A/N: Starting at the end of this chapter, I'll be including POVs from other characters here and there.
I deserve a medal
D'Artagnan was halfway out the carriage window, shouting something, but she couldn't make out what he was saying. All she could hear were the gunshots still echoing in her ears. Three of them. One of them was definitely d'Artagnan stopping her attacker. A third one sounded after d'Artagnan started to take her back to the carriage. But there was a second shot either right before or right after d'Artagnan's that she was unsure of. Was the attacker shot twice? Or was it meant for her or her son? How many assassins were out there? Did musketeer cadets carry pistols?
The carriage jolted forward, and Anne held Louis tighter against her as they remained kneeling on the floor. She hoped he couldn't feel how rapidly her heart was beating, and that the jostling of the carriage would mask how her whole body was trembling.
Once the commotion of the crowd started to fade she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Majesty."
D'Artagnan was half-kneeling on the seat. He held out a hand to help her onto the opposite bench and then Louis onto her lap. "You're unharmed?"
She glanced at her right hand, there were scratches on the back of it, trailing from her knuckles. She must have gotten them from the fall or when she took her hand out from under Aramis. "I'm fine," she told him. They were stinging a bit, but they were nothing. She looked to her son. "Darling, are you all right?"
"What's going on?" he responded.
Anne inhaled sharply. What should she tell him?
"I don't know," she answered honestly. Someone had tried to kill her, but she didn't know who he was or why or where the other shots came from. "I don't know, but Aramis was hurt and it wasn't safe for us to stay."
"Where is he? Will he be all right?" Louis quickly asked, and it broke her heart to hear the worry in his voice, to see how attached he was to him even after a few days.
She looked at d'Artagnan, unsure of the seriousness of Aramis' injury, but she could see the fear and uncertainty in his own eyes. "Constance is with him, she'll see him well taken care of," she assured them all, including herself.
D'Artagnan cleared his throat. "And Aramis is tough, Sire. He'll want to be reunited with you and your mother as soon as possible. You can be sure of that."
Anne nodded, thankful for his words, even though the sight of the knife sticking out of Aramis' hand kept flashing before her eyes, even though she kept envisioning Aramis' pale face in her lap instead of her husband's.
Soon they were at the palace, and d'Artagnan was jumping out of the carriage before it came to a complete stop.
"D'Artagnan, the King," she called out, and then guided her son into d'Artagnan's arms so that he could be rushed inside. Her hands were shaking as she reached for the door frame and her sore legs nearly gave out when she made her own exit, but once both feet were securely on the ground she hurried after her son, calling for the royal physician to be sent to the garrison as she did.
"Go," she told d'Artagnan, taking Louis from him. "Ensure everything is done to save him."
With a quick bow of his head, d'Artagnan ran off, and Anne took a deep breath, hugging her son tighter against her. Now all she could do was wait.
MMMMMMMMMM
"Majesty."
Anne nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Milady's voice. Looking down at the rosary in her hands, she was relieved not to have snapped the string apart.
Standing up from her prie dieu, she went and checked that Louis had gone off to have his supper before closing the doors between their rooms. "I didn't summon you," she said, walking over to the other side of the room.
"I was there, at the ceremony," Milady quickly informed her. The usual coolness in her voice was gone. "I spotted one of the assassins in a window and stopped him as he tried to flee."
"Did he say anything? Do the musketeers have him now?"
"We fought. He pushed me away and pulled out a vial of poison, and drank it before I could stop him. I asked who he was working for and he replied 'for Guillaume' before he died. I left him there and searched for this Guillaume. I haven't found anything yet."
Anne clutched her rosary to her chest and grasped her elbow with her other hand, trying to hold herself together as Milady confirmed a second assassin. She was still at a loss as to their motive, but at least they had a clue now. "Did you see Aramis?" she asked, hoping for some good news. "Do you know how he is?"
