A/N: Thank you so much to everyone following along with this adventure. The time you take to read and write - it's really appreciated. Really.

Thank you also for being patient with me as it took a while to finish up this story. There'll be more to come for Aramis and Christine! Thanks for reading! Cheers!

Weighted Scales

Chapter 8

It was madness.

Christine's hands were coated in blood as she and D'Artagnan tended to Aramis' wound.

Treville had managed to manoeuvre the King and Queen from the palace infirmary though not without loud protests from the King. It took the Queen and Captain's combined influence to remind the King of the threat made to his life, at which point Louis sullenly agreed to be escorted to his more secure private chambers.

Athos and Porthos had not yet returned from escorting the royals. D'Artagnan kept pressure on the wound as Christine rifled through the infirmary stores for the items she needed. The nurses stood back, eager to not impede her purposeful actions.

"He looks pale," said D'Artagnan worriedly as Christine lay out her supplies.

She cut away the blood-stained shirt and with a meaningful look at D'Artagnan, he lifted the material that covered the stab wound.

"Thank God the blade was so narrow," he muttered as the injury continued to bleed slowly.

Christine frowned. "He's bleeding quite a bit..."

"I think the blade hit bone. I could feel it scrape as I withdrew it," D'Artagnan replied.

Christine nodded. "I'll need to widen the entry to make sure there are no fragments or bone shards. If it grazed his collarbone, it's possible part of it may have chipped off. It doesn't appear to have broken," she said.

"You can do this," D'Artagnan told her confidently and their eyes locked.

"Hold him steady," she said as she lifted her blade. Carefully she placed the blade against the injury and widened its opening. More blood escaped as the blade cut. She used her forceps to open the injury and began to flush it, first with water, then with a clear alcohol.

Aramis' body reacted instinctively to the purifying burn.

Porthos and Athos burst back into the room. Christine glanced up briefly.

"The blade grazed his clavicle. I can see a fragment of bone. I need to remove it before I can stitch him," she said.

Porthos and Athos moved to her side and helped D'Artagnan steady him.

Delicately she entered a pair of tweezers into the wound and his unconscious body reacted to the intrusion.

Her brow furrowed as she manoeuvred the instrument. None of them dared to breathe as oh so carefully, she withdrew a slight sliver of bone clasped by her tool.

She exhaled as she dropped the instrument and shard in a bowl. Then, with a pointed look at the others she flushed the wound once more with alcohol before sewing the wound shut. D'Artagnan applied a salve and fresh bandages to the wound as she washed the blood from her hands. Treville entered and locked eyes with Athos who gave him an affirmative nod.

"How is he?" the Captain asked Christine.

"He is resting. He lost quite a bit of blood, but he should be well once he wakes up."

"That's good...the Queen has had a room prepared where he can recover...in order for the trial to resume," he said sadly.

"WHAT?! Ya can't be serious!" roared Porthos.

Treville frowned. "The King is insisting that the trial be completed. He wants to be informed as soon as he wakes and can stand trial."

The others looked livid as Christine paled. Athos stood next to her where her eyes were fixed on the still form of her husband.

"What can we do?" he asked Treville, masking the plea in his voice.

"We wait," Christine replied as she ran her fingers through Aramis' hair.

oOo

Aramis awoke in a soft bed and with a clean shirt covering new bandages on his chest.

His eyes were still closed but he could hear the gentle murmur of voices nearby.

"You're almost more bandage than man now," said the soft voice he treasured.

"But am I still handsome?" he asked teasingly. Lips met his in response.

"And modest," said the voice and he grinned and opened his eyes. Christine was seated on the mattress at his injured side.

"Hello," he said softly as he brushed her dark curls behind her ear and stared up into her glowing eyes.

"Hello," she replied as she bent forward and kissed him again, enveloping him in her love and the smell of mint and lavender. He grimaced slightly as the new pain flared in his chest, but he refused to release her and kissed her once more.

