Chapter One

The tavern was a lot less crowded than usual, and finding a secluded booth proved to be no trouble at all for the four friends and their new acquaintance.

Two carafes of wine magically appeared, and nobody sat at the table could help but wonder who was going to pay for the drinks this time. Porthos decided that it would be better to have already drunk the wine by the time the bill was to be paid than to give the tavern-owner a chance to take the wine back again, and so very kindly poured wine into everyone's cups.

d'Artagnan sat on one side of Sophie while Aramis sat on the other, and Porthos and Athos sat across the table from them. The three of them looked her over carefully when she had taken off her cloak. Sophie was wearing a faded blue footman's livery. It was slightly ill-fitting in obvious places but her general appearance was that of a boy around d'Artagnan's age. Her figure was neither slight nor plump, she was of a sturdy build and carried herself with an air of confidence that indicated she knew how to take care of herself in a fight. She had long, brown hair that was tied at the back with a black ribbon, and loose strands of hair kept falling onto her face and distracting her. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief and intelligence, and Athos couldn't help but notice that her gaze kept darting around the room. He wondered if she was trying to find an escape. He set his shoulders back slightly and tilted his chin up, not taking his eyes from her. He didn't know anything about her aside from her name, and that concerned him. Of course, Aramis appeared to trust her, but then Aramis had always been slightly more trusting of people, and especially women, than Athos himself was. Which, he reflected, wasn't particularly difficult.

Athos' silent misgivings were interrupted by Porthos shifting in his seat and almost knocking Athos' cup clean out of his hand.

"Your wife?" Porthos asked, looking pointedly at Aramis. "You kept that quiet."

"We all have our secrets, my friend," Aramis said, grinning widely at him. Porthos shot him a look that was somewhere between mild amusement and thinly veiled derision.

"I suppose we should clarify for them, really," Sophie said in her soft, husky voice, squeezing Aramis' arm. He nodded and smiled indulgently at her, then gestured for her to continue with her explanation. d'Artagnan and Athos exchanged a brief glance of concern but didn't interrupt. "We have been married twice. First we were married when we were six years old. Nobody else knew about it and it obviously wasn't a real wedding, but it was a beautiful ceremony under a cherry tree in the springtime, with blossom everywhere."

"Sweeping romantic gestures have always been my strongest suit," Aramis agreed, taking a very large swig of wine. Athos took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, but said nothing. "The second time we were seventeen and we were married against our parents' will by a rather unscrupulous cleric who took the little money we had saved in order to perform the ceremony. The following day, Sophie's father had the marriage annulled. It was a little late by then, of course, for a true annulment, but nevertheless the marriage was deemed to be no longer valid."

"Not long afterwards, René was sent away by his parents to train as a priest, and that was the last I saw of him until today," Sophie said, shrugging her shoulders and shaking her head. "Seventeen years ago. Good God." She picked up her full cup of wine and drained it in five gulps as though it were water. Athos looked at her in surprise, his eyes widening for a moment before he composed himself.

"All that running built up a thirst, did it?" Porthos asked, nodding towards her empty cup. She looked right at him, her chin tilted slightly upwards as a playful smirk threatened at the corners of her lips.

"Something like that," she said, raising her left eyebrow as she smiled impishly at him. Porthos replied with a wolfish grin and refilled her cup for her. "That's very kind of you, monsieur."

"Porthos," he corrected her. She beamed at him.

"It's a name I shan't forget," she promised.

"So... I'm sorry, none of this makes sense," d'Artagnan said, frowning. She turned to him and furrowed her brow slightly.

"Which part, boy? The part about us getting married, or the part... no, I'm afraid that's all I've really said so far," she answered. d'Artagnan looked awkwardly at the table for a moment before looking back at her.

"My name is d'Artagnan, madame. I am not a boy," he replied. She nodded.

"Very well, d'Artagnan Madame, what would you like me to explain to you?" she asked, her tone serious but her eyes twinkling. Aramis let out a small snort of laughter and the right side of Athos' mouth twitched into a smirk at her sharp-witted response.

"Why are you in Paris, and why are you dressed as a man?" d'Artagnan asked. "Why did you steal a loaf of bread and a lady's pendant?"

Athos, Porthos and Aramis all leaned in close to Sophie at this point, studying her reaction. They had all been wondering the same thing but weren't sure exactly how to ask it. Fortunately for them, their little Gascon friend always tended to favour the direct approach. She stared back at all of them, matching their curious looks of distrust.

"I stole the bread because I was starving, and I stole the pendant to buy some girls' clothes. I have been masquerading as a twenty-one year old boy for the last eight months. Let me tell you, mon petit chou, being a man is difficult, but it is a lot easier than being a woman who must hide her true nature," she said.

"Twenty-one?" Athos asked, doubtfully. Sophie looked at him and didn't answer for a few moments.

