Charl(i)es' Angels!

by ThomE.Gemcity-06

Tag: Season 1; w/ major spoilers [something's will stay the same, some will be altered]. 'The challenge to the man that had murdered his father, that he had readied to issue from his lips, died as he found not only one beautiful woman in front of him, but three.' Would things really change if the Inseparables were women instead of men? Note: !Gender-Bender!, OOC Traits, m/f & f/f.

9. Pursuit 9: Knight Takes Queen

a/n: Disclaimer: I do not own The Musketeers, just going to borrow them and their adventures for a bit. No copyright infringement is intended; just some good old gender-bending!

Note: I've just added a few new bits to the previous chapter, Pursuit 8, for d'Artagnan's meeting with Milady outside the Bonacieux house, so if you want to check that out, I'll wait... (*taps foot*) ...Now that that is sorted, enjoy all below! ;)

Episode Tag: Season 1, Episode 9: Knight Takes Queen.

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the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht

Charl(i)es' Angels!
Pursuit 9:Knight Takes Queen —

Milady rode from the city and towards a little farmstead for which she knew the man that she was seeking frequented. She played back on her conversation with the Cardinal.

"The King is unhappy in his marriage to the barren Spanish Queen. As he said, if he were to marry the Mellendorf girl, all of our problems would be solved. Our debts paid with the dowry she brings. Drunken words or not—see it done, Milady."

When the Cardinal put her to the surprising task, she knew of just the man to do the job. She didn't have anything particular against the Queen, she was just another unknowing pawn in Richelieu's plans.

"Gallagher." She reined her horse in in front of the man. She eyed the rats burning in the fire with distaste before turning her attention to the man that she'd had past dealings with. "I have a job for you that is much better suited for your skill level."

He raised the brim of his hat and looked up at the woman with dark blue eyes. "And who will I be working for?" he didn't just work for anyone or do any job.

"Me, of course." She smiled. "And the most powerful man in France." She handed him down a small container from her saddlebag and told him of the charge.

He opened the lid, the underside designed with a forget-me-not, and in the belly, his payment. He closed the lid and tucked the box under his arm and nodded his agreement upon the contract. He would gather his men, and kill the Queen—though, for such a simple thing, they shouldn't be needed.

---

The young maid took the Queen's white hooded robe from around her shoulders as the Lake's edge, leaving her in a simple white gown. Barefoot, Anne stepped into the quiet water lapping softly at the edge. The water was cold, but she ignored it and delved to go in deep. Water at her waist, she pushed it. As she swam in firm strokes, she grew more accustomed to the temperature.

The clash of sword above in the flat rise almost a musical sound. More like the clink of a bell then the scrape of steel grinding.

Each year she came and swam in the waters of Bourbon-les-eaux, hoping. They were renowned for their power of fertility. She was so lonely, despite being surrounded constantly by people. But she was a Queen and not supposed to let such things bother her. She prayed every night that she would fall pregnant, to feel that life grow inside her once more. Early in her marriage to Louis, she had fallen gravid, but it wasn't to be. It took her a long time to come to terms with that, and she was starting to wonder if God was trying to tell her something after time and again she didn't take.

She paused, and took breath before diving under the surface. She bloomed like a flower and twirled, bubbles of air releasing from her nose. The water brushed her skin like cool silk. She returned to the surface, taking a deep breath as she faced the shore again and treaded water and watched the Musketeers.

Birds sang to one another in the wood, despite the racket of the intense swordplay happening in their midst, the didn't miss a note; having grown used to the act over the last three days.

d'Artagnan faced off against both Porthos and Athos on the raised bank they had claimed as their camp to watch over the lake and the Queen's tent down below on the shoreline. Every opportunity afforded to him, he was training. Just because he was now commissioned, that didn't mean there weren't still things for him to learn.

It was his first mission since he rightly became a Musketeer—finally and proudly, in both spirit and name. Now, no one could claim him a follower, a would-be, a nobody. A brief flash of bitterness took him. Constance left him for it, but no longer would he feel the sting of not being good enough, because he was.

Athos saw his minute distraction, and took advantage of the opening. The path of her sword was purposeful, and she slashed her blade across the hardened leather.

"Hey!" d'Artagnan protested, glaring at her. "Watch the pauldron."

The corner of her mouth turned into a smirk. "It's too shiny, too new."

"It doesn't look right on you." Porthos came from behind him and scraped her blade against his leather. "It's like your mum's dressed you."

d'Artagnan spun and shot her a glare, his sword raised defensively in front of his as he shifted to keep both women in his line-of-sight.

Athos and Porthos shared a look that made the Gascon uneasy before one pair of bright and one pair of dark eyes trained on him. He should have been worried, for the two woman were now in silent competition to see who could land more strikes on the lad's shiny new pauldron.

He fell to the ground with a grunt as Porthos swept his feet from under him and shouted a protest as both woman grabbed either of his feet and dragged him a short distance, his right shoulder scraping across the hard dirt.

Aramis sat leaning with her back against the tree, cleaning her pistol in halting gestures, amused at the show. The sun shone down through the overhead canopy, painting caramel skin in shaded and shifting shadows and light. She sighed and turned her head towards the lake. She spotted the Queen, a small figure in a vastness of blue, as she swam with elegant and strong strokes back to the shore where her maid was waiting with her cloak and smiled.

"Hear that?" she murmured peaceably as d'Artagnan climbed to his feet with indignity.

"What?" Porthos wondered, turning to her.

"The birds. Nature. I think we've landed in paradise." Her tone suddenly went from fluid and amiably, to manic and stretched, "That's all there is. Constantly! Chirp chirp chirp! Argh! It's driving me insane."

"Clearly." Athos agreed dryly. "I thought I heard you just say it was paradise."

"That was two days ago! A woman can only take so much. Now... I'm bored. I miss Paris. The excitement, the noise. These birds... I'll shoot them, every last one of them!" She shifted forward and raised onto one knee, holding out her pistol, sighting up blindly into the trees with a squinted eye.

"Leave the birds alone and their..." Athos gave a musical whistle, near imitating the birds perfectly.

Hidden amongst the brush on the rocky outcropping at the side of the lake, lay Gallagher laying aim of his musket on the white-cloaked woman at the shore. The gunshot crack through the quiet wood harshly, and Aramis got her wish as the birds finally fell silent.

"Aramis!" Athos said sharply.

But Aramis was confused. "That wasn't me." Her eyes suddenly widened. "The Queen!"

The four Inseparable's all rushed down the slope, their pace hastened at the white-cloaked figure face down at the water's edge. Porthos arrived first and turned the body over, only to find the Queen's maid.

A gasp sounded from the tent and they all whipped around to find the Queen standing in the tent flap, hair still wet. "Caroline?" She swallowed. "She was cold, so I gave her my cloak."

"Get her under cover!" Athos screamed.

"Your Majesty!" Porthos ran and grabbed the woman, pressing her back against the incline. "Stay down." She shielded the smaller woman.

Gallagher silently cursed, and started to quickly reload as he discovered it wasn't the Queen he had killed.

"Stay with the Queen." Athos ordered Porthos and d'Artagnan from their shared shelter. "Get to the horses." She looked to Aramis beside her, "You and I have an assassin to catch."

Dirt rained down on Aramis' hat as Gallagher's next shot buried into the slop. "Now!" She and Athos scramble back up the bank, and had to run around to the cliff where their assassin was shooting from.

"d'Artagnan, how are we doin'?" Porthos asked.

d'Artagnan stuck his neck out to look, but instead of getting his head taken off as a sound target, it seemed like the shooter was making a run for it with Aramis and Athos coming on his tail. "Good to go, it look like he's making a run for it."

Despite that, they hustled. Taking the Queen, d'Artagnan climbed up the rocky slope first and reached down a hand for the woman, as Porthos boosted her from behind, before scrambling up after. And ushered the woman towards their tethered horses.

"One man on his own," Athos observed as they rushed through the brush. "Shouldn't be a problem."

They reached level ground and stopped short as down between rocky passage was a line held with not one man, but several on horseback.

"On the other hand..." Aramis disagreed.

"Shoot them!" Gallagher ordered.

The small gully briefly filled with the white spoke of spent gunpowder as several men raised their pistols and fired at the two Musketeers.

"That was unexpected." Aramis remarked as they backtracked. "There was at least two dozen of them."

"We'll lead them through the forest," Athos said. "Lose them in the trees." It would take a minute for a group of that size to move through the trees and find a path up to them.

Aramis nodded, and a couple minutes later, they found Porthos, d'Artagnan, Anne, and the horses.

"Did you find him?" d'Artagnan questioned.

Athos nodded. "Him. And about two dozen more."

"Two dozen?" Porthos sputtered in surprise.

She just nodded. "We leave. Now."

The two women quickly mounted, Aramis taking claim of the Queen, seating her in front. They road as fast as they were able through the forest, and it was a half-hour later that they took pause. d'Artagnan dismounted and found higher ground. He rose his eyeglass.

"Are they still following us?" Athos called.

"Yes, and they're not tiring."

"Determined," she remarked. If that already didn't show with the amount of men in company.

"What if we can't lose them?" Anne asked, still seated in front of Aramis. She was in but a simple, light blue gown, and the markswoman's borrowed travel cloak around her shoulders.

"We will." Aramis answered.

"What if we don't?" she insisted.

"We've been in much worse situations than this and always prevailed." She answered reasonably, her horse shifting beneath them restlessly. She chuckled, "You have nothing to fear—this is a relatively quiet day for us."

Anne wasn't sure if she was to be reassured by that or not, but the Spaniard's warm and strong presence pressed against her back help to alleviate her fears. Aramis had saved her on many occasion and they'd both come out unscathed.

"Time to go." d'Artagnan remarked, tucking the eyeglass into his belt. He quickly climbed down from his perch and mounted.

