What a treat it has been reading the reviews. Thank you all!

If you're seeing this chapter for a second time, it's because of the hiccup yesterday with FFnet. You might have missed chapter 7 (Porthos and Athos' discussion). Please go back and read that chapter and I sincerely apologize for the confusion.

I'm posting early since I have an engagement tonight - as rare as they are these days, I don't want to miss it.

Thank you again for all your support!

And the journey continues...

Athos tightened the cinch, clapped his hand on Kelpie's chest, and then untied him from the hitching pole. It was early. The men were still sleeping except for the guards outside the garrison's arches. He could see Gentry's lanterns glowing from the commissary as he worked to prepare the morning meal. The horses were quiet, as were the streets of Paris that were normally busy at all hours of the day. The red glow of the sun creased the horizon and was slow to emerge. He could hear dogs barking in the distance, the shifts of wood against wood as windows were opened, and the squeaking of door hinges as the day slowly began. He mounted his horse, adjusted his cloak over his shoulders to keep out the chill, and then slowly left through the archway.

Porthos clenched his jaw, glanced side-eyed at Aramis, who took a deep breath and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's been two days," Porthos said and shifted uncomfortably. "He's givin' orders, but 'e's not engagin'."

Aramis looked at Porthos. "Two days will not be long enough, Porthos, to get over everything he's been through the last few days." He shifted uncomfortably against the support beam. "He's now responsible for the Musketeers, he's been ordered to increase the recruits for when we're called to the front lines, he retired his oldest friend, and he…" he pursed his lips as he thought of Milady and pulled his brows together in concern, "I think he's tired…" He grasped the crucifix around his neck and squeezed it. "I think he needs to grieve."

Porthos nodded. "He 'asn't 'ad a lot of wine… at least none that I've seen — just a sip or two." He clenched his jaw and crossed his arms across his chest. "By now I would 'ave carried 'im to 'is bunk at least twice."

Aramis scratched his head and then watched a door open from the recruits' chambers and Noa rushed across the balcony and then down the steps. Dressed in nothing but his blouse and braies, he leapt from the bottom step barefoot and ran for the privy. Aramis chuckled. The bladder had an unforgiving tendency to awaken even the deepest of sleepers.

"Maybe we should follow 'im?"

"Noa?"

"Athos," Porthos said and looked at Aramis as though he had suddenly lost his mind.

Aramis thought for a long moment. He wanted to ride out after him, ride alongside him to wherever his destination took him, and just be there when Athos was ready to open up… to talk. It did not matter what they talked about. Aramis just wanted Athos to say something. Hell, yell at them if he needed to, but he wouldn't. "If he's not back in an hour…" he paused and nodded, "we'll go find him."

Porthos accepted the answer with a grimace. He paused for a long moment, shifted his stance, and listened as a rooster crowed. "Why would she 'ave come back?" He said and tightened his hands around the meat of his biceps. "What would possess 'er to murder the king's brother?"

Aramis frowned, pulled his eyebrows together, and contemplated the question. They had asked it before and tried to reason the why of Milady's return, but the only thing in Paris she wanted was Athos, and perhaps her drive to have him was the catalyst for all her decisions. Aramis rubbed his forehead and then pinched the ends of his mustache. He could see himself in Milady's behavior, her drive, determination, and passion. Those weren't terrible qualities, but in the context of Milady they became twisted and grotesque. The difference between them, was that Aramis could not deny his love for the queen and his feelings for her were real. He didn't want Anne because he couldn't have her. He wanted her because he truly loved her. He loved her smile, the way her hair cascaded over her shoulders, the softness of her voice, the way she smiled when she was pleased. He even loved the way she looked when she was angry.

Aramis wasn't convinced Milady loved Athos, not in the way he needed or deserved to be loved. Love was painful, but it wasn't cruel, and Milady had been cruel in ways that had devastated them all. They had all experienced a part of her nature that was less than gentle and kind. But they had all seen a part of her they recognized as redemptive. The part of her that Athos loved and adored. But those moments were few and less identifiable as her cruelty continued. The murderess had done more harm than good. She had taken the lives of many and felt no remorse for her actions. Many times, she blamed the victims. She had loved her power, her ability to manipulate and corrupt. She loved attention, money, positions, and the luxuries that accompanied those things. Milady did not love Athos, she loved the challenge of him; she loved stalking him… hunting him, and denying him the absence of her. She wanted him for reasons that were just as corrupt as her manipulation of the rest of them.

Milady de Winter returned to Paris for Athos. She returned, hoping to gain what she had lost, to prove her skill and need to conquer what she could not have.

"I couldn't do it," Porthos said. His voice whispered across the crisp morning air. "I couldn't take the life of someone I 'ad once loved." He lowered his hands and placed them on his hips.

"Could you stand by and watch her hang?"

Porthos swallowed and winced. "No… I couldn't do that either."

Aramis ran a cupped hand over his chin. "What if it had been someone like Alice?"

Porthos huffed and shifted uncomfortably. "She couldn't do what Milady had done… it would never 'appen."

"That's not what I asked."

"Still," Porthos said. "It would never 'appen." He scratched his temple and thought about her. The way Alice treated him, respected him, honored him. The way she looked at him and the way she made him feel about himself and the way he wanted to be around her. It made his chest tighten and his pulse jump. "I couldn't do it. I think I'd fight to the death to save 'er…. I couldn't take 'er life."

Aramis nodded. "I think..." He paused and cleared his throat. "I think… if I had to…" he shrugged, "If I had no other choice… I could do it — but I'd spend the rest of my life questioning myself on how I let it go so far… how I failed to stop her." He stared at the garrison's arches and listened as the men began to stir. "But if I did something like that… like what Athos did to save her from herself… I'd want my friends around me."

Porthos nodded and slapped Aramis' shoulder. "I'll ready the horses." He walked toward the barn and halted suddenly when d'Artagnan exited with all three of their mounts, bridled and saddled and ready to ride.

"It's about damn time," d'Artagnan said, and then handed them their reins.

"You know this is Athos we're going to find?" Aramis said, and slipped the reins over his horse's head and rested them over his neck.

"He hasn't said a word to anyone — at least what I've seen — other than give the men orders. He's not consumed a single glass of wine… and," d'Artagnan raised his eyebrows, "according to a few musketeers, they've seen him walking at all hours of the night." He mounted and gathered his reins. "He might be the captain, but he's our brother first and right now he needs us more than he thinks he does."

Porthos grinned proudly. He leaned back in his saddle and adjusted his seat. "The pup is growin' up."