"If you keep getting injured at the palace, you'll soon have your own suite here," drawled Athos.

"How else will you get to practise your courtly manners?" Aramis retorted weakly.

Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan stood around his bed.

"How are you feeling?" D'Artagnan asked worriedly.

"I'm alive," he grimaced as he fought to sit upright, Christine hastily adjusting the pillows behind his back.

"I'm alive," he repeated, "And that's in no short order thanks to all of you."

"Do you remember anythin'?" Porthos asked, his face worried.

"Bits and pieces," Aramis admitted. "Where is the Comte?"

"He's dead," said Treville, entering followed by servants bearing trays of food.

Aramis frowned. "Forgive me, but it's a bit hazy." He shrugged his shoulders and immediately hissed as his new stitches pulled.

"Careful," Christine admonished gently, handing him a cup of water, which he drank.

"What's the last thing you remember?" D'Artagnan asked.

"The last thing? You pulling a blade from my chest. The how it got there part is the part that's hazy," he said, and smirked at D'Artagnan who grinned ruefully back.

"Ya well, you've gotta talent for makin' people angry," Porthos said, the worry easing from him slightly.

"I remember being before the King, awaiting his verdict," Aramis prompted.

"The Comte had colourful things to say about you," said Athos and Christine rolled her eyes and tutted in frustration at their meandering banter. Aramis was resting though, and Christine was managing to get him to eat something while he was distracted, so she didn't interrupt.

"Apparently something he said hit a nerve with Porthos. I remember him shouting."

Porthos grinned bashfully and Athos smirked. "Essentially, Porthos made a bet with his life as the ante."

"We all did," D'Artagnan corrected. Aramis gasped suddenly as the images from the courtroom flashed suddenly through his mind.

"You knew he had the dagger. How?" Aramis asked.

"Asked a courtesan. Y'always say they know all the secrets of Paris. A child from the Court I know, his sister was one of the Comte's regulars. She showed us the blade. Had the broken tip an' everythin'"

"The Comte must have recovered it when he pulled his son's body from the field. Porthos made certain that it was worn to court," said Treville, taking a sip from a glass of wine that the servants had provided.

"That was a big risk, mon ami," said Aramis.

"Was worth it. Was the only way to win big."

"After that, the Comte snapped," said Athos. "He drew his blade and made a lunge for the King."

"That was when he stabbed me," Aramis said slowly as Christine pressed more food upon him.

She sighed. "Really, I don't know what you were thinking. You were still shackled – trussed like a turkey," she scolded.

"I heard a pistol fire."

"I had to return the favour," Athos said smirking at the marksman as he too sipped from a cup of wine.

Aramis' eyelids began to droop. "Glad your aim is improving," he chirped.

Christine rolled her eyes again. "Rest now," she soothed.

"We'll be back tomorrow. The King has permitted you to recover here for a few days…" said Athos as he and the other Musketeers made to leave.

"The trial?" Aramis asked, causing everyone present to frown.

"Though the Comte is dead the King is determined to complete the proceedings," said Treville morosely and their collective anxiety perforated the room.

Aramis frowned, but nodded resignedly and Christine grasped his hand tightly.

"Do not worry about that now," she said. "You are safe and recovering and I am here. I will not let them take you from me," she swore, the fire burning bright in her eyes. Aramis returned the squeeze of her hand as he fell asleep.

Christine raised his hand to her lips and in a familiar gesture, she kissed the inside of his wrist where his pulse beat steadily. She turned her head to meet the determined eyes of the musketeers. They'd stand together, come what may.

oOo

It was two days later when Aramis stood before the King awaiting his decision at court. The audience was small and sombre but the King was no less regal.

"Aramis, when you chose to serve as both Comte and Musketeer the decision you made was quite a difficult one. It may have not seemed so at the time, as I'm sure you were mesmerized by the radiance of your wife on your wedding day. Now, however, knowing that your circumstances have changed and having experienced the repercussions of standing on both sides of this wall, I must ask you again, do you wish to remain a musketeer?"

