D'artagnan slept for two days, his body needing the rest to be able to heal. He'd gone through a great ordeal and this was his body's way of repairing itself. His fever had slowly lowered to the relief of his brothers. His bruises were beginning to fade back slightly, not as raw as they once were.
Beaumont and Duval brought food for them when they forgot to eat since the three musketeers wouldn't leave D'artagnan's side.
Aramis sat on the bed next to D'artagnan with his back against the headrest, his eyes slowly dropping with his head falling to his chest. The medic hadn't slept in two days, staying awake to focus on keeping D'artagnan's fever down. However, now that D'artagnan seemed to be through the worst of it Aramis finally allowed himself some rest, Athos also ordering him to.
Porthos sat on the chair situated between the two, his gaze flickering from one to the other.
He couldn't believe that they had finally gotten D'artagnan back, the relief from having their small, dysfunctional family back together washing over him like a gentle wave.
He was thankful D'artagnan was back with them, not knowing how long they could have kept following the trail. He had feared that they would have found D'artagnan in an even worse condition than he was in, possibly even dead.
He swallowed hard at the thought, hating that it had come so close to that and not knowing what he would have done if it had actually ended that way.
Athos would have spiralled, hitting the bottle harder than he ever had and shutting himself off from the other two. Aramis would have struggled, his faith in God slipping while also moving through life with a permanent black cloud hung over him.
Porthos' friendship with his brothers would have slipped after such a loss.
Porthos found himself reaching out to take D'artagnan's hand in his, needing the warmth of his brother to reassure him that D'artagnan was actually there and that he was alive.
Athos sat at the table opposite Thomas who was replaying everything that had happened since they had been gone, finally having the time to talk after two long and stressful days.
"Now that we have the Spanish Captain, it's not long before their troops start making mistakes," Thomas said, Athos listening to his every word. "The Spanish General is worrying but managed to keep calm, holding up on their grip over this part of the land," Thomas said, pointing the place out on the map in the middle of them on the table.
Athos hummed, a hand going to run through his messy hair.
"The good news is that we've managed to get three of the Spanish supply routes out from the prisoners, meaning that we can ambush their supplies and weaken their soldiers on the frontline," Thomas said, drawing on the map to show the routes. "No food and no gunpowder makes it much easier for us to take them and push them back," he said before leaning back, finishing informing Athos of what he had missed.
"Good work Thomas," Athos said, his eyes following one of the supply routes. "I want to send musketeers out as soon as possible to take out this supply group," Athos then said, pointing at the route he was talking about. Thomas nodded, leaning forward slightly. "The sooner we take out their supplies the better," the Captain said and Thomas nodded before standing, Athos following him up.
They both stepped around the table to shake hands before Thomas disappeared out of the tent.
Athos let out a heavy sigh, his uninjured hand running through his long, slightly greasy hair once more before turning to face Porthos, who was watching him carefully.
"You think we can do this? Win the war?" He asked as Athos came to sit down on the bed on the other side of D'artagnan.
"There's a possibility," Athos mumbled before rolling to lay on his back, closing his eyes and hands coming to cover his face. His body was aching and he had gotten a limited amount of sleep over the past few days. He needed to rest, however he knew there was work to be done.
"A strong possibility?" Porthos asked and Athos let his arms drop to the bed with a soft thud. He then swung his legs back over to rest his feet in the ground, sitting up to look at Porthos.
"It feels that way," he replied before standing and moving back over to the table.
"You should rest," Porthos said, straightening up in his chair and letting go of D'artagnan's hand.
"So should you," Athos simply replied before sitting down at the table and grabbing some paper.
Porthos shook his head with a soft smile before settling back down in the chair, propping his feet up on Aramis' bed.
Athos took a breath before he began writing, the words seeming to slip easily onto the page. He didn't have to think it through, not like before when he had struggled to write to Constance.
After finishing the letter, Athos felt a true sense of relief wash over him, thankful that they had the musketeers back finally. Sealing the letter to Constance up, he then moved on to writing another letter, this one addressed to Treville.
He informed Treville of the successful rescue mission and then began to tell him of what Thomas had informed him about.
He finally finished, sealing the paper up and deciding to write the letters to the families of the once missing, now rescued musketeers tomorrow morning before sending them all off at the same time... Along with the letter to Philippes' family.
Athos stood and turned to see Porthos was now fast asleep along with Aramis and D'artagnan. The sight was something of amusement, Porthos with his head back and mouth open to snore softly and Aramis with his head on his chest from where he sat asleep.
Athos moved over to them, picking up two blankets from his bed before throwing one over each of them. He then glanced towards D'artagnan, seeing the younger musketeer was still slightly pale but seemed to be in a dreamless sleep.
He moved to check D'artagnan's temperature, which was thankfully not too high. This allowed Athos the peace of mind to move over to the tent entrance and look out to the camp.
Everything seemed calm, most of his men asleep now while guards stood at the edge of camp and others walked through, making sure everything was in order. Athos nodded to two of the guards that walked past, both of them nodding back to their Captain.
He then moved back into the tent, his bed calling for him. Checking D'artagnan's temperature one last time he allowed himself some rest, flopping down onto his own bed with a sigh.
He laid on his back for a while, listening to the soft snores of Porthos and also D'artagnan's steady breathing. He then turned to face D'artagnan, watching the younger musketeer until his body finally gave up on him, his eyelids dropping and sleep taking him at last.
Treville stood opposite the Queen's desk, back straight and shoulders pulled back as he awaited her majesty's verdict.
"And you want me to sign this?" The Queen asked, glancing up from the paper in front of her and locking eyes with Treville.
"It would be the best solution to the war at this moment in time," Treville said and the Queen narrowed her eyes slightly, studying him with great curiosity.
She then sighed, leaning back in her chair ever so slightly as if to try and remove the burn hanging over her.
"And if I don't?" She then asked, looking back down at the paper to read it for the fourth time.
"The war will evidently go on further and more men will die on both sides. Pairs will grow hungrier, even after Constance's help to minimise it," Treville said, trying to persuade the Queen into signing the peace treaty in front of her.
"And you expect the Spanish King to agree to this?" The Queen then asked and Treville took a steadying breath.
"He will," Treville said firmly to not cast any doubt in the Queen's head.
She seemed to struggle, contemplating the positives against the negatives. Treville watched with his heart in his throat, if she signed then they would be half way to finishing the war... For now that was until something else came up and the two counties were at each other's throats once again.
The queen took a breath before picking up her quill and dipping it into the ink. Treville had to use every inch of his will power to maintain his calm and collected front, even though inside he was bursting with relief.
Half way there, he thought as the Queen scratched her signature across the bottom of the paper before handing it back to him. He only had to get the Spanish to agree to it now.
"See that this is taken care off immediately, I want those soldiers back safe," the Queen said and Treville bowed his head.
"Of course your majesty," he replied before turning and walking towards the door.
"Treville," the Queen called after him and he paused, turning back to look at her. "What of D'artagnan?"
"Nothing yet, but I promise to tell you if anything changes," Treville said and the Queen nodded, dismissing him. He bowed before walking out of the room with a half light and half heavy heart.
Part of him was glad the war was hopefully going to be finished yet the other half was aching for news of D'artagnan and the other musketeers.
He had to know if they were safe; he needed them to be safe. Constance was wearing herself out, even when Elodie and Sylvie were trying their hardest to keep her steady.
No news was good news, Treville told himself yet he couldn't help thinking of the worst.
Wow, thank you so much. Over 100 reviews, I seriously can't believe it. Thank you for reviewing and following this story. Next chapter will be up soon :)