Aramis stood by the window in Treville's office and watched the horizon bleed into the sunset. More clouds had gathered, and the light of the moon diminished as the threat of a storm neared. The office was dark, even with the lanterns that flickered and the fireplace that crackled and snapped as the wood blazed. The room had been cool when he entered, Treville was still meeting with the members of the king's council, and Aramis had made himself at home by starting a fire, warming his hands, and depositing his hat and cloak on the chair next to the desk.

Captain Treville — now Minister Treville — had never been one for clutter, but the office was filled with books, maps, quills, and lanterns. His desk was covered in papers: notes from the king, lists of things to accomplish, research, and orders for his men. As the threat of war continued to impose itself upon them, the office would reflect Treville's state of mind and the chaos that would ensue due to the poor planning by those before him, and by the treachery of Rochefort, who had made the king and France his play things.

The latch of the door clicked and then it opened and Aramis turned from the window and watched Treville enter, shut the door, and walk to his desk. He looked tired and remorseful. He removed the medallion from around his neck and placed it on his desk and then unbuttoned his blue and black doublet that was accentuated with gold buttons and trim.

"How is Athos?"

Aramis frowned. "You heard?"

"I'm the minister of war, Aramis, of course I heard." He stepped toward the fire and rested his forearm across the mantle. "Given his history… it was not difficult to guess what might have happened… How is he?" He placed his right foot on the hearth and looked at Aramis.

Aramis shrugged and looked out the window. "To be honest… I wish I knew… he wanted some time alone." He pulled at the tips of his mustache and then smoothed his beard around his mouth. "She asked me not to let her hang," he said and then looked toward the flames in the lantern as they caused the shadows to dance and shift along the walls. "She asked me to get her a vial of sleeping apple — which I did…" he paused and took a deep breath. "I saw Athos give it to her… I don't understand what happened… why it didn't work?" Aramis shifted uncomfortably and watched Treville scratch his jaw and tap his fingers on the wood of the mantle. "Does the king know?"

Treville looked at Aramis and nodded. "Once I learned what happened, I informed him —"

"Will Athos be charged?"

Treville shook his head, pushed himself away from the mantle, and crossed his arms over his chest. "No… This is one time I am grateful for the king's mercy, and," he raised his eyebrows and quirked a gentle smile, "his compassion and understanding of this situation." Treville looked out the window and felt the warmth of the fire at his back. "He was relieved Milady de Winter did not meet her end in the manner he had sentenced." He looked at Aramis, who looked at him in question. "King Louis had no choice but to sentence her to the punishment he did… Milady murdered his brother, a brother he was close to — as close as he could be with one."

Aramis nodded and leaned back against the desk. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the back wall of the office.

"I shared a bit of Athos' past with the king," Treville nodded when Aramis looked at him in concern. "I wanted him to know that Athos' brother had suffered a similar fate."

"Did that surprise him?"

Treville walked across the room and poured them each a glass of wine. He turned, handed a glass to Aramis and said, "He grew mournful." He frowned and watched the flames of the fire glimmer off the glass. "And…" he paused, "I think he's a bit envious of Athos' courage to walk away from everything he once had."

Aramis took a sip of wine and agreed. "Athos said he wanted to meet with the king… explain what had happened?"

Treville exhaled slowly and walked around his desk. He took a seat in his chair. "I'll speak with Athos." He placed his glass on the desk and leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the surface and then rubbed the right side of his head. "I was wrong in trying to send him away." He looked up as Aramis pushed himself from the desk and took a seat across from him. "I see you, all of you, as the young men who entered the garrison so many years ago." He quirked another smile and then leaned back. "I forget that my duty no longer includes protecting you from yourselves."

Aramis chuckled, leaned forward, and rested his elbows on his knees. "You never could."

"No, I couldn't."

Aramis finished his wine, placed the glass on the table, and stood. He adjusted his belt, took another look around the room, and exhaled slowly. He grabbed his cloak, draped it over his shoulder, and grasped his hat.

"Watch his back, Aramis," Treville said. "He's going to try and put this behind him, but…" he grimaced and rapped his knuckles on the desk, "this is going to haunt him." He looked up with sympathetic eyes and concern that reflected his compassion for his men, and especially those he looked on as sons.

Aramis took a deep breath, looked again at the fire as he nodded, and said, "I know… and… we will." He turned and walked toward the door.

Treville watched him go, exhaled as he leaned back, and watched the flames of the fire consume the wood without mercy. He listened as the latch opened and then closed and thought of his men, the king, and of France.