Sadly, we've reached the end of this story and I want to say a big THANK YOU to everyone for reading, commenting, favouring and following. The feedback I get is always inspiration for more.

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Commissariat central du 5ème, Paris, January, 4th

"The Spanish police have detained Marcheaux yesterday evening while executing a search warrant. France has an extradition treaty with Spain, so I hope it will only be a few more days until Marcheaux is returned to Paris. Unfortunately, it seems Philippe Feron has disappeared, but he wasn't our business anyway. I still don't know why exactly he is wanted by the Spanish police at all."

"Will we be able to interrogate him?" Aramis asked. He needed to know how many more of Grimaud's helpers were in Spain, being set on his family.

Tréville's pointed stare answered that question thoroughly.

"I'm merely concerned for my family," Aramis muttered.

"I know. Rest assured we'll extract every scrap of information we need from Marcheaux. Let the police do their work."

"He's still a police officer. I hope there won't be any acts based on a misinterpreted code of honour. Statements and evidence can easily disappear, as can prisoners. After all, he's not only still a member of the police force, but also an officer who killed a fellow member," Athos said, eyeing his former commanding officer.

Pondering what the other man had said, Tréville stared at Athos thoughtfully until a smirk appeared on the captain's face. "Maybe you're right. The mills of bureaucracy grind slowly, especially if it takes a while for our department to file the petition. That way, it might very well take a few weeks until the extradition order is through. In the meantime, I might obtain a permission to interrogate Marcheaux while he is still in Spain. As it is, the collaboration with the police authority in Barcelona went very well, the responsible commander is a very reasonable man." Tréville looked at his men the way he used to do when he had given a command, ordered by the king or Richelieu, and which he had subtly undermined simply by the way he had made eye contact with his Musketeers. Without words, they had known what was expected of them. "I might need a translator, though, my Spanish is not good enough to communicate with the Spanish police on site. Would you be willing to accompany me and serve as interpreter, Aramis?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

La Bicyclette, Paris, January, 5th

"How much longer are you planning to ignore me, Porthos?"

Porthos nearly choked on the slug of beer in his mouth and turned to look at the person who had addressed him.

Elodie stood beside his stool, one hand on her hip, the other holding a glass of wine she put on the counter now.

"Elodie," Porthos finally stuttered, and fell silent again.

"Well, at least that's cleared up then. You remember me. I thought the reason why you've been following me for weeks is because you would finally ask me out or something. Instead you just stared at me, disappearing abruptly and all in all making a fool of yourself, thinking I wouldn't notice you."

"Umh..."

"I know you've been watching me at least since mid-November. The only reason why I've never addressed you is that I think you owe me something, at least an opening gambit. Riding off to war after practically proposing to me and then never coming back is something not many women would condone easily, but I was willing, I still am. It wasn't your fault, after all, not entirely. Nevertheless, making it easy for you was never an option, either. I suffered, too, and I ran after you once before already. So, I waited. A bunch of flowers, an invitation for coffee or dinner would have been nice. But all you ever did was watch me from the café on the other side or every second Thursday or so from here at the bar, waiting for my colleagues to get drunk, and when it's time for me to go home, you let me leave alone. Why are you here then? I'm running out of patience and it's not like there aren't men asking me out for a date."

"Elodie," Porthos tried once more, finally getting over the shock. "I didn't know if, erm. What if you didn't-. Umh... I thought-"

"Oh, Porthos, you have no idea."

Porthos gathered all his courage and leaned forward. Instead of making even more a fool of himself with more stuttering, he sealed her lips with a kiss. When she made no move to withdraw, he brought up his hands, cupping the back of her head and pulling her closer. He deepened the kiss and Elodie's mouth opened to welcome his cheeky tongue. Somewhere from afar he heard a whoop whoop from Elodie's male colleagues, but he couldn't care less about them at the moment.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

LaFère Security, Paris, January, 8th

Athos was filling his mug with freshly brewed coffee when he heard the doorbell. He frowned and sifted through his memory wondering if a client meeting was pending that he had forgotten about, but nothing came to his mind. Maybe it was just the parcel service who was earlier than usual.

The office door opened a moment later and in strolled Richelieu, smug and arrogant as ever. "Ah," he said, as soon as he spotted Athos in the kitchen door. "You're just the man I was looking for. I have a task for you."

