In the Pursuit of
By: Musketeer Adventure
Summary: This chapter takes place during the season 2 episode, Keep Your Friends Closer. Milady and Richelieu are no longer a threat; and Rochefort has been introduced. Treville finds that his loyalty runs deep for Porthos and will do anything to keep truths hidden.
Chapter 4: The Search for Hidden Truths
Treville leaned on the railing of the walkway and watched solemnly as the rescue party for General de Foix, made ready to leave the garrison. His stomach churned as he watched Rochefort exit the gate first – and felt a sense of unease- that left him with only mistrust for the man – who outwardly portrayed the essence of patriotism and love for the King. Athos had jokingly mentioned a possible accident on the road. Now, he wondered how much of joke it really was; and if he should have put more credence in the comment.
But he trusted his instincts and the instincts of his musketeers; and knew thy felt the Comte's callousness as much as he did. They would do well to watch their backs. On the positive side, he had no reservations, his musketeers were resourceful, competent and the best he had to offer.
Athos nodded up respectfully in his direction and he nodded back – sending the silent message of the Captain to his Lieutenant – good luck and safe return. But it was Porthos' wave he looked for as horse and rider looked to step out from the gate into the Paris streets.
It was their custom, between them, that if he could be here when he left the yard on an assignment – he would wait for Porthos to turn; and raise his hand in acknowledgment - their eyes would meet, and this would mean – I'll be home soon.
He couldn't remember how this ritual came to be, but it was one he would not alter; and now it meant even more to him – to be sure to see him off; to know he had made his promise to come back.
He watched them all with pride and the worry that came with command, and then waited as Porthos turned in his saddle – smiled and lifted his hand. He returned the pledge with a brief smile of his own, and continued to stand and watch from the walkway until he could see him no more. Athos would be sure to keep them all safe; and Porthos would keep his promise as he always did.
Treville stood still for several moments more looking out over the garrison yard, which was teaming with musketeers and continuous activity. Two more regiments would be heading out soon today – each also commencing to journey into dangerous situations that could mean loss of life.
He knew all of their backgrounds; their histories; heartbreaks and losses. It seemed that all around them, the Spanish were encroaching, closer and closer. Intelligence indicated that it would not take much for things to spill over into war.
He loved all these men and cared for them deeply. To send them out into harm's way; always left him feeling reflective – and today was no different. For though he respected all his men the same, if the issue were pressed; and he were asked who he relied on and trusted most; it would have to be his inseparables.
He had chosen his four best musketeers to go on the mission to keep the secrets of France from Spain; and rescue a friend he had not seen in almost twenty years – whose name had brought back memories that flooded his senses.
He let out a slow even breath and entered his office; closing the door behind him; hoping to get some time to himself so that he could think – think things through – think about the past – and think about what he was to do next.
He could not deny that hearing de Foix's name and that he lived had set him back. It was a shock to hear that he was alive. The revelation from Rochefort had been hard to believe. It had been common knowledge that de Foix had been killed fighting with the Swedes in Nuremburg. If not dead; then where had he been all this time? How long had the Spanish been holding him prisoner? What, if anything, did Spain already know?
If what Rochefort reported was true, then France's military secrets were at risk and he was at risk of finding and then losing a brother in one fell swoop.
General de Foix, his brother alive. Yes, there had been a time, when he was no older than d'Artagnan, that he; de Foix and Belgard – ran a close resemblance to his inseparables. Their deep bond had been forged in the easy camaraderie of youth.
He settled more in his seat, and recalled how they had lived together – trained together – and fought side by side. As thick as thieves they were – together in all things; loyal to a fault.
In their time at the academy; he had been the youngest- full of energy with a devil may care mentality. He fought hard; loved hard and took brotherhood and honor so seriously – they called him old man at twenty.
de Foix had been older, and his voice of reason. He had been studious; well read; philosophical about life and had kept him in check. He would have not made it through the academy without him. He took him under his wing – made him sit long enough to study and taught him the understanding of strategy, in all things.
He remembered de Foix saying to him, "There is strategy in war; but also with love, friendship, and brotherhood." A good man was de Foix….no, is – he corrected himself. To see him again would be good. They had shared many things. And even though he had not seen him or heard from him in twenty years; they shared a secret still.
And then there was their third, Belgard – who was smooth as butter; could turn a phrase; and capture the heart of any woman he wished; and manipulate any event to turn in his favor. His looks were imposing; and might be considered handsome. He could win a fight without ever lifting a sword; his tongue could be that harsh; and could lay the groundwork for deception, easily making dishonesty his ally.
He was tall – lean – and quick on his feet. He always seemed to have the answers, and his wealth only made his life seem that much easier. He did everything well; and good luck seemed to follow him.
Treville had looked up to them both; and as they grew as men – their bond seemed to him – only to get stronger.
Looking back, those times seemed uncomplicated; and straight forward. He had loved his brothers through the filter of youth and naivety.
