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Roger walked alongside Athos, ears perked forward, and his eyes alert, his head bobbed as they continued their casual pace. He wasn't limping, not in the traditional sense, but it was a simple change in his gait that Athos recognized as irregular. The old horse would push himself to death if asked. He would run until he dropped, fight until he could no longer do so. It was what made him a magnificent horse.
Athos placed his hand on the crest of Roger's mane and watched several birds hop and flutter across the road. Despite the chill in the air, it had not gotten cold enough to kill the bugs, so the birds feasted. A rabbit peered around the jagged edges of a rock that rested along the cart-width path, and then it dashed to the other side. A moment later, a fox dashed after it.
Dark clouds that threatened to spill rain shadowed and hid the early afternoon sun.. While the air was cold, it was not quite cold enough for snow, and Athos pulled his scarf up his neck and continued his pace toward Paris. There was a part of him that did not want to think about a future without Roger. The horse knew him better than he knew himself at times, and the big black had saved his life on more than one occasion. Roger rubbed his head on Athos' shoulder as they walked. Athos chuckled and again looked up the road toward Paris.
The quick pace of tiny hooves echoed. Athos pulled Roger to a stop and turned to watch Aramis astride a small, white horse. His long legs hung nearly to her knees. She raised her knees high as her pacing continued. The rim of Aramis' hat flapped and fluttered, and the skirts of his doublet swayed at his sides.
Athos grinned, shook his head, and then looked up. He placed his hand on his hip above the hilt of his sword and licked his bottom lip as Aramis approached. "If her ears were any bigger, I might have mistaken you for Sancho Panza."
"And what gave it away that I was not?"
"Your lack of a portly figure."
Aramis pulled the mare to a stop and dismounted. White hair covered his backside, the inside of his thighs, and along the bells of his boots. He walked awkwardly for a moment, stretched his legs, and then, with the reins in his hand, he looked at Athos.
"You've returned?"
Aramis took a deep breath, placed his hands on his hips, and they looked up the road. "Turns out soldiers make terrible monks —"
"I don't believe that for a minute," Athos said and walked side-by-side with Aramis.
"The abbot," he shrugged, "and a few brothers had some wise words to share." Aramis exhaled as he forced a knowing smile. "Turns out my plans, may not be God's plans for me."
Athos nodded, gripped Aramis' right shoulder with his hand and nodded. "Perhaps you can do more good on the battlefield than locked behind walls?"
Aramis nodded, raised his chin, and took a deep breath of cold winter air. "Oh, Athos," he said and raised his eyebrows with a shrug, "it doesn't matter where I'm at, brother," he draped his arm over Athos' shoulders, "as long as I've got God in my heart, my brothers at my side, and an army to fight with."
Athos nodded, but kept quiet for a moment. "You sound better… more sure of your choices?"
"A wise man once said," Aramis placed his hands on his hips, "Make sure it's a choice, Aramis, and not a sense of guilt that is keeping you here. I believe my promise was God's subtle way of reminding me why He placed me here… what my duty is." He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. "I guess you could say He gave me brothers to remind me."
Athos looked ahead and watched the barren branches sway as the winds continued to gust. Dead brown grass swayed and bent over the road, while clumps of snow hid the serpentine roots of the black oak trees that spread and tentacled from the bases. The tops of roofs came into view as they continued their walk.
"Roger's getting old," Athos said. He kept his eyes forward, but tightened his grip on the reins.
"Arthritis?" Aramis said. He kept in stride but looked over his shoulder at Roger's back hock.
Athos nodded.
"What are you going to do?"
Athos again placed his hand on the crest of Roger's mane with his right hand and felt the strong animal raise his head and perk his ears forward. Old or not, the horse had more heart than King Louis' entire military. "I don't know."
Aramis exhaled slowly. For a soldier, a horse was as essential as a weapon, and a good horse was priceless. He had seen the slowing of Roger's gait before his departure. Nothing major, but a subtle change that Athos had also recognized.
"He was a gift from my father," Athos said, and fed his fingers through Roger's mane and chuckled. "He was as rotten as I was stubborn… he used to buck me off at every opportunity."
Aramis smiled and looked at him.
"I won't put him down," Athos said. He swallowed, glanced at the ground as he walked, and then rubbed his chin. He huffed and then said, "He always hated Anne —"
"Milady?"
Athos nodded and chewed the right side of his bottom lip. "Used to pin his ears every time he saw her… I guess I should have paid more attention to him than to her — to what he was trying to tell me."
"Would it have made a difference?" Aramis loosened his grip on the reins of the little white mare that walked to his left and a few steps behind.
"No."
"Do you still love her?" Aramis clenched his jaw and looked side-eyed at Athos, who remained quiet, but he pulled his eyebrows together and frowned.
Athos exhaled slowly, felt his heartache, and he felt the chill of the cold against his skin. "Yes," he said, "I still love her… even after everything she's done… I still do."
Aramis tightened his grip and said, "Do you trust her?"
Athos shook his head with heavy sigh. "No… I don't trust her."
"Do you trust yourself when you're around her?"
Athos winced, tightened his fingers within Roger's mane, and then rubbed the back of his neck. "More than I used to," he whispered.
Aramis heard the disappointment in Athos' voice, and he could guess the frustration that had yet to surface because of it. There would always be a piece of Athos that loved Milady, despite her wicked ways, her need to betray, and her ease in taking another life, Athos searched like a wild man for the woman he had fallen in love with, not the woman she had hid from him. Although Aramis doubted Milady cared for anyone but herself, she was extremely skilled at manipulating those around her, making herself look like the victim, and causing harm to those who loved her. And Athos did. He loved her despite himself. She was beautiful, seductive, and when she wanted to be… she was loving. But nothing she did was without purpose. Whether it be her lavish lifestyle, her need for revenge, or her desire for power, she walked through life without thought of who she might harm.
Aramis didn't understand her desires, her needs, and lust for blood. He didn't understand how she could kill and not feel. He had seen what she had done to Constance, to d'Artagnan, and what she had done to Athos.
What Athos loved was the woman he wanted her to be, the woman she let him think her to be, not the woman she was. Aramis caught his breath in his throat and glanced toward a bird that landed in the branches of a tree to his left. It was something he understood. He, too, had loved a woman he could not have, and he, too, wanted her to be something she wasn't.
Aramis ran his fingers through his hair. "I take it d'Artagnan couldn't wait to get back to Constance?"
Athos looked at him and nodded. "He's —"
"Enjoying his bride."
"That too."
Aramis nodded. "Porthos?"
"Followed to make sure the newlyweds did not make a spectacle of themselves before the recruits."
Aramis laughed and rubbed his nose with the back of his index finger. "Have they been going at it like rabbits — still?"
"We were not kind," Athos admitted, "but if d'Artagnan is going to allow himself to be tidied up before his compatriots… he had better learn to take the jests in good humor."
Aramis agreed. "She's got to quit that," he said with a shake of his head and a long sigh, "children will change that."
Athos swallowed as they neared the gates of Paris. "You will have some work to do," he said, his voice suddenly becoming stern and gruff. "The men will not take kindly to you returning without having a better understanding of why you left, Aramis." He stopped walking and pulled Roger to a halt. "You broke their trust in a fellow Musketeer… you will need to repair that, with everyone, not just Porthos, myself, or d'Artagnan. You've been a teacher and a mentor to too many of them, and when you walked away —"
Aramis nodded, scratched his jaw, and looked at Athos. "I know… but I won't leave again — not like that."
Athos clapped Aramis' shoulder and nodded. "You don't have to convince me, but be honest with them…" he continued his walk toward the gates, "and talk to Porthos."