Milady opened her mouth, but then closed it again, pressing her lips together. She looked down at the floor. "I saw them carry him into the garrison," she finally said, and when her eyes met Anne's they were actually sympathetic. "Majesty...his body was limp, he wasn't moving."
Anne stood there, frozen. Could she have lost him?
"I have news for Her Majesty," came d'Artagnan's voice from the hallway outside the room.
She turned back to Milady, wanting to know more, wanting to make sure she understood what she was saying, but "I'm sorry" was all Milady said before bowing her head and disappearing behind the door seconds before d'Artagnan came into the room.
He bowed and it took all her patience and self restraint to not immediately demand he answer the question that was clawing at her mouth to get out.
"He's alive and in stable condition," d'Artagnan informed her, and she nearly sagged onto the bed in relief, but she was able to get a grip on the bedpost and hold herself up, "though he must stay at the garrison..." he continued, but his words faded as she glanced over to her son's bedroom, knowing Louis will want to go with her back to the garrison.
MMMMMMMMMM
"Constance put him in Brujon's room since it was empty," d'Artagnan explained as he led them through the garrison. She knew he wasn't happy about her and Louis leaving the safety of the palace while so much was still uncertain following the attack, but she insisted they see Aramis.
After going down a small set of steps. d'Artagnan pushed over a final door and Anne tightened her grip on Louis' hand. "Remember to be quiet in case he's sleeping," she reminded Louis, though she hoped that wouldn't be the case. She didn't want to see him lying still, to have to watch for the rise and fall of his chest to know that he was alive.
Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room and saw Aramis lying on the bed, a blanket pulled up to his bare shoulders. He turned his head on the pillow to see who had come in, and then lifting it, squinted at the sight of them.
"Constance, did you give me that medicine already? I think I'm seeing things." His voice was gruff, but her heart lifted at hearing it all the same
Louis giggled. "Aramis, it's really us!"
"Then forgive me, Your Majesties, for not standing in your presence."
Anne smiled tremulously at the exchange, and after acknowledging Constance where she stood by a table in a corner of the room, approached the bed with Louis. "It is us who should be bowing to you." She took a seat in the chair d'Artagnan placed next to the bed and pulled Louis onto her lap. "I owe you my life once again."
Aramis held her gaze for several seconds, a mixture of gratitude and relief in his tired eyes. He then looked down at Louis, who had insisted he put on his pauldron before they came back, and the corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. "Didn't I tell you, Sire? I'll always be a musketeer."
"Do you have a hole in your hand?" Louis asked bluntly. The question made Aramis chuckle, but it turned into a hiss as they were reminded of the injuries that lied underneath the blanket.
"Louis, really," she admonished.
"But you said he was stabbed and that it went through his hand!"
"That's true, Sire, but you can't see through the opening, not all the way at least," Aramis explained.
"Does it hurt a lot?"
"It did before, but now I feel all achy and sore. The physician has given me some medicine to make it hurt less."
"Where is Doctor Delorme?" Anne questioned. She wanted to talk to him.
"He's checking up on one of the cadets," Constance answered.
"A cadet was injured in the attack?"
"I'm afraid that poor Francis learned the hard way to point an opponent's pistol up at the sky rather than down at one's own feet," d'Artagnan informed her.
Anne raised her eyebrows. "He was shot in the foot?"
"A musket ball, Sire, might have left a hole in our poor Francis' foot," said Aramis, to which Louis softly gasped. "Are you going to see how he's doing, d'Artagnan?"
Anne watched as Aramis raised his eyebrows and then looked pointedly at Louis, and once she understood his meaning, she gave d'Artagnan a slight nod when he looked over to her.
"Yes, I am." D'Artagnan leaned toward Louis. "Sire, would you like to accompany me? I'm sure Doctor Delorme would be happy to answer any questions you have, and maybe we can give the horses some treats after."
Louis jumped off her lap and turned to face her. "Can I?"
