A/N: Ergh! This story seems to go on forever. I had never intended it to even be this long. sigh I'm sorry to those of you who are wishing for the end to come soon. I really want to finish this, but I can't seem to stop writing on it and get to the end without making it seem like there's a bit gap. Hopefully I'll hit the end before I hit 40 chapters, eh? Anyways, on with the thank you's. Thanks to: katrin4p, Silver Tears 11, libaka, LandUnderWave, SoMe WeirDo, the. dead. addict., Joou Himeko Dah, marauder'sbabe, siriushermionelover, Autumn's-Smile, arushi, xflint, nehimasgift, and jUsT.me.SuzI. Many apologies to anyone I forgot or didn't reply to their review. On with the show...

Chapter 32 - Accusations Fall

Tom sat in the garden with Hermione with his arm around her shoulders, and her head resting against him. Her face was damp and splotched from tears; she looked as though she could be sick any moment. Riddle was grateful that they had at least found that the King was only a mere hour away from death instead of already passed. He would have had a much tougher time consoling her if that had been the case. However, they had been rushed from the room by nurses before either could get a certain answer as to whether or not his majesty would make it anyway.

"What's taking them so long?" she questioned.

"Relax, lov-"

"Anastasia? Aramis?" came the voice of the Duke from behind them. They craned their necks around to look back over their shoulders at him. He looked grave and beaten down almost. "Could the two of you come back into the castle? The General is waiting in the banquet hall to ask you a few questions,' the older man informed.

They rose from their place on the stone garden bench and followed Rodden back up to his castle. The walk was silent and solemn and eerily like a funeral precession. When they got into the room, the General was waiting for them. He was standing at the window and staring out like a vulture watching its prey take its last breathes of life on the desert. He turned to face them upon hearing the threesome enter the room, his face reading danger and foreboding the likes of which made Hermione feel uneasy.

"Princess Anastasia," Mardon acknowledged in greeting.

"General Mardon," Hermione replied.

"Aramis," the General said in turn.

"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we?" Tom remarked, not caring enough to greet the man.

Mardon nodded and gestured to the long dining table in a signal for them to sit down. The scrape of chairs on the floor could be heard as Mardon sat at the head of the table with the Duke to his right, and Hermione and Riddle on the left with an empty seat's space between the three. The General cleared his throat and loosened his collar a bit while folding his hands together on the table top.

"What's going on here?" Hermione prompted impatiently.

"I was hoping you would tell us that," Mardon stated professionally. "Tell us exactly was occurred when you entered your father's room."

"All right, then," she agreed. " As you may not know, Aramis and I were second guessing our decision to get married to one ano-"

"Second guessing it? But why?" the Duke interrupted.

"I think that's a conversation for another time," Mardon commented. "Proceed," he continued, looking to Hermione.

"After some sleep and a good, long talk, we figured we should go ahead with the plans for our wedding. We felt that we were being silly in doubting our first choice on the matter," she continued to explain, stealing a glance at Tom as she spoke. He gripped her hand, and she felt courage seemingly flow from his hand to hers and throughout her body. He gave her delicate fingers another squeeze, and she swallowed to clear her throat of the worry that was seated there. "So, I told Aramis that we needed to go inform my father that we were fine once again and that he needn't worry about it."

"Why so early in the morning though?" the General quizzed.

"We were unable to sleep, and we wanted to catch him while the points we had made in the conversation were still fresh in our minds. Not to mention we felt it would be wise to get there before he got involved in breakfast or any business that the nurse maids might have had in store for him," Hermione responded, a little surprised at how fast the answer had come to her.

"Very well," Mardon droned, shifting slightly in his chair.

"We left his room for my own so that I could change and maybe even give the my father a little time to wake and clear his head of sleep," Hermione resumed, proceeding without mentioning Porthos, though she wasn't sure why she had left that part out. "From there we went up to my father's room. When we entered, everything seemed fine. He appeared to still be sleeping, so I tried to wake him by calling to him; he never answered. That's when I noticed the glass in his left hand."

"The contents of this glass had been spilled before you came into the room and noticed it, correct?" Mardon interjected.

"Yes," Hermione replied, looking to Tom who nodded his ascent. The two of them were starting to feel as though this was some sort of interrogation, but that was to be expected since they had been the first to find the King in his condition. "The glass was tipped and laying in his hand, and the covers on the left side of the bed were soaked with whatever liquid was in it."

"I see. What happened after that?" the General pressed on.

"We assumed that he had fallen asleep with the cup, so I went to take it from his hand and place it on the nightstand. When I did, however, I noticed that something was on the lip of the glass."

"And what was that?" the Duke questioned, speaking up for the second time since they had entered the room.

