Thank you everyone for your wonderful feedback! It has been an absolute joy seeing how much you're enjoying the series so far.

On a side note: FFNet has misidentified chapter 7... which is actually chapter 8. Chapter 7 is the conversation between Porthos and Athos (which went missing). Chapter 8 is the commissary scene which is showing up as chapter 7. For some reason it shows up correctly on my preview page, but not the reading pages that you see. I'm so sorry if you missed this, but I'm glad you made it back!

Here's hoping this works...

Uncharacteristically, Athos sat with his back to the door, facing the fire. The room had warmed considerably. Porthos placed the plate on the table, and then opened the window a crack to allow some fresh air. He then grabbed a chair and took a seat next to the table. For a long moment he just looked at Athos, who never acknowledged him, but remained still, gazing at the fire, hands relaxed in his lap, and his feet kicked below the seat of his chair.

Porthos rubbed his hand on the surface of the table and listened to the wood crack beneath the flames. Sparks flew upward and chunks of burned wood slipped and fell beneath the firedog.

"No matter how many times I revisit what I did," Athos said quietly, "I can't find another way out of it."

Porthos shifted, flattened his hand on the table, and listened.

"I was such a fool." Athos worried his brow between his eyes. "Everyone else saw through her… but I couldn't… I couldn't see it." He crossed his arms over his chest. He took a deep breath and looked at the flames. "Not until she killed Thomas." Suddenly, he leaned forward, rested his elbows on his thighs and rubbed his hands along his face. "If I couldn't see though her… how am I going to lead a regiment of soldiers… How am I going to protect the king — France, if I let myself be misguided by a woman?"

Porthos stood, walked to the cabinet and poured them each a glass of wine. He turned, watched Athos run his fingers through his hair and then bow his head with his fingers grasped tightly within his dark locks. Porthos took a seat, pushed a glass of wine toward him and said, "I 'ave yet to meet a man who 'as not been misguided by a woman." He shrugged, took a sip of wine, and then looked at the fire. "But I only know one man who would risk everythin' for that same woman."

Athos turned his head toward Porthos and looked at him. "I couldn't let her hang, Porthos… no matter what she did." He returned his gaze to the fire and watched more wood crumble beneath the heat.

"I 'ad a daughter once," Porthos said. He ignored Athos' surprised look and pressed the fat of his thumb against the edge of the table and rubbed it along the edge. Porthos had never told anyone. It was a part of his past he was ashamed of, a part he wanted to forget. He shrugged when Athos looked at him in question. "I was 16, 'er mother was a year older… I thought I was doin' the right thing when I left 'em for war…" He cleared his throat, shifted uncomfortably, and grasped the bottom of the wineglass. "I left for war because that was what I wanted to do… not what I needed to do."

Porthos looked at Athos and met his eyes. "I should 'ave stayed… I should 'ave been a father… I should 'ave married 'er mother." He exhaled slowly and shamefully rubbed the side of his face. His pain was evident… his loss was nearly insufferable.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're my friend an' I love you like a brother, an' because you're the only one I know who would understand what its like to make a mistake an' live the rest of your life questionin' whether you were right or wrong."

"Porthos…"

"I was a selfish fool, Athos. I fell in love with a girl who wanted me for me," Porthos quirked his mouth, "she never judged me… just accepted who I was, but it was me who made promises I couldn't keep." He paused and looked at the fire and watched Athos add another log. "I look at you an' I wonder 'ow you got to be so strong for steppin' away like you did, for puttin' your duty first an' yourself second… I don't think I 'ave that kind of strength —"

"Porthos it's —"

"Then I realized," Porthos interrupted, "It's not your strength, Athos, it's your love an' devotion, it's your willingness to save those you love from the 'ell they 'ave put themselves in. I've never known anyone with that much compassion, but I'm damn thankful to be a part of it…" He clinched his jaw and frowned. "I know you loved 'er — we all know — but what you did without so much as thinkin' of the consequences to yourself, you spared her a horrific death to save 'er."

Athos swallowed, lowered his eyes toward the surface of the table, and paused for a long moment. He admired Porthos and could sympathize with his need for privacy. He rarely spoke of his past, and they had all learned over the course of the past few years that when Porthos attempted to speak of it, they all listened. "What happened to them… to your family?"

Porthos shrugged, twisted his mouth into a grimace, and struggled to find his voice. "I don't know… when I got back they were gone."

The fire cracked and sparked, and the log shifted.

"I never should 'ave left them."

Athos reached for the glass of wine and took a healthy drink. "Is that why you let Alice go?"

Porthos shook his head. "She let me go." He exhaled slowly. "She was not interested in bein' a soldier's wife… an' that's what I am… a soldier."

Athos nodded but said, "We're headed to war, Porthos, everyone will be a soldier…" he placed the glass on the table and looked at him. "Even the women."