A/N: Thank you Undertheoaktrees, Fleuramis, 29Pieces, and LadyWallace for your reviews of the last episode!

Chapter 1

Aramis lay back against the fluffy pillows, skin tingling as Adele traced a finger across his collar bone and down the length of the jagged, almost healed scar.

"Poor Aramis," she crooned.

"The cost of being a soldier," he replied softly.

She moved her hand down to his lower left ribs, caressing a large, raised scar there. "This?"

He glanced down, replying sagely, "Stabbed in combat at the siege of Montauban in '21."

She shifted to brush one on his opposite shoulder. "And this one?"

"Musket ball at the Ile de Re, '22."

Adele gave him a sultry smile as she moved to three still red scratches on his torso. "And this one?"

Aramis grinned. "Your nails, at the Luxembourg Gardens, the day before yesterday." He raised himself up to press his mouth to hers, snaking his arms around her supple body and rolling her over on the bed.

"Mm," she hummed, "Armand will be here soon."

"He doesn't love you as I do," Aramis murmured back, kissing her neck.

"Yes, but he pays for all of this."

Aramis stopped, the mood effectively doused. He flopped back over onto his back and sighed.

"Don't be like that." Adele rolled so she was partially on his chest.

He put his arm behind his head. It was difficult not to be like that when she kept invoking the Cardinal in the middle of what should have been their lovemaking.

Adele started kissing him again, trying to tease him back into it. He didn't respond at first, but then, how could he resist her for long? He was a fool in love.

A resounding knock at the door below reverberated through the house.

Adele shot upright. "Oh my God, he's early!"

Aramis bolted upward in alarm. They exchanged a frantic look, then scrambled from the bed. Aramis's trousers were hanging down around his thighs as he shuffled to the door to check the hall.

"No, don't go that way, he'll see you!"

He quickly shut the door. "Please tell me there's another way out."

Adele shrugged into her robe and pointed. "The window."

Aramis fumbled with the buttons of his trousers as he rushed over to open it and get a look at the street below. He faltered. "Have you seen how far down that is?" he asked in dismay, then shook his head. "No, that's not going to work." He grabbed his shirt and thrust his arms through the sleeves. "I'll…simply tell the Cardinal I had a good reason for being here."

"In my bedroom?" Adele exclaimed.

"You thought you saw a rat and screamed." He got his braces up and snatched up his coat to put on next. "I was passing by and ran to help. Easy."

Adele just shot him a glower as he hastily shoved his feet into his boots. She buttoned up her corset, then grabbed his hat and slapped it against his chest.

"If you love me, you'll jump."

Aramis gave her a helpless look, then the window. He sighed in resignation. "My sword."

Adele ran to retrieve it and Aramis turned to face the window, taking deep, harried breaths as he steeled himself for this. He placed his hat upon his head. Adele hurried back and passed him his weapons belt and pauldron, which he tossed out the window into the street below.

"Please, go now!" Adele urged.

Aramis climbed onto the ledge but caught sight of something he'd missed on the floor. "My pistol!"

Adele ran toward it, kicking it under the bed just as the bedroom doors opened. "Armand!" she greeted with exaggerated cheer.

Aramis launched himself off the window ledge.

"How wonderful to see you!"

Aramis was hanging by his fingertips now and regretted the folly of this plan as his still mending shoulder muscles pulled tautly. The Cardinal's voice filtered out from above.

"It's chilly in here, my dear."

"Is it?" Adele replied shakily. "I'm rather hot. Oh, come here, my love…"

"I can't stay for long. Affairs of state."

"But I hardly get to see you these days."

Aramis gritted his teeth and tried to hold absolutely still as he heard the window get closed. Once it clicked shut, he let himself breathe in relief. But it was short-lived as his arms and shoulders twinged from strain and he realized he had no idea how he was supposed to get down. His legs flailed, failing to grab purchase on the wall. The movement knocked his hat from his head. He stopped moving and tried to take another breath.

Well, shit.

Then he heard a familiar, delighted cackling, and he craned his neck to look down. Porthos and Athos were coming up the street. Aramis sighed again. Figured.

Porthos started clapping.

"Hah hah," Aramis muttered, shaking his head at himself. He supposed he deserved that. "A little help?" he called down. "I'm not yet fit enough for such acrobatics."

"Then you shouldn't be fit enough for carnal acrobatics either," Athos replied dryly.

Aramis huffed, then grunted as his grip slipped and he was left dangling precariously by one hand before he managed to grasp the ledge again. That finally made his friends stop teasing him.

"Hang on," Porthos said more seriously.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Aramis muttered to himself. But he focused all of his efforts into not falling. His arms really were feeling the strain now and he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold on, but then he heard the sound of creaking wheels and chanced a look down to see Athos and Porthos moving a wagon into position beneath him. It was still a drop, but much less than straight to the ground.

Taking a deep breath, he let go, bending his knees when he hit the wagon bed to absorb most of the impact. He still ended up losing his balance and falling flat on his ass.