They continued to ride through the trees for a bit longer before they emerged on open ground and rode near the tree line. They rode there mounts at a fast canter for a while before d'Artagnan reined his horse in and turn back around on the hill. He stood in his stirrups, the eyeglass raised again. He searched carefully, but saw no signs of their pursuers at the moment. He rode back to the others under the cover of a copse of trees, where he dismounted.

"There's been no sign of them for an hour now." He reported.

"We're safe for a while." Athos nodded. "The Queen needs to rest. We'll make camp."

They lead their horses into the trees; deep enough for cover, but not too deep to be caught unawares. Athos and d'Artagnan saw to the horses, and Porthos to the fire. Aramis was on the hunt for food and found the perfect source in a nearby river. Stripping off her boots, breaches and frock, she stood knee-deep in the rushing water in her braies and open-collared shirt sleeves. She used to do this as a child all the time, it wasn't as difficult as it sounded; catching fish with her hands.

She already caught four and tossed a fifth onto the shore when the Queen made an tentative appearance.

"That's quite a skill. Can I help?" Anne gave a nervous chuckle and shook her head. "I mean, not catching fish, of course, but anything else to help."

Aramis gave a gentle smile. "Rest while you can, Your Majesty. We'll be riding again soon."

"No, I'd like to be useful. Really." She insisted.

Aramis paused in thought. "Well, in that case... can you gut a fish?" she gestured from the water to the edge where their meal lay still flopping. The Queen followed the gestured and grimaced at the flopping creatures before looking back at the Musketeer with a deadpan expression. Aramis couldn't stop the chuckle. "Just checking." Anne started closer towards the edge of the river. "Careful."

"Is there nothing I can do?" she asked, and stumbled.

Aramis' body reacted automatically, despite the distance between them, jerking towards her. Anne easily straightened, unharmed, whilst Aramis stepped a loose rock underwater and lost her own balance. She plummeted down under the rushing water with a yelp.

"Aramis!" she cried, horrified.

And instant later, Aramis burst up from the water, flailing. Completely soaked, and gasping, Anne couldn't help but look at the woman admiringly as her shirtsleeves clung see-through to her like a second skin. She had always felt an attraction to the woman since their first true encounter in the Chatelet yard on Good Friday when there had been the prisoner escape. And ever since, she delighted in every sighting, conversation, and touch. She knew she shouldn't; she was the Queen, she was married to the King—but she couldn't stop this secret pleasure.

Aramis met her gaze and it mirrored hers.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan called, coming from their camp. They quickly tore their gazes. "Porthos says she'd starving and wants to know what the hold up is." His eyes widened as he saw the soaking wet Aramis standing in the river, gasping. "What happened?" her purposefully kept his eyes trained on her face.

Her eyes flickered to the Queen for an instant. "I slipped on a loose rock." She came to the shore's edge. "Give me a hand." She held out her hand.

Without thought, he clasped her wet hand, shifting his footing and pulling. "Aramis!" he squawked in alarm as a flapping and flipping fish came under his heel. Her eyes widened and there was nothing she could do as she was halfway out and he was coming towards her. The Queen let out a second cry of alarm as the two Musketeers went into the water.

d'Artaganan coughed as he broke the surface and clung to Aramis for a moment without thought as he regained his bearings. Then, realising exactly the condition of his friend, jumped back, nearly ploughing into the water fully once more. His cheeks turned ruddy with embarrassment, but Aramis looked completely amused.

This time, they climbed from the river onto the bank with incident.

His embarrassment gone, he shivered. Looking all the world for a drowned rat, d'Artagnan glowered at the Spaniard. "Why would you do that?"

Aramis looked at him in surprise. "Me? What did I do?" the Gascon simply gestured at himself, soaked, in answer. "Hmm." She wasn't impressed at his answer.

"Oh!" Anne gasped pleasantly and they looked at her. "I think that I shall try for cooking—that'll help, I'm sure." She smiled beautifully at them before she turned and headed back to camp.

They looked after the Queen. "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" he wondered.

Aramis just patted him in commiseration on the back. "Let's get these fish back to camp." They gathered the fish, but not before the whacked each sharply against a nearby rock, killing it.

"What happened to you two?" Athos wondered as the pair returned.

"I don't know what you were tryin' to do, but..." Porthos laughed when she saw them. "I don't think that's 'ow you do it!"

"I don't want to talk about it." d'Artagnan said.

Porthos and Athos took pity on them and while d'Artagnan stripped and hung his clothes to dry, leaving his in outfit similar to Aramis, they cleaned and gutted the fish.

Her mind set on the matter, the Inseparables had no other choice than to oblige their Queen, even if the end results ailed them to do it.

Their dread filled and expanded as each fish turned to blackened crisp. This was a different kind of torture—talk of cruel and unusual. They each took a fish with obliging smile and ate in the same manner. Who were they but servants to tell the Queen how to cook?

"Mmm." Aramis hummed pleasantly from where she sat next to the Queen. "Delicious, Your Majesty." And d'Artagnan was one again shown what a fantastic liar the Spaniard Musketeer could be—also, he was sure that her fish was more singed around that edges than their's scorched to the point of bone-turned-ash.

Anne lit up at the compliment and looked around the fire at the others for their thoughts.

"Hmm." Porthos nodded, both glad and not that her mouth was congested with the barely recognizable fish and she was prevented from saying anything.

"Mm-hmm!" d'Artagnan made a strangled content noise in the back of his throat, giving the Queen a thumbs up. His lips sealed against his roiling internals. It wouldn't do to insult the Queen to evacuate his stomach in front of her on compliments to the chef.

Athos could only grunt softly in her own response while trying not to choke on the chunk of ash lodged in her throat. She had to nearly half her canteen before she could wash it down, and paused in complete concentration as her stomach briefly rebelled against the contents—which had turned iron against years of excessive drink.

"It's the first time I've ever cooked." Anne admitted with a blush that Aramis thought cute, well worth the contents in her mouth.

Athos cleared her throat. "That's hard to believe." She lied and wondered why all of Anne's attentions were seemingly placed on her.

"Would you like another?" she held the remaining crisp of a fish towards the de facto leader.

Athos' eyes widened for an instant under the question before she schooled her features. "Thank you, but I'm fine."

With the Queen's attentions on Athos, d'Artagnan quickly dumped the contents of his plate behind back, so when Anne turned the offer to him and Porthos, they claimed full stomachs.

"Shhh!" Athos suddenly hissed, standing up straight. They instantly quieted and sat at attention. And that was when they heard it, the pounding of many horses hooves. "d'Artagnan." She nodded to Anne.

d'Artagnan leapt up. "Your Majesty." He took the woman's hand and helped her down the short incline towards their horses. He lifted her onto Aramis' horse and quickly dressed in his still-damp clothing.

"I'm tired of running away!" Porthos growled, a hand on Athos' chest preventing the woman from passing.

"Perhaps we should be the ones doing the chasing." Aramis agreed, joining them as she finished tying of her light blue sash and started to buckle her many belts around her torso.

"The Queen's safety is paramount." Athos denied them, even as much as she might wish upon that plan of action. She didn't like to be chased. "We can't risk it by making a stand."

Pothos shook her head. "Nor can we outride them forever."

"When we can't, then we fight." Was Athos' answer and that was final. They all mounted and rode off, abandoning their camp. They had lingered long enough.

They rode from the cover of trees at a gallop, trying to put as much distance between their two parties in the shortest amount of time, running on the open ground. While they had been idle, Gallagher had not.

"Look!" d'Artagnan pointed as they crested the rise and Athos allowed them to halt. Amongst the trees, on the hill, the tall walls of a convent peeked.

Athos looked at it and made her decision. She looked across Aramis and Anne to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "You two ride to Paris and get reinforcements. We'll hold up in there till you return."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Porthos stopped the woman. "What, just you two? Alone?"

"Thank you for the vote of confidence." Aramis muttered sarcastically.

"We won't be back before tomorrow at the earliest." d'Artagnan put in his own protestations. "There's at least two dozen of them, how can you truly expect to hold their attack?"

"We'll improvise," Aramis joked in reassurance. "Don't you know I'm a luminary in such things?"

"In the case that that does not work," Athos drawled. "You best hurry."

With a flashing of looks the Inseparable's shared their desire for the others not to get themselves killed, and then Porthos and d'Artagnan wheeled their mounts in the opposite direction of the convent and dug in their heels, speeding off to Paris as Athos, Aramis, and Anne made the wood and found the trail to the convent.

Gallagher crested the hill and he ordered his men to halt in-line. As they had been coming up, he'd seen his targets spit up. After a moment's thought, he sent four of his men after the two riders headed to Paris, and ordered the rest of his men to wait as he took a second and headed towards the convent.

Aramis and Athos rode through the open gates, and paused briefly in the small square. Athos dismounted, and helped Anne down, and Aramis rode on through the arch, Athos' horse following as she went in search of stables and Mother Superior. Athos turned to the gates and had already pushed on of the large doors shut before a man running out of the arch Aramis had disappeared into, and physically blocked Athos from closing the second.

"These gates are never closed." Father Isaac declared.

"This is an emergency." Athos insisted.

"Everyone is welcome here at any time of night or day."

"We're King's Musketeers." Athos said as if that solved the problem, and it should have, but the priest was stubborn.

"I answer to a higher power."

There was not time for this! "This is your Queen." Athos gestured towards the woman, who currently, though beautiful and regal, could be any woman. "It is your duty to protect her." She didn't want to harm a man of the cloth, but she could if forced.

Mother Superior rushed out, several other nuns on her heels. "Close the gates, Father!"

After a briefest of hesitations, the man stepped aside and allowed Athos to close the gate. She battened the crossbar firmly and pointedly. Aramis had found higher ground on the wall, and spotted Gallagher and a second riding up the path through her eyeglass.

"Athos!" she called, stepping from the edge and looking into the square.

Father Isaac looked up with concealed statement at a voice he would long recognize, no matter the years parted. He walked with the other nuns as Mother Superior lead the Queen into the building.