"I'm not sure what it was. I only remember that it was a white, sort of transparent looking film. It was almost as though someone had smeared milk on the rim and left it to dry…. I took a closer look at the stain to see if I could determine what it was, that's when I saw the lip print on the rim. After that, I checked my father's mouth and saw the stuff on his lower lip."

"Could you make a guess as to what this stuff was?" Mardon asked.

"What relevance does that have?" Tom snapped. "She's no nurse or chemist, so how would she know?"

"He's right, you know, Mardon," the Duke added.

"Fine, fine. Continue with your story."

"It was my guess," Hermione said, "that he had been poisoned. In my haste to put the glass down, I dropped it. That's when I sent Aramis to go get some help."

"Why were you in such a hurry to put the glass down? And what made you feel that it was poison and not a sleeping agent?" Mardon posed.

"What sleeping agent is rubbed on the rim of a glass to where the drinker doesn't know that they're being exposed to it?" Riddle inquired cockily, disliking Mardon's questioning tone more and more by the second.

"Once again, Aramis is right," Hermione picked up before the General could retaliate against the younger man, though the older man's face was becoming considerably more tomato-like in color by the moment. "I just thought that whoever wanted my father to take whatever was on the rim of that glass bad enough to put it there and not inform him must be trying to poison him. It was a simple deduction really."

"But that still doesn't answer the question as to why the glass was found shattered on the ground," Mardon reminded snidely.

"She already told you," the future wizarding Dark Lord snapped. "She said she had dropped the glass in her haste to put it down. Or weren't you listening? She's the Princess… have a bit more respect for her post, even if you are older."

"And I am your standing officer in charge, which means I hold rank and power over you, Aramis D'Artagnan, so do not speak to me in that tone, or else I will have you thrown in prison for insubordination!" the General barked.

"You might have the power to do that, but he is my future husband, which makes him future King, so remember who you talk to if you value your position so much," Hermione hissed.

"Now, now," the Duke cut in. "Let's not get carried away. You're obviously upset, Ana, darling. So why don't you go upstairs - Aramis will take you - and get some rest. We'll continue this questioning later."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Mardon quipped. "I don't trust their story one bit for some reason."

"Wait! Are you saying that you suspect we did something to the King?" Tom roared as he jumped up from his chair.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Mardon replied vehemently.

"Do you honestly think I would poison my own father?" Hermione gasped incredulously as she leaned forward, resting heavily on the table top.

"You act so surprised that I would find you to be untrustworthy," the General stated nonchalantly as though this were a mere political debate over tea. "You and Aramis were supposed the ones who found his majesty, and to me, your story is odd. I heard nothing of your doubts on marriage, and I also don't understand why you wouldn't wait until after breakfast and after the nurses had taken care of the King to tell him. He would most certainly be feeling a great deal more like talking then." Silence fell upon them. Hermione was astonished. The pure nerve of this man to point a finger at her. Tom, on the other hand, was somehow unsurprised by these accusations. He was, however, too angry to express in words just how badly he wanted to beat Mardon to a pulp. The older man seemed snootily satisfied that he had quieted the two, and the Duke was in utter awe at what was taking place before his eyes.

"Come now, Mardon, don't be so unreasonable," Rodden choked out. "Anastasia loves her father, therefore she would do nothing to harm him."

"Maybe not by herself," The General pronounced. "But with the influence of someone like Aramis D'Artagnan… maybe."

"You bastard! How can you point a finger at the two of us when you know full well that it was you!" Hermione burst, shooting upward from her seat in rage.

"Anastasia, please… control yourself. Your father would be appalled by such language coming from your lips... and to accuse the General is preposterous," the Duke implored.

"No, she's right," Riddle quickly butt in. "It was Mardon… or rather his son."

"I have no children, you idiot boy."

"Oh no?" Hermione tested. "Then I suppose you're just very attached to Porthos, hmm?" She glared at the disgusting General for a moment before resuming her comment. "Porthos is your son whether you admit it or not. I heard the two of you talking some time ago, and I heard him call you father. I'm not the only one either… Aramis had heard it, too." The Duke glanced from Hermione to Mardon in shock. He looked as though he hardly knew what to say. Tom and Hermione's expressions were becoming more and more fiercely triumphant by the moment. The General, conversely, was looking very much like a volcano ready to erupt.

"Porthos is nothing more than a young soldier under my command as the head of the militia! He's an upstanding, youthful boy whom I recognize as a great potential second in charge!" Mardon argued ferociously.

"What a lie!" Tom bellowed, his voice echoing in the banquet hall. "Porthos is your son, and you know it. That's why you tried to shove him off on the Princess, so that he would be the one to becoming King, and you could run the country from not only the military, but the throne as well."