"All right, but you are to stay with d'Artagnan and do what he says. And I want you to thank the cadet for protecting you and then wish him a quick recovery. You are not to bother him if he is hurting though, understand?"
Nodding excitedly, Louis went over to d'Artagnan but then quickly spun back around. "Thank you for protecting my mother, Aramis, and I wish you a quick recovery."
A fond smile appeared on Aramis' face. "That's very kind of you to say, Sire, thank you."
As they departed, Constance came over and laid a hand on Anne's shoulder. "I'll go with them," she told her. "I'm glad you're all right, Majesty." And with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder, left.
Turning her attention back to Aramis, Anne picked up his right hand from where it laid on the blanket, and, covering it with her other hand, brought it up to her lips to lay a kiss on his knuckles.
"You were hurt?" he inquired, pulling the back of her hand more towards him and brushing his thumb over the few thin scrapes that ran along it.
"Don't you dare worry for one second about my hand," she told him with as much sternness she could muster, and brought their right hands down to rest on the blanket, hiding the red streaks from his view.
He looked up at her, and though he said nothing, his eyes still conveyed how sorry he was to see her wounded in any capacity.
Lowering her gaze, she swallowed thickly. "You keep getting hurt because of me."
Aramis shook his head minutely. "It's your gifts that protect me."
She pouted in confusion, and he looked over to the table Constance had been at earlier. "Go and see."
Frowning, Anne went over to the table. She saw vials, rolls of bandages, shears, and then she came across his minister medal, only it had a bullet lodged in it.
Her hand went to her mouth as she gasped. She ran her thumb over the round ball and noted how firmly it stayed in place. If the medal hadn't been there, if the bullet had hit just to the side of it, she wouldn't be talking to Aramis right now.
Returning to Aramis' bedside, she reached over and slowly pulled back the blanket, revealing the big purple bruise in the middle of his chest. "The other gunshot…" she said, sitting heavily in her chair and closing her eyes as the sound echoed in her ears, "it hit you."
"The physician...Delorme, he thinks the impact only bruised my ribs, thankfully," he informed her while he moved the blanket back up. "It certainly knocked me out and gave Constance quite a scare, but it made it easier for them to move me."
"And your other injuries? D'Artagnan didn't get to tell me much, only that the knife missed anything vital," she glanced over to the other side of the bed, to where his left arm lay hidden under the blanket, "besides your hand, that is."
His gaze fell to his midsection. "The knife was small and didn't go deep on account of my hand getting in the way," he joked darkly. "And I didn't lose much blood since it stayed in."
"And your hand?"
"Hurts like hell-if you'll excuse my language."
She shook her head. "You have no need to apologize to me."
"Delorme says I may have lost some dexterity in my fingers, but with rehabilitation I should be able to get back to normal use."
Nodding, Anne took his right hand again and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "I'll make sure you have everything you need."
"Seeing you and Louis, that's all I needed," he told her. "But you should be heading back to the palace; it's getting dark and we do not know how many were involved in this conspiracy and if they intend to try again."
"The man who shot the cadet, he was caught?"
"Yes, but concussed in the process so he's not offered anything useful yet. D'Artagnan will interrogate him more in the morning. The one who shot me was found dead, a vial of poison in his hand."
"Milady visited me before I came here," she informed him, "she was at the ceremony and confronted the third man but only got him to confess that he did it 'for Guillaume' before he died. I don't know who Guillaume is though."
Aramis sighed with a grimace. "We'll have to tell d'Artagnan and Constance about her."
Anne nodded in concession. She had wanted to keep their friends innocent of Milady's doings, but how could they all work together if they did not share all they knew?
"I will do it," Aramis told her.
"You need to rest. I will tell them."
"I know their grievances against her, and I will not be able to rest until d'Artagnan has seen you and Louis safely returned to the palace," he persisted, a strain creeping into his voice towards the end.
