Athos dismounted. He greeted the young stable hand that ran from the shadows of the U-shaped stables. Horses interested in the new arrivals stuck their heads from their stalls, a few nickered, and others flickered their ears forward. The young boy, dressed in fine work clothes, leather britches, a stained blouse, and work boots, nodded to Athos.

"You're a King's Musketeer," he said, and pointed his finger toward the pauldron. Dirt was smudged beneath his right eye, and blonde hair fell forward across his brow. "I've heard about men like you. My father was a soldier," he shrugged, "he never talked about it much unless his friends came from the north on their travels." He shrugged and ran his hand over the bridge of Roger's nose. "I want to be a calvaryman."

Athos quirked the corner of his mouth and watched Roger relax under the young man's hand as he rubbed the black's neck. "You'll make a fine one."

The boy smiled. "May I take your horse, Monsieur?"

"I'll manage him, thank you."

"Willy, but Monsieur Lussier calls me William." He smiled shyly. William was tall, gangly, and his blue eyes shined with pride as he looked at the stables while keeping his attention on Roger. "If you need anything, Monsieur, please let me know." He stroked Roger's neck once more.

Athos ran his hand along Roger's neck and watched the boy return to his duties at the stables. The sounds of gate latches banging, hay pulled from feeders, iron-shod hooves striking stall walls, and doors clanging rang across the grounds like a chorus. Mares and their foals grazed peacefully behind the stables in pastures lined with trees and a spring that ran through the field. Grasses thrived, thistles, and new growth cattails swayed with the subtle breeze. A lone black horse stood in a pen to the right of the end stable, shadowed with branches of trees. He walked along the length of the fence, tossed his head, and then stopped and looked toward Athos with his ears forward.

They had taken the trip slowly, and while Roger showed no signs of lameness, there was still a hint of swelling within the joint of his left hock. He rubbed his head against Athos' chest, cocked his hind left foot, and then looked up and perked his ears forward when Monsieur Henri Lussier stepped from the door of his home and walked toward them.

He was a tall man with a slight limp due to a knee injury. His shoulders hunched forward slightly, but he bore his defect with pride as he smiled and waved his hands in greeting. "You must be the musketeer King Louis has sent?" He paused, grasped Athos' hand and shook it fiercely. "Please, please call me Henri." He said, shifted his weight to his right leg, and nodded. He had short brown hair, salted with white strands, and a thick eyebrows that nearly met above his long, narrow nose. He wheezed when he spoke, and he licked the top point of his lip with the tip of his tongue. It was a habit he did not recognize.

Athos introduced himself and tightened his grip on Roger's reins. A familiar pain had surfaced, and he realized he wasn't quite ready to let Roger go. Not yet. The yearning to do what was right conflicted with his need to do what was best. Athos' heart and mind battled. It was a war of logic versus love and admiration. He turned, looked into Roger's dark, soulful eyes and was met with a look of peace, understanding, and acknowledgment. They had served too long together, spent too much time learning each others' natures, and caring for one another when they only had one another. The old boy knew Athos better than Athos knew himself.

But it was time to say goodbye.

"He's beautiful," Henri said, and stepped back to take a better look at Roger. "Foundation bred?" He looked at Athos, who nodded. "One of the king's stallions?"

Athos swallowed and collected himself. "No… no, he's my service mount. I brought him with me into the Musketeers. Monsieur — Henri," he corrected. "Roger is no longer able to perform his duties."

Henri frowned, stepped forward, and ran a hand along Roger's back leg. "Arthritis," he said and felt heat along the joint. "Not unusual for military horses — Although, a much better life expectancy." He quirked a smile and noted Roger's calm temperament, fine display of manners, and his excellent confirmation. "I'd be interested in purchasing him for my breeding program — he's a little narrow in the chest, but that's not unusual for the foundation bred horses —"

"He's not for sale," Athos said, "but…" he paused, and pulled gently at Roger's forelock, "perhaps we can come to an agreement."

Henri folded his arms across his chest, chewed on the inside of his left cheek, and looked from Roger to Athos. "Perhaps you and I can discuss an arrangement over some food. It's nearly evening and I have yet to eat."

"William," Henri turned and shouted for his young stable hand, who ran from his duty. "See to Roger. Put him in an end stall and apply my liniment to his left hock."

Willy nodded, took Roger's reins, and led him toward the stables.

