Chapter Text
In the end, they simply couldn't stay. It took them months to prepare, to be able to hold simple conversations long enough to organise what needed organising.
Treville did them the biggest favour, reinstated as Captain, he dismissed them all.
They weren't really sure where they wanted to go. They weren't really sure what they wanted.
Athos wanted a drink, but he'd promised Aramis he wouldn't.
Porthos had wanted to kill Rochefort, but Milady had reappeared one day and told them he was no longer an issue.
D'Artaganan just wanted his friend back.
They all wanted their brother back.
Anne, now a lonely ghost who haunted the palace, wanted the father of her son back.
Constance wanted the cheerful, witty man back who'd made them all so happy.
Treville wanted one of his favourite Musketeers back.
On occassion, Louis wanted that Musketeer back, what was it… Eramis? Aranis? Something like that. He'd always been a funny one.
Milady found herself wanting the Musketeer back; he'd brought a smile to Athos' face like not many could.
Marguerite wanted the man she'd loved back.
When they finally left, it was a quiet affair. No one had it in them to be loud.
A surprisingly large group rode from the Musketeer's garrison that day.
Two women, one riding at the side of the man with the weary face, and the other riding at the side of the boy with the sad eyes.
The three men, the one with the weary face; the one with the sad eyes; and the one with the slumped shoulders, rode in a line.
Five people rode from that gate, determined to live on; to survive if nothing else.
Five people, living, breathing, grieving.
Five people.
And one ghost.