction of a moment, Christine felt pity for the man, thinking how greatly the loss of his son must have affected him.

The King stood solemnly on his dais and addressed the court.

"We are gathered here to examine a grievous accusation. The Comte de Gaulle has brought a charge of murder against the Comte des Etoiles. You all are asked here to bear witness to the proceedings. The Comte de Gaulle will bring forth his accusation and condemning evidence before the Comte des Etoiles will bring forward his arguments. It will then fall to me to be the judge of these matters and mete out the appropriate punishment," said the King.

"Punishment? That sounds as though the decision's already made!" whispered D'Artagnan. Treville and Athos frowned deeply.

"Shall we begin?" asked the King, retaking his seat upon the dais.

"We shall indeed. Thank you Your Majesty. I call my first witness," said the Comte De Gaulle as a mousy looking man with lank grey hair stepped forward at his master's command.

"State your name and position for the record," said the King.

"Jerome Savard, your Majesty, Sire. I'm the senior valet at the estate of the Comte de Gaulle," wheezed the man.

"Tell us Jerome, do you recognized the man before you?" asked the Comte.

"Yes," said the valet. "He was among the group of musketeers that delivered a missive from his majesty."

"And can you describe the countenance of these musketeers upon their delivery?"

Treville's eyes narrowed.

The valet squirmed. "Well, at first sir, as you know, I was loathe to admit them, sir,"

The King looked surprised. "Why ever not?"

"They were soaked through, your Majesty, having come from the road. I did not think their appearance appropriate for my masters' presence and I didn't want them traipsing dirt and water across the grand foyer," he explained and the King and his courtiers chuckled.

"It's good to see that your staff takes pride in their work, my dear Comte," said the King amusedly.

The Comte de Gaulle nodded slightly. "How did the men react to being asked to wait outside?" he asked refocusing the attention of the room.

"They were not pleased my Lord. They remained in the antechamber. Then my Lord, your son, the Viscomte came to the foyer and demanded to know why they were dripping in his hall. The other one," he said, gesturing with his head towards Athos, "said that he would only surrender his notice to you, my Lord."

"And how would you describe the Musketeers' countenance?"

The man bit his lip a bit before answering slowly. It was as though he were trying to recall something, his eyes flickering between his master and the King. "I'd say they were…arrogant, my lord?"

"Arrogant?" said the Comte in mock surprise. "Would you call them aggressive even?"

The man hesitated; the Comte narrowed his eyes prompting the valet to reply. "Oh! Yes! Yes, aggressive. Arrogant and aggressive, my lord."

"There you have it," said the Comte, "These musketeers arrived harbouring ill-will towards my son, no doubt aware of his formidable reputation with a blade. They intentionally acted to insult him and my household."

"I object, your Majesty," said Treville. "What does this have to do with the charges laid against my man? How has Aramis wronged in this circumstance? If anything sire, your musketeers were cold and wet, having ridden without stop to fulfil their duty, and upon arrival were not shown the kind of respect appropriate for representatives of your Majesty."

"That is true Treville. What do you say to that, de Gaulle?"

"As you said, your Majesty, my staff takes pride in their work. Had I not been overcome by sickness at their arrival, I would have happily welcomed your envoys. As it was, my son, overwhelmed by grief at my ailment, was then all but insulted within his home. This just shows the heartlessness and disregard that your men afforded my poor son," said the Comte passionately. He made a bit of a show of coughing into his handkerchief before painfully straightening his back and standing straighter before the King, eliciting sympathetic glances from many of the people gathered.

"Perhaps it would be best if you called your next witness?" suggested the Queen.

Aramis stood still in his spot, listening to the testimony of the valet. He hadn't yet said anything inflammatory, but something in the pit of Aramis' stomach made him feel as though the cards were stacked against him.

The next man who took the stand had a scheming sinister look to him. There was no doubt that he had been one of the Viscomte's henchmen who had assailed the musketeers on their return journey.

"I saw these musketeers battlin' a group not far from the city," he said. "There was bodies everywhere. Brutal it was. Musta been five – no, ten men lying dead and bleedin' in the road. Cruel they was. Merciless. Dishonourable if you was to ask me."

Porthos growled out a protest and D'Artagnan shifted in anger but a glare from Treville and both men freeze. Aramis followed the King's gaze where it shifted from his angry brothers to the now sweating man on the stand. The look was difficult to read, but the slight frown on Louis' face hinted at disappointment.

"Tell us what you saw," commanded the Comte.

A slight sneer came to the man's face as his eyes flickered towards Aramis and the musketeers. "I saw your son, my Lord. I seen him fight the other one. The man fought dirty and somehow knocked your son to the ground. 'You're the King's musketeers. I don't know how I wronged you, but have mercy. I must tend to my sick father' he says with his hands up," said the man. "That's when this one – the Spanish lookin' one – he laughs, see – laughs and says "I'm a Comte and a favourite of the King. Louis lets me do as I please.' 'But the King is merciful,' says your son, then the Spanish one says again, 'The King's a fool,' and shoots the Viscomte in cold blood."

Outrage erupted as the man concluded his tale, several loud voices shouting at once – the Comte and several courtiers expressing their outrage with Treville, Aramis and the others expressing theirs.

"Order! Order!" cried Louis, rising from his dais. "I shall have order in my court!"

"Please sire, this man is lying," said Aramis, gesturing to the other man with his bound hands.

"How can we expect to take the word of a murderer?" spat the Comte.

"Silence, all of you!" shouted the King, and glaring at the gathered court. "I shall need time to consider what has been said so far before I hear the defendant present his evidence," said the King. He made as though to leave the dais when Christine pushed herself forward and sank into a deep curtsey at his feet.

"Please sire," she begged, looking furtively into his eyes. "I trust you to be a just man, your Majesty, so I beg you to consider the following as you review this man's testimony. Why was this man at the scene? He was a brigand, part of the troop that attacked your musketeers. If he was close enough to hear these lies he is claiming were said, then why did he not aid the Viscomte? If the musketeers were so merciless, how is it that he doesn't have a scratch on him? If he fled when the musketeers proved their superiority, it would have been impossible for him to hear any exchange between Aramis and the Viscomte. He lies, Sire."

"How dare you," snarled the Comte de Gaulle. "Since when did we allow women to speak freely at court? She makes a mockery of these whole proceedings."

The King frowned at her and she felt herself grow pale. A traitorous tear sprang to her eyes. "I only ask that the King consider the situation rationally. You know the calibre of your musketeers and the unwavering loyalty of my husband. Why would he say such things? It's all lies," she pleaded.

"He's a murderer and a Spanish spy my lord. How else can you explain his disregard for French nobility and his sudden rise through society?" cried the Comte brandishing his golden cane, the sheath of his dagger rattling against it. "He has seduced the Comtesse so she too is now a party to his intrigue. He may try to kill you too, Sire!" The court erupted again in shouts and boos and jeers, but whether in support or against these salacious comments, it was impossible to determine.

"Silence!" screamed Louis, throwing down his golden goblet with a great clang. The courtroom froze as Louis panted his outrage and gained control once more. "I will consider everything that was said here. Everything. Aramis, you will have your turn to defend yourself tomorrow. Guards, take him," Louis said, and without a backwards glance he strode from the courtroom.

As the King left, the court broke out into a tumult again as the guards forced Aramis past Christine and back to his cell.

She stood temporarily in shock and the crowd swarmed around her.

"With me," murmured Athos as he stood at her side, his recovering shoulder between them. Treville stood before them as Porthos and D'Artagnan helped to force a way through the excited crowd.

oOo