I'm not sure what is happening with this site. If stories aren't missing then something is amiss with the dashboard, or it's something else. According to fan-fic-dot-net I've had zero views for the past 3 days. For those of you still following and leaving messages, thank you (this lets me know you can see the postings)! If you're not able to see the story, please don't hesitate to reach out. I'm working on a website and I've finally been accepted to AO3 but I'm not sure how soon I can start posting there. I need to take some time and about their system. I really want to keep up the same pace, posting 2 to 3 chapters a night, but I'm not sure if I'll be able to... I will do my best.

Thank you all again!

Athos entered the library, expecting to find the other captains, but was surprised to find the room empty. His escort nodded to him.

"The General will be in shortly, Captain," the man said. Strands of his long gray hair fell free of the leather tie at the base of his neck. A narrow patch of loose skin hung below his chin and wobbled as he moved. The man's old brown eyes were surrounded with wrinkles and lines. He looked at Athos, nodded once, and turned to leave.

"Where are the other captains?" Athos asked.

"You're the first to arrive," the old man said and grasped his left wrist. "As soon as they arrive, I'll escort them in."

"Thank you," Athos said.

Again, the old man nodded and quietly left the room. A fire blazed in the fireplace, it cracked, smoked, and the logs shifted beneath its force. Lanterns rested on the desk and atop the mantle. A rack of wood, positioned near the hearth and beside a bucket of kindling, was freshly cut and splinters littered the ground beneath them. The library shelves were filled with leather-bound books and Athos stepped forward, surprised he was alone, and casually glanced at the titles. The Fontaine family was well read in poetry, science, and novels. Narrow ribbons fell from the spines and draped over the edges of the shelves from books that had been place-marked. Small framed cameos rested next to several books, along with dried flowers, picture rocks, and even a single stirrup.

Except for the cracking and snapping of the fire, the room was silent. General Raboin was nowhere in sight, nor was his lieutenant. Maps littered the desk and books of maps lay opened on the floor and across the smaller tables stationed around the room. Athos stepped forward, glanced at the images, and then suddenly took an interest in the map tucked beneath the heavy book on the edge of the desk. He looked up, checked to make sure he was alone, and then pulled it loose. A note fell to the floor. He grabbed it and noticed it was the note he had sent to Treville with Levi's messenger. Athos swallowed, carefully folded the note, and returned it to its previous location. He opened the map, ran his finger along the Meuse River and the small communities along the riverbanks. Raboin had written along the margin of the map — where the Spanish were positioned, how many men they had at each encampment, and the captains of each of the regiments. Athos quickly returned the map to its original location and then stepped away from the desk. He swallowed, felt his heart contract and his pulse race as he clenched his fists. Athos closed his eyes, thought of King Louis, Minister Treville, and his duty. He thought of the refugees that were fleeing their homes, of their children, and the old men and women trying to survive. He thought about his own men, those who had lost their lives on the battlefield and those fighting for their lives under the care of the physicians.

Athos thought about the general who was supposed to be leading them, guiding them, and organizing them in such a manner as to be successful against the oncoming attacks. He was supposed to be managing the war front, and insuring his men received the supplies they needed in order to do so. He glanced at the location of the map, the letter he had written, and knew without a doubt he was dealing with a traitor. The king's "cousin" had transferred his devotion to Spain. He had betrayed his nation and his king. Athos, like many others, had suspected it, but having proof of it was the catalyst in moving forward with King Louis' request.

Athos swallowed.

In this very moment, he felt very much alone.

Athos looked at the painting on the wall to the right of the desk. The simple, yet detailed work of a woman sitting near the edge of a river, gazing at her reflection while surrounded by the foliage of lush trees, tall grasses, and wildflowers. It was not a masterpiece, but it was a piece reflective of comfort within its simplicity. Athos stepped forward, pulled a book from the shelf, and flipped through the pages. The story of Odysseus. Athos ran his fingers over the print and thought of his own adventures while remembering a time when he had read it. He just hoped for a much simpler outcome.

"I never considered him a smart man," General Raboin said as he entered the room in haste. He settled himself once he realized Athos was alone and standing near the bookcase. He glanced at the heavy book on his desk, the map and letter beneath it, and then quickly took a seat.

"He was unfortunate," Athos said. "I doubt you can disparage him for his circumstance."

Raboin huffed. He covered his maps, and then quickly grabbed a piece of parchment. "I understand you met with the Spanish General?"

Athos replaced the book, walked toward the desk, and nodded. "Yes, General. I met with General Sanchez." He stood at attention and watched Raboin carefully.

"He's a pompous fool," Raboin said. "I've clashed with him on many occasions. He will not keep his word, whatever it was he promised you." He spoke quickly, almost rushed, and said, "I'm ordering you to hold the line, Captain."

"On the assumption that he will not keep his word?"

Raboin leaned forward, rested his right elbow on the desk and looked at Athos. "He will not. If the agreement you made with him had any value… I would have been a part of the conversation — That," he snapped and pointed his quill at Athos, "is the correct way to manage a cease-fire. Captains do not negotiate terms of war. Generals do. Captains follow orders." He rolled his eyes and dipped his quill into the inkwell. "At least good captains do. I realize," he looked at Athos with a raised eyebrow, his voice laced with skepticism and distrust, "that you either lack the respect for authority, or you believe yourself above it?"

Athos curled his lips downward and kept quiet as he looked passively at Raboin. "I heard from others that you were well known for fighting alongside your men…" He paused and watched Raboin slow his hand as he wrote. "I wonder what has changed that you have found it necessary to lock yourself in a chateau while your men fight?"