"You doubt me, monsieur?" she said, a note of indignation and hurt in her voice that Athos hadn't expected. "You think I could not pass myself off as a boy so young? You think that I am a liar, is that it?"

"Madame, not thirty minutes ago, my friend and I had apprehended you as a thief. I do not know you," he said, his cold, piercing stare boring into her soul so deeply that she felt uncomfortable.

"Athos!" Aramis protested. Sophie held up her hand to stop him.

"No, he is right," she said. "Are you going to arrest me, Monsieur Athos?" she asked. Athos held her gaze for a few moments too long and finally looked away from her.

"As Aramis said, we would not begrudge you a meal," he answered. She nodded and stood up from the table.

"In that case, I will leave. I have business of my own to attend to," she said. "Excuse me, please," she muttered, nudging d'Artagnan's thigh with her knee to make him move out of her way.

"What business?" d'Artagnan asked. She looked at him sharply for a fraction of a second before her expression softened. Something about his young, hopeful face made her forget how angry she felt.

"My business, I'm afraid," she answered, smiling kindly at him. "I am truly sorry for the inconvenience I caused today," she called over her shoulder as she walked towards the door.

"Sophie!" Aramis shouted, rushing over to her and grabbing her arm. She looked at his hand and then looked up at him. His eyes flickered with guilt as he released his grasp on her. "Will I see you again?" he asked, gently. She smiled ruefully and shook her head.

"I would love that, but I cannot promise it," she answered, sadly. "I am so glad you're alive and safe. I've thought of you so often." Aramis pulled her close to him and kissed her forehead.

"May God keep you safe," he whispered, squeezing her shoulders lovingly. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"I often pray for the same thing," she said. She bit her lip and paused for a moment. "I know that it must appear I am not the woman you expected me to become, but - but you should know that not everything is always as it seems," she finished. She took one last glance at d'Artagnan, Porthos and Athos who were sat watching them with interest, then she smiled and left the tavern.

"She seems... erm," d'Artagnan said, shifting along the bench to make room for Aramis as he returned to them. "Troubled?" he offered, trying to be tactful. Aramis shook his head, sadly.

"More than troubled, I think. Perhaps... perhaps frightened," he said, his tone distant and distracted. He took a swig of wine and took hold of the carafe to refill his cup. "We're out of wine," he muttered, glancing reproachfully at Athos. Athos met his gaze, a slight dullness in his eyes and smirk on his lips indicating exactly where the wine had disappeared to. "I wish we could have done something to help her."

"We did. We failed to arrest her," Athos pointed out.

"You didn't like her at all, did you?" Aramis asked, chuckling at his friend. Athos looked at the bottom of his empty cup for a moment before looking back up at Aramis.

"I don't know her. And neither do you, any more," he answered, seriously.

"I liked her," Porthos said. "She seemed like a fiesty one," Aramis laughed and nodded.

"She certainly used to be," he agreed. "Something is wrong, I can feel it. I just wish she could have told us more."

"Here," d'Artagnan offered, pushing a fresh carafe of wine down the table to Aramis. "This will help." Aramis looked at him and then at Athos.

"You've been around Athos for too long!" he teased, squeezing d'Artagnan's shoulder affectionately. He poured another cup of wine for himself and sat back, his brow furrowed in thought. "Something is wrong. I know Sophie."

A heavy silence descended upon the table as Aramis wallowed in memories he had thought were forever lost. Memories of climbing trees, learning to fence with wooden sticks in the courtyard of Sophie's house. Their childish wedding vows made in front of Sophie's favourite doll. Lying side by side on top of the hill, staring at the stars and pouring out their thirteen-year-old hearts to each other because they knew that nobody else would understand them. Making plans to run away together and start a new life. The first time he kissed her, against the outside kitchen wall, the feel of her soft lips on his skin, the way it hurt in the best possible way as she twisted strands of his hair around her fingers and pulled firmly as their kiss deepened. Their wedding night when they made love for the first time, how warm her body felt next to his and how even now he could remember every last moment of that night so vividly that his entire body tingled. How he truly never believed there would ever be a moment in his life without her by his side. The pain in his heart as his father manhandled him onto a coach and sent him to the seminary, knowing he would never see his Sophie again. Not many days went by in his life when he hadn't thought about her, wondered what she was doing, if she had married again, if she was with someone who would take care of her and allow her to be the woman he had loved instead of expecting her to become a brainless, spineless extension of her husband. He was just glad that she was still alive and still just as beautiful as he remembered - even if there was something troubling her. If only he had been able to speak to her for longer, he knew that she would have opened up to him.