Anne exhaled. "If you insist. You know I am in no position to deny you anything."
He gave her a smug, yet tired, smile, and as much as she wanted to stay longer, she knew she was delaying his rest. Getting out of the chair, she leaned over and gently kissed his lips before pressing her forehead to his.
"I love you," she whispered, and standing straight, gave a final squeeze of his hand. Before she could let go though, he brought her hand to his lips and closed his eyes tightly as he kissed her knuckles.
He seemed to sink further into the bed once he let her go, the exhaustion of the day becoming harder and harder for him to hide with each passing second.
Reaching the doorway, she turned back around, shaking her head lightly. "The crucifix, the medal-" she looked over and met his eyes "-you earned them both."
Anne reluctantly left him, and went outside into the yard. Constance was out there watching d'Artagnan, who had Louis on his hip, and was handing him carrots to feed his horse.
"We'll be back in the morning," she told Constance as she came up beside her. "Please send Delorme to the palace once he's finished seeing all his patients."
Constance nodded, and Anne gently grasped her wrist. "And thank you, for taking care of him."
"Of course," Constance replied, rubbing a hand along Anne's arm.
Anne glanced over to her son. "You've always taken care of us."
The hand on Anne's arm moved to briefly cup her cheek before they turned together to watch d'Artagnan and Louis, with Anne hooking her arm around Constance's elbow as they did.
"Mama, look!" Louis shouted excitedly upon being lifted onto the horse's back, d'Artagnan holding him steady.
"You look just like a musketeer, darling," she grinned, though her eyes started to well at the sentiment. She wished Aramis could come out and see their little musketeer.
Anne heard Constance laugh softly beside her. "The garrison's first child," she began, "it's been him all along."
MMMMMMMMMM
She returned to Aramis' bedside the following morning, but Aramis was in a deep sleep. Delorme explained to her and the d'Artagnans that since the initial shock and adrenaline had worn off, Aramis' body was incredibly sore from both the impact of the hits and then the removal of the knife, and so he had been given more medicine for the pain.
Once Delorme left, she pulled back the blanket and saw for herself the angry bruises that had further spread across Aramis' chest. With a shudder, she pulled the blanket back up, wishing that she could do more for him, but grateful that he was resting peacefully.
After lightly running the back of her fingers down Aramis' cheek, she went to follow d'Artagnan out as he was going to bring her to see the captured assassin next, but once they reached the door, he only opened it a crack to check that no one was near before closing it again.
"Majesty, before we go, I, well, we-" he glanced over at Constance, "-just wanted to ask if you're sure keeping Milady on is a good idea."
"I know she helped us with Rochefort, but she's a very dangerous woman, Majesty, you can't trust her," said Constance.
Anne bowed her head. "I know, and I appreciate your concern, both of you, but she didn't just help us, she saved Aramis' life. Tréville had the foresight to see how beneficial it would be to have her on our side, and she has so far proved him right. Gaston is no longer a threat, and it was her who stopped the man who shot Aramis from escaping. I didn't even ask her to be at the ceremony and she was watching out for us."
She knew they would be uneasy about the arrangement, she still wasn't completely comfortable with the woman herself, but she had to protect her son by any means necessary, and that included employing the likes of Milady de Winter.
"Believe me, I don't trust her, and I have not forgotten the humiliation she caused me as the King's mistress," Anne added, "nor have I forgotten who she worked for before that, but she has certain skills that could be used either for me or against me. I chose the former, and all I ask is that you trust me."
Sighing, d'Artagnan put his hands on his hips and glanced over to his wife. Constance looked like she wanted to further protest, but ended up pressing her lips together in resignation.
"The man you arrested," Anne began once d'Artagnan resumed leading her to the room they were keeping one of the would-be assassins, "what do you know of him?"
"He's a former red guard named Laurent de Garmeaux," he answered. "Been with the regiment for years but he shaved his beard and cut his hair so I didn't recognize him at first."
