As Elodie stood outside the small forge, waiting for her order of nails, she faced the square. This part of Paris was not as bustling as the food markets, only building materials and supplies were sold here. With the reconstruction of the garrison very nearly completed, this was likely to be her last excursion here.

"Here you are, Madame."

Elodie turned around to take the small sack from the nailer,

"Thank you," she said and placed the nails in her empty basket. They were heavy, but nothing she couldn't handle. Then the man returned to his work, the sound of hammer hitting steel ringing throughout the square. Having what she came for, Elodie started to make her way back to the garrison. She only made it a short way before somebody stopped her. A man's hand was on her shoulder. He had crept up on her. Scared out of her wits, Elodie whipped around, ready to smack the stranger in the face with her heavy basket of nails if she had to. But she didn't.

"Elodie?"

Because it was her husband. Her late husband.

Elodie was speechless. She didn't blink as she stood there looking up at the face she hadn't seen for more than a year and a half. The face she didn't think she would ever see again.

"It's me," he said, "it's Asher."

He looked different. He was skinnier than when she saw him last, and his hair was much shorter; it was like he didn't have any at all it had been cut so close to the scalp. His hair was once the colour of barley and flowed like a rippling river, now what remained of it looked more like the silt from the bottom of that river. He was still cleanly shaven though, showing off his round jawline. And his eyes, blue to match her own and those of their daughter's, they sparkled like a clear lake on a clear day at seeing her. Elodie just couldn't believe it.

"I- I thought you were dead," was all she was able to get out, a sob creeping in her voice. An unexpected tear escaped her eye and slid down her cheek. Asher lovingly wiped it away with his thumb and held her chin. Despite the bracing touch, her lip quivered as more tears started to form. Still standing in the middle of the street, Asher embraced his wife. She had to swing her basket to the side to avoid an abdominal collision. She did not move her hand to hug him back.

"Oh, Elodie. I thought you were dead too!"

This elicited a sob from the woman. When they parted, she wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffed, followed by an awkward breathy laugh.

"You were with child. Did you have the baby?" He asked, brow furrowed. Her composure regained, Elodie stood up straighter and grasped the handle of her basket with both hands again.

"Yes! Yes, she's with a friend," she said with a smile and a sniff. Asher smiled too,

"A daughter," he breathed, but Elodie noticed that his smile was a strangely stiff one.

Inside, she was panicking. She had to tell him about Porthos or things would be even more uncomfortable later. How she was going to explain her first husband's miraculous resurrection to her current husband was thankfully something she could postpone.

"Asher, I- I…" she wanted to finish that sentence. Tell him she remarried, but that final word was proving difficult. The reality that her entire life was suddenly changing again was setting in and it was terrifying. Asher just waited doltishly in silence.

"I have to get these back to the garrison," she said. Perhaps the conversation that needed to be had would be better conducted somewhere other than the middle of the construction district.

"Garrison?" he asked, understandably confused. Elodie just said,

"There should be a hot meal waiting. We can talk."

And they continued down the street together. Asher did not offer to carry her basket.

Upon her return, Elodie was greeted by Constance. The woman made her way over, beaming.

"Oh you're a lifesaver," she said and took the basket from her. Her arm dropped slightly with the weight of it. The basket contained the nails they needed to put the finishing touches on the platform of the main building, as well as the boundless spare nails the garrison no doubt was going to need.

Behind Elodie was Asher, who was staring at his surroundings, looking rather lost. A boisterous neigh sounded from the stable.

"And who's this?" Constance asked. Elodie took Asher's arm and lead him to her side.

"This is Asher Gauthier," she said, "Asher, this is Madame Constance d'Artagnan. She's as much in charge of the garrison as the Captain."

"The captain is my husband, Monsieur Gauthier," Constance explained, grinning proudly.

"Pleased to meet you, Madame," Asher said with the slightest of nods.

Elodie paused. She trusted Constance more than anyone, but she still had to take a moment to consider what she let loose. Then she decided she wasn't going to let herself hesitate, nobody deserved her reluctance. This situation was going to have to be resolved anyway, no point in standing there like an idiot.

"Asher is my husband," she said, and Constance went from smiling at this newcomer to looking her friend straight in the eye, her expression the most serious Elodie had ever seen. Her eyes told Constance everything she needed to know, like how her presumed late husband was yet to find out that his wife had remarried.

"Oh," she said, "Oh I see." And she too paused, struggling with a surprise such as this. Then she put on her smile again and said,

"Well come inside, both of you. There's soup! Still warm on the fire, and bread of course."

