Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers. I've enjoyed reading your theories and hearing about your favourite episodes. Apologies for not replying sooner but I got unexpectedly busy. Anyhoo. here's the next chapter. Some of our lovely heroes start to meet each other and leave some impressions! And some geeking out over weaponry in very sober, reserved fashion from two of our favourite reserved characters.

If you have not seen or heard Centuries, check it out. It fits the show very well. (As the fanvid shows). Again I own nothing.


Mama, fight my teenage dreams
No, it's nothing wrong with me
The kids are all wrong the story's aloof
Heavy metal, rock my heart
Come on, come on and let me in
I'm cruising on your thighs, leave my fingerprints
And this is for tonight
I thought that you would feel
I never meant for you to fix yourself

Remember me for centuries

And I can't stop till the whole word knows my name
'Cause I was only born inside my dreams
Until you die for me, as long as there is a light
My shadow is over you 'cause I am the opposite of amnesia

Centuries – Fall Out Boy


Yvonne was asking for you. D'Artagnan smirked at the text. Yvonne was pretty, smart, funny and could drive a tractor better than anyone he knew. Her parents owned a farm less than a mile away from the D'Artagnans. They'd gone to school together, grown up together, done other things together… Yvonne was the epitome of a Gascon farm girl. And that was all she ever wanted to be.

In another life D'Artagnan might have married her and they'd live happily ever after on their Gascon farm. But D'Artagnan wanted more adventure in his life. Yvonne considered that life an adventure. Even travelling to Paris held no appeal for her.

He glanced around. His current surroundings consisted of a simple, clean low-price twin hotel room. When his father had raised the idea of the trip, D'Artagnan had instantly agreed. He'd never been to Paris before. His father's goal – to meet with the owner of a company that had started operating in the area and caused significant problems – was a noble one that D'Artagnan fully supported. But that didn't mean they couldn't do some exploring right?

His father chuckled. "You just want to get out of doing all this reading and homework. Go on. Just make sure you call me when you get lost."

"I won't get lost!" He didn't really care if he did or didn't. He was in Paris! He would have some adventure surely!


"Nothing?" Anne repeated. "Nothing at all?"

Constance shook her head even though Anne wouldn't be able to see over the phone. "No. I've tried all the contact details you gave me. No response from email. Her phone just rings out, no voicemail. Her landlady said she paid up until the end of the notice period even though it's not for another month. She didn't have a forwarding address."

Anne was silent. Even through the line Constance could feel her worry, she offered what little comfort she could. "I'll keep trying," she promised.

"I know you will. But it isn't like Marguerite at all. I'm worried for her." Constance was too. She had never met Marguerite. She got the impression from Anne that the other woman hadn't known her assistant all that well either. But Anne cared for her, felt responsible for her. And so did Constance. Marguerite deserved to know someone was concerned for her, especially if she was upset.

There was a muffled sound in her ear, quickly replaced by Anne's breathless whisper. "I have to go. I'll call as soon as I can."

Constance wasn't offended by how quickly the line disconnected. Anne hadn't told her everything, but she had confided enough. Constance wasn't stupid, she could read between the lines. Anne's fiancé might not terrify her the same way he had Marguerite but that didn't mean Constance wasn't worried for two instead of one.

She realised that in her moment of distraction she'd lost her bag. Knowing that it couldn't have gone far she retraced her steps. The bag wasn't where she had left it. Frustrated she scanned the area. There!

"Oi. What do you think you're doing?" She swung her hand towards the young man even as her other one reached out to wrench her open bag from him. His arm was already half-way in it. Constance's eyes widened at the garment that dislodged itself from the bag into his fingers. She snatched the bra from him and stuffed it back in the bag, glowering at him.

He flinched away from her, rubbing his arm. "I'm sorry. I found it."

"And that gives you permission to walk around taking bags and riffling through a stranger's belongings does it?"

"I was looking for ID to return it." Seeing that she still wasn't placated, he held up his hands. "I'll pay you for the business you lost."

'Business she…?' She started at the realisation. If she had been angry before she was livid now. "You think I'm a prostitute."

He looked her vest top and shorts up and down, his gaze glancing over to her bag. "Wellll…"

"It's forty degrees out! What else would I wear to avoid heatstroke! My uniform weighs fifty pounds. The red-light district's that way, if you can find a woman desperate enough for the money to tolerate you a few minutes." Her admonishment worked. The man – well boy really, he was so foolish and young – retreated.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. I was just trying to find out who owned the bag." Constance sniffed, unwilling to relent no matter how attractive or endearing his puppy dog expression. Still he seemed to be sincere.