Athos stood next to Aramis and watched their assassins' approach, the second waving a white handkerchief tied to the tip of his short sword.

"That is unexpected," Aramis announced. "Do we talk, or shoot?"

"Hmm." Her eyes narrowed in thought.

Moments later she rode through the convent gate, which was promptly closed behind her, and approached Gallagher and his man. Aramis, still upon the roof, musket loaded, ready to shoot either man were they to make any move amiss.

"If you've come to surrender, I accept." Athos opened the conversation.

"I heard a sense of humour can be a comfort when facing death." Gallagher replied. He didn't seem to be surprised or insulted that she was a woman.

"Then what do you want?" she wondered.

"To offer freedom—hand over the Queen, and I'll let everyone else live." He made his offer; fair, all things considered.

"Or you could leave now and I won't kill you." She countered.

He exhaled deeply and pulled out his pistol. Athos quickly grabbed for hers and Aramis levelled her musket on the man—so it was an unexpected turn when the man turned his weapon on his own man and fired.

"He had a chance to kill you and he wasted it." Gallagher explained. There was a beautiful and almost musical quality to his voice that made Athos able to listen to it for hours on end and not tire of it, despite the word content. "If that's how I deal with my own men, imagine what I'll do with you. And in case you think there's anyone coming for you, there isn't. My men will see to it your two friends don't make it to Paris."

Athos wasn't worried for Porthos and d'Artagnan. They could take care of themselves, and she knew that they would make it to Paris to get reinforcements. They just had to hold off until then. "Why are you doing this?"

"It's what I'm good at."

Athos narrowed her eyes. "This is not how a soldier behalves. A white flag. Officer's boots. Your men holding line..."

"Whatever I once was..." he replied quietly. "I'm not a soldier now."

"You may not have the uniform, but once a soldier..." She didn't need to say the rest. "And soldiers don't kill women." She added with a false hope, not for herself, but her charge.

"Just the one." He denied her. "And you, if you get in my way."

"You've made an error in judgement." She ignored the omission. "I understand. You can ride away and still have your honour."

"I've given my word. I cannot break it—without that, I have nothing."

"You have your life." She persisted. "Stay here and I will kill you."

"One of us will die," he nodded in agreement. "That's for certain. The nuns are free to leave without fear of harm, but anyone who chooses to remain in the convent will be killed—women or no." And with that, he clicked his tongue and put in his heels and turned his horse around, leaving his dead companion behind.

"Well, that was..." Aramis said when Athos returned.

"Yeah." She agreed. Porthos and d'Artagnan had better hurry their pace.

---

d'Artagnan's stomach rolled mutinously as he and Porthos awaited behind cover on either side of the road for Gallagher's men to catch up. It wouldn't due to be chased all the way to Paris.

He gave a quiet groan. "Ugh. It feels as if my stomach is going to split; I ate so much of that fish."

"Liar." Porthos declared him. "I saw you dump your plate behind your back!"

"You just jealous you didn't think of it."

"Hmm." She was that, but was also not likely to admit it to the man. "The things I 'ad no choice but to eat to survive in the Court of Miracles some days... an' that fish has rocked my iron stomach something' fierce. If these bastards don't 'urry their pace, they might as well catch us with our pants down!"

d'Artagnan had time enough to snort in both amusement and agreement, before the sound of approaching hoof beats put their conversation to a halt. Each shared a nod and readied their pistol. The pounding of hooves drew closer until four men, paired in twos, thundered passed them on the road.

When he and Porthos had split from the others, it had been in plan view. There hope was to split their assassin's men in half. The pair felt insulted that only four men were sent their way. But they just simply wished it had been more so the adversaries that Athos and Aramis faced were less. It didn't feel right to leave them in such dire straights, but they had a job to do.

They thrust out of their hiding places, levelled their pistols and fired. The horses whinnied at the sudden concussion, and the back two rides fell from their horses—dead. The two front riders calmed their mounts down and reined them around, their own pistols levelled as the two Musketeers rushed to reload. Adrenaline pounded through d'Artagnan's veins as they fired, and he could swear he felt the balls whip through his hair—the gallop of the horses throwing of their aim. He didn't feel the burning in his upper left arm facing away from the woman.

"Ain't this better than tryin' to escape?" Porthos grinned as she worked. She always loved the added pressure of a countdown—it made it all that more exciting when she executed.

"Ask me that again in two minutes if we're still alive." He said, squeezing powder into the muzzle from his horn.

She finished loading her pistol, a fast practice made by being in a situation like this more times than she should be. She levelled her pistol, aimed at her rider as he drew closer and fired, killing the man. He toppled from his saddle to the ground.

She looked over next to her, to see d'Artagnan just now using his ramrod. "d'Artagnan!" she urged. His man was eating up the distance, drawing his rapier and raising it over head, ready to strike the Gascon down.

"I got it!" he barked, jerking his ramrod from the barrel and raising the pistol. There was no time to aim, indeed, no need, for his target was not even five feet from him. The gunshot hit the man in the chest, and before he could fall naturally out of the saddle in death, the horse reared and throw its rider from back.

Porthos grabbed the Gascon, jerking him from the path of striking hooves just in time. They watched from tangled limbs on the ground as the horse's hooves landed harmlessly on the road and then the animal broke away.

"That was close." She said.

"You're telling me." He climbed to his feet and held out his hand. "Thanks." He pulled her to her feet.

"What are sisters for?" she clapped him on the shoulder, smiling. He hissed at the contact on his left shoulder and she frowned at him. And that's when she noticed the blood on her fingers. "You're shot?!" she exclaimed.

"I am?" he asked in surprise and looked down at his arm in surprise. "I didn't feel it."

"You will in a second." She assured him, and took his arm, inspecting the wound through the tear in sleeve. "Looks like a graze, thankfully." She let out a relieved breath as she went to her horse and came back with her water canteen. He gritted his teeth as she poured water on it and wiped away the blood. "It doesn't look like it needs sewin', there's not that much blood." Taking the braided bandana from her head, she used that to wrap and bind the wound.

"Thanks." He said again.

She grinned. "What are sisters f—"

"Please don't?" he grimaced at her oncoming hand, she winked and her hand descended onto his right shoulder lightly, giving it a squeeze.

Time for idle conversation over, they searched the bodies of their pursuers, hoping to find a clue about who they were and who their patron might be. All four bodies had a identical tattoo on the inside of their wrist's of a flat-palmed hand.

"What's it mean?" he wondered.

Porthos shook her head as she searched the last man's pockets. "Nothin' I've seen before." She pulled out a folded piece of paper.

"And that?"

"A promissory note." She read through it. "To be cashed at a moneylender's in the Rue de Bonnasse..." she looked up and met his eye, "In Paris."

---

When Athos and Aramis entered the chapel from their meeting with Gallagher, the pews were filled with nun, youngs and old, Father Isaac amongst them, as Mother Superior and Queen Anne stood front.

"I urge you to leave now." Athos called. "If you leave, you will not be harmed."

"We could take the Queen with us," Mother superior suggest. "Disguised as a sister.

Athos had already thought of such a scheme, but wasn't willing to risk it. The risk-reward rations were too equal in footing. "If she'd recognized outside, we can't protect her." Even though her and Aramis could dress as nuns themselves, Gallagher would inspect them first and definitely recognize Athos. "The Queen stays with us."

Mother Superior nodded and addressed the other nuns, giving her permission for any to leave if they so wished, but all declined. Athos figured there was no fighting it and had other things to focus on. They needed to barricade the gate, for which Mother Superior offered the tables from the refectory—and a group of nuns and the Queen, volunteered for the task. Next was two established lookout points, each with a clear sight to anyone approaching. After a moments thought, Mother Superior offered her own bedroom and the sacristy.

"You don't happen to have any weapons here?" Athos asked, not expecting much.

"One musket and some charges." The older woman answered, much to the Musketeer's surprise. Athos raised her brow. "For shooting rabbits..."

"Oh." She nodded.

"... And Protestants." She finished and that elicited a smile from Athos. Though older, Mother Superior was sharp-witted and sharp-tongued. She had a sense of humour that the seasoned Musketeer found agreeable.

In the wood surrounding the convent, men flooded the trees like animals flushed from hiding by hunting hounds.

"There is something else we could use, Mother Superior." Isaac spoke up, drawing attention to himself. "In the cellar. I can show Re—Aramis."

Aramis' brows raised at her name dropped, sure that it hadn't been said since they had arrived, but her curiosity overtook any apprehension, and she leaned her musket against the wall of the chapel before she followed the Priest down the stairs and into a room in the expansive tunnels of the cellar under the convent. She spotted a distillery and the surrounding shelves were filled with bottled liquor.

"You sell this?" she asked, removing her gloves and tucking them into her belt.

Isaac took a flat-based wide basket laid with straw over to the one of the shelves, using a large barrel as a table. "Saving souls isn't cheap."

Aramis approached the distillery. "My father had a still just like this one." She knocked on the barrel and gave a fond smile on the past. "He made grape and honey brandy all the time." She remembered when she used to sneak in to steal a taste. "May I?"

"Mm-hmm."

Aramis took the cupped ladle from the table and held it under the tap, turning the tab. She inhaled the contents before drinking the sip, her eyes falling closed. Isaac watched her closely before turning back to the task of filling the basket when her eyes opened in shocked confusion.

"It's exactly like my father's!"

"Probably because I use his recipe." He murmured. He looked over his shoulder at her. "You don't recognize me, do you?" he seemed more amused than offended. "I did you, right away, even with your uniform.

"I would like to think that I would remembering sleeping with a man of the cloth." Aramis joked wryly to cover how off-footed she felt.

He chuckled and turned to her. "I wasn't a priest back then—perhaps that's what throwing you?"

Aramis looked at him intently, her brows furrowed, and ignored the collar. He had short brown hair and eyes the colour of caramel, with a single dimple in his cheek and his quirked lips.

