In the Pursuit of

By: MusketeerAdventure

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. The musketeers feel great relief and immense sadness after the rescue mission of de Foix; and their search for solidarity brings them closer together.

Chapter 5: The Search for Solidarity

Athos leaned against the pillar; barely in the shade and smiled slightly at his young friend.

The noon day was unnaturally quiet; the sun shown bright and radiated waves of heat. There was not a cloud in the sky to filter the dazzling rays – thus the almost empty yard; devoid of its usual clamor. It was hard to believe that only just last night; a torrential rain storm had swept through Paris – causing the yard to become muddy and tacky. Now, this afternoon, dust swirled around ankles; floated in the air; blanketed their clothes and hair, causing men to sneeze; wheeze and seek the indoors.

Only d'Artagnan seemed hungry enough to partake in the meal. Athos watched him a bit bemused; and was amazed that he still had an appetite after such a distressing mission; conflict with love and now death. This alone indicated his youth. The young, he thought, were always hungry; and hungrier still when under stress.

Though the garrison yard was nearly empty of musketeer activity; his brothers sat nearby, also astonished at d'Artagnan's appetite. Recent events left them with little desire for food or drink. The need to eat could wait.

Porthos sat intently cleaning his weapons; each needing to outshine the other – the act of wiping down giving his hands a sense of purpose and his mind a task to keep him settled. Aramis paced along-side the table – his energy level high. Nocturnal visits to hear messages from beyond the grave making him feel on edge.

Athos stood; because he was unable to sit. He watched his friends through hooded eye lids – his mind falling on the recent talk he just had with his Captain. To have turned down the offer of his Majesty to sit on his council – had all but opened the door for Rochefort to be named the new Captain of the Red Guard.

Athos crossed his arms about his chest and breathed deeply. Though politics was not his strong suit; and he did not pretend to understand all of its nuisances – he did feel that this appointment for Rochefort would eventually lead to a more powerful position.

Everyone could see that the King was lost without the Cardinal. Not only had he depended on the man for all of the affairs of state; he had truly loved him. To be near the King was to see and know that his grief was heartfelt. He was utterly adrift without his confidant. And if the King was lost; France was soon to follow.

Athos closed his eyes to the sun and leaned his head back to rest on the pillar. He could not understand Treville's reasoning for declining the position. Treville was a well-respected member of the court. He was knowledgeable; beyond loyal to the King; and had great common sense. It was obvious the King held him in great esteem; and that the Cardinal himself – when he lived - grudgingly trusted him to work diligently on France's behalf.

Athos shook his head, and wondered where this decision would lead the country.

He pulled away from the pillar and leaned against the table; measuring proudly his brothers. Their mission of rescue had been a success. Secrets remained secure – and they, themselves; had made it home safely.

However, de Foix's wound had proved fatal; and he had not survived the night. Lucie de Foix was distraught – alone now and uncertain of her future. He had noticed d'Artagnan's attentiveness towards her throughout the ordeal; and could tell he was torn between his concern for Lucie's well-being and his love for Constance.

Last night, as thunder and rain bombarded the area – they had all stood vigil outside the infirmary – hoping de Foix would make a turn for the better and fight the fever that ravished his body. But it was not to be. He had been too weak to fight the blood loss and the infection. There had been nothing Aramis or the physician could do.

So he was given Laudanum and made comfortable. Treville and Lucie sat with him during his final hours – writing out the man's last will and testament – halting only for brief moments in order for him to catch his breath and then to begin again. He had been a man on a mission – squeezing his sister's hand – determined to leave her cared for.

When that task was completed – Treville had left them alone to say goodbye – saddened and troubled; and in his hand a sealed letter with Porthos' name as its address.

Athos had been surprised when Treville had left the death bed; walked to Porthos' side and handed the letter off to him. Porthos had looked confused and unsure – ready to hand it back. But Treville had pressed it harder in his hand and left to grieve his friend alone.

He had wondered then. What was the connection between Porthos and de Foix? What was in the letter?

But he dismissed it from his mind when he caught sight of Lucie through the door way; weeping and holding her brother tight – asking him not to leave her.

d'Artagnan had then jumped to his feet; entered the room; and joined her side – gripping her shoulders in sympathy.

So the night had been long, and now they all sat here together in the heat, contemplating the future.

