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Disclaimer: All hail Dumas and his descendants.
PAX young blades and the Disney version of 3 musketeers gave inspiration to this tale. There is no money in it for me, just enjoyment
– Something I hope to share

Let loose oh stalwart friends…when moon shines full. Do honor to maudlin memory and carefree revel. For youth is short and much may be lost ere the turning tide. Translation: D'Artagnan is lost in wine and reminisces about summers with his uncles Athos and Pothos; craziness ensues.

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-( Chapter III Altered State )-

The huge white stone Building had once been called the Hotel D' Treville. Arnaud-Jean du Peyrer, Comte de Troisvilles Captain-Lieutenant of the Musketeers had been exiled years ago by, then Cardinal, Richelieu. Now that Captain Duvall was in control it was simply referred to as "the Barracks." Siroc eyed the inscription carved on the gate to the courtyard, Courage, Honor, and Loyalty. The same motto was written indelibly on heart and mind of the hundred and twenty some odd men who called this place "Home" -- the Kings Own, The Musketeer.

Siroc felt honored to be counted among such men… Even if As Ramón had pointed-out, his prior education left him purposefully ignorant of there 'legendary' exploits. Over the past several weeks the inventor had taken steps to rectify the situation. He had little difficulty for the air buzzed with tales of D'Artagnan the great and Eavesdropping from the shadows was not something his 'education' overlooked. Many stories he heard were rife with embellishment. Tales of stolen gems and midnight assignations with royalty…And Exciting though they may be, still bordered on treason. The inventor judged them to be largely fanciful. Listened unobserved but was a bit disappointed that the one who could put the gossip to rest once and for all seemed ill equipped to do so.

"STOP TALKING ABOUT MY FATHER!" young D'Artagnan had yelled petulantly in the communal dining hall the other day. Siroc smiled to himself He'd predicted that would be a likely point of contention with the newcomer. Neither He nor Ramón pressed the sable haired recruit and sure enough, like a lodestone, he gravitated toward them.

The outburst did little to quiet them and Over the next month Siroc believed he had indeed heard more than enough about Charles de Batz-Castelmore D'Artagnan and glory days. Still, he couldn't help but wonder why the tale-spinners were not equally verbose about D'Artagnan's equally famous 'Uncles'. According to tantalizing fragments Siroc gathered that the indomitable trio of Arturo de le Fére Comte du Berry, Emris de Ruse, Paul de Portau …took the popular names of Athos, Aramis and Porthos when they joined the core. But it was interest their current exploits and whereabouts that roused the young inventor most. And of the three it was the 'would be priest', Aramis that remained the most enigmatic.

Despite the younger D'Artagnan's violent opposition to the exploits of his illustrious sire; young D'Artagnan could be induced to reminisce freely about his dear uncles Athos and Paulie. All that was required was several bottles of the wine of Anjou split between the three of them.

"Oh the summerzs were grand!" the legend's son grinned to his, somewhat blurry companions. "Berry is just about the most perfectest place in the whole world. The manse is so much nicer than ours, and homey… like the barrackses here."

"What did you eat there?" Ramón urged: wondering, not for the first time, how few bites it would take to devour an entire chicken.

"There was lovely food Ramón – feast for the whole town every summer. Uncle Count Athos would cook and serve even to the littlest peasant.

You-know-who never would-a done that to our pesentes – Not fitting… nor proper." D'Artagnan blinked and made a snooty face – as he tried vainly to imitate his father's stalwart demeanor. "Not that he was ever home long enough to know any-o-um." –frown-

"What of your other Uncles, would they spend summers in Berry too?" Siroc asked, still quite lucid—

"Not too much," his mind cautioned, "Never forget what it is to loose control. Fought too hard to maintain what little we have. Loose focus; miss your chance…Knowledge is key. Be cautious, It's a delicate balance, mustn't let the nightmare win. Can't stand to be alone again.

"Uncle Paulie…that's to say, Captain Porthos would bring his pirate…err pleasure yacht into Berry harbor. That's near the Marriner'Znn you can get chocolate milk there an Napple-cinnamon-pies. Captn' Jono lives in Berry an others visit, too. There's West Robertz, and Jack'z you'd like him, " D'Artagnan smiled crookedly "he's fun… an crazy…a regular sea gypsy!"

