Chapter 11

Immediately, the immortal duo ran back down to the sanctum, where they found both the young monarch and the elder D'Artagnan sprawled out on the floor, while the younger D'Artagnan was busy trying to wrench the smoking pistol from a masked cultist. The front of the King's borrowed musketeer jacket was coated in blood, as was the Legend's stomach. Jacqueline rushed over to Louis' side, laying a hand on the side of his neck. Though unconscious, he had a strong, steady pulse. Relieved, yet confused, the female musketeer looked at the bloodstained garment the King was wearing. There was a hole in the center of the stain, but no blood was actually coming out of it. She raised her head to alert Siroc, only to find the elder immortal kneeling next to his former comrade.

"H-Henri?" The Legend gasped, looking up at Siroc.

"I'm here, Charles."

"I-it hurts."

"I know. Here…." Jacqueline watched as the inventor, in what was obviously a well-practiced maneuver, quickly jabbed his fingers into a point just above the wound. At first, she wasn't sure just what her friend was trying to accomplish. Then, to her amazement, the elder D'Artagnan seemed to relax.

"T-the pain," he said, equally amazed. "It's gone…."

"I've blocked off the nerves. It's the best I can do."

Charles nodded grimly. "God…I-I'm so sorry, Henri. I never should've…"

"Why did you, then?"

"Blackmail. Bernard…he knew…"

"Knew what, Charles?"

"About Anne…about…" He turned his head towards the young King, who was starting to come around. Jacqueline looked back and forth between them, recalling the Legend's earlier conversation with Bernard as the truth fell into place.

"By the gods…" Siroc breathed. "You mean…Louis…he's…"

Charles nodded, turning back to his old friend. "I loved his mother…always have. Bernard…he found out about it, somehow. Told me that if I didn't join with him, he'd make the truth known to all."

"Gods…. Why didn't you come to us, Charles? We could've helped you."

"I-I'm sorry, Henri. I was…afraid. Bernard…he told me about your past…your history with him. I-I didn't want to involve you because I feared what might happen if he found out. God, I-I've been such a fool. Can you ever forgive me?" As he spoke, Charles turned once more towards Louis. After a moment, the young monarch, still in shock over the revelation, managed a small nod. Satisfied, the Legend looked back up at Siroc expectantly.

"I forgive you, Charles." At that, a warm smile crossed the elder D'Artagnan's features, which Siroc immediately returned.

"Thank you, Henri."

"Rest now, Brother. One for all…"

"…and all for…" He trailed off, and his body suddenly went limp. Siroc briefly touched his neck, then ran a hand over his eyes, closing them forever. Jacqueline could see tears staining the blonde's cheeks, and felt more welling up in the corners of her own eyes. Her childhood hero, the legendary D'Artagnan, was dead. True, he had become an enemy towards the end, but that didn't make the loss hurt any less. She turned to Louis, who also appeared to be quite upset, and understandably so. All around them, young musketeers stood gaping in shock, though it was hard to say whether it was from the death of their great hero or the truths that his dying words had revealed.

"Back to the garrison," Duval said, taking control of the situation. "All of you…that's an order. And if any of you breathes a word of this, you'll all have dungeon duty for a month!" At that, the majority of the musketeers turned and left the sanctum. Only 'Jacques,' Siroc, Ramon and D'Artagnan stayed behind.

Shoving the cultist he'd been grappling with into the Spaniard's arms, the younger D'Artagnan rushed to his father's side. Siroc quickly stood up, grabbing hold of his distraught comrade before he could fling himself onto the corpse.

"Father!"

"He's gone, D'Artagnan."

The Gascon shook his head. "No…he can't…. Do something, damn it!"

"I'm an immortal," Siroc whispered, "not a god. His wound was just too severe. I'm sorry."

"No…" All at once, the strength seemed to drain out of the younger D'Artagnan. He dropped to his knees, hands still clinging to Siroc's borrowed robes. Without thinking, the immortal knelt down as well, running a gentle hand over the boy's dark hair.

"Shh…it's alright, Little D. I'm—" Suddenly, Siroc found himself staring up at the ceiling, his jaw temporarily dislocated from the unexpected blow. Snapping it back into place, he watched the Legend's son draw himself back to his feet. Looking into the young man's eyes, it was plain to see that grief had been replaced by rage. Before anyone could stop him, D'Artagnan drew his dagger and, grabbing the now-unarmed cultist back from Ramon, shoved the blade into the man's heart all the way to the hilt. The cultist fell and, without bothering to retrieve his weapon, the Gascon turned and walked out of the sanctum.