Athos stepped away from his brothers and retrieved his hat – placing it carefully on his head. "Who will protect France now", he wondered aloud as he walked toward the gate and out into the Paris streets; hoping to get a moment to reflect over the past several days on his own.

It was noon – perhaps a drink was in order.

d'Artagnan stared after Athos over his meal; and thought to follow him. He wanted to talk to Athos and thank him for putting his trust in him; for giving him the independence he so desperately wanted and to let him know that he understood now. He had felt stifled; suffocated almost by his overprotectiveness – but now understood the sentiment behind it.

In that prison, when he thought his friends were dead; no, when he thought Athos was dead – he had not felt so alone and so afraid since his father's death. That same overwhelming feeling of loss and abandonment had seized him – and almost caused him to be swept away by it. The only thing that kept him going was the need to have the man think well of him. If he failed in his duty – Athos' disappointment would haunt him the rest of his life and then follow him to his grave.

He did not want to feel that sense of loss again. He got it now; and he wanted to let Athos know.

But just as he was about to stand and follow, there was Lucie walking toward them – her face still streaked with dried tears. He reached out his hand to her; she took it; squeezed tight and sat down beside him – trembling still with sorrow.

He wasn't sure what to do. He knew how death affected him; a strong, powerful pain that only abated with release of rage and with motion – but providing comfort to others was awkward for him. He looked to Aramis and Porthos, who stood then – sensing Lucie, had come to seek out d'Artagnan; and they would just be in the way.

Aramis reached for her hand and kissed it, "My deepest sympathies Mistress de Foix." Porthos bowed his head with respect; and spoke softly, "I'm sorry for your loss." Lucie acknowledged them with a slight quivering smile and lowered her gaze. Her pain was deep. Her brother was dead.

Porthos and Aramis left the table, leaving Lucie and d'Artagnan to look at each other with sad eyes and inexperience. He - not knowing how to help; and she not knowing how to express her anguish.

They sat quiet side by side for some moments until d'Artagnan broke the silence, "What will you do?"

Lucie clasped her hands together tightly and spoke in a quivering voice, "Captain Treville has offered to have my brother buried here among the musketeers who have died in the service of France."

d'Artagnan nodded in agreement, "Captain Treville is a good man. Your brother was very brave; a hero to France. There is no finer or more fitting a place to rest."

Lucie released her hands and reached to take hold of d'Artagnan's elbow and held tight. Holding onto him, seemed to give her the strength to speak of her brother. "Afterward, he will help me reunite with my widowed cousin. She is my only family now." A single tear escaped from the corner of her eye and she released d'Artagnan to swipe it away, "My brother has left me with half of all he owned. It should be enough, for a time, to get me settled with her." She clasped her hands again and closed her eyes, "We will be two women alone in the world now; the last of the de Foixs."

d'Artagnan smiled, "I'm glad that you have family – somewhere to go – where you will be safe."

Lucie considered the young man seated beside her; she had a plan so just plunged ahead, "What of you d'Artagnan – where is your family?"

d'Artagnan looked around the garrison yard; then over to his brothers sitting in the shade of the stables, "This is my family. Athos, Aramis, and Porthos are my brothers. When my father was killed, they took me in and added me to their number."

Lucie surveyed the dusty garrison yard; the shooting range; and the nearby stables, "I see", she sighed and charged ahead. "And love. Is there someone you love?"

d'Artagnan was stunned into silence. He wasn't sure what Lucie was asking. Her expression was earnest and expectant; he knew in that moment – he must be careful how he answered. She seemed to be depending on him for something. He thought hard and could not deny that he felt something for her. There had been a connection right away – but he knew that connection wasn't love. He loved Constance.

Lucie continued, buoyed by d'Artagnan's silence – hoping against hope that he would take her up on her offer, "You are a good man d'Artagnan; and I am alone in the world now. My brother was my sole provider. Without his protection – I fear for my future."

d'Artagnan thought then on what Constance had tried to tell him only days before of what it was to be a woman in a man's world.

Lucie persisted, renewing her proposal with vigor – her voice growing in confidence, "Since I am now alone, I must be bold. You have been kind to me and saved my life. I know you have some feeling for me. Will you save me again? Will you have me as your wife? "

d'Artagnan was taken aback, but now understood the depths of Constance's argument. She had been right. He had not really thought of what he was asking from her. He could see now, that a woman alone, without the protection of a man – was vulnerable to the harshest of what life had to offer. He could see it here, in Lucie's desperation.