Aramis dropped the ladle and approached, reaching out. "I—?" but before she could make contact, her arm dropped and she stepped back in quiet shock. Her eyes widened as she felt a sudden, sharp emptiness in her abdomen. "Isaac?" her hand instinctively went to her stomach. Even now, she unconsciously wore several layers over her middle—her blue sash, and thick leather belts—as if trying to protect something that wasn't there any more... had only been there for too short a time. "Is that really you?" She forced herself to grip her belt instead, trying to wrap around seeing this boy, now a man, again.

"So, you do remember." He said gently, and then turned back to the shelf. "I thought you could light the bottles with cloth and throw them. It'll be gruesome, but effective."

Aramis exhaled sharply as she stared at the back of the man, as if they had not just rediscovered each other. "I don't—What are you doing here?"

"Well, this is a convent—I stop in from time to time and see how the nuns are fairing."

She stepped forward, "That's not what I mean."

Isaac finally faced her again—

"Aramis, Athos needs you." Anne entered the room and paused at the intensity filling the air between Musketeer and Priest.

Hand to her mouth, still trying to fully comprehend, Aramis jerked around to Anne, dazed. She felt a pang inside her that she hadn't felt since she held Agnes' Henry cradled to her breast.

"Aramis?" she asked in worry.

"I—I should go." The Spaniard said, and rushed passed the Queen. She retrieved her musket from the chapel as she came through and went through the arch on the left side to Mother Superior's rooms, with was divided into two parts. The bed, which was sectioned off with the door, and a room with the window that was to be her vantage point on the enemy.

Athos gazed out the window, Aramis' musket leaning against the wall. "You stay in here. I'll take the sacristy." She turned to find the other woman quiet and checking Mother Superior's musket's charge distractedly. "Do say if you're not happy."

Aramis tried to shake her distractions away, but in was hard won. "No, no. I'm happy." She walked to the window, that was like a deep rectangle alcove. She handed Athos the convent musket and retrieved her own from against the wall. "Or as happy as any woman might in our predicament."

"If it's any consolation," Athos replied, "Mother Superior is next door, praying for our immortal souls."

"Right now, it's my mortal body I'm worried about."

Athos smiled and left to take up her own station across the chapel and in the sacristy.

Aramis raised the short bench against the wall of the alcove, on end to the side in front of the window as both cover and perch, and knocked out two windowpanes with the muzzle of her musket to get a unobstructed line-of-sight.

---

"Captain!" d'Artagnan shouted.

When he and Porthos rode into the garrison, the clop of their horses was loud in the empty yard, absent of practicing Musketeers. They quickly reined in and dismounted, Jacques the stable boy coming and taking their horses away.

"Where is everybody?" Porthos demanded of Serge as the cook hobbled passed them to the table.

"The regiment's gone off hunting with the King."

"What?" d'Artagnan cursed their bad luck.

"No one else here but me, One-Eyed Florian," Serge nodded to the man sitting at the table, peeling spuds. "And Jacques the stable boy."

"And the Captain?"

Treville came from his office and stood at the railing, looking down at them in confusion. "Where are the others?" the looks the pair sent up his way were despairing, and the man's gut dropped. "Where is the Queen?" he demanded.

Porthos groaned as he came rushing down the stairs. She had been dreading this part the entire gallop to Paris. "We were attacked at the lake, but luckily, they killed 'er handmaid by mistake and we were able to make our escape."

"What?" he gasped, already shouting at Jacques for their horses.

"There were 'bout two dozen men." Porthos continued her report. "They chased us for a better part of the morning." Jacques came out with their horses saddled.

"What of the Queen?" Treville put his foot in the stirrup of his horse and with his one arm, pulled himself up into the saddle. His arm was in a sling, his collarbone still healing from his encounter with Labarge. "Athos and Aramis? Where are they?"

"Last we saw the Queen was when Athos and Aramis took her to the safety of a convent we came across," d'Artagnan answered from his horse. "What of the Musketeers?"

"The King decided to go hunting with the Mellendorfs!" Treville cursed, digging his heals into his horse. Louis had taken a grand liking to the Count and especially his young and sociable daughter Charlotte. He wanted to impress her and rather enthusiastic of her liking of hunting, decided to make a trip of it. This couldn't have come at a worse time—but how could they have predicted this sudden assassination attempt. "The whole regiment's gone with him." They made for Louvre.

---

The Cardinal had been on his knees in prayer since he saw the King and Mellendorfs off and sent Milady on her task. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, and he only granted such omissions of God, not man. Though the only sound was the clicking of her heels on the stone floor, and the whiff of jasmine, he knew it could only be her. She didn't say a word, but she wouldn't have been there if she hadn't completed what she had set out to do.

"It is done." Richelieu breathed and though he already knew there was no turning back, it seemed to settle completely with him only now. She made no response and he kept on his knees, hands clasped and eyes closed. "Don't tell me you have qualms," he scoffed. "because in your line of work—conscience is no asset."

"Trust me, I feel no misgivings on this matter." Milady responded finally. "But this is one death sentenced that is far from ordinary."

"I am completely aware." He said dryly.

The outside door opened and Milady quickly hid herself from sight as Treville, Porthos, and d'Artagnan entered.

Treville didn't waste time. "There's been an attempt on the Queen's life—but she's safe, at least for the time being."

It was a good thing that the Cardinal's back was to the three soldiers, otherwise he might have betrayed his own scheme. Though why they would think him guilty of this attempt, was a matter beyond him. He quickly concealed the anger at Milady's folly and plastered on the shock as he climbed to his feet and turned, his knees aching.

"I've sent word to inform the King of the situation." Treville continued. "I'll have my Musketeers return here to Paris immediately."

"But that would take about six, maybe seven hours." He prayed by then that it would be too late. "Can your men hold the convent long enough for rescue to arrive?"

"As long as Athos and Aramis draw breath, they will do their duty."

"I'm sure." The Cardinal replied. Treville's Inseparables were his worst pain. They were like cockroaches. "These assassins, do we know anything about them?"

"Mercenaries." Porthos spoke up. "This promissory note was found on one of them." She took it from inside her doublet.

"Whoever hired them is in Paris." d'Artagnan added. He could smell a slight perfume in the air, but took it to be incense.

His expression tightened. "May I see that?" he took the note from the woman and read it. "When you find the person behind this, I will ensure that their punishment is exemplary." He handed it back.

Treville nodded and they rushed out.

Richelieu seethed in anger. "You assured me your man Gallagher could do this. Instead, I find the Queen is still alive!"

Milady swallowed. "He will finish what he had begun, or die trying."

"Die trying?" he repeated. "Is that what I am paying for?" he came around the dividing wall towards her, his approach slow and intent. "Will he also steal back the promissory note he so carelessly mislaid? Well?!" he demanded, pressing her back against the wall with fear, not even placing a touch upon her.

Her voice trembled as she spoke, "I will see to it."

"I hope so, because if this goes wrong..." he grabbed her face harshly with his hand, pressing. She could feel the cold of his rings against her flesh and whimpered, her green eyes wide. "You will pay the price." He released her face slowly before turning and leaving.

She breathed heavily. She needed to hurry if she was going to beat the Musketeers to the moneylender's.

---

Aramis was lost in confused feelings of the past as she stood her perch. She needed to focus, it was only a matter of time before Gallagher set on the attack, but the memories and emotion she thought lost or buried were resurfacing in a dizzying fashion.

"Here." Anne murmured, coming next to the Musketeer who was just able to stifle the gasp. The Queen held out powder cartridges in her hand. She had all but commanded Athos to allow her assistance and the Lieutenant gave her the task of delivering the ammo.

"Thank you." And she touched the holder on her belt that she had rigged herself.

The Queen nodded and opened the flap, filling the empty slots. "The Priest you were with downstairs..." Anne said quietly. "I'm sorry my arrival was a disturbance."

"You did not disturb anything." She denied.

Anne chuckled and Aramis looked at her. "I may be cosseted, but I am not a fool."

"That you are not," she whispered, and then paused, looking at the woman with searching eyes. "I knew him once—before. We were to marry."

"And you changed your mind?"

Aramis' gaze flickered away for a moment and she swallowed the lump in her throat, about to divulge something from her past that not even the Inseparables, her closest constants in life, knew. "I fell pregnant and the marriage was arranged. But I was happy. I was in love, and so was he. But... then I lost the baby, and he just disappeared. I never saw him again—not until today."

"Oh, Aramis." She said softly and without thought, just instinct, cupped the woman's cheek. There was sympathy, not pity or judgement, but understanding.

"I think they're about to—" Athos rushed in, and the first shot of this fight was fired. A pane in the window shattered, and Aramis felt the sting of the shards bite into her cheek as she had turned her face towards Athos. She quickly shielded the Queen as more shots were fired and rushed her form the window and towards Athos. "Attack." She finished needlessly. "Come with me to the chapel." She quickly took Anne from Aramis and left her in the chapel with the other nuns as she went to her post in the sacristy.

With the Queen safe from sight, and Aramis hoping that Athos didn't see what she might have seen and interpret it the wrong way, she went back to her perch and sighted down at the men swarming the base of the window like ants. She fired and killed the man. Her next shot from pistol, took out the man in a tree close to the wall, thinking he could climb in a window or even over.

She left the exposure of the window to reload, and called through the doorway to the other side of the chapel where Athos was doing the same. "My parents always wanted me to end up in a place like this." It was a fact that she had told d'Artagnan their first day of meeting and was surprised that she'd never told Athos as much.

"They wanted you to become a nun?" Athos laughed.

"Is it really all that funny?"

"Have you ever met yourself?" done loading, Athos snuck back to her window, that unlike Aramis' was latched and opened outward. She raised her hand and gave it a quick wave before dropping it from view as a shot sounded. She jumped up onto the small bench under the window and with the musket, killed the same man attempting to reload. She stepped back to the doorway. "So why didn't you?"

Aramis grinned. "'Cause I found I was better at dispatching people to Hell!" She went to the window and promptly killed another man.