He rubbed his eyes with exasperation; the past crashing around him, forcing him to look at things the way they really were. As a young man – what did he honestly know of love; heartbreak; and truth – until it reached up and bit him, causing his foundation of friendship to crack?
Treville began to message his temples; past memories causing a spike of pain to flash behind his left eye.
Back then, as it was happening, he had not felt Belgard a liar and a user. But later he knew; he had used them – used their love for him to abandon his child and his mother.
He had been so convincing. He could hear his voice pleading with them now – full of fear and trepidation. If his father found out he had loved a former slave woman, and fathered a child; he would disown him- worst case scenario – kill him; and they had believed him. The old and recent scars on his body a testament to the beatings he had incurred from his father – gave them a feel for the cruelty of the man. "He might even kill the child", Belgard had insisted.
So he and de Foix had agreed to spirit her and the child away – to save her he had thought; left them at a disreputable Tavern on the edge of the city with all the coin they could gather from their meager savings.
He remembered how beautiful she was; how defeated her posture; her eyes sad and distant – her child, a tiny little fellow, clinging to her neck, trembling as she held him close. When they had gone to find her, she had agreed to go, to take their money – she had seemed eager to run. "We will get by", she had told them. Looking back on it – he realized she had no choices.
It was they who should have done different. They had done this thing out of a misguided sense of honor – a code he found out later Belgard did not even believe in.
As time passed, they had begun to move beyond each other – their bond fractured, by this dishonorable secret. What they had done marred their brotherhood beyond repair.
de Foix had begun to move up and onward, then eventually away from Paris; his career taking off – his genius with strategy evident and getting noticed by all the right people. Belgard used his family influence to be reassigned in a regiment away from Paris; and soon the three of them were separated and contact lost.
Treville remembered how he fought to stay in Paris; and to join the musketeers – determined to find her; to go back – help the mother and child. When he lay to sleep at night, all he could see were her large brown eyes, and her whispered pledge, "We will get by."
Early on he searched night after night; had gone back to the Tavern; searched the city street by street – then his search waned week to week; and then later month to month. It was if they had vanished from the face of the earth – he could find not a trace.
Eventually he would enter the slums; later called the Court of Miracles, once a year on a grim anniversary to spend days searching – asking questions – then extending his search to the outskirts of Paris, hoping she had made good on her pledge "to get by".
And even as year after year went by; and he advanced in his career to Captain - he knew he would never leave Paris, until he found them.
Then one day, after twenty years of searching – there he was, walking toward him, passing through the gate into the garrison yard – a tall, wavy haired, brown skinned young man – who walked like Belgard – and carried his features; their eyes just the same. He walked straight up to him, as if he knew him, reached out his hand in greeting and asked, "How do I get to be a musketeer?"
And from that handshake on, he would salute Porthos at the gate before leaving the yard; would defend him to any man who would question his honor and loyalty; stand by his side; and champion his dream of becoming a musketeer. He would be the one to place the pauldron on his shoulder. He would do anything for him.
When Porthos had gained his commission – he had hired a man to find Belgard. And when he had located him; it was also uncovered that his military career was over. Now it seemed Belgard just sat; holed up as some recluse, holding tight to his inheritance – as selfish as ever; his estate smelling ripe with decadence.
Going to see him opened his eyes further to the harshness and insensitivity of the man. He had turned his back to him, saying he did not wish to see Porthos, or to know him. He wanted nothing to do with him, and held Treville to his promise; an oath given in youth, with no real understanding.
Yes, he had promised and he would keep that promise now; not because of misplaced honor, but because Belgard did not deserve him. Porthos was an exceptional man; one of his best musketeers; and full of the determination he had seen in his mother – who he laid eyes on briefly that fateful day. Porthos was his family now, and if up to him; would not have him ever know Belgard was his father.
He stood then from his desk, walked to the door and let in the fresh air.
When de Foix came back with the rescue party, it would be good to see him – to find out where he had been all these years. He had loved the man once, and would like to know him again. But he also knew it would open up old wounds. As he knew who Porthos was right away – he knew it would be so with de Foix.
He stood back out on the walkway and watched as the next regiment mounted up, and readied to leave the garrison. He nodded to their Lieutenant, and prayed as always, that they would all come back safe.
His thoughts then fell to Porthos; and though only a few hours gone wondered how he was doing. Treville bowed his head and thought on the circumstances surrounding this secret, and knew that if Porthos found out his part, may not forgive him. He was not sure he could live with Porthos' disappointment.
So, he would keep the truth hidden from him for as long as he could. Being a musketeer was his life; his family; the garrison his home – this is where he belonged.
After all this time – he would not hurt him now.
When he returned, he would sit with him as he always did and hear his personal account of the mission; listen to the boisterous embellishments; and laugh at the antics of the inseparables; and be glad he had kept his pledge to come home.
Thank you for reading. Please review and let me know what you think. I always wondered how Treville finally found Porthos – and since in the episode it mentioned divine intervention – I thought it could be as simple as this.