He took a deep breath and held her by the shoulders, hoping to convey friendship and nothing more, "You asked me Lucie – if there was someone I loved; and the answer to that is yes. There is Constance, and I love her deeply. I hope one day to spend my life with her – if she will look past my faults and have me."

Lucie slumped in his embrace feeling sad, and defeated – unwilling to plead any more than she already had, "There is no doubt d'Artagnan, Constance will have you." She looked out over the garrison yard; and squeezed his hand pressing her shoulder in comfort, and then gazed directly into his eyes – hers beginning to fill with tears, "I think I will go and sit with my brother a little while longer", she said. "Saying goodbye last night was hard with everyone around."

d'Artagnan stood and nodded his understanding, "Would you like for me to walk with you?"

She bowed her head in assent, and they walked hand in hand across the yard – to the infirmary, for Lucie to gather herself and say goodbye.

Porthos and Aramis watched from a short distance away – seated in the shade of the stable awning – as d'Artagnan and Lucie walked hand in hand toward the infirmary.

His mind falling briefly on his own predicament; Adele's passion; Isabelle's steady courage; and the Queens's calm nature all flashing before him – he could not help but to comment on d'Artagnan's nature, "He is a fine young man, d'Artagnan; Lucie is in good hands."

Porthos nodded in agreement; distracted somewhat by the letter tucked in his vest. He touched it lightly, where it lay near his heart. He was confused by it. He did not know the General beyond this mission, yet the man had left him a note, which he could not bring himself to read.

This was a puzzle to him; and the look on Treville's face as he handed it over to him was one he did not recognize. He knew Treville to be a good; honest; and loyal man – who shook his hand one day and welcomed him home.

The man had nurtured him from day one; championed his dream to become a musketeer; and helped to make it come true. He would do anything for the Captain. But there was something in that look last night that made him think the Captain held something back from him.

He touched his vest again where the letter lay and warred with himself whether to open it now or wait first to speak with Treville.

Surfacing from his own musings, Aramis regarded Porthos with concern. The look on his face told him something was on his friend's mind, "What is it you have their Porthos that distresses you so?"

Yes, Porthos thought; Aramis understood – distress was what he felt. He reached inside his vest and held the letter out before him – decision made. With Aramis here, they could sort this out together.

"The Captain gave me this last night. It's from de Foix."

Aramis raised an eyebrow – this was curious indeed – a letter from the General, "What does it say?"

Porthos paused a moment; broke the seal and unfolded the letter. He read the words with concentration. The contents were short and brief; thanking him for saving his life; leaving him a sizable sum from his estate; and asking if possible that he keep in touch with Lucie from time to time.

He handed the letter over to Aramis to read – watching his expression carefully, "Did you get such a letter?"

Aramis shook his head – no – and returned the note to Porthos' outstretched hand. No he had not gotten such a letter, but had noticed that de Foix had taken a quick liking to Porthos – almost as if he knew him. He remembered how last night before he died; he had called Porthos into the room, to speak with him, and asked, "Did he say anything to you last night?"

"No – he just thanked me for saving his life; like the letter says. He shook my hand – but he said nothing about an inheritance."

Aramis smiled openly, "This is quite the mystery my friend – but one you deserve."

Porthos refolded his letter; and placed it safely back in his vest – determined to get a word with Treville when time permitted.

When they entered the Wren from the heat of the street – the brightness of the day quickly dimmed and the relative coolness of the room was a welcome relief.

There, to the back, in his usual space – sat Athos twirling his cup along the surface of the table.

The three moved toward him as one – studying their friend closely – attempting to gauge his affect. When they reached his side – Aramis clapped him on the shoulder and noticed that his cup was full and as he picked up the wine bottle, which sat in the middle of the table; felt its substantial weight and smiled mischievously.

Before Aramis could comment; Athos responded to the unspoken question, "I am thinking."

Porthos pulled a chair close and sat across from his friend and countered, "As are we all."

d'Artagnan sat also; placed his elbows on the table and cradled his head in his hands – yes, he thought to himself – there is much to think about.

Aramis sat then too, staring about the room and noticing only now, how quiet it was here in the afternoon. They and only a few other patrons were scattered among the tables, or seated at the bar – nursing drinks and finding solitude from the worries of the day.