The Sisters prayed, shots breaking through the chapel windows as the mercenaries fired a volley. When the statue next to Mother Superior exploded, she had had enough.

"Mother of God!" Mother Superior screamed. "Isaac! Come with me!" And her, Isaac, and a couple other nuns grabbed the basket of bottled liquor and went out onto the wall with a torch.

The bodies seemed to be piling up on Gallagher's side. They had taken out at least eleven of his men. Athos even had a shot at the man himself. Their eyes met across the distance and they fired at each other at the same moment, both missing. Finally deeming he needed a different strategy, Gallagher gave a whistle and signalled for his men to retreat.

---

Treville, d'Artagnan, and Porthos dismounted in Rue Bannones outside of the moneylender's apartments from the promissory note Porthos found on one of the assassins.

"Hello?" Treville called, pushing open the unlocked door when there was no answer to their summons. They entered his office. "Not like a moneylender to leave his room unattended."

"Perhaps he's the trusting type?" d'Artagnan suggested.

"Too trustin'," Porthos said and both men turned to see the woman close the office door and reveal a fat, dead man hanging off the hook from the back of the door. "They must 'ave not wanted 'im to talk." She pushed the door back, hiding the poor sod from view.

"We need to find some record of the promissory note." Treville said, turning from the door and to the man's desk.

d'Artagnan's body reacted before he even knew why, before his nose could register the lingering scent. "Can either of you smell jasmine?" Porthos gave him an odd look.

"Look for his account ledger." Treville commanded. "There's not time to waste."

d'Artagnan took a deep draw on the air. He was sure he could smell it. Slowly, he walked from the office and down the hall. He paused in the doorway to another room, completely unaware of exactly how much danger he was in.

Behind the open door, a mere inch of wood separating them, stood Milady. Her breath held, dagger gripped in her hand, ready to strike if forced. Their knock had alerted her just in time and she was able to hide, just as they entered. She could easily have him if taken by surprise, but would she have the chance to escape or would Treville and Porthos be on her too fast?

"I found it." Treville shoved the contents of the desk aside with his right arm, and thumped the heavy book into the cleared space. "d'Artagnan! Porthos!"

d'Artagnan hesitated, shifting on his feet, an urge to delve deeper into the room. He could swear the scent was stronger here. The scent was pulling at him, prickling his brain. He knew it from somewhere, but why could he not think of it?

"d'Artagnan!" Treville barked and with a discontent sigh, the Gascon turned from the room and what would have been his death, and returned to the office. "This is his ledger." Treville flipped through the pages to the latest entries. "The entry for the note says it was purchased in gold by the German Count Daniel Mellendorf. Mellendorf and his daughter are hunting with the King. The beneficiary of the note didn't sign his name, but he left a mark." He tapped the page and the stamp left, a hand.

d'Artagnan stepped to his side. "We've seen that before."

"Tattooed on the 'and of the assassins." Porthos said on Treville's other side.

"It's the mark of Hugh O'Neill, a Catholic who was exiled from Ireland, and had his hand taken. Men bearing this brand were O'Neill's private guard."

Their attention distracted, Milady attempted to make her escape unnoticed.

"Soldiers?" d'Artagnan asked.

"More than just soldiers." Treville thought. "More like Musketeers."

"We need to get back to the convent as soon as possible." Porthos insisted, Athos and Aramis' situation was all that more worse off if they were fighting men that were trained and not just thugs.

"We can't wait for the regiment." Treville agreed.

Flickering movement caught d'Artagnan's eye and he turned to see the small mirror on the side table reflected another person, one down the hall instead of in the office. That jasmine he had smelt—he knew it! He waved his arm to silently draw Porthos' attention before he drew his pistol and ran after the killer, the tall woman on his heels, more confused than in a hurry. Treville struggled for a moment as he attempted to tear the page from book one-handed.

d'Artagnan came out of the apartments to their tethered horses and searched, but they were alone once more.

"What is it?" Porthos stepped out.

"Someone was there." He said. "I smelled her scent. Jasmine."

"'Er?" she asked.

"It was a woman." He said. "I'm sure of it."

"I didn't see anyone."

"She was there." He insisted.

Treville joined them. "We don't have time to search for her now." He mounted. "The Queen's life is at stake!"

d'Artagnan growled in frustration, but mounted. Right now, Athos, Aramis, and the Queen were the priority, not the killer of the moneylender. But he wasn't bound to forget, and once he got a moment, he was going to think on the scent of jasmine and remember. He was damned if he didn't.

---

Treville had sent Porthos and d'Artagnan back to the garrison to enact his plan, while he went back to the palace and reported his findings to the Cardinal.

"According to the ledger, the mercenaries were hired by Count Mellendorf." Treville shook his head. "It makes no sense."

"Mellendorf is here seeking a husband for his daughter." Richelieu filled in his own blanks. It was his fallback plan if something like this ever went amiss. "If the Queen were out of the way, the King would be free to marry again."

"Murdering the Queen?" he scoffed. "Isn't that a bit extreme?"

"He's a very ambitious man."

Treville mounted his horse and the Cardinal turned to leave. "They moneylender's assassin was a woman."

Richelieu paused and slowly turned. "A woman?"

"d'Artagnan saw a glimpse of her." He nodded. "Send the regiment after us, the moment they return."

"Of course." As soon as Treville left, Richelieu turned on heel and stormed back into his office, furious.

"You were seen." He snapped. "Yet again, you were careless!"

"He said a woman. Paris is filled with women!" Milady protested. "The promissory note is dealt with. They believe Mellendorf is behind all of this. It cannot be traced back to you, I swear."

"You better pray that holds true." He growled. "Mellendorf's rooms are in the East Wing of the Hunting Lodge. I believe this belongs to him." He said pointedly and held out a broken-sealed letter.

She took it with relief and a nod, rushing to do just that. That had been too close a call at the moneylender's. She felt like she was running on borrowed-time of her borrowed-time and it was a feeling that she hated.

---

There was pause in the firing as Gallagher had called his men back to him, and now, in the quiet, was giving them their new orders.

Aramis stood leaning against the wall by the window, gazing out it, a steaming cup in her hand when Isaac came into the room with the basket of whisky.

"It is very quiet. Perhaps prayer has driven them away." He said.

"More likely, they're devising a plan of attack. One that won't cost them so many men." She replied, though her face was still turned to the window, her gaze was cut across the man.

"Well, these will help keep them at bay." He placed the few remaining bottles, their necks stuffed with cloth, on the side table.

Aramis pushed from the wall and approached the man's turned back, just as men ran from the trees and to the convent wall.

"When you left, I tried to find you. But you just disappeared! I searched and searched until my father grew sick of it and sent me away. I had to stop after that."

He turned to her and gave her a gentle smile. "I didn't want to be found..."

"I don't understand." She shook her head, the cup thunking on the table and an old pain glowed in her brown eyes. "What we had together... We loved each other. We—"

"That wasn't love, René." Isaac said, calling her by her given name; one she shed like Athos when she joined the Musketeers. "After what happened with the baby... that tragedy helped me realize my true calling to God. We were just kids, we weren't meant to be parents. It's helped you find yourself as well. This, right now, is who you were meant to be—a Musketeer. You help people, you serve France—just as I do."

"You left me." Aramis mumbled. It wasn't the first time she'd said that to someone. It seemed to happen to everyone that she grew an attachment to. Adele, Marsac, Isaac... who would be next? she wondered.

"No." He shook his head. "If I had stayed, it would have ruined both our lives." It wasn't said unkindly. "You would have clung to the idea of us and it would have suffocated you. You aren't meant to settle down, Aramis. That was clear, even then. You wouldn't have been happy."

"With you, I would have." She insisted.

"No." He paced away, closing his eyes briefly. "My leaving was the right thing to do. Look at us now. We've both found our true vocation. Mine to God, and yours to the sword. We would have made each other miserable. Believe me. I acted out of kindness." And he grabbed the basket and left, leaving Aramis to stare after him with a pain etched into her abdomen.

In the cellar, two men broke through the weak brick in the wall and drop through into Isaac's distillery.

"Someone's coming." The bald man hissed, and the two hid as Isaac came down with the empty basket and started to fill it with bottles when he was grabbed from behind, a hand over his mouth and arm around his throat.

Aramis paced, her attention split between the window and Isaac's leave. How harsh could a man be, to say he was doing her a kindness by vanishing? She gritted her teeth, Priest for not, she would have a piece of him. She wondered when he had gotten so condescending. He was treating her like some slow child. Like she was that sixteen-year-old and not a grown woman.

Being with Isaac, it made her feel like that again. Not the young-anything-is possible sixteen-year-old, the emotionally-tragic sixteen-year-old who had fallen in love, had sex for the first time and then fell pregnant. The sixteen-year-old who was to married, only to lose the baby. Who's first-love had disappeared and who's father had sent her away to a convent that wasn't very dissimilar to this one, and put her on the path to God. But before she had taken her pledge, she'd found her calling in something else—realized how good a shot she was, how good with her hands—and how much she loved to touch and be touched.

So, perhaps he was correct in that, but that didn't mean he was right to do what he had, and how he went about it. Determined, she headed for the cellar, hooking her pistol into her belt.

"Where are the Musketeers?" the long-haired man hissed with sour breath in the Father's face, and put a knife to his cheek. "Speak, or you will never utter another word."

"Isaac?" Aramis called.

The bald man clamped a hand around his mouth before he could call a warning out to the woman, and a punch to the gut put a brief halt on his struggles. The long-haired man turned from him and raised his pistol towards the door. As soon as Aramis stepped into the room, unsuspecting, she would be dead. That was not something he could allow for. Isaac manages to get his hand free and grabbed the knife at the bald man's hip. He drove it into the man's thigh, and as he released the Priest with the cry of injury, Isaac spun and stabbed the man over and over again in a frenzy.

"Aramis!" he screamed warning, and the long-haired man spun around as Issaz stood from his first kill and fired.