"Well hopefully you've learnt your lesson." He apologised once more. She watched him go, mentally debating whether she should follow him or not. She still had work to do but it was only a matter of time before he got himself into trouble again.

"Give me your jacket." He blinked at her. She rolled her eyes in response. "The zip's gone on it. Now give it to me."

She took it from him and gave him the card for Louise's shop. "You can pick it up in a couple of days."

"You're going to fix it?"

"Why do you think I wanted you to give it to me?"

"You're a beautiful woman, I'm sure plenty of guys have given you their jackets."

It was Constance's turn to be momentarily stunned. She'd been hit on plenty of times before but the blunt way he said it, struck her. She recovered herself, shoving the jacket into her bag, she turned on her heel. "At least this way I'll know if you've stupidly gotten yourself killed between now and then." The smile he gave in no way softened her convinction she was going to regret her kind offer. Even if she did find herself smiling back.


The chatter of her assistants buzzed in the air but Anne only half-listened. Her mind was still contemplating what Constance had told her. The uneasiness she felt increased.

"Have you heard from Marguerite?" Beatrix paused, pins still in hand, surprise over her features. Anne smiled, trying to ease her suspicions. "I haven't been in touch with her since she left. I thought you might."

Beatrix shook her head as she secured the rest of Anne's locks into the elaborate hairdo. Claire met her eyes briefly over the make-up brush. "She was always a little odd. Never really said much."

A knock interrupted any further information.

Treville inclined his head in that formal way he always greeted her. "You wanted to see me?

Her smile was genuine this time. She pulled him aside where they could have some privacy, not caring if she was ready or not. Treville would hardly care as to her appearance.

"Proper protocol dictates that I should do this publicly."

"That's not necessary, Anne, whatever it is." She smiled. She had expected such an answer. Treville took pride in a job well done but he had always been a modest man. General acknowledgement and respect for his good work was all he needed.

"Public commendations will be made Captain, I promise you. But I wanted to give you this myself." Treville allowed minor curiosity in his features as he opened the box. His expression only hinted at the emotions she knew he felt at the sight of the blue and gold fleur de lis badges.

She met his questioning gaze with a small smile. "Louis had them commissioned shortly before… he took ill. He must have hidden them away for safe keeping. I found them among some of his things the other day." Even now it still hurt slightly. She and Louis had had many differences, their friendship strained from the pressures and forces that surrounded them. But he had been such an important part of her life for so long. Treville's saddened stare mirrored her own thoughts. Louis' absence was still felt. "I know he would want you to have them."

"He wanted his musketeers to wear them."

"There is still time."

"Rochefort wouldn't agree to it."

"Rochefort isn't the one holding those badges." She was aware of the animosity between the two men. She had spent her entire life aware of the politics and power that surrounded her world, how people lived in it. Neither Treville nor Rochefort were weak-willed, and both seemed perfectly capable of taking the dislike in stride. She had therefore remained a neutral party as much as possible but had made it known she would not cast aside her good opinion of one to please the other.

The musketeers had nothing to do with Rochefort. If Rochefort wasn't willing to use Treville's talents, then others should benefit at least.


The reception was busy as Treville passed through. Habit made him cast a glance at the security entrance. He instantly sensed a problem in the area at the far end. Discretely he walked over.

"Is there a problem?" The guard on duty was young and straightened as he recognised Treville.

"The machine's having trouble reading this ticket, Sir."

Treville scrutinised the blonde woman. The two men in her party stood to the side, having already passed through and were shifting restlessly, impatient. She was mildly irritated but calm, she turned to meet Treville's eye, not backing down.

He took the ticket and looked at it. There was a possibility of it being a forgery, but it was a good one. "Where did you get this ticket, miss?"

"I won it." Treville turned to the man who spoke. He had been standing further behind. Treville had only noted the necessary threat of the men, now he could openly see the face of the man who spoke.

He was looking at a ghost.

He had thought the boy might be dead. He had never been so glad to be wrong. The young man looked so like Belgarde Treville would have thought he really was looking at his former friend if not for the darker complexion.

The man stared steadily back, Treville snapped himself back to the present. "Where did you win it?"

"Card game with a man named Renard."