Athos was speechless for only a fraction of time. Recovering quickly from the moment of surprise, he took a shot at it and countered. "Richelieu, what in God's name do you want?" The British actor didn't even bat an eye on hearing his former name and Athos found his guess confirmed that the older man knew about his former life. Athos walked to the reception area.

"Louis needs personal protection. A threat has arisen and the Parisian police are not capable of guaranteeing his safety. They say as long as there's no tangible incident they can't offer him personal protection. Not beyond the usual he's entitled to when on official visit. Louis is not willing to -"

"Stop," Athos interrupted Richelieu's flow of speech. "You are wasting your breath. We are not interested in a job for Louis. If you want, I can give you a list of security firms specialising in personal protection."

Richelieu glowered at Athos. "I don't need a list. I'm here to engage you. Louis and his brother have been at war with an illegitimate brother for a long time. His demands are going sky high by now, it's ridiculous. Now he has started to threaten them, and family members as well."

"Louis' family affairs are none of our business," Porthos said. He had heard the men talk and came out of his office, having overheard the last sentences of the conversation. He didn't let show his surprise upon seeing Richelieu. "How comes you work for Louis, anyway? Aren't you busy with shooting a series?"

Richelieu slowly turned towards Porthos. "I don't know why you think this is of your concern, but if it makes you happy: I'm on engagement here in Paris and since Louis parted with his personal adviser two month ago, I'm more than happy to help out. We've always worked wonderfully together. There, satisfied?"

Just then, Aramis' door opened.

Aramis had worked on a report and paid no heed to the muffled voices from the reception area. At least until the moment he had decided to get himself a coffee and hear what the discussion outside was about, and had opened the door. He stared at the former Cardinal. Seeing Richelieu here in the office was unreal and he needed a moment to pull himself together again.

The men's heads had turned to Aramis' office the moment the door had opened. Now Richelieu squinted at Aramis, pointing a finger at the former marksman. "Wasn't it you who hit me last summer at the convention here in Paris? I'm sure it was you! I know what makes you tick."

Athos shared a quick glance with Porthos and moved closer to Aramis.

"Why would I do so?" replied Aramis. "What reason could I possibly have to beat you?" Aramis' voice gushed with sarcasm.

Suddenly, Porthos could see a hatred flickering in his friend's eyes that made him shiver. He also moved closer. "Aramis," he warned in a low voice.

"You should go now," Athos said, directed at Richelieu. "We can't help you."

"You have the nerve to come here and ask for help?" Aramis voice picked up volume and he took another step towards Richelieu. "You dare to face me as if nothing has happened? Do you think you are invulnerable or do you just have fun mocking me?"

Both men stared at each other, and it was for the first time in their lives that they ranked on the same level.

Athos feared the worst and his hand automatically reached for the rapier which hadn't been attached to his belt any more for over 350 years. Only very seldom did he forget about that fact.

The door opened and d'Artagnan and Constance entered the office, the young man immediately jerking to a halt when he took in the scene in the reception area. Constance, unaware of the relationship that linked the men, shot a glance at d'Artagnan and walked on to shrug out of her coat and boot up her computer. Charlène, who had sat behind the desk until now and tried to ignore the men, rose and gave her niece a sign to follow her to the kitchen.

"What are you doing here?" d'Artagnan said.

Richelieu turned around, throwing his hand into the air dramatically. "Oh please, can we all just stop being oh so surprised and come back to business? There's a job that needs to be done."

"Ask Tréville. We are not the King's men anymore. If Louis needs protection he should turn to the police for help or engage a private firm. Not us," Athos added. He grabbed Aramis' arm to be able to keep him back bodily if need be.

"I already talked to Tréville, he sent me to you. You are still Musketeers, you have an obligation."

"Oh no, we haven't," Porthos growled. "Is that what Tréville said?"

"Look, before the mood gets even more aggressive, let's forget all personal resentments for a moment and let me explain why I'm here. It concerns you, too."

Aramis crossed his arms in front of him, signalling his brothers that he would keep quiet for the time being if they wished to listen to Richelieu.

Porthos nodded.

"Go on then," Athos said. "You have two minutes."