"Isaac!" Aramis screamed, firing from the doorway and killing the long-haired man. "Isaac." She ran to the fallen Priest.

She pressed her hands to the suffering wound off the left his abdomen and he groaned at the attention. "We will see each other again in Heaven," Isaac gasped, looking up at the woman with firm tears in his eyes. "Of that, I am sure."

"If you think I'm going to let you go that easily after finding you all these years gone," Aramis growled. "You are mistaken, Father!" she tore her blue sash loose from beneath her belts and started to tie it around his torso to staunch the flow.

"My life is not your to give or take, but God's." He chocked.

"Aramis!" Athos called, running into the cellar room, her pistol drawn with Mother Superior and a few other nuns behind her. She instantly took in the scene. "What do you need?" she demanded.

Aramis forced back tears, she would be damned if she let God take him now. "Help me get him upstairs!"

Athos nodded and tucked her pistol away and grasped Isaac behind the knees while Aramis took him under the arms. He cried out as they lifted him, and he tried to stifle it as they took him up the stairs.

"I need my kit from my saddlebag. Boiled water, brandy, cloth!" Aramis instructed the nuns and they scattered to do her biding as Mother Superior guided them to the closest bedchamber.

The two Musketeers laid him on the table that was dragged from the wall to center room. Each of the nuns returned consecutively with all the she requested.

"Aramis, do you need me?" Athos questioned, carefully watching her as the other woman quickly sorted out her tools in need of them. "That hole needs to be boarded up before any more men can slip in."

"I will assist her," Mother Superior said, uncorking the brandy bottle and pouring some into a cup. Athos nodded and left. "Father, drink this." Mother Superior said, her one hand at the man's nape, raising his head lightly as she put the cup to his lips.

"No." He denied, turning his head away. He whimpered. "I do not partake in such ways."

"You will in this." Aramis snapped, coming to his side. "This is a pain you will be want in numbing. Drink."

The pain briefly fled from his eye as he looked at her. "I will not be clouded in my death." Mother Superior had a briefly defiant look on her face and seemed about to make him drink, before she laid his head back down and took the cup away. She would not force herself on someone's last wishes and beliefs.

"I am not letting you die." She growled. "Swear you will fight until the last moment."

"I swear," he said faintly. Aramis nodded and unwrapped his wound and cut open his robe. It still bleed rather freely. Mother Superior mopped away the blood.

"The ball's still in there," Aramis said. "We need to remove it. Hold him down, strong as you can. He'll fight you." Mother Superior nodded and locked the Priest down under strong grip. With a sterilized dagger, Aramis dug into the wound.

Isaac cried out at the fresh lava in his flesh, and his previously flagging strength reared its head as he bucked against the pain, struggling as Aramis tried to find the ball before she was forced to push her fingers into the wound. Isaac screamed and then went slack, passed-out from the pain. It was a relief when she found the lead ball. A surge of blood followed its removal, before flowing sluggishly. Mother Superior cleaned the wound with cloth and boiled water before splashing the wound with a healthy dose of brandy that even in unconsciousness, made Isaac whimper. The Musketeer didn't miss the shot she took for herself as Aramis cleaned her hands stained with wet blood and set about putting thread through needle. There was no telling now what kind of internal damage the ball and the knife had done. Time would be the deciding factor. Either he would recover, or slowly bleed internally and there would be nothing she could do to stop it—just like so many other things.

When she finished sewing the wound in his abdomen and wrapped it, the nuns carefully lifted him and settled him comfortably on the bed. They stayed at his bedside, heads bowed in prayer. Aramis lingered briefly bowing her own head, before she gave them instruction. Keep an eye for fever and breaths, and if he woke, no matter how briefly, to get him to drink the herbs she had left, steeped in boiled water.

She leaned on the wall outside the room and let out a shaky breath. Her hands trembled lightly the same as she stared down at them, his blood still staining her hands, even as she had washed them. Ringed around her fingernails, in the creases of her palms.

Athos made a silent appearance, finished from boarding the broken hole the assassins had come through into the cellar. In a bit, with a few other of the nuns to guide her, she could head back into the bowels of the convent and search for any other such intrusions by torch. Night would soon fall, and they would become blind to any actions of Gallagher's.

The woman didn't say anything and Aramis found that a silent comfort. Surely God would not be so cruel to take this man from her a second time, this time, truly forever?

---

The Musketeers rode hard. There was but six of them. Their Captain, still healing from an injury given to him by the man that d'Artagnan had defended him from to gain his commission into the King's Musketeers. Porthos and d'Artagnan, two-forth's of the Inseparables. Two old, battle-wounded, retired Musketeers; Serge the garrison cook and One-Eyed Florian his assistant. And young stable boy, hardly sixteen, Jacques. But it was seven if you included Serge's blunderbuss, Cleopatra, who was a threat unto herself, and entity of her own—responsible for more deaths than even her namesake.

Their hope was for the mercenaries to see the uniform, and not who wore it. The Cardinal would send the regiment after them, but they would never make it in time. But hopefully, this ragtag group would if they rode hard enough. Athos and Aramis would hold down the fort until their dying breath, the Queen's life over their own—with a bit of luck and skill, that was a situation not like to happen—and then they would come and kick down the doors themselves.

---

Anne lay in bed in Mother Superior's room, tossing and turning. Night had fallen, but the hammering from outside was constant, and she believed it not likely for her to get any rest. She sighed and rose, and sat on the end of the bed that was just within sight of the open doorway. She looked into the other chamber and in the soft orange glow of the candlelight, Aramis sat on the end of the bench she had used as a shooting perch, her head bowed into her hands.

She had heard the gunshot, so close inside. Athos had told her of the Priest injury and Aramis' move to save him. She wasn't sure if the other Musketeer knew or suspected of Aramis' past with the Father, but she wished dearly to lend her own comfort to her fellow Spaniard.

"What are they building?" Anne whispered in question.

Aramis sighed. "Battering ram, perhaps, or a ladder. There's no way to be sure."

She nodded and the silence spread. She watched the other woman as she ran her fingers through her unruly hair over and over again. She had striped off her frock and belts, leaving her in deep blue shirtsleeves, her musket laying across her knees. Finally, Anne stood and walked to the door, her hand raised against the jamb.

"A year after I married," she whispered, and her throat tightened briefly. "I, too, fell pregnant." Aramis looked over at her in surprise. "It was perfect," she continued. "I could feel my child inside me... moving and kicking." Her hand went to her stomach in memory. "I had his whole life planned out—what he would do... and be like. Then..." She paused and closed her eyes briefly before swallowing. "And then I lost the baby." She paused in the middle of the room. "It's been six years, and I've never forgotten that child—my child—for a single day. I can't proclaim to know Father Isaac's thoughts, but I am certain that he never forgot you... or your baby. Just as the same is for you."

Aramis admitted after a moment, "All these years, I've believed Isaac to be the only man who could truly make me happy. He was an ideal that I held every man I've ever been with to. But he was right—it was all just a fantasy, a lie."

"How is your friend?" She stepped closer.

"Touch and go for a bit at the beginning, he lost a bit of blood, but with time, Isaac will recover." She gave a shaky breath. "He knows me better then I know myself. He'd been right to stay away from me. One day back together again and he gets shot."

"No, Aramis. No." Anne gasped, and knelt in front of the woman. "You are brave and honourable... and kind. Any man—or woman—would be fortunate to be loved by you." Her hand grasped the front of her shirtsleeves and Aramis looked up and their eyes connected.

She wasn't sure who initiated it, they both seemed to gravitate towards each other—and their lips met in a soft, wanting caress. When they parted, Anne simple moved the gun from her lap and Aramis took her hands, standing. This time, when they kissed, their was a pleading, lonely desperation as they moved from the chamber and to the bed.

All the while, in the night lit by torch, a few of Gallagher's men were at the base of the convent, hammering away at the brick to clear another path into the cellar.

---

Dawn was on approach, the sun slowly coming trough the grey dusk, and still the Musketeers rode, and still, the hammering continued.

Anne giggled pleasantly as Aramis grazed her lips lightly over exposed flesh in the morning light streaming through the open window. Their connection had been made in sympathy, loneliness, loss, and want.

The door opened promptly, and all three woman froze as Athos stood in the doorway.

"Athos—" Aramis started, partly shielding the Queen from sight.

"Get up." She told Aramis, her voice still. "Your Majesty." She bowed her head formerly to the naked Queen and backed out, slamming the door.

Aramis scrambled from bed, cursing softly as she rushed to put her clothes back on.

"Aramis," Anne whispered, the sheet held around her body as she sat at the edge of the bed.

Aramis paused in her task, half-dressed as she dropped to her knees in front of her; not like a prostrate follower, but that of a lover. She took the light-haired woman's hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. "My Anne." She briefly laid her head in the Queen's lap and Anne brushed her fingers through the Spaniard's curly locks.

"Don't ruin it by regretting it." She whispered.

Aramis shook her head. "I could never regret you, Anne." Finally, she stood, and finished dressing, minus the sash around her waist. "Do not worry." She imparted before she left the Queen to get dressed herself.

Aramis pressed her lips to the Queen's cross as she crossed through the chapel to the sacristy where Athos was awaiting, dread in her stomach. She didn't regret what happened with the Queen, though she know that it shouldn't of happened—but she felt it worse that they had been caught, instead of the act itself.

"I still can't see what they're building." Athos said, her voice blank from where she stood at the window, her back to the other woman. "They could be tunnelling..." She turned to look at Aramis, her face as mask. There was a stillness in Athos was more frightening than any violence could be.

"What you saw in there..."

"I didn't see anything because I've been in here all morning." Her approach on the Spaniard was slow, almost predatory. "And so I couldn't possibly have seen a thing, you understand?" Aramis slowly started to nod, but then Athos' cool surface cracked and fractured. "I cannot believe you slept with the Queen!" She screamed and shoved Aramis against the wall.

The assaulted woman didn't resist, but grimaced nonetheless; Athos clearly wasn't playing around. "Not so loud."