"W-what in blazes just happened?" Duval stammered, after several moments of shocked silence. The inventor sat up, rubbing his still-aching jaw.

"I have no idea, Sir. Perhaps my timing could stand a bit of improvement."

"I'll go talk to him," Jacqueline offered, getting up and heading in the direction D'Artagnan had taken. Once she was gone, Siroc, finally remembering the reason he'd rushed back down into the sanctum in the first place, climbed back to his feet and approached the young King.

"Are you alright, Sire?"

Louis nodded. "H-he saved my life. One minute, D'Artagnan—the older one—was fighting alongside the Order, and the next…. He threw himself in front of a bullet that was meant for me."

"Then he died a hero."

"And that's precisely how he shall be remembered. I see no need for his great legacy to be tainted by his involvement with these…these heretics." All three musketeers nodded in understanding.

"As you wish, Sire. Now," Siroc continued, "I'm curious…what exactly was it that led Ramon to believe you'd been shot?"

"Well, I was…kind of…." The young monarch opened his bloodstained jacket and, leaning in, the inventor could see a tiny lump of lead imbedded in the front of his vest. Tentatively, he reached forward and gently rapped his knuckles against the material. The action produced a dull, metallic sound, and the immortal couldn't help but grin.

"I see that you lot have been snooping around in my lab," he said, glancing over at Ramon. The Spaniard shrugged.

"I was just following orders, compañero. In all the excitement, I'd completely forgotten that His Highness was wearing one."

Siroc nodded. "Well, I'm just glad that my Impenetrable worked." He turned back to the King. "In the future, Sire, perhaps it would be better for everyone if you refrain from offering yourself up as a test subject for my experiments. You nearly gave us all heart failure."

"I'll take that under advisement. Help me up?" Louis held out his hand, and Siroc immediately took hold of it and pulled. The young King made it about halfway up before crying out in pain.

"Something wrong, Sire?" Siroc asked, gently lowering him back to the ground.

"M-my side hurts."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Please do." Nodding, the inventor gently removed Louis' vest and jacket, then pulled up his shirt.

"Well, it would seem that my otherwise brilliant creation does have one drawback. It stopped the bullet, but I'm afraid that you're going to have quite a bruise. But not to worry…you should be just fine in about a week."

"Well," Louis shrugged, "it's certainly preferable to being dead, which is what would've happened had I not been wearing this marvelous invention of yours. Private Siroc, I want you to make enough of these Impenetrables for every man in the garrison, as well as one for my own personal use that can be worn with my normal clothes."

"That's a pretty tall order, Sire…but, with a little help from my comrades, I'm sure I could manage. I'll start with yours, and, with any luck, it'll be ready in time for your coronation…providing, of course, that Your Majesty is willing to part with one of your own vests for the purposes of creating it."

"Of course. I'll have one sent to your laboratory straight away. But first things first," the King said, climbing back to his feet with some assistance from the inventor. "Siroc, Ramon…I need you to take D'Artagnan's remains up to my private chapel in the palace. Go up through one of these secret passages, as I'd imagine carrying him through the streets would only cause rioting among the citizens. I'll break the sad news to them myself later this afternoon. That way, all those who witnessed his death will, hopefully, have had a chance to come to terms with it and be better able to maintain calm in the streets."

Siroc nodded. "Good thinking Sire." With that, he discarded the borrowed robe, and then he and Ramon carefully picked up the body of his 'legendary' former comrade and carried it up through the same passage that Bernard had utilized in his escape. Once they were gone, Louis turned to Captain Duval.

"Captain, you heard Cardinal Mazarin down here earlier, didn't you?"

"I did, Sire."

"Good, then it wasn't just me."

"Your orders, Sire?"

Louis thought for a moment. "Well, unfortunately, we don't have any real proof, other than our word, that he was participating in—possibly even leading—the ritual that these heretics were attempting this morning. But that doesn't mean that I'm going to just let this go and pretend it never happened. I want Cardinal Mazarin placed under house arrest, starting immediately. His personal guard is to be disbanded, and replaced with your own men—though their job won't be to protect him so much as to monitor his activities. He is to go nowhere—within the palace or outside of it—without a musketeer escort. And the moment he steps out of line, he will be removed from his position of power and put on the first available ship back to Sicily. Furthermore, I want any and all occult books and artifacts in the cardinal's possession confiscated, and every possible entrance to this unholy place sealed up. Even if we are unable to arrest every member of this cult, I want to make sure that they can't regroup and rise up again."