"What has he said?"
"Nothing. He refuses to even look at me."
When they reached the door, d'Artagnan nodded to the cadets on guard, the door was unlocked and she was led into the room. There Laurent was, his hands each tied to an arm of the chair he was sitting on and his ankles each tied to the front legs. A bandage was wrapped around the head wound that must have concussed him. Stepping aside, d'Artagnan signaled for the door to be closed behind them.
Laurent looked over at his visitors briefly before resting the back of his head against the beam of wood the back of his chair had been tied to. Her own gaze didn't linger on him for long, instead she walked right past him and stopped to look out a nearby window. "I assume you know the punishment for regicide, whether or not it is successful," she said without looking at him. She was sure Laurent did, but she continued on anyway, and cooly described the process of being hung, drawn, and quartered.
She glanced at him once she finished, and could see that he had visibly paled. His eyes were squeezed shut and it looked like he might even be sick.
"What do you have against Her Majesty?" d'Artagnan asked, coming over to stand next to Laurent. "You were a red guard, you served her along with the late King, and it was Tréville who disbanded your regiment."
Exhaling heavily, Laurent opened his eyes and began to lower his head to look at d'Artagnan. "I wasn't aiming for her, I was aiming for you."
D'Artagnan took a step back. "Me?"
Laurent turned away from d'Artagnan to look at her. "This is what happens when you disband regiments and put upstart farm boys in charge of the musketeers."
"D'Artagnan was standing right next to the King," Anne pointed out, stepping closer to Laurent. "Even if we believed you, what if you had missed? You could have killed my son."
"Which is why I waited until he stepped away from the carriage! So I wouldn't be responsible for the death of another child!"
"What do you mean?" d'Artagnan pressed.
"Guillaume," Anne answered, remembering the last words of the assassin Milady confronted.
Laurent's blue eyes flashed with anger. "Don't, don't you speak his name."
"He was your son," said Anne softly, holding his gaze.
Laurent bowed his head, shaking it slowly. "No. He was my godson, but I loved him like a son."
"The man in the window," Anne concluded. He was Guillaume's father. "He's dead," she added, in case d'Artagnan hadn't told him and Laurent was still trying to protect the man. "Drank a vial of poison when caught trying to flee, and said his son's name before he died."
Laurent gave no response though. His head remained bowed and his eyebrows knitted together as he closed his eyes.
D'Artagnan looked at her, unsure of how she wanted to proceed.
She took another step closer. "If you tell me who the other men were, I will accept that your target was the Captain, and lessen your sentence to life imprisonment. You're not protecting anyone by not speaking, and only condemning yourself to further interrogations and a harsher death sentence."
After several more seconds, Laurent took a deep breath. "Janvier and I grew up together. We were best friends. His father, Gérard, treated me like a son. Janvier's wife died of a fever when Guillaume was little, they had no other children. Guillaume went off to fight in the war as soon as he was old enough; went off to be cannon fodder," Laurent told them bitterly. "When the King died, they could not stomach the thought of living under the rule of a Spaniard-" he looked up to meet her eyes, his gaze hard "-to see you surrender this country to Spain and make Guillaume's death pointless."
"And so you decided to make a six-year-old motherless, an orphan."
"To be raised by the man next in line," Laurent countered.
Anne inhaled sharply and heard d'Artagnan ask her who was next in line.
A haughty look came over Laurent's face. "The Prince of Condé," he answered. "A true Frenchman and the hero of Rocroi."
MMMMMMMMMM
A few days later, and after much insistence from the patient, Doctor Delorme deemed Aramis fit enough to be moved from the garrison to the palace for the rest of his recuperation. Although Anne didn't want Aramis to push himself too far too fast, she was admittedly impatient to have him near again.
She went to his rooms that first night back to check on him before she went to bed, only to find him sitting at his desk.
"Doctor Delorme said you were to be on strict bed rest," she chided, closing the faux bookcase behind her.