Constance led them to the new communal dining room, on the way handing the basket off to a cadet, who gave her a smile framed by boyish dimples in return. Inside, the low fire glowed beneath a large blackened pot. Despite all the furniture being relatively new, this was a venue where soldiers congregate, so all the tables had odd stains and countless nicks and holes caused by knives already. Only one cadet was sat at a table at the back, gnawing on a piece of bread and closely reading the pamphlet in his hand.

"Here you go," said Constance as she ladled some soup into a bowl. Now full with thin sloshing soup, she offered the bowl to Asher, a guest.

"Thank you," he said. By his manner, it seemed that he had finally caught on to how awkward the situation was. Perhaps he was wondering what his wife was doing in a place like this. Was she simply a maid who went on errands or was she welcome here for more undesirable reasons? Elodie declined a bowl for herself with a gesture to Constance. Instead, she walked over to the bench nearby and brought over what was left of a loaf of bread and sat down next to Asher who had already started eating. Elodie gave a look of thanks to Constance, who in turn looked at her friend sadly before suddenly remembering something. She bent down to tell Elodie, gently,

"D'Artagnan is keeping an eye on Marie by the way."

Elodie simply nodded her approval. She had assumed as much anyway. If ever little Marie-Cesette was not with either her mother or with Constance, she was with d'Artagnan in his office. The young captain certainly never minded the distraction from the more boring part of his job, and his child minding skills were most welcome. Some days it seemed like he was the only person who can get her to sleep.

"Javet," Constance called to the cadet at the back of the room, "we've got a bannister to put up, come on."

The young man reluctantly tucked his reading material into his doublet and got up. He gave a courteous nod to Elodie before ducking past Madame d'Artagnan, lest she give him an earful about not working.

"I suppose you two have a lot to catch up on," Constance said, a reassuring hand on Elodie's shoulder, "I'll be outside. Sorry about the hammering."

"Thank you, Constance," Elodie said sincerely, and Constance's smile was tight as she nodded to the pair and left. Asher ate in silence for a few moments. He seemed to enjoy the soup. Elodie just watched him, formulating a conversation in her head. Even in her head, it wasn't going well. Then, it was Asher who was the first to speak,

"I know why you're finding it difficult to talk to me…" he said, not looking up from his bowl. Elodie's gaze, on the other hand, shot up. He couldn't know about Porthos, not unless he had been asking after her before they met in the market. And if he noticed it, she was sure he'd assume the rings she wore was the one that tied her to him and not another. Besides, it really wasn't like him to be so reserved and withholding. Then again, did she even know him enough anymore to make such assumptions?

When Elodie didn't reply, Asher continued, saying,

"I saw what happened to our home. You don't have to be ashamed of leaving."

"I'm not ashamed of anything," came Elodie's quick response, "It's just that… You being here is such a surprise! I haven't seen you in, well, more than a year."

It had been 17 months since they had said goodbye. Felt like a lifetime ago. For Elodie, the realisation that it hadn't yet been years was a strange one.

"And I thought that you were killed in Freiberg," she finished.

"Freiberg?"

"Your whole battalion was wiped out…" she said sympathetically, trying to garner a response. Of the one time he'd been home since returning to the war as a general, Porthos felt better after unloading his stories from the front onto Elodie. This is what she was trying to do for Asher. Other women might hate to hear of the horrors, but Elodie truly did not mind. She had seen horrors too. She was wise to the fact that it's never a good idea to push those experiences to the side. You'd go crazy.

Asher just sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, pushing the tips of his fingers over his eyes and scratching his palms with the prickly parts of his cheeks. The hammering that Constance had promised started up.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," she apologised, thinking she had upset him, "It must've been horrific-"

"No…" he started.

For a brief moment, an absurd thought came into Elodie's head: Did Porthos lie about Asher's regiment just to have her to himself? Then she thought about their whole relationship and realised that was silly, but the tingling sensation from her brief panic remained.

After a moment and another deep sigh, Asher continued,

"I was at Freiberg, it's true, but I didn't face any fighting."

"What?"

Eyes wide, voice cracking, the disbelief was inscribed on Elodie's face like a printed etching. The intrusive thoughts of a dishonest Porthos were returning.

"I ran, alright?" said Asher, and he pushed out his chair harshly and got up, the screech the action made was violent and jarring.

"I ran from that battle, and I ran from the whole war. I don't regret it," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He seemed so indifferent. Elodie just sat there, shocked, as she watched him pace over to the window. She thought about the men that came to her village in the forest- was Asher like them now? The banging of hammers wasn't so loud, but it was naggingly constant.

"You deserted?!"

"I suppose," he said with another shrug.

"Asher, they hang deserters."

"You said it yourself, you thought I was dead, so does anyone else who cares. You can't hang a dead man."