"Couldn't agree with you more, Your Majesty. I'll get right on it."

"Good. Shall we return to the palace, then?"

"Absolutely." Duval snatched up the obelisk from its place on the altar, and then the aging captain and his young monarch left the sanctum for what they hoped would be the last time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shortly after leaving the sanctum, Jacqueline finally found the Legend's son in his quarters. The door was wide open, and she could see that he was dressed in civilian clothing and angrily shoving personal items into a large duffel. Not wanting to be rude, she knocked on the doorframe. "D'Artagnan?" she asked quietly. "Are you alright?"

"Does it look like I'm alright," he growled, not even bothering to look up. "I just found out that my whole goddamned life has been one lie after another. The reason my 'legendary' father was never around when we needed him was because he was far too busy committing treason with the Queen. Because of that, our future king is actually his bastard son…my half-brother. And, on top of all that, I find out that one of my so-called best friends is actually the godfather that abandoned me when I was five. Aramis was the closest thing I had to a real father when I was young, and the son of a bitch just…he left us…left me. Walked away and never returned. Then he has the nerve to come back and pass himself off as a new recruit just when I'm ready to join up. And for what? To mock me?"

"Come on…this is Siroc you're talking about, remember? I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for why he left."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I don't care. Explanation or no, it doesn't erase what he did." He laughed harshly. "You know…my mother never wanted me to join the musketeers in the first place. Said that being a musketeer would bring nothing but pain. Looks like she was right."

"And you think that running away is going to solve everything?"

He stared at her. "I'm not running away, Jacqueline. Just walking…going home."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

He sighed. "With Father gone, I am now Comte D'Artagnan. And, unlike him, I'm actually going to fulfill my obligations."

Jacqueline crossed her arms, glaring. "And what of your obligation to the King?"

He glared back. "What obligation? Louis has hundreds of musketeers at his disposal. My absence will hardly be noticed."

"Your friends would notice. What about us?"

"Ramon is welcome to visit my estate anytime he wants."

"Just Ramon?"

"Siroc…Aramis…whatever his name is…. Far as I'm concerned, he can go straight to the devil right along with Father. As for you…." Looking into her eyes, the anger finally drained from his. D'Artagnan walked over to where she stood, gently cupping her face in his hands. "I was actually hoping that you would come with me…as my wife." She stood there for a moment, not quite sure what to say. His fingers found their way back to her hair, gently caressing the recently shorn locks. "You cut your hair."

"I did."

He shrugged. "It'll grow back. So…are you interested?" D'Artagnan leaned in for a kiss, but she gently pushed him back, moving the rest of the way into the room and closing the door. "What's wrong?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry, D'Artagnan. It's just…well…this is a pretty big decision. I mean, I'm still trying to figure out this whole 'immortality' thing. You proposing is making this a lot more complicated…no offense."

"It doesn't have to be," he said, gently taking her hands in his. She winced a bit when he grabbed the right one, and the Gascon quickly shifted his grip. "Jacqueline, I love you. I've loved you from the moment you fell out of that tree. Mortal, immortal…I don't care. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I can't imagine my life without you in it." D'Artagnan took a knee, gazing up into her soft, green eyes. "Marry me…please."

"Do you really mean that, D'Artagnan, or is this just a desperate attempt to get me away from Siroc?"

"I mean it, Jacqueline. With all my heart."

Jacqueline smiled. "Well, in that case…. Yes. I'll marry you."

"Y-you will?" he stammered, jaw hanging open in shock.

"Of course. I said yes, didn't I?"

Grinning from ear to ear, D'Artagnan leapt to his feet and swept her into a passionate kiss—the first real, unimpeded one the two had ever shared. "You won't regret this, Jacqueline," he breathed once they parted. "I swear it."

"I know, and I can't wait. But there is something I have to do first."

"What?"

She sighed. "It's one of those immortal things, and not something I can easily get out of. Just give me a month to take care of it, and then we can get married."

"A month?" She nodded. "Well…I've waited this long…I suppose another month couldn't hurt. Just promise me that you'll come back in one piece."

"I'll be just fine, D'Artagnan. Don't worry about me. If I can whip you without breaking a sweat, Bernard's scrawny little henchman will be a breeze."

He chuckled. "Good point. Alright, then. In one month, you and I will get married. And then, we can go back to my estate and work on starting our family."

As soon as D'Artagnan said the word 'family,' Jacqueline's face fell. "Uh…D'Artagnan…. Before you start planning out our future, there's something you should know…." She looked down at the floor, not sure how to begin.