"Please, Athos," Henri said, "come… I'll introduce you to my wife Eva who has mastered the art of slow cooking beef." He walked toward his home. "If you allow yourself a moment to breathe deeply, I'm sure you can smell it." He looked over his shoulder and smiled. Hooded eyelids caused a perpetual squint, but when he opened his eyes wide enough, the appearance of hazel peeked through. His long straight nose was reminiscent of his German ancestry, and high cheekbones and a defined jawline accentuated his features.

The cottage had been constructed from stone, cut and chiseled to size. Mortar filled the gaps between each one. Wooden shutters to the windows had been tied open, and early spring flowers bloomed beneath the windows and along the home's foundation. Chickens scratched and pecked at the ground within the freshly tilled garden. The branches of a large willow tree shadowed a portion of the garden that had yet to be prepared for planting and provided cover for a hawk that watched the small chicks huddle around their mother.

"How long has Roger served?" Henri asked, dusted his feet on a wooden mat, and then opened the door.

Athos cleared his throat and said, "About fifteen years, more or less." He looked up when Lussier turned and looked at him.

"You've taken excellent care of him," Henri said.

They entered the kitchen. It was a humble home, with a large open fireplace that housed a cauldron hanging from a trammel hook and rested to the left of the fire that burned. Henri's wife, a much younger woman with golden hair, slender frame, and porcelain complexion, looked up from her table as she kneaded dough. She smiled, dusted her hands on her apron, and then wiped her cheek with the back of her left wrist.

"Eva, this is Monsieur Athos of the King's Musketeers."

Athos tipped his head and bowed.

"He is here on behalf of the king for our mares." Henri kissed her cheek and then took a seat at the long table that ran parallel to her work bench.

"The king will be pleased with the mares, Monsieur," Eva said. Her German accent was strong, and she poured two glasses of wine. "My husband takes pride in his horses," she handed Athos a glass and the other to Henri. "You might even say he is obsessed with perfecting the breed." She smiled, winked, and returned to her dough.

"Eva's the daughter of one of Germany's finest horseman. I stole her away not just for her beauty but for her knowledge as well." Lussier tapped his finger to his temple and then sipped at his wine. He then rested his elbows on the table and watched Eva form her dough and prepare to bake it. "Roger," he said. He looked at Athos, who took a seat across from him and looked at the weapons of war that hung on the wall behind him and admired the design and the quality. "You don't want to sell him, but you want to…?"

Athos cleared his throat, shifted his feet beneath the bench, and rested his elbows on the table as he grasped the glass before him. "A trade of sorts," he said and looked at Henri. "Roger can no longer compete with horses half his age, but he's still viable for breeding purposes. I would like to propose a deal…" he licked his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue and shifted uncomfortably. Roger had been with him since he was a boy, had carried him through war and through his service as a musketeer. The horse would never be replaceable, but Athos would not put Roger in a position to fail in his duty and need to be destroyed because of it. "I'd like Roger's first colt, and two fillies — the fillies do not need to be next year's foals."

Lussier's left eyebrow twitched, and he tapped his finger on the table. He glanced at his wife who smiled and nodded, and then quickly shoved her breads into the open oven behind her. "What else?" He pursed his lips and waited.

"I need a remount." The words hurt. The thought of leaving Roger behind sent daggers through Athos' heart. They had been together through thick and thin, rain or shine, and through battles with each other as they learned from one another and through other battles as they rode through musket and cannon fire. Fifteen years of service, eighteen years of friendship. Athos looked at the surface of the table and ran his thumb along the rough edge.

"I have a horse for you to look at," Henri said. He reached his hand forward, waited, and then smiled when Athos shook his head and nodded in agreement. "Few war horses find retirement on stud farms, Athos. He'll be happy here."

Athos quirked his lips into a smile. He turned when he heard tin plates removed from a shelf, the ringing of utensils, and then the sound of the lid tapping the lip of the roaster and the scent of slow cooked beef and vegetables as the lid was fully lifted.

"That, young man," Henri said with closed eyes and his nose in the air, "is perfection."

Eva carefully dished out hefty pieces of beef that fell apart as it hit the plates, and was followed quickly with cooked turnips, carrots, peas, and onions. She placed a plate before each of them, and then fixed a plate for herself and took a seat at the table.

Athos felt his stomach growl. He fought back a smile as he thought about Porthos, his insatiable appetite, and how much he would treasure this meal had he been present. Athos looked up as Henri said grace, and then immediately ate. Eva chuckled when her husband moaned and chewed slowly as he savored each bite. She reached for his hand and squeezed.

"Eat, Monsieur Athos," Eva said, "Soldiers need their strength and we have plenty to share."