"Aramis, you are not helping the situation. Take-"

"I'm warning you, you imbecilic boy; one more outburst of that nature from you, and I'll have you escorted from the premises to be thrown into the jailhouse," Mardon threatened.

"You will do no such act," Hermione snapped. "I'll see to it that it is prevented from ever happening."

"See?" yelled Mardon. "This is the kind of influence I was talking about! Aramis D'Artagnan has the Princess wrapped around his finger and doing whatever he pleases. He probably forced her hand to poison the King so that he could take the throne sooner. You just couldn't stand it that his majesty was recovering so well, now could you?"

"In case you don't remember," Tom snarled, "I was injured, too! I tried to save the King. The Duke can prove that; he was there and saw me try to shield the King from harm. Besides, I didn't see you or Porthos jumping into the line of fire for your king!"

"Aramis, we all know that you saved our beloved friend from even greater dang-"

"Don't try to defend him," the General practically ordered the Duke. "He's nothing but a fake! I bet that he staged that attack so he could throw all suspicion from himself when he poisoned the King, seduced the Princess, and took the throne…. What he didn't count on was me catching on to him."

"You're stark raving mad!" Hermione commented disbelievingly. "Aramis and I know exactly who organized that little death plan."

"You do?" the Duke gasped.

"Yes, we do," she stated confidently. "Mardon and Porthos…. Don't you remember how they hesitated to go after those men? How they hesitated to shoot at the assassins or even to get down from their horses and help you with my father until you ordered them to. Do you remember that? They're as guilty as the sky is blue and the grass green. They should be thrown into jail themselves."

"She speaks nothing but nonsense. Have you ever noticed the change in her since she has returned to us with Aramis after running off with that peasant baker's son?" Mardon suggested venomously.

"Don't be daft, man," the Duke dismissed. "She's still the same Anastasia that we know and love."

"Wrong!" Mardon disagreed angrily. "She was so convinced that she loved that baker's son that she was willing to run away with him and forsake her country and blood duty just to be with him. She had went against her father's wishes just to have her love, now what could change a love so strong? I believe D'Artagnan has poisoned her mind like he's tried to poison our beloved king!"

"Sit down and shut up, you babbling fool!" Hermione growled. "I never loved that boy, I hardly knew him. I was foolish to have run away with him, and Aramis made me see that when he came to my rescue. Who knows what would have happened to me otherwise!"

"See? See? She even admits that Aramis convinced her that her love was wrong. He forced himself upon her, and now she's been tricked into thinking this is love!"

"Aramis does love me, and I him," she wailed furiously. "You're the one who tried to push your son, Porthos, off onto me! You kept shoving him in my father's face. Always bragging about how much of a fine gentleman he was and telling my father that he would be good for me; you and I both know you did. Well, I've got news for you, I saw right through your rouse, and you and your son both are appalling and grotesque to me!"

"Porthos is not my son! And even if he was, I had never and will never shove him onto you or the King!"

"Lie!" Riddle roared just as the door to the hall opened. The Duchess entered, her appearance frazzled, yet taken aback by all the yelling that she had just heard.

"What is going on in here?" she inquired in weary amazement.

"I've found who's poisoned the King!" Mardon replied madly before anyone could speak.

"Oh, don't be so foolish, Mardon!" Duke Rodden cried defensively, looking from his wife to the insane general. "You can't prove that either Ana or Aramis did this, and it's an idiotic idea to begin with. Everyone knows that Ana loves her father and wishes him better."

"Fine then! Princess Anastasia had nothing to do with it, but Aramis did! He probably sneaked up to the King's room and poisoned him before Anastasia went to see him this morning," Mardon guessed passionately as the Duchess gasped and clapped her hands to her mouth.

"I did nothing of the sort!" Tom denied.

"How do we know that you're telling the truth?" Mardon bellowed.

"Because I was with him since the early hours of the morning… when it was still dark out," Hermione interjected, drawing another astounded intake of breath from the older of the two women in the room. "And besides, I saw Porthos on his way down the hall this morning, coming from the direction of my father's room and looking rather pleased with his cocky little self. I bet that he did it!"

"Porthos was probably just checking on the King," Mardon defended.

"Why do you stand up for him so if he's not your son, hmm?" Tom prompted nastily.

"Let's bring him in then, shall we?" Mardon suggested fearlessly. "I'll show you that I'm right about Porthos and that you've done this." The General rose form his seat and crossed the room to the door. He opened it violently and called to someone outside. Footsteps fell quickly; boots hitting the ground at a running pace. Suddenly, there was a young soldier at the door. He looked to Mardon who gave him instructions to go find Porthos and bring him to the hall. The General returned to his seat as Rodmilla lowered herself into a chair beside her husband who looked rather stressed as he rested his elbows on the table and rubbed his temples. Hermione, who sat across from the Duchess, resumed her seat once more and pulled on Tom's sleeve. He sat back down in the seat on Hermione's right, glaring at Mardon who was a seat away at the head of the table.