Porthos was chuckling again and Athos was just giving him one of those unimpressed looks.

"One day you're going to get caught," Athos warned.

Aramis scooted to the edge of the wagon and hopped off. Snatching up his hat, pauldron, and sword, he simply grinned back at his friend. "Not today."

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan stood with palms braced on the counter on either side of the nest sitting a few feet from the furnace. The nursery was uncomfortably warm the longer he remained, but he couldn't bring himself to leave, his gaze transfixed on the egg in the bed of hay, as though staring at it long enough would somehow encourage it to hatch sooner.

"How much longer do you think?" he asked Constance.

"So impatient," she playfully chided. "You can't rush these things."

D'Artagnan sighed and straightened. "I know. I just want to be here when it happens." Ever since finding the egg and bringing it home, he'd been eager to finally see it hatch and meet the dragon that would be his to raise and care for. But it'd been almost two weeks now and he was starting to worry that maybe it wouldn't hatch at all.

Constance came over from stoking the furnace and laid a hand upon the egg. After a few moments, she said, "I doubt it will be this morning, or even today. You should get to muster before you're late."

D'Artagnan sighed again, knowing she was right. "Will you send for me if—"

"Yes." She gave him a light push toward the door. "Now go." She paused on the threshold to give him a kiss goodbye.

He smiled at his wife as he jogged out of the dragon compound and toward the garrison. The other musketeers were gathering for muster, and d'Artagnan fell in line at the head next to Athos. Captain Treville came down, roved his commanding gaze over them, and then began to assign duties for the day. D'Artagnan was pleased that he was actually going to get guard duty with his friends at the palace that morning. The King usually liked to have a few dragon riders around for show.

Once the group was dismissed, d'Artagnan waited for Athos, Porthos, and Aramis to retrieve their dragons, and then they headed to the palace where Louis was planning to enjoy a late morning of shooting pigeons.

The repeated crack of the musket shattered an otherwise tranquil morning, though to men like the musketeers it held a certain, homey sort of rhythm. For others like the servants in attendance, however, there were several flinches among them.

Rhaego's sharp gaze tracked each and every pigeon that was loosed into the air, a hungry gleam in his eye.

"Behave," Aramis warned under his breath.

The russet dragon was still feeling guilty over injuring his rider a couple of weeks ago and lowered his head in sulky obedience. Aramis patted his side in understanding.

D'Artagnan quickly grew bored standing at attention, but at least they were in some shade. Worse than tedious parade duty was tedious parade duty in the blazing sun. The fact that he wasn't doing anything only added to his anxiousness over the egg back at the dragon compound. What if it didn't hatch? What if it did and he missed it?

His fretting was interrupted by the arrival of Cardinal Richelieu, who stopped at the edge of the gathering and silently watched for a few minutes.

"Care to take a turn, Cardinal?" Louis asked.

"No, thank you, Your Majesty," he replied. Then, after a beat, he added, "Perhaps one of your musketeers would like to take a shot instead? They are, after all, such skilled soldiers."

D'Artagnan exchanged a bewildered and uncertain look with the others; the Cardinal never paid the regiment compliments. More often than not he was disparaging them for one thing or another, usually unfounded. So what did he mean by his comment now?

Even Louis seemed like he didn't know what to make of the suggestion.

The Cardinal stalked over to the line of Musketeer guards and roved his beady eyes over them. D'Artagnan held himself rigidly still under the scrutiny, feeling as though the man's very gaze left him coated in slime.

Richelieu finally pointed to Aramis. "Aren't you the one with the reputation for being the best marksman in the regiment?"

It was the best marksman in Paris, truth be told d'Artagnan thought, but Aramis merely canted his head and replied modestly, "I have some skill."

"Let's see it then," Richelieu said. "Surely you're carrying a weapon on you."

Aramis looked to the King for permission, and Louis gestured for him to step forward. D'Artagnan and Porthos watched with wary curiosity, while Athos's expression was tight. What was the Cardinal up to?

Aramis stepped up next to Louis and drew his pistol rather than taking one of the King's muskets. D'Artagnan didn't think it mattered in terms of accuracy, not where Aramis was concerned.

The marksman nodded to the pigeon keeper, who released a bird. Aramis tracked it through the air and fired. The bird dropped like a stone.

"Some skill indeed," Richelieu commented.

There was a subdued round of applause; only a simpleton was unaware of the Cardinal's unfavorable opinion of the Musketeers, and the fact that he was seemingly praising one now was wrong footing everyone.

Aramis bowed to the King before retreating back to his post.

"Watch me make the next one," Louis declared, taking up a musket.

The Cardinal's eyes, however, tracked Aramis all the way back to his position next to his dragon. D'Artagnan frowned at the fixation. Aramis was aware of it, too, and looked like he was trying not to fidget under that steely gaze.

Louis fired his musket and let out a boisterous bark of laughter at hitting his target.