"Like I said, Louis' illegitimate brother has started to threaten the family with violence. Louis is in fear for his and his family's life and needs personal protection. Meanwhile he knows what Gaston is capable of. And if I say Gaston, I speak of the former duc d'Orleans, Gaston de Bourbon. A quirk of fate has united those two again, and in a similar constellation as in their former lives. Gaston still seems to be unhappy about being the family's mongrel again. Well, it can't be helped." Richelieu shrugged. "Louis is convinced Gaston remembers their old lives, and the old resentments will only fuel Gaston's ire. His majesty didn't part on the best of terms with Gaston, so far as I know."

"To my knowledge, Louis died having him pardoned. Gaston can hardly complain about the happenings after Louis' death. He tried to claim the throne, and not for the first time," Athos replied.

"Yes, but that won't stop Gaston from being furious with him. He was banished and imprisoned, and their relationship hasn't improved in this life either. As regards the Queen..." Richelieu trailed off, turning to Aramis. "Louis told me you're with her nowadays."

Aramis needed every ounce of willpower to not punch Richelieu square in the face again. He didn't know how much longer he would be able to bear with this man standing in front of him. He felt Porthos' hand on his shoulder.

"What's it to you?" Porthos asked in Aramis' stead.

"You might not know, but from reliable sources we are informed that the queen regent assumed the contract Tréville had established with Milady de Winter as agent for the crown. The queen regent ordered the death of Gaston by the hand of Milady. That, in my opinion, puts both ladies on top of Gaston's list of most hated people, besides Louis and his brother. If I'd be him and would remember, I would probably seek revenge. If I were you, I would keep a good eye on Anne of Austria."

That hit home. Aramis blanched.

Richelieu turned to Athos. "I'm sure you don't nourish equal feelings towards your ex-wife, so your motives wouldn't be the same as Aramis'. I think she already knows Gaston is after her anyway, she can most likely look after herself."

Athos looked at d'Artagnan. It seemed it was really time for them to dip into the past, painful as it might be, and dig for all relevant information concerning everyone close to them. Too much seemed to have happened after their deaths on the battlefield of Rocroi; important things they didn't know yet.

"You may not be willing to protect Louis, but I'm sure you will certainly want to protect the ladies from Gaston's wrath. You would have to do the job of finding Gaston and eliminating the danger he poses anyway, one way or the other, and Louis will pay for it. Think about it. If you protect Louis and go after Gaston, it would contribute to also saving Anne of Austria and Milady de Winter from being Gaston's next targets. Just think about that."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

القائم, al-Qa'im, Iraq, February, 4th

"In schā'a llāh," the man said, finishing his report.

"In schā'a llāh," the men, gathered around their leader in the hot tent, repeated and, "Allāhu akbar!"

"Now," the tall, dark-skinned Arab said in broken French, turning to their guest. "What is the help you can offer us? I hope I was not misled. I hope I have not to regret saving you." He scratched his dark beard, eyeing the heathen who sat opposite him, clad in a traditional quamis. It had not been easy to prepare the video message in a way that not even the much-hated Mossad or CIA agents would see that it had been manipulated. It had cost him more than a handful dollars and he was determined to let the heathen compensate for it.

"Alhamdulillah-hillathii ah-yana ba'da ma ama tana wa ilayhi nuschuur," Grimaud replied, and he could see in the men's eyes the surprise that he had learned their language so quickly. Even if his pronunciation was not perfect, his words in their mother tongue had not missed its goal. In French, he said, "You will see that I can give you access to the Parisian underworld where you'll find every support you wish for. You name your target and I'll make it possible."

"Even the Élysée Palace?"

Grimaud grinned wickedly. "Even that. You have no idea what I can make possible. Give me money and weapons, and I promise you we'll wreak havoc in the heart of France. Paris will descend into chaos."

And along with it, he would see the odious Musketeers and everyone close to them go down as well, but that was nothing his new employers needed to know.

"I'll make you pay," he muttered, thinking of all the torture and pain and privations he had had to suffer because of them. His hate knew no limit. He would teach them the meaning of pain...

.

.

tbc

A/N

I don't speak Arabic and I hope the phrases I used are not wrong (if so, please let me know so that I can correct them). If I'm not mistaken (and what I learned from the internet) the translations should read as follows:

In schā'a llāh: God willing

Allāhu akbar: God is great

Alhamdulillah-hillathii ah-yana ba'da ma ama tana wa ilayhi nuschuur: Great thanks be to the Lord who has given us life after he sent us death, and that our final return (on the day of Qiyaamah - the end of the world) will lead us to Him