Aramis tapped lightly on the bedroom door. When no answer came, he opened it slowly and looked toward Athos, who continued to sleep. Sunlight peeked between the drapes and lighted the room enough for Aramis to see by.

Athos slept on his stomach, facing the far wall with his right arm hung over the edge of the bed. Blankets had tangled around his legs and hips, and his pillow was on the floor. Aramis had never known Athos to be a heavy sleeper, but his exhaustion was evident even after hours of rest. However, it appeared he had spent those sleeping hours in turmoil: tossing, turning, and fighting with experiences and memories that would continue to plague him.

Aramis walked quietly into the room, placed his left palm on Athos' forehead, and finding his mild fever gone, he left. Aramis closed the door and heard a knock at the front door. He looked toward the entry and then toward the dining room before he pulled the door open.

"Captain?" Aramis said. "I thought you were hunting with the king?"

Treville cocked an eyebrow and took a deep breath. "Arrived back this morning." He pointed toward Aramis' wrapped hand, the bruising around his wrists that had yet to morph into lighter shades. "It appears to me you have a story to tell."

Aramis exhaled through puffed cheeks, took a deep breath, and nodded. He turned, listened as Treville shut the door, and followed him.

D'Artagnan stepped into the dining room with a handful of empty plates. "Captain?"

Treville raised his eyebrows, bit his bottom lip, and stepped toward d'Artagnan. "You have quite the story to tell — Porthos and Athos?" He leaned forward, took a better look at the bruising around d'Artagnan's neck and shook his head. He turned and looked at Aramis. "Who did this?"

"Athos is still sleeping —"

"Injuries?"

"Exhaustion," Aramis said. He took a deep breath and motioned toward the table. "Porthos will join us shortly —"

"I'm 'ere," Porthos said. He rubbed his face as he entered the room and nodded toward them. "Good to see you, cap'n." He instinctively squared his shoulders, but relaxed when Treville shook his head and motioned for him to join them at the table.

Constance cleared her throat, placed a bowl of cooked eggs, hard breads, cheeses, and butter with honey on the table. She wiped her hands on her apron. "I've got to get to the market — if you need anything else, d'Artagnan knows where to find it." She rolled her eyes at Aramis' smirk, then draped a shawl over her shoulders and left.

"What happened — where's the baron?" Treville rested his elbows on the table and glanced at each of his men.

Aramis watched Porthos grab several eggs, crack each one, and slowly peel away the shell. D'Artagnan took a roll and slathered it in butter and honey and ripped slices apart as he ate. Aramis spoke about Evan, their incarceration, Tomas, and the baron's weakness of mind. He avoided the details, but instead focused on their release, and the baron's overwhelming sense of guilt and grief.

"The baron sent eight of his best mares with us, four as gifts to the king, and the others for the musketeers," Aramis said and rubbed his face.

"The musketeers or one for each of you?" Treville asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Aramis cleared his throat, glanced from Porthos to d'Artagnan, and said, "For us, Athos thought it best they be a gift to the garrison as a show of gratitude."

Treville shook his head. "While they would be fine animals to add to our stock — I think it best to honor the baron's request."

D'Artagnan fought his smile, but the curve of his lips twinged upward. "I'm partial to the bay with the narrow blaze," he said, and raised his eyebrows. He shrugged. "I spotted her when he rode onto the baron's property."

Porthos chuckled and tapped the table with his hand. "That you are." He couldn't admit it, but he'd grown rather fond of the dapple gray that had yanked him from the saddle.

"Aramis?" Treville asked. The horses had been a gracious gift, but would not erase the memories of their ordeal. He watched Aramis shift his left hand to his thigh and rub a moment and then shrug.

"To be honest," Aramis said, "I haven't thought about it."

Porthos huffed and quirked his eyebrows. "The dark bay with the mealy mouth," he said and nodded. "She's a bit on the squirrely side, but she's got heart."

"Like Aramis," d'Artagnan chuckled and removed an egg from the bowl.

"Dark chestnut for Athos," Aramis said, "she's not the prettiest in the group, but…" he shrugged, "I think he has a fondness for her."

