What a pleasure it has been sharing this with you! I'm posting the last 3 chapters of episode 3. I can't believe it, we're almost to episode 4. Thank you all for your wonderful feedback!

Doubtful Guest: Thank you so much for your kind words! I would normally write you privately, but I can't. So a public word of thanks it is!

On with the last few chapters...

There was a feeling of peace at the hour of dusk. As the moon slowly rose and the sun quietly set. When the reds and blues painted the horizon with delicate tinges of oranges and yellows. The cool evening air stole the warmth from the day and hinted at the frost that would eventually outline the new growth leaves of trees, bushes, and grasses. Athos rested with his back against a poplar tree. With his feet braced against the stones that surrounded the fire, he watched the sparks fly upward and disappear against the backdrop of the night sky. Kelpie stood at his right. The lead of his halter snaked from his chin to the ground. There was no point tying him, he would simply untie himself or slip out of his halter. It was not a battle Athos wanted to have. The big black stood with his left hind hoof cocked, his ears were relaxed and his eyelids slowly closed.

Athos' saddle rested against a log, and his cloak and hat lay across it. The night was quiet except for the sounds of the brook crossing stones and slapping the edge of the bank. Night owls hooted, and bushes rustled. A wolf howled in the distance and was quickly joined by another. Kelpie raised his head, perked his ears forward, and watched for signs of life in the distance.

Athos never wanted to lead, but like most things, his life had a tendency to shift when he least expected it. He thought about his men, those he had known for years, those who stood beside him as he worked his way toward a commission, and those who said they would stand beside him no matter what. Men he had watched get married, have children, and settle into their lives as members of the king's elite guards. He thought about the life he had led that brought him to the Musketeers; the rocky path he had stumbled across, and the path that he cleared and found himself successful at — at least in the eyes of his friends and Treville. He wasn't sure he believed in destiny. There were simply too many chances along the way, too many decisions that were made, and too many paths that had interwoven the tapestry of his life. Athos rubbed his face and looked at the weapons belt beside him, the blade protected by the scabbard, the pistol that remained atop the fine leather of his belt. He rested his head back against the tree and listened to the silence around him and wished he were back in Paris, in a tavern and surrounded with the chaos of laughter, arguments, and fights. He wished he was someplace else that would allow him to quiet his mind and not dwell on his actions.

His heart hurt and felt heavy within the confines of his chest.

No matter how he reimagined seeing Anne behind bars, the fear in her voice as she spoke about her fear of hanging, and her fate. He was ashamed for not choosing another option, for not looking for a way out for her, for failing to see what she was becoming before she unleashed her claws. Anne knew she was going to die. Despite her fear, there was a tone in her voice of acceptance, the final realization she could not escape the hole in which she dug for herself. Perhaps she had always known her life would be cut short. Perhaps it was her last attempt to leave one last scar on Athos… knowing he would do what he could for her, even if it meant sacrificing himself to do it.

She did not want to hang for her crime, and she did not want to be put on display as she choked to death at the end of a rope. Athos rubbed his eyes, leaned forward and rested his elbows on spread knees. He had never forgiven her for Thomas' death. He couldn't, not after everything he had seen her do and do it without remorse. But Athos still did not want to see her suffer. He could not have stood by and watched the cruelty take place, the brutality of a public execution, while Parisians watched and gawked. She may have been cruel and at times wicked, but he saw in her — at times, and for brief moments — a kindness that he craved and yearned for. There was a part of him that knew she would never be the woman he wanted her to be. She had made a living lying and manipulating, murdering those who got in her way or those she was paid to destroy.

Despite that. Despite her actions toward him and the others, he never wanted to see her harmed… He wished, all those years ago, that he had made a different choice… If he had known marrying her would take him down the path he had walked, he wondered if he would have taken it at all. Or, if perhaps, he would have chosen a safer one. One without Anne, without the Musketeers, without his brothers. With his fingers threaded through his hair, he looked at the fire and regretted his choices.