Silence was thick and tense in the room as they waited. It seemed like an eternity until Porthos arrived. He entered the room looking spitefully pleased with himself. He walked over to the General and stood stalk still on Mardon's right.

"Take a seat, Porthos," the General instructed, waving his hand at the empty chair to his left, the one that was right beside Tom. The boys glowered at one another for a moment before Porthos followed orders and took the chair he was offered.

"What seems to be the trouble, my general?" the blond inquired, his tone so fake that Hermione almost gagged as she clung to Riddle's arm, which was keeping him in his seat.

"Aramis and Princess Anastasia seem to think that you are conspiring against our king," Mardon explained calmly.

"Conspiring against him, sir?" Porthos asked, acting surprised and slightly appalled.

"Don't act so coy and naïve, you little bastard," Tom growled, making the Duchess gasp as the General glared.

"Now, now, Aramis, m'boy. Let's keep things civil," the Duke declared in a gentlemanly fashion.

"He's lying… I saw you when I was outside the Princess's room this morning. You were heading back from the direction of the King's room," Riddle snarled. "Explain that!"

"I was merely leaving my post. I had been stationed outside the King's room that night because there had been some suspicious activity from two maids," Porthos replied simply as though Tom were a fool.

"What two maids?" Hermione asked as though she feared the answer.

"Your ladies in waiting," Porthos answered.

"They were doing nothing wrong," she challenged. "I have them keeping an eye on everything that goes into my father's room for my own paranoia. I worry about what food and such is sent to him - no offense to either of you," she added as she looked to the Duke and Duchess.

"None taken, Ana, love," Rodden sighed. "You're concerned and worried about your father, so it's understandable."

"So, Porthos," Tom interrupted, bringing them back to the topic at hand. "Who stationed you there?"

"The General."

"Curious that he should," Riddle said in a low, rumbling tone. "I mean, since the two of you are trying to kill him off."

"We would never!" Porthos erupted. "How dare you accuse the General and myself of trying to end the King's life! We protect it everyday!"

"Don't be such a liar!" the future Dark Lord bellowed, rising from his seat with Hermione's arm still gripping his sleeve, though she made no attempt to pull him back down into the chair. "I heard you on numerous occasions plotting against the King and even the Princess," he said thrusting a finger at Hermione. "You even threatened my life because you knew I heard you."

"It's true," Hermione affirmed. "I even interrupted you threatening Aramis."

Porthos and the General said nothing as they both simply glared in Hermione and Tom's directions. Suddenly a nurse came rushing in. She curtsied and moved to the side of Rodmilla, leaning towards the Duchess's ear and whispering something.

"Thank you, Elaine," Rodmilla dismissed while nodding. The nurse left the room swiftly, and the Duchess turned back to everyone. "The King is extremely weak, but he's going to make it through the day at least. We just need to get him fed and keep his temperature down. They said that he's delirious right now, but that once they get his fever down, he should be fine to question as to what he drank."

Hermione sighed with relief and slumped back in the chair as Tom grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. Porthos continued to glare around the table as the General rose from his seat.

"Then there's no sense pursuing this subject any further," Mardon announced. "Let us retire to our quarters until we're alerted of the King's well-being." Everyone rose without word, and Porthos then came face-to-face with Tim. Their expression were nothing but pure, unadulterated hatred and complete contempt for one another.

"We'll see who the King says poisoned him when he wakes, Aramis D'Artagnan," the blond boy hissed. "Then my honor will be upheld."

Hermione pulled at Riddle's wrist, taking him with her as his fists clenched. They were almost to the door, the Duchess and Duke ahead of them as they left, while Porthos was left standing at the table as the General had already left the room.

"You have no honor… you're nothing but a gutless bitch," Tom added as he left with Hermione.

Porthos whipped around and came after him as his face went more and more red with each step.

"I have honor, and I'll prove it! I challenge you to a duel. Be outside near the edge of the woods at dusk!" Porthos ordered. "Unless you're a coward."

"This is nonsense!" Rodmilla and Hermione cried in unison.

"You can't go," Hermione gushed frantically with her eyes searching Tom's face desperately for some sign that might say he wouldn't go.

"Don't be late to your own death, Porthos," Riddle remarked, his tone final and full of loathing as he put an arm around Hermione's shoulder and led her away.

The Duchess sighed despairingly as Rodden patted Tom's shoulder when he passed before turning to his wife and pulling her into a small hug. Many now feared the setting of the sun that night. Would the King actually make it like they thought? And would there be another death between Porthos and Tom?