Anton Renard's son was an infamous partier and gambler who spent and bet his family's fortune like it was water. Losing the tickets in a poker game wasn't unlikely.

"Are the other tickets working?"

"Yes, Sir." The guard handed the ticket back to the blonde. "It was probably just damaged in your bag. You can go on in Mademoiselle."

"Enjoy the evening," Treville added, his eyes still on Belgarde's son. The young man nodded in reply, following his companions into the banquet hall.

Treville felt dazed. He was relieved to know the lad was still alive. And doing reasonably well for himself if he was playing cards with Edmund Renard – although the kind of company the younger Renard was rumoured to keep was not encouraging.

The revelation tore at him. He was always grateful that he never agreed to Belgarde's requests to dispose of his unwanted lover and child, but he always regretted not stopping Renard from doing so. It had destroyed their friendship and Treville still blamed himself for not acting quicker or better. At least his mistake hadn't cost one life.

He resolved to make some subtle enquiries about the man. If he could help him, he would.


"I was not expecting you to say that." Anne stifled the urge to flinch. She never knew why but whenever Rochefort came up behind her, she always felt a shiver of discomfort. It only intensified when he ran his fingers along her shoulder, across the back of her neck.

She smoothly slipped away from his touch, using the pretence of seeing him more easily. She deliberately kept her tone light as she replied. "What were you expecting me to say?"

"I thought you would focus on all the achievements we had made, as we discussed." Years of practice kept her features schooled. There it was again. That edge in his voice that instantly put her guard up. It had been happening more and more. Anne didn't know why it happened. All couples had disagreements, that was normal. But there were times when it happened, times when she acted impulsively or contradicted his views, however innocently and he would tense. He never raised his voice, never threatened her but his tone became a demand and Anne always sensed the danger even though she couldn't determine the reason.

"I did mention them," she pointed out with a smile, "but we can't lead if we don't appreciate those who follow us."

He seemed placated slightly by that. She lightly lay her hand on his arm, smiling as she guided him back towards the crowd. "We shouldn't ignore our guests."


The canapes were good, and the wine was excellent. Athos could enjoy those treats at least as he watched from a corner of the great hall.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He straightened, instantly recognising the young woman approaching as Anne Bourbon.

"My wife, my brother and his fiancée are the social butterflies. I'm quite comfortable just observing, I assure you." She followed his gaze across his room to where his Anne stood, centre stage. As much a queen holding court as the young woman beside him.

"Your wife has certainly enchanted many tonight."

"She always has." He couldn't keep the affectionate pride from his voice. He knew his wife. Anne could slice any of her new admirers to ribbons with her sharp tongue if she so chose. She was beautiful, clever, witty and could captivate any man or woman. At that very moment she caught his glance. Her flirtatious smile turned intimate as she blew him a kiss. He didn't miss the roll of her eyes or the flash of long-suffering contempt as she turned back to her audience.

Mademoiselle Bourbon smiled slightly at the scene. Athos was far from a poet or one for romantic speculation but there seemed something almost wistful in her features. It was gone even before it was fully there.

He carefully pulled her out of the path of two very enthusiastic (and very inebriated) dancers. The pair fell heavily against a table, pushing a chair hard to the ground. They were laughing as they pushed themselves up and back towards the dance floor, sending another chair crashing. Neither of them noticed the near assault they had almost accidentally conducted on their hostess.

She did a better job of hiding any feelings stronger than surprise. Athos let his disdain show only in the slight narrowing of eyes and tightness of his mouth.

"Thank you, Monsieur…" Only now did he realise he had never properly introduced himself.

"Olivier d'Athos, Mademoiselle."

"Monsieur d'Athos." She lightly appraised him. "Forgive me, but have we met?"

"My father did business with Henri Bourbon. Sometimes he brought my brother Tomas and I with him."

"Monsieur de la Fere, I remember now. It has been years." It had been rare the few times he and Thomas had accompanied their father, but the late Monsieur d'Athos had been determined to instil the family values into both his sons at an early age. Thomas had also been close in age to Louis Bourbon.

Athos had spent his late childhood and early teenage years on those trips watching over Thomas and his friends making sure they didn't fall into too much trouble. He remembered Anne too. The young girl often followed, even when she'd little interest in whatever pursuits the boys had. She had mostly read and watched; Athos recalled. Sometimes she had walked with him, asking him questions, or quietly observed, assessing the chaos around her even as it barely noticed her.