"Not so loud?" she repeated. And then louder, "Not so loud?! Why? Afraid the nuns might hear? Did you do something wrong, Aramis, is that it?"

"I'm not sorry, Athos." She replied in an undertone.

"Well, you should be." Athos spat, her blues eyes glowing. "What could you have been thinking? The Queen—clearly not with your head."

"It wasn't like it was planned." She protested.

"You may think that sounds better, but it does not."

"It's not as if I was the only one."

"She is the Queen!" she bit out.

"We were two consenting adults." Aramis whispered. "There was no Queen and her Knight. We were just two people, seeking comfort and love in one another."

"Love." She scoffed in disgust and turned away from her friend. "The Queen is not a regular woman—she is the Queen for God's sake! What if someone finds out?" She spun on the woman with a slashing gesture. "You could be hung for treason, Aramis! And me alongside you for letting it happen."

"Glad to see exactly where your concerns lie." Aramis said sarcastically.

"This is not funny." She snapped.

Aramis opened her mouth to give a snappish reply of her own, but before she could reply with something unhelpful to further the situation, there was a loud crack from outside and a ball whipped close by Athos' head and planted into the opposite wall. Both woman dropped to the floor.

"We'll talk about this later!" Athos growled at her from the floor.

"If it makes you feel better... There's more chance we'll be killed here and take it with us to the grave." Aramis tried.

"Such comfort you give me." She responded dryly. There was silence between them as no more gunfire seemed to be forthcoming and they slowly rose, but out of sight of the window.

"So, you're good?" Aramis asked carefully.

Athos' stare was piercing, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned against the opposite wall. "For now." She said finally.

The markswoman nodded and started for the door. "I should head back."

"We will talk on this later." Athos said.

She sighed. "I know." Aramis returned across the chapel to find Anne dressed and waiting. The Musketeers bowed lightly to her. "Your Majesty should probably wait with the nuns."

"I want to stay here and help you." Anne replied and approached.

"I don't think—" Aramis tried, picking up her musket from where it was leaned against the wall, checking the prime. She thought that Athos might rest-easy if the Queen was away from her seducing hands, as it was.

"I am the Queen and this is my decision." She stated firmly, unmoved by her Musketeer's plea. "Besides, surely I'm safer with you than in the care of unarmed nuns."

"Depends on by which 'safe' you mean," Aramis murmured with double meaning and the Queen couldn't help the girly smile that spread across her lips. "Anne." She said dangerously.

---

When Athos went back to the window, eyeglass in-hand and Mother Superior present, she made a unhappy discovery. She saw men run from the protection of the wood and to the convent wall with torches. Stepping onto the bench, she leaned dangerously and precariously outside the window to catch and glimpse and what she discover put her on the move. Athos grabbed the musket and bid Mother Superior to gather the pistol and charges as she ran across the chapel and to the chamber. Any thoughts of what Aramis and the Queen had done were put aside as she focused on the more present threat.

"Aramis! They're getting in below us! We have to get the Queen somewhere we can defend her."

"There's a storeroom in the cellar," Mother Superior supplied the answer. "Only one way in."

"Perfect." Athos nodded. "Quickly now!" she urged them.

Athos lead them down the stairs, and stopped them at the bottom, just out of sight. She heard the scuff of footsteps and counted. Their shadows stretched and flickered into view as they stepped into the end of the way on the right and she jumped around the cover and fired at them before they knew what was happening. One with the musket, before fire was returned. She switched weapons with Aramis, taking the woman's pistol.

"Take the Queen." She ordered.

"Which way?" Aramis asked of Mother Superior.

"This way." The nun indicated the left.

"Go!" Athos called and came into view of the assassins, a loaded pistol in each hand. Aramis ushered Mother Superior and the Queen in front of her. Athos fired, but they were ready for her now, and jumped from path before her balls could cut into them. In a smooth move, she hooked the spent pistols onto her belt and pulled her rapier, charging the men, their own swords drawn.

She killed both men with quick and harsh cuts of her sword and retreated back down the hall to the storeroom that the others were holed in, a table thrown across the open doorjamb for added cover. Aramis shot a man as Athos jumped the table to join them, switching guns with Mother Superior who was acting as loader.

Gallagher and his men held up in the room a short distance from their own and the two groups exchanged useless cover fire.

---

The Cardinal met the King with a small clutch of Red Guards, his Majesty frantic on his interrupted hunting trip with news of men trying to kill his Queen Anne. It lent perfect opportunity as Count Mellendorf was in attendance with his daughter Charlotte and Richelieu quickly laid blame at the innocent man's unsuspecting feet.

"A promissory note was found on one of the assassins—signed for by Count Mellendorf. Search his luggage!" Richelieu made order of his Red Guards.

"Why would I kill the Queen?" Mellendorf asked in surprised confusion at such an accusation. A Guard handed over a the note Richelieu ordered Milady to hide in the man's luggage for maximum affect and after a brief exchange, placed the man under arrest. "A note promising the leader of the assassins, Charles Gallagher, safe passage to Germany, on proof of the death of Queen Anne."

"Throw them in the Bastille!" Louis ordered and Richelieu saw it done, his ass thoroughly covered. At least this was something Milady had done right in a list of things made bad.

"The Musketeers will protect Anne." Louis swore through tears, but alone with the Cardinal. "They will not allow any harm to come to her!"

---

Aramis set about reloading her musket in the pause of fire. Her fingertips scraped the bottom her empty pouch. "I'm out of balls." She looked across the doorway to where Athos was seated, Anne and Mother Superior out of harms way in the corner behind the Lieutenant. "How many shots do we have left?" Athos silently held out her palm, showing the two lead balls in embrace there. Aramis sighed heavily, thunking her head lightly back against the wall. "There's at least four of them out there." Athos just flicked a ball across the floor to her. She rammed the ball down the barrel as Athos did the same with the pistol.

There was a clank outside the storeroom in the hall that caused both woman to grimace and share a look. It was a test by Gallagher to the assumption that they weren't shooting because they were out, and he would be mostly right. Any moment now, the man would take opportunity and press attack.

"Did I mention this has to count?" Athos finally spoke, her smile grim.

"Thanks for the reminder." She rolled her eyes.

Gallagher nodded to one of his men and the man stepped out into the hall. He was nearly to the storeroom when Aramis rose on her knee and fired, killing the man before dropping back to safety as a shot was fired at her.

"Did you get him?"

Her expression was deadpan, "Athos, please."

Athos looked at the pistol in her hand. "Our last shot."

"Shall I make it count?" she accepted the given weapon. "If I ever complain about an assignment not being exciting enough—"

"I'll kick you so hard, you'll beg me to shoot you." Athos finished for her.

Aramis paused and looked across at the woman and her masked expression. "Not enough to kill me, mind you." She said slowly.

"Not enough to kill you, mind." Athos repeated in such an aloof manner, and Aramis wondered if she was still mad about her sleeping with the Queen—her gaze flickered to the royal.

"Are you—"

"Shall I do it now, to reiterate the point?" She held her hand out for the pistol.

"No, no." Aramis shook her head, holding weapon tight to chest lest the woman lunge across to retrieve it. "No need. You shan't waste any bullets... this is our last."

"Pity," she tsked quietly. "I'll admit I was looking forward to it."

"Well..." was all Aramis could think to say as they played in waiting with Gallagher.

---

When the Musketeers rode to the convent gates, they met no resistance, but instead, found several nuns rushing to open the gates. They quickly dismounted and were lead into the convent and explained the situation. Athos and Aramis were holed-up in the cellar storeroom with the Queen and Mother Superior, surrounded by Gallagher's men.

Gallagher had put guards all along the way, and at top of cellar stair, Treville fired at the man at the bottle of the stairs. He ducked from fire, returned it, shouting out a warning to the others. Hearing the cry Gallagher sent the remaining men with him after the new arrivals.

Boldly, a man rushed up the stairs, firing at the group. Porthos shot the man promptly, and kicked a barrel down at another man following. In a surge of adrenaline, Porthos rushed down the stairs, unprepared for the appearance of a pistol in her face. She flinched at the shot fired, but it was the man in front of her that fell dead. She looked to her side and saw Serge with spent pistol, even more eager for battle after years stuck in kitchen.

"Wait! No! Get back, get back!" Porthos shouted, but Serge didn't listen and left the protection that the stair brought and was shot by a man down the hall. The old man groaned as he slowly slumped down to the ground.

"Take her." He urged in raspy voice.

With saddened and furious expression, Porthos claimed Cleopatra and aimed at the charging man with his sword drawn. The kick was hard, and the impact of the large ball threw the unsuspecting man back. Porthos was just surprised the thing didn't explode in her hand.

That was when Gallagher decided to make his escape. With reinforcements present, it was now a fool's errand—and he was far from that.

Aramis and Athos rose. They heard the fire and knew that either the nuns decided a revolt with a hidden cache of weapons, or Porthos and d'Artagnan had returned with reinforcements—and not a minute too soon! With a nod to Aramis who handed over loaded pistol, Athos drew her sword and stepped from the storeroom, peeling off the to immediate left, the path so taken by Gallagher.

"Athos!" Treville yelled. "Aramis!"

"In here." Aramis called, resheathing her own drawn sword, sighing in relief as she stepped into view.

"Everyone alive?" Treville demanded upon arrival, the others behind him.

"Why wouldn't we be?" She smiled and stepped aside to reveal the Queen and Mother Superior. "It's good to see you guys!"

"Captain!" Anne cried in relief at seeing the man.

"Your Majesty. Thank God." Treville, and the others behind him, bowed. "Where's Athos?"

---

Athos paused and cocked the loaded pistol, aiming it at Gallagher's back at the end of the hall. Gallagher paused and slowly turned. She took a few steps closer.

"Tell me who hired you and I'll spare you the hangman's noose."

"What kind of soldier would I be if I broke a confidence like that?" he replied easily.

"One who's not ready to die yet."