Of Emris, D'Artagnan said tantalizingly little. Siroc sighed. He hid his disappointment well, and why not? He'd been schooled painfully to do so.

Don't push boy…don't let anyone see how much you want it. Whether it's Food, Water or Information you mustn't ask or reach out your hand to take…else it will be snatched from your grasp… And you'll regret your presumption to be sure. Ignore even the most poignant needs and wait till it's given…if it's given that is. – The master's laughed chilled him to the bone and he knew it would be another long hungry night.

Waiting is sometimes so frustrating – especially when Siroc knew D'Artagnan would have little if any memory of the conversation in the sober light of day. He contemplated trying to shift subtly the conversation in that direction when D'Artagnan turned his attention to him again (he tried to)…looking left, right, and left again trying to focus on the 'real' Siroc.

"SSSSS" Ramón laughed imagining several sullen Sirocs sitting silently. –"Shhhh" D'Artagnan wasn't sure which Siroc was laughing at him but the legend's son he knew how to quiet him…Say something incredibly intelligent. "Did you know" he began pointing to the wavy line of Sirocs at once "All cats are gray in the dark." Ha! You can't get more profound than that. He grinned manically.

Siroc signed, realizing he'd clearly missed his chance. And would get nothing more from his friend tonight – "Actually I believe it's a matter of perception…I have two theories actually…One is that part of the eye perceives color and part brightness and contrast, consisting mostly of black white and gray…in low light the latter mechanism takes precedence over the former.

My second theory pertains to the composition of light…I've noted certain crystals can diffuse light into bands of color…that fact leads me to believe that the color of an object is what it is because it absorbs all the colors of light except what we see which it reflects back at night there is less light to reflect so we see more gray. At present I can't discern if light travels as particles or in waves so I must hold of any definitive study until I have more data."

"Do YOU know what I think?" Ramón asked raising an eyebrow and focusing on the Siroc in the center…and pointed at him, as he seemed the most solid of the lot.

"What is that?" the inventor asked.

"It is my sup- supposition suspicion? That you are … entirely too sober… for this conversation."

D'Artagnan giggled at them both "Fire is pretty…like flowers that dance."

"You know my friend you may be correct" Siroc conceded "Perhaps it is high-time I found my bunk. I take my leave of you gentlemen –Till morning." He said with a sweeping bow.

"In the morning cats won't be gray anymore" D'Artagnan called wistfully after the retreating figure.

"Some will." Ramón smiled at him.

"Well maybe some …but not the orange ones."

"Orange…orange, don't talk to me about orange! Mi Dios, How can one be expected to rhapsodize when nothing rhymes with orange! What kind of language is this! The Spaniard's voice faded into the night and Siroc did not regret taking his leave when he did.

After months of patience all Siroc had gleaned was that there had been a falling out between de-Batz Senior and the would-be-priest. D'Artagnan's admission was made in hushed tones "Politics," he frowned "made things too difficult, and I lost him," Pain obvious in his raven dark eyes.

"Lesser things have divided great men." Siroc smiled wryly his true emotions closeted deep in his heart…

The realization that he was no nearer to his goal pained him -- though It came as no great surprise. Especially if Emris was truly the man he sought… a student of the Cardinal that was, Powerful in both knowledge and fact. Even scientific laws bowed to such things… why not perceptions as well–.

More dire was the message of pain in his friend's eyes for it spoke of Siroc's greatest fear. In his heart of hearts he knew secrets put strain to a friendship– sooner or later it would break.

The sensitive inventor could not help but wonder how long he could enjoy his home here in the barracks and the near familial bond with his blade-brothers. Was this nothing but a brief respite before the darkness of his past would tare them violently apart and eclipse his world once more? How could he return to the emptiness of destiny and the half-life his master trained him for?

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-notes-

Well that's chapter 3, longer than I expected…free-range thinking will do that to you I suppose. I really enjoyed writing this one. I've found myself in Siroc's position more than once – Stay sober, you know it's time to leave when you have to say "put down that hedgehog and get off the fence…by all that's holy man remember you're in a kilt!'

-------------------- Next chapter gets a bit darker again,

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