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-(Chapter II "Enough")-

Siroc's idle musing came to a jarring halt. Ramón was humming. It wasn't that the sound was tuneless or even altogether unpleasant; it was just…wrong. Talking incessantly was one thing. Siroc was accustomed to that…welcomed it even (mostly because it required no response on his part), but this humming so went against the grain of his thoughts that it set his teeth on edge. Idly, Siroc twisted the trailing end of his reigns about his wrist and tried to ignore the sound. Odd, that after all this time he took comfort from the feel of supple leather. --Don't think about it! Siroc scolded, mentally. The humming continued.

"Must you do that?" Siroc asked finally.

"What is that?" Ramón asked.

"You're humming, please stop," the inventor explained tersely.

The swarthy musketeer frowned— "Why?"

"Because, I asked you to. And besides, it's inane."

"You do it." he said with a teasing smile.

"Do I?" Siroc sounded incredulous.

The Spaniard nodded. "When you're working."

"I never noticed…Still, I wish you wouldn't. At least not right now. It's bothering me."

"Sorry—" he paused, "So, what do you want to talk about?"

Siroc frowned; he was adept at many things, but conversation was not counted among them. Still, it was better than humming.

"What do you think of that new cadet," Siroc began, "Dart…something? He seems insufferably smug to me."

"Smug?" Ramón chuckled. i"¿Es posible?/i Don't you know who he is?"

"Of course I know who he is." Siroc rolled his eyes. "Captain Duval dragged him up in front during assembly and showed him off like some prized stallion. -- I just can't recall his name."

Ramón laughed. "You are likely the only one in France who doesn't…I've heard the tales even in Toledo! Can it be that you, a musketeer, have never heard of the iRedoubtable d'Artagnan/i and his blade-brothers? Their adventures are near-legend.

"My education included no legends," Siroc stated coldly. The thought cought for a moment in his mind:

i--Chain grating against stone, torches sputtering and hissing in the darkness… no escape from the smell of pitch or the unpredictable bite of the lash. What did I do this time? the boy wondered, pressing sweaty palms against his tearing eyes. /i--Siroc Shivered.

"You never heard of La Rochelle…and those who broke fast in the Bastion of St. Gervais?"

"That boy was not at La Rochelle or St. Gervais."

"Not him…! His father. This is d'Artagnan the second."

"Lovely." Siroc yawned. "Still seems haughty to me."

"I think we should befriend him." Ramón practically bounced attempting to mask his excitement. "Imagine, we could be the next illustrious, three Musketeers! To join with a d'Artagnan we could become legends like Aristocratic Athos, Acetic Aramis and Playful Porthos!

Siroc made a sour face. "Who wants to be a legend?" He shrugged, but inside his thoughts spun… ARAMIS: The name of hope or merely coincidence?

"Ramón, if you want him as a confidant it had better be for his own merit and not that of his father. You and I both know that who a person is and where they come from has absolutely no bearing on what they are!

Ramón was sullen for the rest of the ride to the barracks.

In the absence of his companions chatter Siroc's thoughts intruded once more… i"Who are you?!" The master backhanded him, and he collapsed limply on the cold stone. He whimpered, head pounding and he tried to shrink away… tried to hide from the pain, the blow to the head left his ears ringing. He rocked gently and hummed to himself trying to remember… Who rocked him? Who sang wordless songs that made him feel safe? Someone had. Someone had cared for him…once.

"Who are your people, boy? Do you even know?"

The boy didn't, of course. The master sent the darkness and the red haze to steal such things from his mind. Now he was just empty. Empty and alone –

"You are no one. You have no one—no one, that is, but me!" Mazarin growled "You are MINE, Boy—my slave, my pet! Say it!"

The boy tried to drown out the angry voice with his humming – that never worked for long…

"SAY IT!" The master glowered, gripping the rod in his fist. "What are you? "TELL ME!" the master commanded.

What is empty can be filled – I am a vessel. It is fact. It doesn't change me, the boy's mind raged – I won't let it. I am stronger than a boy, stronger than a slave, stronger than --

The rod connected with his shoulder and he yelped out loud "A Pet." /i

Siroc untwisted the leather from his wrist and thought with relief.

Ramon has stopped humming now.

The inventor's rebuke still echoed in the poet's mind. It had taken Ramón a long time to overcome the emotional insecurities caused by his family's callus disregard – longer yet to accept his banishment with grace — but he wasn't a rejected child anymore. He was making his way in the world. Many admired him — his charm, wit and passion. Only the hopelessly narrow-minded judged him to be a scoundrel simply because he was Spanish. That villainy he always faced head on. But Siroc was right – The past had no bearing on the future. We make our own way in life. Forget the legend and let the new cadet's actions speak for him.

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-Notes- On to Section three where Siroc, Ramón and d'Artagnan bond… an Amusing and more up beat section of the tale.

D'Artagnan is lost in wine and reminisces about summers with his Uncles Athos and Porthos; Craziness ensues.

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