In response, his blue eyes narrowed lightly, he planted his feet and rose his right hand, palm spread as he slowly and purposefully reached for the pistol in his belt.

"Don't." She warned him, just as he grasped the grip and pulled. She fired, and he gasped lightly as the ball impacted. He reached out a hand to the wall the steady himself and slowly slumped to the ground. He groaned as Athos made her approach, there was no threat from him now.

"Why?" she asked him quietly.

His only response was in asking for his last rites. She knew she was going to get nothing out of him, and while she cursed him for it, she could respect his will. She went to retrieve Mother Superior.

Aramis kept a brief eye on the pair at the end of the hall to make sure the man didn't try something in a last-ditch effort, as behind her, down the short steps, Treville, d'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos stood together. The Queen was upstairs with the nuns, all threat of the assassins gone.

"It seems Count Mellendorf hired them to kill the Queen," Treville finished explaing, "So his daughter could marry the King."

"You have evidence of this?" Athos asked.

d'Artagnan nodded, his arms crossed over his chest and his hand lightly laid over the bled-through bandanna on his forearm, obscuring it. "His name is on the ledger."

"And he was openly seeking a husband for his daughter." Treville added.

Aramis joined them, disinclined in this. "This Gallagher was exiled from his country for being a Catholic—his land stolen and given to followers of a rival faith. You'd think after that, he'd have a healthy dislike of all things Protestant. I know I would."

"Mmm." Porthos nodded her agreement. "Instead, 'e agrees to kill our Catholic Queen to allow a German Protestant to take 'er place on the throne." She shook her head. "Doesn't feel right."

"He's a mercenary." d'Artagnan reasoned.

"One with principles... of a kind." Athos allowed.

Mother Superior joined them. "Before he passed away, Monsieur Gallagher said there was money in his saddlebags to pay for the repair of the convent."

Treville, Athos, Aramis, and Mother Superior went outside the convent to locate Gallagher's horse, and d'Artagnan, Porthos, One-Eyed Florian, and Jacques worked about collecting the bodies of the killed.

Horses found, Aramis searched the saddle bags and retrieved a small flip box. She opened it, but discovered few coins in the bottom. She handed it to Treville. "That's all there is."

"Nothing else?" Treville question and Aramis shook her head. He emptied it of coin, and handed them over to Mother Superior, who nodded and left.

Athos sighed, but then straightened as she saw the design on the inside of the box—a forget-me-not flower. So in the end, Gallagher really did tell her who hired him. "Aramis is right. This isn't the work of Mellendorf. It's something much bigger." She pointed at the box. "That flower is the signature of a woman who works for the Cardinal."

There was silence as they looked at her in surprise. Seeing it, Athos was starting to realize that the truth couldn't be hidden from the others any longer. This was just too big and no longer just a personal matter concerning the past, Anne—Milady, was too much of a growing problem that had her hands in much bigger feats.

"All the bodies are gathered." d'Artagnan reported, joining them. He carefully held his burning limb in a casual manner and paused when he spotted the box and the forget-me-not imprint. "What's that?" he asked slowly.

"From the woman who hired Gallagher." Aramis said.

"Woman?"

"Likely the same you saw at the moneylender's." Treville tucked the box back in the saddleback with his one arm.

"You saw her?" Athos demanded.

"A-A glimpse." He stammered in surprise. "She got away."

Athos gave a silent breath of relief in this. If d'Artagnan had come face-to-face with Anne, she was sure she would not be speaking to the man now. That was too close a call to have unknowingly had.

"You know her?" he asked. He swallowed, his heart hammering inside his chest because he also knew a woman who liked forget-me-nots and was quite the murderess. Twice, he had smelt her scent this last day, and once with the Cardinal.

"We can discuss this on the road back to Paris." Treville interrupted any further conversation. "Right now, we need to return the Queen to his Majesty." The others nodded.

"I wish to check in with Isaac before we depart," Aramis voiced and the Captain nodded. She looked at d'Artagnan's arm pointedly. "And that arm as well."

"My arm's fine!" he protested pointlessly as they left him. "Ah..." he sighed quietly as they left. He turned his head towards the sky and rubbed his face, hissing at the twinge in his arm the movement brought. He looked at the horse as he rubbed at his arm. "Got any advice?" he asked the animal, who just snorted and shook its head in response. "Thought so…"

---

Aramis paused briefly outside his room, taking a moment to level herself. "Well, look who's still of this world." Aramis said cheerfully upon entry of the room to see Isaac's eyes open. With a nod to the present nun, the woman left them to their privacy. She sat in the vacated chair at his bedside.

"Because of you," he whispered. "Thank you, Aramis."

"Sure..." she sighed and the silence stretched between them, weighted. She narrowed her eyes and blurted, "Let's just call it a returned kindness, hmm?"

He looked at her in confusion for a moment, but then his caramel eyes cleared. "Ah. You are taking my words in the wrong meaning."

"Oh?" she inquired. "Care to explain it to me, then?"

"I meant what I said..." he said quietly, and cleared his throat. Without word, she held a cup of water to his lips. "Thank you. I meant what I said—we were never meant to be together. My true love is God. The death of our child helped me realize that." He swallowed and tears pricked her brown gaze. "I don't wish to try and make light of it and say it was destiny that the child was lost to us—or be so harsh to say that what happened, happened. But... it did happen, and no matter how much we may wish it, we cannot change the past. Hah... that does sound harsh after all."

He shifted and grimaced for the pain. "Have the Sisters been giving you the herb I left?" she asked. No matter her feelings, it was something that she could never turn off.

"I don't like it." He protested, "It's make my mind cloudy and numb."

"That's what it's supposed to do," she said dryly. "You could always drink the brandy."

He gave her a look with plain eyes that made her chuckle. "You're strong, Aramis. Life is not just one thing. It's ever-changing. Sometimes, it seems as if there is only bad and flaw, but there is always good and not so flawed. You found a family that I never could have been—a bond and connection with your Musketeers. It's something that I never could of offered you. The good. Something that you so deserved." He gave her a gentle smile. "Take care of yourself, Aramis."

Knowing a goodbye when she heard it, Aramis slowly rose. She didn't say anything, but bent over him and pressed her lips to his sweaty forehead, her eyes closing. A single tear dripped onto his flesh as she stood and left him. This time, it was her doing the kindness. This time, she knew she would never see him again.

---

Needing a distraction, the Spaniard tracked down her Gascon. Dealing with her own feelings, she didn't realize just how easily she had caught the man; his own thoughts and anxiety driving him to distraction.

"This is a mess!" Aramis exclaimed in the refectory, with its tables returned as she unwrapped the scarf from d'Artagnan's arm; the material sticking to the blood, both dried and new. He growled at her. "It look like a drunkard treated it."

"If by drunkard, you mean Porthos." He said as she helped him remove his doublet and shirtsleeves.

"That seems about right." She said dryly, and with wet cloth, proceeded to clean away the blood.

"It's just a graze isn't it? It's not like we had time to take a leisurely pause—"

"It could have done with a stitch." Aramis replied. "But it's a little late with the state it's in now." She splashed it with alcohol and he hissed in response. "But given it was Porthos you were left with, be thankful, she has the sewing skills of a drunk goat!" d'Artagnan snorted in laughter as she dried the wound and wrapped it with clean cloth. "Know this—I will be checking to for infection. So don't think you can avoid me because I will always find you, Charlie." She smiled.

"I know," he muttered, putting his shirts back on. "But I'll probably try anyways." It wasn't long after that, that with the Queen and Serge's body, the headed back to Paris.

---

The Cardinal returned from the Bastille with his visit to Count Mellendorf, satisfied in at least this, just in time to step behind the King as he greeted the Queen—freshly bathed and in her royal gown, fan spread out behind her shoulders.

"We should confront him now," Aramis said quietly to the others as she glared at the Cardinal as the Queen and King embraced each other again.

"Not here, and not until we are certain." Treville said. "Without evidence, it's just a wild and unsubstantiated accusation, not liable to hold over Louis love of the Cardinal." He glanced at Athos, "This woman you suspect, who is she?"

"She'd the most dangerous person I've ever known." She answered. "She won't be easy to find." d'Artagnan stayed silent next to her, stiff-shouldered.

"Your Majesty's safe return is a cause for great rejoicing," The Cardinal told the Queen falsely. "And I have excellent news. The man behind the attack on your life is in custody—pending execution. Count Mellendorf signed a confession, accepting full responsibility for the attack."

"Mellendorf... Who'd have thought." Louis shook his head, holding Anne's hand next to him. "Well done, Cardinal." He clapped and everyone else present followed suit. Anne caught Aramis' gaze sadly before she turned away with the King and left.

"That's it?" Aramis growled. "We know he's behind this and we let him stand there—the hero of the hour." She scoffed is hate as Porthos guided her out with the other with a hand on her shoulder. "Near the Queen… He should be in chains, not Mellendorf!" The others dispersed as well.

"This isn't over yet." Athos muttered and approached the Cardinal, naught but the pair of them left in the room. "Your Eminence—may I congratulate you on capturing the culprit?" Richelieu allowed a small smile, but it dropped from face when Athos continued, her voice overly pleasant and reassuring. "I don't believe Mellendorf acted alone. The assassins were hired by a woman. Perhaps, the woman who killed the moneylender. Be assured, I will not rest until she'd brought to justice."

"Excellent." He replied tightly. "Forgive me, I'm late for Mass." And he started to leave.

Athos turned to him. "Her—and whoever she works for." She promised.

---

the M~U~S~K~E~T~E~E~R~S - S~R~E~E~T~E~K~S~U~M eht

So, I bended Isabelle/Sister Helene, into Father Isaac. And as was vaguely mentioned before, I switched it and made it so that it was Aramis who fell pregnant when they were teenagers and she lost the baby. And instead of killing him off like they did Isabelle and it seemed anyone that Aramis has as a love-interest, I left him to live.

I'm really excited and nervous for chapter 10, I have so many ideas flowing for it! :)

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