Thank you everyone for your wonderful comments! I do enjoy reading them.
I'm posting 4 chapters today since I will be offline until Sunday...
On with the "show."
Roger walked with a steady gait. He carried his neck high and arched, front legs swayed outward, and his tail was slightly raised. He was a beautiful animal. He was noble, strong, and honorable. Roger had been the perfect horse for Athos. They had learned from one another and became better for it. But time was cruel.
Athos relaxed his hands and felt Roger slow his walk to a steady and relaxed pace. He lowered his head and his knees, and watched the squirrels jump and scamper up the trees and along the branches as spring's early growth continued. Birds chirped, fluttered from branch to branch, and searched for food and nesting materials. A wild pig snorted and dashed into a cluster of bushes.
Clouds drifted across the sky and shadowed the light from the sun. The sounds of Roger's clip-clops brought comfort to the relatively quiet ride. It allowed Athos time to think about his past and his future. He thought about things he would rather forget: Anne, Thomas, the Musketeers, and Roger's future.
Anne had always been a weakness for him. From the moment he met her to the moment he watched her walk away when she announced her departure to England. She was complex, beautiful, seductive, and she knew how to manipulate him when he was at his weakest. He often wondered about her and Thomas and he questioned whether Anne's story was true. Had Thomas tried to assault her, in a house full of servants, during a busy time of day? It caused Athos to doubt himself in knowing his brother. Could Thomas have done such a thing? And Anne… Where had she gotten the knife? She hadn't stabbed him in a fit of rage. Her dress had not been torn and Athos searched for evidence of the assault, but he found none. What he had found was his wife standing over the body of his brother in a room that was frequented by servants and guests. It had only taken her one strike, one push through Thomas' ribs to stab his heart and kill him. Athos remembered the moment, the grief of loss for not just his wife but his brother. A brother he had loved and cherished as much as everyone else had.
Thomas had been the favorite. The second and last-born son of Armond and Marie de Athos and was the child everyone wanted. He was beautiful, loving, joyful, talented and unnaturally giving. And he had loved Athos, idolized him, and had followed him around like a puppy.
Athos smiled fondly in remembrance. They had teased one another as children and it wasn't unusual for either of them to return to the house after a day of playing covered in mud, bloodied and bruised. They had climbed trees, built forts, ridden bareback on their ponies through the tall grasses in the fields of Pinon. They had hunted together and Athos had found himself the protective older brother. He could see hints of Thomas in d'Artagnan's eagerness, Aramis' heart, and Porthos' sense of humor.
Athos pulled Roger to a stop and dismounted, not because the horse was lame or he had felt the gait had change, but because he wanted to take time to walk beside an old friend who had seen him at his worst, and been with him at his best. He loosened the cinch and then together they walked along the road. Roger walked beside him. Kept in step, and would occasionally lift his head with his ears perked forward, and he watched the deer jump and run through the fields.
There was a painful clutch to Athos' heart when he realized Roger would not return to Paris with him. That this was indeed their last journey together. Whether Monsieur Henri Lussier would have room for Roger or not, Roger's time as a war horse, companion, and friend was at an end. Athos would not destroy him, and he had too many years left as a solid animal in service to a family with children or on a horse farm with an abundance of mares to service. Those were narrow choices, but much better options than the alternative.
There was something in the old horses' step indicating that he, too, knew things had changed. He was just as majestic as he had ever been, and Athos knew if he asked, that Roger would perform to the best of his ability — to the death if required. Athos slipped his gloved fingers through Roger's mane and rested his hand on the crest of his neck. As a young man, he remembered finding a hummingbird's nest made from the hair of Roger's mane and tail. Athos quirked a smile. It was still hidden away in his old trunk, wrapped in silk, and protected from the elements. He was a sentimental fool, or perhaps he had known something as a young man that he had taken for granted as an adult. It was the same reason he still loved Anne, despite her nature. He loved the idea of her more than the reality. It was a harsh reminder of what he failed to accomplish as a husband, lover, and a friend.
Everything is temporary.
It was the first thing he learned as a boy. Whether it was the loss of a puppy or a kitten, the loss of a pony, and eventually the loss of his parents, then Thomas and then Anne. And while he served the king before he joined the Musketeers, loss came on the battlefields and medical field tents afterward. It came in the shape of musket balls, cannon fire, swords, starvation, and the weather. A few times, it had even come in the form of suicide. Loss had been a part of his life for far too long, but that was life. All soldiers understood it, were a part of it, and had experienced it. Loss was nothing new to any of them. How they managed it, however, was vastly different.
Athos took a deep breath, appreciated the scent of horseflesh and leather, and tried to burn this memory into his mind.
Roger walked quietly beside him, without judgment, conviction, or remorse, just an old friend taking one step at time to a new destination.