"The benefits of age," Raboin said and looked up at him from his seated position. "Something you might learn to appreciate when you reach an age when your knees ache and your back swells… If you're lucky enough to live that long."

Athos clinched his jaw and looked at Raboin, who lowered his hand and again hastily dipped his quill into the ink jar. "Your men are nearly defeated."

"My men will hold the line."

"Perhaps, General," Athos said as he stepped forward, "you should reexamine who is fighting for you. Your men are without supplies —"

Raboin pushed himself to his feet and shoved his chair back with the backs of his knees. "Perhaps, Captain, had you followed my orders and banished the refugees and instead of caring for men who can no longer fight, had focused on those who can, you might have enough supplies to win this battle. I have seen nothing from you except contempt for me, my leadership, and my orders. You have conspired," he raised his eyebrows, "with the enemy —"

"Excuse me?"

"The next time you meet with a Spaniard without my presence," he slapped the table with his palm, and then pointed at Athos, "I will have you arrested and brought up before a military tribunal. You will rue the day you ever tried to cross me." Raboin flared his nostrils, veins pumped along his neck and forehead, and he spit while he spoke. "You and your men will guard the line… you will not engage in a fight without my say so. You will not direct my captains on the battlefield, and you will keep to your own duties." With a quick flick of his wrist, he pointed to the window that overlooked the battlefield below. "The first Spaniard that crosses their wall is to be shot. I don't care why they cross. Any collusion with them will be seen as treachery and ANY Musketeer or member of my regiment caught in the act will be punished and you will not like the sanctions I impose, Captain."

Raboin reached behind him and replaced the chair and took a seat. "You've nearly destroyed my military forces by your little," he flicked his wrist toward the window again, "escapade. War is not about engaging when you feel like. War is about patience, fortitude, and control — all of which you have proven to be lacking!" He looked up and then suddenly stood. He grabbed his maps, and made sure to grab the one beneath the book and the note. "I can't even stand the sight of you. What King Louis and Minister Treville see in you is beyond me… Captain." He adjusted the rolls of papers in his arms and turned toward the door. "The loss of this battle is on your head." He turned quickly and stared at Athos, "Anything less than a victory is a loss… and you have devastated my ranks and my companies. How many men have I lost because of this?"

"It would appear, General," Athos said calmly, "that our perception of things is vastly different."

Raboin huffed and shook his head. "The next time I see you," he raised his eyebrows and firmed his jaw before he said, "you will be in shackles if this… conduct… continues. This is my final warning." He turned suddenly and left the room. The door to the right of the fireplace slammed shut and the flames of the fire flickered and danced before resuming their blaze.

Athos clinched his jaw, looked toward the book that had been hastily moved when Raboin took the map and the letter. He stepped forward and flipped through several of the maps that Raboin had shoved aside. Hand drawn images of France, the Dutch Republic, the German States, and Spain. While Raboin had again made notes in the margins, there was nothing that Athos felt the need to be concerned about. Athos looked again at the painting and wondered if perhaps the artist had thought about Narcissus while painting the image of the beautiful woman looking at the reflection in the water. Perhaps, it was a tribute to her isolation.

The flames burst once more when the door next to the fireplace opened and Grimaud stepped into the room. Athos remained at the desk and continued to look at the maps.

"Not only do you know how to make friends," Grimaud said, "you have an uncanny knack for making enemies — particularly powerful ones."

"Why are you here?" Athos said and looked at Grimaud, who walked to the window and stood with the sun behind his back. His hood shadowed his face, but he crossed his arms over his chest and gripped his arms. His rings glistened beneath the rays of the winter sun.

"To help the general win a war."

Athos chuckled softly and then pushed the corner of a map. "No… I don't believe you," he said. "And if you were," he paused, "we would not be in the situation we're in."

Grimaud raised his right hand flippantly and shrugged his shoulder. "And what situation would that be, Captain?"

"Raboin's men are hungry, sick, and injured. He has promised supplies for months and nothing has been delivered." Athos looked harder at Grimaud. "So again I ask, why are you here?"

Grimaud shrugged, turned to his right, and poured himself a glass of wine.

"A good lieutenant does what the commander cannot," Athos said. "He finds supplies, he fights alongside his men and I have yet to see you step foot on the battlefield… at least when the cannons are firing. You seem to be more concerned about the chateau and Raboin than you are the Spanish —"

"Are you accusing me of something?" Grimaud took a long sip while he stared at Athos over the glass.

"No," Athos said, "I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just making a note of what a good lieutenant does, Lieutenant."

Gramaud smiled and swallowed. He twisted his glass and watched the red liquid crawl up the sides of the cup. "Perhaps it's a good thing I'm not your lieutenant."

"Yes," Athos agreed, "it's a good thing you're not."

"But perhaps, Captain, you should understand what it is a good captain does."

Athos quirked his lips, looked at Grimaud, and nodded. "I know what a good captain does, Grimaud. And defining a good captain is much more difficult than defining an obedient one."

Grimaud raised his right eyebrow and nodded. He placed his wineglass on the small round table beneath the window and turned toward the door. "Walk softly, Captain Athos of the King's Musketeers. General Raboin's patience is running thin and I've seen his actions when it runs out." He walked toward the door, looked back once, and then left the room.

The door closed softly behind him.

Athos looked again at the maps, then he glanced at the painting one last time before he, too, turned and left the room.