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On with the episode...


Athos nodded to the palace guards as he entered. His cloak swung and tapped the left side of his thigh. While he saw the glory of the sun through the windows, it highlighted the travertine floors, the elegantly painted doorways that arched upward and were embossed with leaves and vines. Vases filled with foliage and bloomed spring flowers sat atop the hand crafted furniture that had been placed below the windows, where the long ornate drapes emphasized royalty and lavish living.

Athos nodded as the doors to Treville's office were opened. The space was quiet, but adorned with bookshelves filled with papers, maps, leather-bound books, and unlit lanterns. An unused fireplace near the back of the room, was surrounded with stones and mortar, and adorned with an ornate walnut mantle that supported a large timepiece, and Venetian glass.

"It appears you're slowly making yourself at home?" Athos said when Treville looked up from his desk and stood.

Treville cocked an eyebrow and huffed. He flipped through a few pieces of paper and then looked around the private office chambers. At Treville's request, the room had been emptied of the prior inhabitants' furniture and now contained a desk that he had discovered hidden away and unused in an old room of the palace and a chair that was well used, high-backed, and comfortable. The leather seating was worn, but the structure was solid. "I've found myself remorseful about not taking my old desk and chair," he smiled with a tilt of his head, "but this will do."

Athos cleared his throat. "You wanted to see me?"

Treville motioned for Athos to take a seat in a chair across from him and then poured them each a glass of wine. He handed one to Athos and then leaned against the front of his desk. A habit he refused to break when speaking to his men. "What are you going to do about Roger?"

"I highly doubt the subject of my horse should be on the minister of war's list of things to concern himself with?" Athos tucked his head and then looked upward at Treville.

Treville took a deep breath, pressed the side of his thumb against his bottom lip, and met Athos' eyes. "I'm still your commanding officer, Athos, and my concern for the Musketeers, their new captain, and the fact that we are facing war with Spain does not negate my responsibility to the king or to France. However," he looked stern as he clenched his jaw, "it's because I know you that Roger is of a concern… you forget how long I've been a soldier, and when you're a soldier…" he paused and shrugged, "sometimes the closest thing you have to a friend is your mount — particularly when you're the captain of a regiment of soldiers who may one day be facing the enemy on the front lines."

Athos scratched his jaw, took a healthy drink, and nodded. "I'll retire him," he looked up and met Treville's eyes, "I won't work him until that leg goes and l have no other choice but to put him down — he's been a good horse for too long."

Treville nodded. "He comes from good breeding, he has excellent confirmation," he shrugged, "perhaps a life of retirement as a stud would not be misguided?"

Athos quirked a subtle smile. "Are you speaking of Roger or yourself?"

Treville chuckled and then cleared his throat. He took a sip of wine and then walked around his desk. "King Louis has requested a musketeer retrieve four mares from a local horseman. Monsieur Henri Lussier is expecting you in two days' time. I recommend you take Roger with you —"

"Sir —"

"Take the trip slowly, Athos. Monsieur Lussier is always looking for good stallions. He treats his horses better than his wives —" He raised his hand and shook his head when Athos looked at him in question. "Don't ask."

"Is this really a job for the captain of the musketeers while we're on the verge of war?"

Treville looked at the papers on his desk, the maps of France, Spain, and the German states. He glanced at his roster of military generals, captains, and their current locations, and he thought about his next steps in protecting France. He looked at Athos and said, "It is, when the captain of the Musketeers needs a horse he can trust. The remounts are fine animals — but not good enough, Athos. I spent the last six — almost seven years — watching you and Roger… you're going to need a mount who will invest in you as much as you invest in him — or her — and there isn't a remount in the regiment that will satisfy your requirements."

Athos took a deep breath and swallowed. "Monsieur Lussier?"

Treville watched Athos stand and then handed him a note with the king's seal. "He is the finest breeder of Friesians in all of France — which is why the king has requested four of his mares for his own breeding program." He relaxed his shoulders. "There's the old saying that a stubborn horse walks behind you, an impatient horse walks in front of you, but a noble companion walks beside you… Roger has walked beside you for almost two decades." He placed his right hand on his belt. "Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan will have nothing but good intentions for you, but find yourself a new mount, Athos, one of your choosing — not theirs."

Treville inhaled deeply and then took a seat in his chair. "Because of the impending conflict with Spain, the king has decided not to celebrate the spring festivals in a fashion he has been accustomed to — instead, it will be a minor affair." He rubbed his temple as a headache threatened. "He is composing again," he adjusted his arms on the rests of his seat, "and has been humming his new composition day in and day out. I do believe I may find myself at wits' end by Sunday." He could not help but smile as he grabbed his quill and a sheet of paper. "Go, Athos." He looked up at him and pursed his lips. "Take the trip slowly… Roger can surely manage one last ride before you retire him," he wrote, "with the threat of war coming you'll need a trusted mount… and Monsieur Lussier has the finest horses in all of France."

Athos nodded, looked at the note with the king's seal, and then turned and left the office. He rubbed his face as he walked down the halls and exited the palace through the main doors. He nodded to the footman who led his remount from the hitching lines and slipped the note into the breast pocket of his doublet.