"I can rest in a chair and still catch up on all this." He gestured at the stack of papers on his desk. "Though I must confess the reports are doing a better job than the medicine of putting me to sleep."
"I can help you go through those another night," she told him, setting down her candlestick before resting a hand on the back of his chair. "But I'm getting you back into bed before I leave."
He turned slightly to look up at her. "Leave? You're not staying?"
"I didn't think it would be wise, with your injuries. And I wouldn't want to cause any discomfort."
Reaching over, he took her free hand. "Majesty, no amount of pain could prevent me from wanting to be in your arms," he said, and brought her hand to his lips and laid a gentle kiss on her knuckles
Letting go of her hand, he started to get up, leaning heavily on his right arm while his left remained close to his chest. She pulled the chair away once he was standing, and watched to make sure he didn't need any assistance walking. Before he could reach the bedroom, she took her candle and another off his desk, and went ahead to place them on the side table.
Turning to the bed, she went to the side she usually slept on, and pulled back the duvet. "Here," she said, and held her arms out for him to come over.
"I'm gone for a few days and so you've claimed my side of the bed, is it?"
She smiled wryly. "It's so I don't accidentally hit your wound, my love."
"Ah yes, you do tend to dream about getting into tavern brawls," he quipped before slowly lowering himself onto the bed with a groan.
She stood in front of him, between his legs, and laid her hands on his shoulders. "Do tell me if you need anything, including space," she told him seriously.
He responded by pulling at the knot of the tie around her robe, bringing her closer to him. "Call me 'my love' again."
MMMMMMMMMM
D'Artagnan pulled up a chair next to Aramis' bed and sat down. "I've just been with the Queen. Laurent de Garmeaux has been formally sentenced: life imprisonment for attempted murder and endangering the royal family."
Aramis nodded and pushed himself further up against the pillows. "And you believe his claim that he was aiming for you?"
D'Artagnan leaned back in the chair. "My cadet Francis confirmed that Laurent pulled out his pistol and began to aim when I went to shoot the first assassin. At that moment, I would have been between the King in the carriage, and you and the Queen on the ground, with my back turned to Laurent." He looked down at his hands, at his wedding band, and thought back to a conversation he had with Constance after he told her of Laurent's confession. He'd been targeted before, but she had made him realize that this time it wasn't just because he was a threat or a body in the way, it was because of his position. "From a strategic standpoint, shooting me could have helped clear the way for his accomplices to carry out their mission, and even if the other two still failed..."
"It would be a blow to Her Majesty and the musketeers," Aramis finished.
"And I imagine Athos would be quite annoyed at having to move back to Paris after finally settling down in his new home," he added, to which Aramis raised his eyebrows. "We got a letter from Sylvie; they've found a house in Saint-Gobain that they're going to fix up."
He proceeded to relay the contents of the brief letter, and they noted the irony of how Athos once had to be dragged out to the country by his villagers and now they'd have to drag him back to Paris.
"What can I say, the love of a woman can change you." With a groan, Aramis swung his legs over the side of the bed and started to push himself onto his feet. "And speaking of letters and men in love, I have a letter for Elodie, came with Porthos' report."
D'Artagnan immediately got out of his chair to help steady his brother. "You could just tell me where it is," he said, though he knew it was pointless; once Aramis was in motion, in either mind or body, it was hard to stop him.
Aramis waved a hand at him and began shuffling towards his office. "I feel like I'm slowly sinking into that bed," he said once he'd reached his desk. "The Queen hardly wants me to leave it, though not in the way I'd enjoy."
"I'm sure that's not what Athos intended when he recommended you for the position anyway."
Ignoring the comment, Aramis pulled out a letter from among the many papers on his desk and handed it over. Pocketing it, d'Artagnan asked about Porthos' report and how things were going with the war. The victory at Rocroi was heralded as a sign of God's goodwill upon France and it's new king, a sign that they were on the path to winning the war now that it had been proven that one of Spain's greatest forces could be defeated.