The four of them sat like this for some moments – content to just be among themselves.

d'Artagnan's mind fell on Lucie and Constance. How brave, strong and courageous they both were. He had learned much from them – and loved Constance the more for it. He would make it up to her – he understood better now – to have called her a coward was indefensible. He hoped she would forgive him.

d'Artagnan looked over at Athos and was determined to set things straight with him also. He would not let the day pass without mending this fence.

Aramis' mind fell on his treasonous secret – the only three women he had truly loved in his life; two of whom were now dead – and his son.

He sighed deeply – his beautiful boy – who he could not be a father to.

Aramis pursed his lips, if he did not get up from this seat – he would go mad. So he rose abruptly and stood before his brothers, "I believe I shall go for a walk; clear my head of recent events; and find somewhere to release my energy." His announcement coming as no surprise – Athos and Porthos looked to him and nodded – knowing his moods and when to let him be.

"We will see you back at the garrison", Porthos acknowledged, grabbing his arm and imparting a message of support. Aramis squeezed his hand, "Do not worry. I'll see you soon." And he left the Wren; his heart aching – determined to relieve his pain, if only for a few hours. Perhaps he would go seek comfort from the lovely Marguerite.

Porthos let his good friend go, and felt the weight of this letter in his vest. Why did this gift of kindness from a brave man, to be sure, feel so heavy?

Something niggled at the back of his brain – Treville's buckling knees when Rochefort reported de Foix alive; de Foix's surprise at meeting him in Spain; and this gift from a man he did not know. This was all adding up to something; but to what he could not fathom.

Porthos frowned, and slapped the top of the table. Right now, he just needed to keep busy; to settle his brain; to stop thinking so hard.

"I think I will scrounge up a few good men here and get a game going." Porthos stood to his feet and scanned the room, then looked back to his companions. "Join me?" Before they could say yeah or nay, Porthos lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat, "I know, you two are thinking", and left the table to search out his marks.

As Porthos left them, d'Artagnan sat up straighter in his chair and faced his mentor. Now was his chance, "I wish to say something" – they both said in unison. d'Artagnan and Athos stared quizzically at each other – "You first" – they said again in concert; causing them both to chuckle uncomfortably.

Athos then inclined his head in d'Artagnan's direction and waited.

d'Artagnan leaned forward, placed his palms flat on the table and pressed down hard, "I just wanted to apologize." Once said, he let out a breath and looked up earnestly, "I understand now – why you held me so close. When I thought you were dead, I could not breathe. It was my father in the rain all over again. So you see, I get it now; and you will hear no more protests from me. "

Athos bowed his head and thought hard on this. d'Artagnan had a good soul and a warm heart. It worried him how strong their connection was. What if one day – he looked straight through his defenses and saw the true man beneath, with all his many failings; sins and mistakes in judgment – what would he think then?

When he looked up and caught d'Artagnan's eye – what he saw there made him catch his breath; and remind him of what he also wanted to say. He could still see d'Artagnan riding away from him; over the rise – eager to make his mark; determined to prove his worth. He remembered how his heart had clenched; and how he should have said more – to let him know how proud he was.

He would say it here now. This was his chance. One day, he would send d'Artagnan over the rise and perhaps never see him again – and would regret never having said things that needed saying.

Soon the Wren would fill up with the evening crowd and then descend into the controlled chaos of Paris life after dark.

He smiled slightly at d'Artagnan – pushed an empty cup in his direction and poured him some wine.

He leaned across the table and began, d'Artagnan pressing close – rapt with attention.

When Porthos looked back and saw his friends huddled close – he was glad. Those two needed to talk. He would join them later and they would go find Aramis, to end the night together.

Porthos turned back and faced the unknown men around his table; laughed heartily and clapped his hands together like thunder – rubbing them briskly as if gathering warmth, "Shall we begin gentlemen!" he roared.

The End.

Thank you all so much for reading In the Pursuit of. Please leave a review to let me know what you think! I hope you enjoyed these chapters. As always, thank you to everyone who has already reviewed; your comments and ideas mean a great deal. And to those of you who have followed and favorited – thank you. Special shout outs to MargaretThornton – I hope you enjoyed the Lucie/d'Artagnan talk; to Coffeecup35 – I hope you enjoyed the Porthos moment; and to my guest Sarah – thanks for your continued support.