The court stood stunned as the King scrutinized Aramis before proceeding.

"Once again it seems I owe you my life Aramis, but once again, a member of an ancient family lies dead. I believe you to be a good man. Good, and just and honourable. I trust your loyalty and sense of honour which you displayed once again only a few days ago. But with this trust, you have also now earned doubt."

The room held its breath awaiting the King's verdict.

"Though I do not wish to relinquish your service, I must ask you again, do you desire to remain a musketeer? With this trust that I proclaim openly, will come greater scrutiny of your actions as a musketeer. You will not receive exemption from justice due to your title as a Comte. In fact it seems that all of the court shall now be paying more attention to your deeds. Choose now. Can you continue to serve me as a musketeer knowing that the eyes of the court may question your actions in perilous situations? Can you perform under that scrutiny? Or would you prefer to remove yourself from the hazardous duty that is serving in my regiment?"

Aramis' head buzzed as he absorbed the King's words.

Could he live his life under constant supervision as a musketeer? Could he even consider a life outside the musketeers? Could he risk his life and that of his wife by continuing to serve? Could he risk the lives of his brothers by not?

His eyes met hers and her love and faith filled him. The fire he adored sprung to them as she nodded her head. His lips parted and he beamed at her before turning his head to face his King.

He knelt before the dais and answered, "Your majesty, it is my honour to continue in my service as both Comte and musketeer. I swear to continue to serve honourably and abide by the code of your musketeers."

"Good," said Louis. "I had hoped you'd say that. Aramis, Comte des Etoiles, I find you not guilty of the crimes laid before you. I accept your service and declare you exonerated of all charges. You are free to go."

The room erupted in cheers as the King and Queen stepped away from the dais and exited the court. Aramis rose to his feet and was immediately enveloped by Christine who gripped him tightly. They kissed passionately as their relief spilled forth at the King's verdict. The broad and relieved smiles on the other musketeers' faces escorted them from the courtroom.

oOo

It was quiet in their home. The staff had long ago retired to their beds.

It had been a night of relief, if not celebration. Aramis was free and cleared of all charges.

Captain Treville, Athos, Porthos and D'Artagnan had joined him and Christine for an intimate dinner. Several bottles of wine and broad smiles were shared, but the jubilant laughter that often emanated from gatherings like this was missing.

As each set of eyes made contact or as a smirk was shared, the family gathered could only be relieved that fortune had smiled upon them. They were safe and reunited once more.

Aramis lay in his bed holding his wife in his arms. He raised his hand to brush a strand of her hair that was obscuring his view of her face. She smiled at him and kissed him lightly. He grinned back at her and pulled her closer. The grin turned into a slight grimace as his stitches pulled.

Her eyes softened as she kissed him again. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered, "And I won't redo those stitches if you tear them," she added teasingly. His eyes flashed in the mischievous way that always made her heart flutter especially when partnered with that rakish grin that had crept across his lips.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm afraid I can't help it. You were almost taken from me."

"I never would have let that happen," she swore and he grinned and kissed her again.

"I know, mi tesora, but there were a lot of guards…and my fate was in the King's hands," Aramis teased.

"That doesn't matter. We would have found a way," she promised him, her eyes burning with that promise. A warmth swelled in his chest at her words.

"I can't believe how close it was…" he began to say but she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Shush my love. Let's not think of it. I have you back. You're back where you belong," she said as he kissed the tips of her fingers.

"I have promised you many times, my love, I will always find my way back to you." He pressed his lips to hers again and they kissed passionately.

His dark eyes sparkled as they delved deeply into her shining grey ones – the eyes he so adored. She ran her hands through his hair as his grip on her waist tightened.

She couldn't fight her love for him or the pull he had on her. "I'm warning you – you had better not pull those stitches in your zealousness," she teased.

"My zealousness or yours?" he teased back and was silenced by her mouth on his as they made love through the night, celebrating their reunion after all…

ooooooooooooooooooooooooo