Treville nodded. "When I go back to the garrison, I'll have Jacque clean up the other four — make sure they're ready to be presented to the king."

They all felt a sense of guilt: what could they have done differently, could they have detected the forged letter, or not allowed the appearance of kindness to distract them from duty? Treville knew the ploy had been to get them out of Paris. He had not thought about the fact that harm may have come to his men. He clenched his fists, watched Porthos dip his hard boiled-egg into a bit of salt and eat. Aramis rubbed his brow and rested his elbow on the table. He took a bite of his bread.

Treville didn't need to know all the details, and he knew he never would. Instead, he focused on what his men needed: time to heal, space to clear their heads, and the familiarity of home. He cleared his throat, rested his left hand on his thigh, and rubbed the surface of the table with his right. "The Comte de la Beau died three days ago," he said and shook his head. "He died before accusations could be brought against him regarding threats against the king." He looked up and met d'Artagnan's and Aramis' eyes. "I would hazard a guess that Tomas had orchestrated the ploy as an attempt for the cardinal to improve his standing… His involvement with the attempt on the queen's life has sent him into a fit of paranoia."

Porthos grumbled, "Is that all?" He rolled his eyes and pressed his finger to a bit of broken shell and felt the sharp edges indent the tip.

"Why the comte?" d'Artagnan asked and rested his elbows on the table.

Treville creased his brow and rubbed his thumbnail against a piece of hardwood. "He was close to death and did not have an heir — he was vulnerable in mind and body."

"His lands?" Aramis asked.

Treville inhaled deeply and shrugged. "His wife is from Austria — she will offer the Duke of Savoy her lands."

Porthos shook his head in disbelief. He chewed his bottom lip and met Aramis' eyes. "That's why they wen't after Athos like they did — how much do you wan' to bet that Tomas was involved in that too? We all know the duke challenged Athos to a duel an' lost to 'im in front of the king," he said and pushed his plate away from the edge of the table. "Richelieu gets to improve 'is standin' by identifyin' the threat to the king. The duke get's revenge for bein' humiliated in front of 'im — Tomas almost walked away with a pocket of coin by organizin' the whole thing." He rolled his eyes and pursed his lip, "Shit."

Porthos pointed toward d'Artagnan's jaw. "Meanwhile, we end up bein' their play things because we're devoted to the king and would've recognized the ploy — 'ad we stayed in Paris." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and rolled his shoulders.

"We can't prove any of it," Aramis said. He rubbed the tips of his mustache with a cupped hand. "Any accusations of this would be considered treasonous." Aramis rested his elbows on the table and the tucked his left hand into the crook of his arm. "I shot Tomas," he said and shook his head, "I shot the one man who could have testified to what he had done —"

"He never would have made it to trial," Athos said and clasped Aramis' shoulder as he entered the room. His doublet opened at the front, weapons grasped in his hand, and his hair disheveled. "The man who orchestrated this would have made sure of it." He took a seat and nodded in thanks to d'Artagnan who pushed the bowl of eggs toward him. He still looked tired, but so did the others. Athos cracked an egg and removed the shell.

"So what do we do?" d'Artagnan asked. He bit the inside of his left cheek and looked at Treville.

Treville took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and looked around the table toward his men. "You all join me tomorrow to deliver the mares to the king — I'd like to see Richelieu's face when he sees you."

The suggestion brought a smile to Porthos' face. "Probably give 'im a heart attack when he sees all of us."

"He almost killed us," Aramis said.

"But he didn't," Athos said, "and I think it's best that we face him directly."

Treville stood, slapped the table's surface with his palms, and said, "Take the day to rest. Clean yourselves up and join me in the morning." He turned toward the door. "I'm glad you're all back." He left.

D'Artagnan grabbed another egg. "How do we let Richelieu know we know what he did?" He tipped his head slightly to the right and shrugged. "Without letting him know we know."

Porthos sent d'Artagnan a look of disbelief.

Aramis said, "I think he'll just ignore us."

Athos shook his head and said, "He'll know."