"I see your interests haven't changed too much," she commented. He looked back at the display case he had been studying on her arrival.

"I have always admired the collection here." It was true. The Bourbons had been ridiculously wealthy even by the standards of their circle. Both Louis and Anne were the latest in a long line of descendants from very old families. The antique swords the Bourbons owned reflected it.

Anne seemed more amused than insulted that the weapons held his attention more than she could. In Athos' defence some of them were exquisitely made. "Now I know why you seemed so familiar and not because of our former acquaintance." She discretely summoned a figure across the room. Athos inspected him as he approached. He was nearing middle age but still moved easily and swiftly with a grace and balance that few younger men could match. His bearing didn't just hint of a military background, it proclaimed it. Athos noted with detached approval that the man's gaze scanned the room constantly as he came towards them, taking in everything happening in the expansive space, including Athos' own subtle scrutiny.

"Treville this is Monsieur Olivier d'Athos. He has an interest and admiration for Henri and Louis' collection. Athos meet Captain Jean Treville, he would be happy to discuss any items you have an interest in." Her smile widened with delight. "I think you will both find tonight far more bearable in each other's company than you will purely by yourselves." She demurely stepped away. "Please excuse me, I must say hello to your brother Athos."

Treville watched her go with fondness.

"Do you know Mademoiselle Bourbon well."

"Since she came to France as a child."

Despite his dislike for polite, meaningless small talk, Athos was well practiced in it. He gestured around them. "She went to great lengths for this."

"Mademoiselle Bourbon has always had a kind heart, and an insistence in using it. Whether the recipient is worthy or not." The last words were muttered too low to be meant for Athos' ears, but he caught them anyway. Just as he caught the quick, sharp glare.

Athos had not yet come close enough to their host to converse with him, but he could understand Treville's distaste. Even from a distance the blond's contempt for everything around him and general sense of superiority rolled off him. Rochefort wasn't the first man that he had ever wanted to punch to see what it would feel like, but he couldn't ever remember the desire forming so quickly.

He honestly didn't understand what the Anne Bourbon he had just met, saw in the man, that made her agree to marry him. He didn't ask though. He doubted Treville was the gossiping sort, especially about a young woman he clearly considered under his protection if the defensive, almost paternal, way he spoke indicated.

"She seems to have a similar high regard for you."

"She values loyalty and believes in credit where credit's due, from her perspective." The man's modesty was genuine. Athos suspected this quality had at least partly prompted the warm praise from their hostess. The man took the compliments in stride, but Athos could see having the young woman's esteem meant something more to him.

"It would appear to be justified, given the quality of these weapons. I assume you advised Henri Bourbon?" The collection was too impressive, and Treville too competent a military man not to.

"And his son Louis." Treville surveyed the display, only barely hiding his true examination of Athos. "You have an eye for weaponry yourself. I saw clips of some of your matches. You were quite the swordsman. Have you kept it up?"

"I try, but other responsibilities take priority these days." He still practiced several times a week. The sport had a way of clearing his mind and helping his focus, but he was not quite as adept as his younger champion self.

Treville made a sound that he couldn't quite decipher. "Which do you like best?"

The question surprised Athos slightly but he didn't show it. Without skipping a beat, he answered, "the silver rapier on the left. It's superbly made and its balance nearly perfect. The schiavona would be second."

"Most people say the sabre in the centre." Treville's gazed was fixed on the sword in question, his tone smoothly level. Athos felt like he was being tested. The sabre was eye catching, the blade had been highly shined to gleam in the light, the hilt was intricately formed in gold and the guard glittered with precious stones. But Treville didn't seem like a man who valued finery over functionality. The sabre's presentation dead centre suggested someone did though.

"It is very ornate but a piece like that would be primarily ceremonial and has no place on a battlefield," he said diplomatically.

Treville nodded to himself. "Do you know what ceremonies it had?" Athos grabbed them drinks from a passing waiter as Treville recounted the fascinating history of the weapons he had admired. It was turning out to be a very pleasant evening.


"What are you doing here?" Milady felt the fingers encircle her wrist just as she was spun around. She matched the blond man's glare with one of her one, lacing it with disgust and disdain. "What do you think you're doing? Take your hand off me!" His hold was solid and even in her anger she couldn't shake it.

