Wow! Thank you all for the warm return, I really appreciate the feedback and words of encouragement.

On with the "show."


The cellars were dark except for the lights of the lanterns that flickered and hung from metal sconces attached to the walls. Barrels of wine rested on racks, and shelves were filled with bottles. Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan stood around a barrel, drinking wine and reminiscing of the past. Porthos turned, raised his glass as Athos neared, and nodded.

"It's good wine," Porthos said and took a long drink.

Athos grasped the cup that d'Artagnan handed him and then sat atop a barrel. Shadows danced and moved as the flames shifted. The cellar smelled of damp dirt, must, and oak. Cobwebs hung from shelves and from the ceiling ties. The dirt floor was compact and stones were slowly being revealed as the dirt continued to erode.

D'Artagnan chuckled and then rubbed his hand along the back of his neck. "How did you find out?" he asked, and looked at Athos. "How did you find out about the queen and Aramis?"

Aramis exhaled slowly.

Athos looked from d'Artagnan to Aramis and cocked his head to the left. "Would you like me to explain or would you rather…?"

Aramis pressed his lips into a fine line and said, "He walked in on us."

Porthos choked on his wine and spit it outward. He wiped his mouth and then slapped his hand against his chest.

"Although," Aramis added, "he was convinced we would both hang for treason. Me, of course, for sleeping with her, and him," he pointed to Athos, "for not stopping me."

"Rightfully so," Porthos added, and then took another drink. "Of all the women in Paris, Aramis, you had to have that one?"

Aramis shrugged and rubbed his right temple. "It was a moment of weakness."

"A constant problem…" Athos said. "Perhaps you should see a physician about that."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "At least I didn't marry an assassin, Athos, one who became the king's mistress —"

"She saved your life," d'Artagnan said in a tone of disbelief. He crossed his arms over his chest and tucked his hands beneath his armpits. "I still don't trust her."

Athos nodded, but remained quiet. Anne had been gone for months. She had left Paris, and he hoped she would never return. It was safer that way, for her, and for everyone. Athos took a sip of wine.

"If you hadn't married her…" Aramis said, "where do you think you'd be?"

Athos winced and grew suddenly somber. He knew where he would be, back in Pinon, tending his lands, running the estate, and seeing to his family's name. He would be surrounded by people who loved him for what he had, not who he was. Athos would not have four brothers who loved him despite his flaws, nor would he be a soldier fighting for what he believed was right. "I prefer not to think of such matters. What's done is done."

They all recognized the tone. It was a question still too raw and too painful for Athos to discuss. And it was a question he might never answer.

"I would like to see my father again," d'Artagnan said. He leaned back, watched the candle flames jump and dance. "If I could change one thing… I would like to see him again."

There was a pregnant pause and then Athos spoke.

"We're going to war."

Aramis frowned and then glanced at Porthos, who nodded. "Against Spain?"

"Treville expects a visit from Frederick Henry, the Prince of Orange, in the coming months. Treville believes King Louis will align with the Dutch in the fight against Spain as their fighting continues to grow closer to Paris. If the Dutch fall… it will only be a matter of time before Spain becomes the most powerful military in all of Europe."

"The Musketeers?" Aramis asked. "What is to become of us — you?"

"King Louis and Minister Treville are evaluating the strength of the French army," Athos said. "We are soldiers and will go where we are needed most."

"What about protecting the king?"

"What good would we be if Paris is overrun?" Porthos said. He clenched his jaw and inhaled through his nose, and then slowly exhaled. "We need you," he looked across the flames to Aramis, whose face was cast in shadows, "we need you with us when we face the enemy, brother."

Aramis took a deep breath and looked at his feet. "I can't… I made a promise —"

"What about your promise to us?" Porthos said and stood to his full height. His voice grew harsh, determined, and angry. "What about it, Aramis… All for one an' one for all? Does that mean nothin' to you? While you're 'ere, 'eld up in a monastery, away from the fightin' — the bloodshed — the bodies —"

"Porthos!" Athos snapped. "That's enough."

"Is that an order, Captain?" Porthos glared back at him.

"Don't make me give it," Athos said. While he remained seated, he was ready to stand his ground if needed. "D'Artagnan," he looked toward him, "why don't you and Porthos take a walk."

D'Artagnan nodded. He looked at Aramis, tipped his head, and then walked with Porthos to the steps. Both men paused a moment and then slowly left the room, their footfalls echoed and eventually faded.

"I can't," Aramis said. He rubbed his hands together and then stood and started to pace across the floor. "I made a promise, Athos. I can't walk away, not now."

"I'm not asking you to," Athos said. He poured himself another glass of wine from the bottle that rested next to him and took another drink. "If you could change one thing… what would it be?"

Aramis huffed and continued to pace. Suddenly, he stopped, placed his hands on his hips, and looked at Athos. "It's not what you might think it should be," he said. He rubbed the back of his hand across his nose and mouth and then looked at the fire. Shadows danced across his face, and for a moment, hid him all together. "I've loved many women, Athos, but I've never loved anyone like I love her… I can't," he said and walked across the room. With his back to Athos he looked over his shoulder and said, "Everyday I sit in the refectory and I look at the stained glass window of Job and I feel nothing but inadequate…" He took a long deep breath, rubbed his brow with the cup of his hand and turned toward Athos. "Inadequate as a father… as a man… as a friend," he hitched his breath, "as a brother."

Aramis stood alone in the shadows and glanced toward the steps and the lights that flickered off the stone walls as the lantern flames danced. "How am I to fulfill my duty, when all I think about is where I want to be… not where I should be?"

Athos leaned back, rested against the wine rack behind him, and raised his right foot and hooked his heel to the rim of the barrel. "Why are you comparing yourself to Job?"

"I'm not… I'm," Aramis said, "I'm not… but when I look at that glass, I see a man who had almost everything taken from him." He tightened his fist and pointed toward the floor. "God was everything to him, Athos, do you not see that?"

"I see a man fighting to be something he's not," Athos said. He shifted and rested his forearm on his raised knee. "I see a man who wants to be like Job, loves women and fights like King David, but sins like the rest of us." He twisted his wine glass and watched the surface capture the light of the flames. "Will you touch more lives here, Aramis, or will you share your love of God with the rest of the world?"

"I can't go back, Athos."

Athos nodded, relaxed his foot, and then slipped from his seat on the barrel. He walked toward Aramis, clasped his upper arm, and nodded. "Then stay, brother."

Aramis recognized the look of disappointment on Athos' face. Expressive green eyes that knew and understood disappointment better than most. And a heart that simply felt too much.

"We respect your decision… it will take some of us a while to accept it." Athos walked toward the exit.

"Thank you," Aramis said. "For respecting my choice."

Athos nodded, the light from the hall outlining his frame as he stood near the first step. "Make sure it's a choice, Aramis, and not a sense of guilt that is keeping you here. Sometimes what looks like a choice isn't a choice at all… and you may find yourself resentful because of it."