"Excellent, Your Majesty," Richelieu said without looking the King's way. "Now if you will excuse me, I must return to my work."

Louis ignored his departure, and with the Cardinal finally gone, Aramis visibly relaxed.

"What was that all about?" he murmured.

"How about Adele Bessette," Athos hissed.

D'Artagnan closed his eyes in dismay. That was still going on?

"You need to avoid drawing attention to yourself," Athos went on.

Aramis scoffed.

"I mean it," Athos snapped in a low tone. "Stay away from Adele for a while."

"Listen to 'im, Aramis," Porthos added in a quiet voice laced with concern.

The marksman sighed. "Fine," he grudgingly said. "I'll volunteer for the next mission out of Paris, how about that?"

Neither Athos nor Porthos responded but they seemed relieved.

"Stop worrying," Aramis said to Athos, who huffed in turn.

The King finished up his shooting and declared that he was going to retire inside, thereby dismissing the Musketeers. Rhaego was wriggling in place as servants darted across the grounds to retrieve the dead pigeons. When they'd all been gathered up, the servants then tossed the carcasses the dragons' way.

Rhaego leaped forward to snatch one out of the air. He practically swallowed it whole and immediately turned to grab another.

Aramis moved forward and smacked his hindquarter. "Share," he reprimanded.

Rhaego grumbled under his breath as he let Savron and Vrita have a pigeon each, then he was snapping up two at a time.

With the dead birds disposed of and the dragons fed, the musketeers headed back to the garrison to hunt down their own lunch. D'Artagnan was eager to go home and check on the egg, especially if he wasn't needed for anything for the rest of the afternoon.

But just his luck, either Athos had noticed he was antsy or was simply in the mood, and the swordsman had declared an afternoon of sparring for the lot of them. D'Artagnan sighed. At least he was close by if Constance sent for him, and getting some practice dueling in would help him work off his nervous energy.

Or he'd just be in store for another of Athos's lectures on being distracted.

D'Artagnan sighed again.

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke slowly and groggily, feeling like he was slogging through a thick mire of muck that bogged down both his body and mind. He lay in that suspended sort of state for a little while before he was finally able to peel his eyelids open. It took far too much effort and his vision was completely fuzzy. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

Aramis moaned and lifted a heavy arm to press his palm against his aching head. The sleeve of his shirt brushed over his face. He didn't usually drink enough to get into this state, and he frowned in confusion as he tried to remember why he would have grown lax this time. Or maybe he was ill.

He lay still for a few moments, trying to muster the wherewithal to get up, when he began to notice the feel of the soft mattress beneath him. It was much nicer than his bed at the garrison…but not at all unfamiliar.

He forced his eyes fully open again and turned his head. His vision was still blurry, but he could make out a splash of red hair on the pillow beside him. He dropped his head back down and groaned; he remembered promising Athos he would take a break from this for a bit, and he could not remember what had brought him to break that promise. Had he gotten outrageously drunk and come to Adele's house?

He was mortified at the thought, especially since he couldn't remember anything about how he'd behaved whilst inebriated. Adele had let him in though, so it couldn't have been that bad.

He pushed himself up onto his elbow and reached out to nudge Adele awake. Usually she would respond to his touch by snuggling closer to him, but this time she didn't react at all. His vision started to steady, blurred shapes coalescing into solid contours. Aramis jerked back at the sight of Adele's wide open eyes staring vacantly back at him. Now that he could see, Aramis noticed her skin had a sickly gray tinge, and when his gaze drifted down, he found her chest drenched in dark red blood.

Aramis scrambled from the bed in horror. Oh God. No… He clutched at his hair, tugging at the roots as he tried to awaken from this nightmare. But he didn't.

Heart pounding erratically, he hesitantly climbed back onto the bed and reached out a shaky hand to cup Adele's cheek. She was cold.

Hot moisture flooded his eyes, blurring his vision once again and briefly erasing the horrific sight. He blinked them away, anguish and fury roiling inside him. Who could have done this? How could he have been so drunk as to not have heard it?

The doors suddenly banged open, making him jump, and a bunch of red guards poured in. Aramis was too stunned for a moment, but then three were converging on him, seizing him by the arms and yanking him off the bed to restrain him.

"This isn't what it looks like," he urged, struggling against their hold. Someone grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head back. Another kicked out the backs of his legs to drive him to his knees.

"Shut up!" one of them growled.

The lead red guard walked to the foot of the bed, bent down, and picked up a pistol. One Aramis recognized. The guard sniffed the barrel.

"It's been fired recently."

Aramis's heart dropped into his stomach. What? No…

"You are under arrest for murder!" the guard declared.

"No," Aramis protested as he was hauled to his feet again. "This is a mistake!"

His captors of course paid him no heed. And as he was dragged from the bedroom and away Adele's blank, empty eyes, Aramis couldn't help but wonder if it was possible that he had, in fact, done the unthinkable…