As Asher avoided her eyes by staring out the window towards the stable across the yard, Elodie took a deep breath. His cowardice was so off-putting, the image in her mind of the man in front of her running from a fight while his comrades were slaughtered put the most terrible taste in her mouth and sank her heart down into her shoes. She once thought him brave for volunteering, now she was questioning everything she thought she knew about him.

The day her daughter was born, Porthos held her and confessed to her that he had once fled from a battle in the middle of the night. But this was no fair comparison. Porthos was ashamed, in the moment he was afraid and that's why he left, but he still felt remorse. He returned to the camp the same night and no one knew about it until he told Elodie. Her first husband, however, never regretted abandoning his friends to their deaths.

It would appear that Porthos was the better man in this regard, but surely she owed it to Asher to uphold their vows over the ones she made to her second husband? She was so confused. Though she was realising that she had to tell him. Before they left this room she had to tell him.

"I have to tell you something," she said, "But before I do, promise me you'll be understanding."

Asher turned around and narrowed his eyes. He didn't return to the table. He rolled his lips,

"How can I promise that?"

"That's fair…" Elodie said under her breath with an air of humour. She took another deep breath and announced,

"I remarried."

Her revelation was met with silence. A long and heavy silence.

"Please say something," she pleaded after a few moments, eyes welling with tears that blurred the image of her husband. Elodie didn't have to wait much longer for a response,

"You married somebody else?"

He seemed hurt. Elodie got up from her chair and stepped towards him, trying to reassure him,

"He's a good man. A very good man," she said, not realising that might not have been the best thing to say.

"Better than me?"

"Asher…"

Elodie dismissed the notion by rolling her eyes, but inside she was trying to answer the question for herself. Perhaps Porthos was better in some ways, but it was Asher that was here now. It was Asher she married first. It was Asher that was her daughter's real father.

He looked away from Elodie, scrunching his face. Elodie had never seen him react to anything like this. He looked as though he might cry. Though he only sniffed harshly.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked, his composure suddenly regained.

"With d'Artagnan."

"And who the hell is that?"

Elodie stepped back towards her chair, but she did not sit down. She rested a hand on its back and dragged her other hand down her face in exasperation before cupping her cheek. The stress was getting to her, as she was sure it was getting to Asher as well. The air between them was growing thick with enmity. The banging going on outside wasn't helping any. Elodie thought it might drive her mad.

"He's the captain of The People's Musketeers and a very dear friend," said Elodie. She left out the fact that he was also very much like a brother to Porthos.

"And this… This other husband…?" he spat.

Elodie removed her hand from her face. Considering the recent revelation of the reason for Asher's absence, Elodie had to be careful. However, she could find no way around the truth. Finally, she said,

"His name is Porthos du Vallon. He's away fighting… He's a general."

Asher began rubbing his own face, roughly stroking his chin and over his lips as if he was scrubbing dirt from stone.

"A general, huh?" he laughed. It was a humourless laugh. The irony was not lost on him, but he did not find it funny.

"A general?" he repeated, this time with brows raised and eyes wide. Elodie did not respond. She didn't know how. It was the truth, and sometimes the truth is hurtful, with no way to combat reality.

"Let me get this straight," he continued, a hot anger rising, "I leave for war, with my child in your belly. Then you go off and leave our home to marry a general? And he's the one that you let pretend to be my child's father?"

"You haven't been here!" Elodie cried bitterly, "You were dead! What was I supposed to do?! I had a baby to take care of and no home, no family to help me. Marrying Porthos gave us a home, a life, security. I will not let you disparage him simply because he was there for me when you were not!"

The hammering stopped. Tears now streaming, chest heaving, Elodie slowly unfurled her fists. She had dug her short nails into her palms in anger without realising it. They only stung for a second. Asher looked to be near tears himself. He took a moment to contemplate. This made Elodie nervous. He sighed and stepped closer to her, gently saying,

"What do we do? Can we fix us? Can we be a family?"

He got close enough to take her hands into his. He just held her hands and tried to meet her eyes, but Elodie avoided his gaze. It felt so nice for her hands to be between his that she almost forgot about it all. About her world falling apart. Eventually, she said noncommittally,

"I'll write to Porthos…"

Now that he was so close, she could speak a little quieter, softer. She was amazed that a moment so tender could follow her outburst. Though it was small, her smile returned and she at last met his eyes as she asked him,

"Do you want to meet your daughter?"

Asher's smile returned too and he nodded. Keeping her hands in his, her face turned serious once more,

"Before you do, try to forget about what's going on between us. She's much more important."

Asher was quiet as he agreed with another nod. His genuine interest could have warmed her heart. If only it wasn't breaking.