His choice to marry her had resulted in the murder of his brother, his poor attempt at justice, his abandonment of his responsibilities as the Comte de le Fere, and the ending of the Athos name and lineage. His father would indeed be surprised by the man he had become. His father would be disappointed in the decisions and actions of a son who had taken his life for granted.

Athos closed his eyes. What kind of leader fails at so much? How was he going to lead men to war when he could barely lead himself out of a life he had destroyed? And what of the life he had taken? He wasn't a murderer, but as he sat within the embrace of the exposed tree roots, he wondered if he had once again failed to make the right decision. If the choice he had made was a choice at all? And if it hadn't been, was he worth the effort of forgiveness?

No matter how hard he tried, he could not escape his crime, he could not escape his guilt for what he had done, and he could not escape his failure to stop a long line of sins created, in part, because of him. He looked again at the pistol, the lone weapon that held true to its target: Anne's heart. A part of him knew her choices were not forced upon her, but he still felt responsible. He hated himself for it. He hated what he felt he had to do, and hated himself for doing it. He hated himself for failing to lead as a husband, a partner, a friend, and a lover. He hated the circumstances that put him in the position to offer or deny her mercy. He believed he chose mercy, but his heart ached for denying her life.

There was a piece of Athos that wanted to walk away. To leave the Musketeers, Paris, and everything he had worked for. There was a piece of him that wanted everything to just… stop.

Kelpie raised his head, snorted, and perked his ears forward as he looked to his left across Athos and into the bushes. Athos shifted, followed Kelpie's gaze and then suddenly jumped to his feet when a wild boar ran from the briar. The animal squealed, grunted, and with an unexpected amount of speed, he charged. Athos grabbed a low-hanging branch and used his feet to push himself upward. He hung like a pig being carried on a stick. Kelpie pinned his ears, stomped his front hooves, and quickly spun around and kicked. The wild boar stumbled backward, but quickly regained his footing and charged again. Kelpie reared, struck with his front hooves and then kicked again. Dust billowed, sparks from the fire shifted upward, and weeds snapped and splintered as the boar was struck in the head with a well placed rear hoof. A hollow pop echoed. The animal twisted, tumbled, and then finally landed in a boneless heap beside the fire. Kelpie snorted, pranced and flicked his ears back and forth. He stopped suddenly, head held high, ears forward and his tail tucked. Muscles quivered and shook and the whites of his eyes glowed against the blackness of his coat and the night sky. He snorted again and stood tall and strong. Athos, still in the tree, looked in the direction of his horse, expecting another wild board to charge.

"Is everything alright?" d'Artagnan asked and cleared his throat.

D'Artagnan pulled his horse to a stop and then looked at Kelpie, the dead wild boar, and Athos, who slowly released his hold and dropped to the ground. D'Artagnan whistled and shook his head at the sight.

Athos nodded, dusted his hands on his britches, and then turned toward his horse. "How did you find me?" He asked over his shoulder while he checked Kelpie for injuries.

"We were worried about you so we all split up," d'Artagnan said. "You've been too quiet lately, Athos." He dismounted and slowly walked toward the fire. He stopped suddenly when Kelpie pinned his ears, stared him down, and shifted nervously. "I thought you might head northeast, and I took a chance you might visit with a few landowners about recruiting some men for the Musketeers." He smiled. "Was I correct?" He squatted, looked at the boar, and scratched his jaw. He reached for a tusk, and tugged gauging its weight. "If he had caught your leg," he exhaled slowly, "he would have torn you wide open."

Athos looked at the boar, an older male with well-established tusks that curled upward. The fire continued to spark, and the hairs on the back of the boar's neck smoked and sizzled as they heated and burned away. Athos turned, ran his hand along Kelpie's neck and watched the big horse look toward the boar. His skin was taunt, sweat dampened his coat along his neck, legs, and flanks. The fight had not lasted long, but Kelpie's fight nature had dominated his flight instinct and Athos was grateful the animal had warned him in time. The big black was slow to relax, but eventually lowered his head and welcomed the companionship of d'Artagnan's mount as he stepped near.