The man didn't seem to listen. He pulled her closer, his grip tighter and his stare harder. If she didn't free herself soon, she'd have some colourful bruises to remember the night.

"Anne!" Oliver and another man were quickly moving through the crowd toward her. Relief shimmied through her though she didn't show it at the sight of her husband. The restraint on her arm loosened and she pulled herself free. She stepped back putting herself shoulder to shoulder with Oliver.

The man's scowl fixed on her husband. He glared right back.

"Why were you manhandling my wife!"

"Your wife?" For a moment his stare softened in confusion before pasting into scornful distaste.

"Rochefort! What is going on?" Anne Bourbon was making her way over to them, Thomas close behind her. Catherine followed in their wake, her usual sneer in place.

The younger Anne discretely placed herself between Rochefort and their guests. Milady caught the fleeting surveillance she gave the room, checking that the scene had gone unnoticed. "Madame d'Athos is a guest. What on Earth could she have done to warrant such treatment?"

Rochefort's gaze fleeting slid off Thomas and Catherine, "you know them?" – she wasn't surprised to see the dislike, but it seemed to be the man's general feeling towards people rather than it just being Thomas and Catherine – and landed on the young woman.

"Athos' late father was a business associate of Henri Bourbon. Oliver and Thomas were occasionally playmates of Louis'. I have not seen them in years, but they deserve an explanation for whatever misunderstanding has taken place."

Milady subtly raised a brow in begrudging approval. Anne's tone had been light and calming on the surface but there was a hint of metal buried in her voice. The hand resting his arm helped placate the tension. It was an easy manipulation technique, Anne seemed only half-aware of doing it. Milady had written her off as sweetly innocent and naïve who earnestly believed in good. A delicate flower who would be trampled in an instant in the real world. But there was clearly more guile and steel in her than first appearances indicated.

Rochefort paused for a moment. She had been in the presence of enough calculating men to recognise that he was considering his options for the best approach.

"My sincerest apologies" – yeah right – "for my appalling behaviour Madame. I confused you for someone else."

"It's fine." She let the matter go for once. Rochefort gaze was once again clear and fixed straight on her and Milady suppressed a shudder. There's something wrong about him. Her self-preservation had kept her alive this far. Rochefort was a different type of dangerous than she usually dealt with. It made her wary. Whatever influence Anne Bourbon had over him it was intemperate at best.

She didn't fight Olivier when he insisted they leave – he sensed something amiss too. But even after they returned to their hotel room, she couldn't shake the feeling that Rochefort had known exactly who she was.


"You cheated!" Porthos leaned back in the chair, slightly offended by the accusation.

"That any way to treat your boss' guests?"

"He didn't invite you to swindle us out of our earnings."

"Nah, you did that all by yourselves." One of them slammed a hand on the table. The effect was somewhat ruined by the significant swaying of the man.

He'd found them accidentally. Flea and Charon had the main room covered. And the Red Guards had a reputation for throwing their weight around, especially to those they saw beneath them or couldn't fight back. The bored group had been less than polite and respectful to the poor staff that had gotten stuck with the job of bringing them refreshments when Porthos had stumbled upon them. He'd had no qualms about suggesting a friendly game of poker or taking some of their pay off their hands with some hidden cards.

"You're nothing but a con artist."

"Now, now. That's slander."

"Like you'd ever know what that is."

Porthos could almost taste the fight. It was four against one. "It's a false accusation against a person's integrity. For example, you don't know that I did cheat so that's slander. I however know you're both drunk and a terrible player as evidenced by me having your money. That's truth."

They lunged for him together. Porthos, being considerably more sober and possessing working brain cells, jumped back out of reach. There was the slight problem of them being between him and the door, however.

Porthos was big, but he'd learnt to be agile when he needed to, and how to move when you had to. You didn't survive the Court of Miracles otherwise.

The first two went down quick, still conscious though. He just needed to get past them not put them permanently down. Groans echoed behind him even as they turned to angry shouts and bangs on the locked door. He came to an abrupt stop. Three more red guards filed out of a far door, weapons in hand. Porthos was unarmed and he didn't feel like getting arrested or shot.

A shadow descended across the corridor. The guards barely had time to look up as the voluminous fabric from above landed directly on top of them.

It was too dark on the upper level to see more than silhouettes. Porthos tossed a nod of thanks to whoever was responsible and seized the opportunity he'd been given.