"What's wrong, Jacqueline?" Gently, he tilted her chin back up so she was looking into his eyes once more. "Come on…whatever it is, you can tell me."

"It's just…well…. I'm afraid that I can't have children. I-I'm sorry."

D'Artagnan suddenly backed away from her, looking quite upset. "What? Since when?"

"Since always, I suppose. I just didn't know for sure until the other night. It's one of the downsides to being immortal."

D'Artagnan's eyes grew wide. "Whoa…wait a second. First we're not going to be able to grow old together, and now you can't even give me children?"

Jacqueline glared at him. "I thought you didn't care about the whole immortality thing."

"I thought I was okay with it, but now…." He turned his back toward her.

"What are you saying, exactly? That my not being able to have children suddenly means that we can't get married? Look at me."

He turned back towards her. "Well…yeah."

This time, it was her jaw that dropped in shock. "Why? I mean, if you really want children that badly, we could always adopt."

He shook his head. "I won't raise someone else's children, Jacqueline."

"And why the hell not? I was adopted, and I turned out just fine."

"That's different. You're...well…"

"I'm what? A peasant? It was good enough for my parents, but not for the son of the great D'Artagnan?"

"You don't understand. I have to have an heir to carry on the family line…and that means someone of my own blood. And if you can't give me that…I'm sorry."

"So that's it, then? One minor detail that's not to your liking and suddenly I'm not worthy to be your wife?"

"It's not exactly a minor detail, Jacqueline." He sighed, then took her hand and gently pulled her in closer. "You know…not being able to get married shouldn't mean that we can't be together. I'm sure we could come to some sort of arrangement."

"Excuse me?" She pulled away, glaring. "Are you actually suggesting what I think you are?"

He shrugged. "Why not? It's perfect. You get to stay with the musketeers, I can go back to my estate, and we can get together whenever I come back into the city…which, I can assure you, will be fairly often."

"Forget it! I won't be your mistress…or anyone else's, for that matter. If you want to be with me, then marry me. Otherwise, it's over."

"You're making a mistake."

"No, you are. I swear, you're starting to sound just like your fathe—" Before she could finish, his fist slammed into her jaw, causing her to stumble backwards into the wall. The blow didn't hurt her much…at least, not physically. It was more the fact that he'd struck her at all. Rubbing the now-healing bruise, she looked back over at D'Artagnan to see that his earlier rage had returned.

"How dare you compare me to that heartless bastard!" he bellowed, nostrils flaring.

Jacqueline stared him down. "If the shoe fits…."

"Why I oughta…" He raised his fist again, and she kicked out, catching him right between the legs. The Gascon dropped to his knees, clutching the injured area and moaning in pain. "You…you bitch!"

She narrowed her eyes. "Touch me again, D'Artagnan, and I'll kill you."

Nodding, he collected himself and climbed back to his feet. "I must've been out of my mind," he muttered. "Asking you was a mistake."

"For once, I agree."

D'Artagnan glared. "You know, there's probably a thousand girls in this city who'd leap at the offer I made you."

"Good. Why don't you ask one of them?"

"You know what…I think I'll do just that. I gave you your chance, Jacqueline. You don't want it, fine. After the funeral, you won't see me for dust! You and your friends can just stay the hell out of my life!" With that, he grabbed his duffel and stormed out of the room. Siroc and Ramon happened to be on the other side of the door, and he pushed past them without so much as a word.

Once he was gone, Jacqueline collapsed onto the bed, no longer able to hold back the tears that had been building since the fight began. Her remaining comrades rushed over immediately.

"Are you alright, Jacqueline?" Siroc asked. "What happened?"

She looked up at the blonde, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. "D'Artagnan…he proposed, then took it back when I told him I couldn't have children. And then…h-he…"

"He what? What did he do?"

"He hit me. The son of a bitch actually hit me!"

Both men swore, the Spaniard reaching for his blade as he did. Siroc quickly waved him off. "No need for that…yet." Nodding, Ramon let his hand drop back to his side. The inventor sighed, shaking his head. "I was afraid of something like this."

"W-what do you mean?"

"Let's just say that he's hardly the first D'Artagnan to be so ill-tempered. Ramon, you stay here with Jacqueline. It's high time I had a nice, long talk with my godson."

Ramon's eyebrow shot up. "Your godson…oh…right…the Aramis thing. Alright. I'll keep an eye on mi amiga while you go straighten him out."

Siroc nodded. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He ran a gentle hand over Jacqueline's hair, then turned and stalked out of the room after his wayward godchild.