D'Artagnan unsaddled his horse and then hobbled him. He stepped toward the fire, grabbed the front leg of the boar and with great effort dragged him from the site. He watched Athos add more wood to the fire and then take a seat on an exposed root.

"Did it charge you or…?"

Athos nodded and then tilted his head toward Kelpie, who grazed on the grass near the brook. "He warned me something was coming."

D'Artagnan raised his eyebrows in surprise and then sat cross-legged across from Athos and looked at him through the flames of the fire. "I've never had one charge me before, but I saw a man once who nearly lost his leg because of one… he said an angry wild boar was more dangerous than a bear." He chuckled softly and relaxed his shoulders. "I believed him."

Athos nodded in agreement. He grabbed a twig, tossed it into the fire, and then positioned himself against the tree once more. They were both quiet for a few minutes and simply allowed the fire to reestablish itself as the log burned. The croak of a frog, the hoot of an owl, and the chattering of squirrels sounded around them.

The evening sky was clear, the moon shone brightly against the night, and a halo surrounded it. The stars glimmered and a few puffed clouds shifted as the night wore on.

"I'm really sorry," d'Artagnan said. His voice carried, and he looked at Athos, who frowned. "For Milady… for Anne… We didn't want to see her hang…" He clenched his jaw and twisted a twig between his fingers. "She saved Aramis' life —"

"She murdered the king's brother," Athos said. "She was never going to stop…" he stared at the flames. "Anne wanted what everyone else had," he frowned, "and nothing she had was ever good enough."

"She wanted you." D'Artagnan looked up.

Athos glanced through the flames and looked d'Artagnan in the eyes. He quirked a subtle smile in understanding but looked away in denial. "She had me… but I wasn't good enough."

"You saw through her —"

"Not soon enough."

D'Artagnan nodded, took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. "You cannot punish yourself for her actions."

"Just my own."

D'Artagnan winced, but knew not to argue the point. There was a dark side to Athos that overwhelmed him in melancholy and was almost too much for him and the others to bear. But it was that same melancholy that allowed Athos to make the decisions he made… decisions that had to be made, no matter how difficult.

"It was difficult to find… but there was some good in her I think." D'Artagnan raised his right knee and rested his elbow upon it. "No matter what you think or how you feel about it… You did right by her."

Athos clinched his jaw and kept his eyes on the flames of the fire.

"I don't know many who would have the strength —"

"It wasn't strength," Athos corrected, "it was guilt…" he paused for a long moment and listened as the horses ripped grass from the ground, and the fire snapped and cracked, "I couldn't watch her be hanged the first time… I wouldn't the second."

D'Artagnan nodded. He leaned over, reached for his saddlebag, and then removed a pig's bladder full of wine. It wasn't an ideal container, but glass was simply too fragile. "Toss me your cup," he said, and then watched Athos grab his cup and toss it to him. D'Artagnan poured them each a fair amount. He leaned forward and handed it back.

Athos took a sip, and then looked at d'Artagnan who frowned and watched with interest as Kelpie abandoned his patch of grass and walked toward Athos. The length of his lead snaked along the ground. The big black arched his neck over Athos' shoulder and stretched his lips toward the wine. Athos leaned away from him, took a sip, and then finally relented. He held up the beverage as Kelpie drank the last few sips of wine. Athos wiped his hand on his britches, pursed his lips, and set his jaw.

D'Artagnan chuckled, slapped his hand against his thigh, and rested back against the log. "Is there enough wine in Paris for the both of you?"

Athos smiled genuinely for the first time in days. "No."

D'Artagnan laughed again and then watched Athos lower his cup and push Kelpie away. The horse licked his lips, tossed his head and his loose lead swirled and waved, and then he returned to grazing. "He's a good horse," he said.

Athos nodded and then tossed another log onto the fire. Kelpie would not take the place of Roger, but like everything else Athos would accept the change.