He slowed to a walk, slipping outside and blending in with some other guests that were leaving. He smiled and nodded as he skirted the thin crowd that mingled on the front steps as they waited for their cars to be brought to them.

Porthos had never been unnoticeable with his size and skin but he'd learnt how to blend into his surroundings unobtrusively. A necessity for pickpocketing and escaping the attention of those whose attention he didn't want to attract. Now it helped hide his intentions.

He had almost made it to the gate when the shock hit him. He grunted barely staying on his feet. He growled at the guard. The bloody taser was still in the bloke's hand. Two of them grabbed an arm each, one of them landing a punch to his ribs.

"You seem a bit lost there. How about we help you inside and get you taken care of." The words were to reassure those around them, but the partygoers were too distracted. Too busy getting into their cars or getting the next social invite to notice the knife in the hand of the third guard.

The taser had been strong. Porthos was still disorientated. He braced himself, maybe they'd miss anything vital.

The guard groaned as a car door hit him. The occupant hopped back out, apologising in a clipped drawl. "Here let me help you." A flash of metal glinted and then disappeared. The man wasn't much help since he jerked the guard too hard, leaving the man struggling to find his balance. The momentary reprieve had given Porthos a chance to catch his second wind.

"Are you all right?" The driver glanced from the guard beside him to Porthos and the other two. He gave off an air of feigned politeness and half-concealed disinterest, but his eyes were sharp. In comparison the two women of the party exuded genuine boredom while the other man was half in, half out of the car watching with wide-eyed bemusement.

Porthos grinned. "Just got a bit of a shock there. Much appreciated for the hand gents, but I'll be fine on my own." The guards stepped back without comment. As much as they didn't want to let him go, they wanted a scene and questions even less. He was happy to take advantage of that little fact.

He didn't stop grinning as he strode past the gate, waving at the driver and the guards as he did.

His expression only faded when something pressed against his jaw. "You better change clothes before you go back to the court. Someone might mistake you for a gentleman and slit your throat."

Flea tossed the stick away, still waving his hard earned – partly earned – reward for the night.

"How did you get on?"

"Better. Rich men seem to think flattery means a woman wants to steal their hearts instead of their wallets."

"Thought probably never crossed their mind, you looking so like a lady and all."

Her eyes narrowed, "no need to get insulting."

"Where's Charon?"

"We split up, cover more ground that way. I saw him a few minutes ago though. Right before you caused all sorts of excitement." Her smirk made it clear exactly what she thought of the excitement he caused.

"Come on, we better get back. Charon knows where to meet us." It was too dangerous to just wait where they were. They were too close if the red guards decided to come looking again. Charon could look after himself, he knew how to come out on top.


"What do you mean, escaped!?" Rochefort glared at his captain.

"A guest got involved, sir. We couldn't hold him without risking questions." He dismissed the man. His mood was worsening by the minute. The description of the miscreant had been scarce, but Rochefort knew it was Porthos. It couldn't be a coincidence, not the same night Athos and Milady de Winter had reappeared. And they were married?

He dismissed any surprise he had. Now was the time to think and prepare. Milady and Athos had not recognised him. That was good. Anne and Treville interacting with them was a concern but there was still time to remedy things.

The two guards at the door jumped to attention at his approach. "The Cardinal is to be in my office first thing. And find out everything you can on Milady de Winter or Anne d'Athos."

The man in the small room glared at him but he was too sore and broken for it to have much heat. The beginnings of a bruise could be along his swollen cheek. Rochefort cast a pointed look at the cuffs. The man's well-being nor freedom meant nothing to him one way or the other. But his pathetic life might be of some use.

"You tried to rob me. That was a mistake. Now you can pay for that mistake with your life or you can fix it by helping me. And be rewarded not only with your life but something even more valuable." He waved the wad of notes in his hand. The wretch raised his head, his expression guarded but curious. Rochefort knew he had him hooked. "I want you to tell me everything you know about Porthos."


Some legends are told
Some turn to dust or to gold
But you will remember me
Remember me, for centuries
Just one mistake
Is all it will take
We'll go down in history
Remember me for centuries


Rochefort is going to start making plans and he's not the only one, when we return next time.

This week's question is... Who is your favourite guest star? I think for me it would probably be Ninon or Marsac because they both gave some interesting perspectives and contrasts to several characters. Although the Bonaires and the Mother Superior are definitely strong contenders for sheer awesomeness and entertainment!. As always send me your thoughts :)