Walking through the streets of Paris d'artagan remembered all the memories that he had with the three brothers so many years ago. Ten years on from the death of the king and treville, the explosion of the garrison that so many called their home, his promotion and the farewell to the three friends he was so close to for so many years, so much had changed. He now had three children two boys and one girl, Alexandre who was 9, Francois who was 6 and Thomas who was 3, Constance hadn't changed to him, she was still the headstrong woman she was and was still scaring the living daylights out of the recruits. He felt at home here in Paris and it was funny to think, that he once led a very ordinary life of a farmer and yet in about 16 years he had seen the horrors of war, the suffocating ordeal of revenge, betrayal, the frustration of fully webbed lies and being penalised for every move you make, he had seen death, given death, he had seen life and injuries, but most of all he had been given a gift, three men to be exact and now more than ever was he missing them, for his brothers had been the basis of support for so many years and now with his beloved wife and daughter ill he was beginning to miss them too much. He needed them all by his side one last time, but how in gods name was he going to do that, they all had separate life's now and although they kept in touch they never met up. He couldn't leave his family yet he had to, to bring them back. He will bring them back. Just how, he didn't know.