"And the Prince of Condé, what do you know of him? Could he have been involved in the plot?" He really didn't know anything about the Prince apart from him being a general, and, as he recently learned, next in line for the throne now that Gaston was dead.
Exhaling heavily, Aramis sat down behind his desk. He rested his elbow on the arm of his chair, keeping his left hand elevated. "He's been off at the northern front, amassing fame and glory, and the news of Gaston's death only just got out-"
"And we know he didn't kill him to move up in the line of succession" d'Artagnan interjected. He was still sore about the subject of Gaston's assassination, but what was done was done, and a dangerous enemy was no longer a threat. Whether a new enemy had taken his place was now the question.
He caught the tensing of Aramis' jaw as he met his eyes. "No, we don't know if he's aware Gaston's dead. Additionally, there's no connection between him and the assassins. Guillaume was never under his command. As for the attack, you'd think someone with his status and wealth would hire people more...professional, and capable of carrying it out more discreetly."
Like you and the Queen did, d'Artagnan thought darkly. Perhaps they had a point though in hiring Milady for the purpose of keeping her out of the hands of potential employers like the Prince.
"No, I don't think he hired them, instructed them, suggested it, or anything," Aramis continued. "This was an act of revenge, of grief over the loss of a loved one. Still, I think we should keep an eye on Condé, in case he does get any ideas. I'll ask Porthos to keep an ear out as well when I write to him." There was a glint in Aramis' eyes when he looked back up at him and raised his eyebrows. "He'll be sorry to have missed out on questioning Laurent; he loves a good interrogation."
D'Artagnan chuckled softly, thinking of past interrogations and Porthos' favored tactics. "Her Majesty is quite good at getting people to talk, I must say." Watching the Queen, he had been amazed to see how she had transformed from one room to the next. Back with Aramis, she was all softness and warmth and worry, greeting him and Constance with a tremulous smile, but then with Laurent she was cold and hard. Her blue eyes had darkened and somehow she even seemed taller, and he was reminded of the time she confronted the Cardinal after he confessed to trying to have her killed, how she had brought the most powerful man in France to his knees.
Once she began to speak, he had almost felt sorry for what Laurent was about to experience.
With a hint of a smile, Aramis leaned back in his chair. "There's something about her…you look into her eyes and you just want to spill your guts."
D'Artagnan looked pointedly in the direction of Aramis' waist and the wound that lay there. "But did you have to take it so literally?"
Historical background/inspiration:
-On July 28, 1835, there was an assassination attempt on Louis-Philippe, King of the French, by a Corsican ex-soldier and two other conspirators. Louis-Philippe was out reviewing the National Guard, "accompanied by his three eldest sons and several of his marshals and ministers, and had reached the Boulevard du Temple when a volley of bullets was fired from an upper window...the Duc de Broglie, then prime minister, was hit in the chest and saved only by his Legion of Honour star" -John Julius Norwich, A History of France
-Of course, Aramis being saved by his medal is also a trope which I've found out to be cleverly referred to as "Pocket Protector". The show used it with Luc in 3x01 and in the 1993 Disney movie The Three Musketeers, Aramis is shot but his crucifix stops the bullet
-Charles de Lorme was the chief physician to Louis XIV (and his father and grandfather). I'm using the "Delorme" version for his name because I thought it looked too similar to Lemay otherwise (and it took me ages to decide upon all the other names I had to use for this chapter).
-Louis II, Prince of Condé, also known as le Grande Condé, was a renown general who led the French victory at the Battle of Rocroi. The Princes of Condé was a cadet branch of the House of Bourbon, descended from an uncle of Henry IV. While this Prince of Condé was never the heir (due to Philippe's existence), his father was Henry IV's heir before Louis XIII was born, and then second-in-line (after Gaston) before Louis XIV was born