While Porthos and d'Artagnan drank more wine and tried to think of a plausible way to either fool the owner of the tavern into believing they had already paid, or to create a substantial diversion to distract him from the fact they had now finished three carafes of wine and had no way of paying for any of it, Athos stared unashamedly at Aramis. Athos wasn't a harsh, unfeeling man. He tried to be, but he wasn't. He recognised the pain on his friend's face, the torment, the confusion, the flashbacks to happier times. It was all there, etched on Aramis' face. For a few moments, he thought of Sophie. While it was quite true that he didn't know her, that he couldn't trust her because he didn't know her, he reminded himself that he did know Aramis. Just because Aramis trusted more easily than Athos did, that didn't mean Aramis was gullible or a fool. He had a heart larger than France itself, and the honour and courage to match it. Athos had, on countless occasions, trusted Aramis with his very life - and Aramis had never given him a moment's reason to doubt him. Perhaps he had been too harsh on the woman. Perhaps he should stop judging all women based on his past experiences. Not all were like that. At least, he hoped they weren't.

"Aramis?" Athos said, jolting Aramis out of his reverie. Aramis looked up at him forlornly. "We need to go. Treville is expecting us." It was a lie, of course. Monsieur de Treville wasn't expecting them at all. Athos just knew that if he was left to drown his sorrows, Aramis would go to the same dark place that Athos himself went to in these moments of anguish, and he would do anything to spare Aramis that level of heartache. The only distraction he knew was to keep him busy.

"He is?" Aramis asked, distantly. Porthos looked up at Athos and frowned.

"He is?" he repeated, confused. Athos shot him a look which needed no translation.

"Yes. Come. We'll be late," he said, putting his hat back on his head and making his way to the door. All four men were stopped in their tracks by a piercing scream. Aramis' face dropped.

"Sophie," he murmured, pushing Porthos and Athos out of his way as he raced outside. Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan could do no more than follow him, almost dreading what they would find when they got outside.

Sophie's cries came from the alley at the side of the tavern, where she was embroiled in a fight with three large men. Aramis skidded to a halt at the mouth of the alleyway and roared an oath at them to distract them. As they turned around, Sophie managed to punch one in the jaw so hard that she knocked him out cold. Another of her attackers grabbed her by her hair, pulling some out from her scalp and hurting her neck in the process. Punching her in the stomach with all his might, she let out a sickening groan as she involuntarily vomited onto the man's shoes. In his disgust, he picked her up bodily and threw her down the alleyway as though she were nothing more than a rag doll. The force of impact on the cobbled pavement immediately knocked her unconscious. As Athos was nearest to Sophie, he instinctively raced to her side to tend to her.

"You cowards! You want to fight a man, fight me!" Aramis yelled, storming over to them. He felt d'Artagnan's presence at his right shoulder, shortly followed by Porthos at his right.

"You fight one of us, you fight all of us!" d'Artagnan shouted. Porthos said nothing but drew himself to his full height and growled through his menacing grin.

"That boy owed us money! Cheated at cards!" the man who had punched Sophie said.

"Cheated at cards, Aramis. Tut tut tut. That's a nasty trick," Porthos said, his voice quiet and dangerous.

"Oh, well, if she cheated at cards, that's different," Aramis said, letting out a breath of laughter as he playfully clapped Porthos on the shoulder. His expression quickly changed to one of seething rage as he continued advancing towards the men with Porthos and d'Artagnan by his side.

"She?" the man repeated. Porthos nodded, cracking his knuckles as he clenched his fists.

"Hitting a woman, Porthos. That's a nasty trick too," Aramis said, grimly, not taking his eyes off the man responsible for Sophie's injuries.

"Porthos? Aramis?" the other man said, his voice suddenly seized with terror. "Not Porthos of The Musketeers?" he asked. Porthos grinned widely at him and nodded.

Before Porthos, Aramis or d'Artagnan had chance to raise a finger, the men let out a cry of terror and ran away. Aramis and Porthos looked at each other and shrugged.

"That was an anti-climax," Aramis said, blandly.

"I hate those," Porthos agreed, before letting out a dirty chuckle. Aramis let out a snort of laughter and turned back towards Sophie.

Sophie's head was in Athos' lap, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. Athos stroked her hair with one hand and gently tapped her cheek with the other to bring her round.

"Sophie? Sophie, it's Athos. Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice unusually kind and gentle. Sophie's eyes eventually flickered open, and with great effort she reached out a hand and grasped hold of Athos' jacket.

"Take me to Her Majesty," she whispered.

"The Queen?" Athos said. Aramis crouched beside Athos and looked questioningly at him. "Why to the Queen?" he asked, frowning. Sophie tugged desperately at his jacket and his face filled with concern. "What is it?"

"Tell her," she gasped, with great effort. "The Blue Falcon." Athos' frown deepened.

"The Blue Falcon?" he repeated. She nodded.

"He is here," she murmured. Athos and Aramis exchanged a concerned glance.

"Who is he, Sophie?" Aramis asked, taking Sophie's hand and squeezing it affectionately.

It was too late. Sophie had slipped back into unconsciousness. Aramis realised that if they were to save her, they needed help - and they needed it quickly.