A/N: It's been a while since I've gotten back to this series, so thank you to everyone who's still reading! I hope you enjoy this next adventure in my little love story. As always, I love to hear from you, so if you're inclined, drop me a note :-) Cheers!

Equals

Chapter 1

The sun was shining brightly overhead, beaming down upon the rooftops, carriage tops and the tops of the heads of the residents of Paris.

The two musketeers passed between the vendors' carts, one chatting amicably while the other smiled, his head lowered but his eyes bright. The one musketeer asked the other a question to which there was no response. He tried again, but once more his companion did not answer. It seemed as though he was lost in some sort of recollection of his own – and it was a sweet one if the smile on his lips, the sparkle in his eyes and the touch of pink on his cheeks were of any indication.

"Aramis! Are ya listenin' to me?" said a now annoyed voice startling the marksman from his pleasant reverie.

"What? No, sorry," he said looking apologetically at Porthos as they set out for their guard duty at the palace.

Porthos teased his friend with an arch of his eyebrow, "Distracted?"

Aramis smiled. "It seems like always these days."

"At least since she came back to Paris," Porthos said with a knowing smirk.

Aramis grinned and cast his eyes downward once again. Porthos gave him a wink and a soft nudge with his elbow.

Aramis looked up into the face of his friend and grinned even wider. "I can't help it," he said with a soft laugh. "Even when I'm not with her I'm thinking about her constantly. I feel as though I've been walking in a dream since our return to the city even though that was months ago," he said.

"We've noticed," Porthos said teasingly.

Porthos could wish for nothing better for his brother than this love he had found. Christine was Aramis' second half – the part to complete him that he had been searching for on the battlefields, the church pews and the beds of countless women across Paris. That was until that fateful day in the marketplace...

The passion between them was obvious and it seemed to grow with every passing moment. Christine seemed to bring out the best in the man – a man Porthos knew to be among the best in France if not the world. And Christine, in her own way, had situated herself into his, Athos, Aramis and D'Artagnan's close-knit family. She was funny and intelligent, but she was also warm, generous, and kind.

Once a well-known lothario, Porthos was certain that Aramis had not noticed whether a single other woman had even drawn breath since he had met Christine. She had become his entire world, a feeling that Porthos knew she reciprocated. He smiled at this thought and was startled slightly when Aramis halted suddenly.

"Porthos," he said seriously, "I think…I think I'm going to ask Christine to marry me," Aramis said, a mixture of elation, excitement and a hint of fear registering on the man's face.

Porthos let loose a booming laugh as he clapped his brother on the back. "Well of course," he roared. "Known that since ya first met and you came to the garrison spewin' about angels in the marketplace."

Aramis looked at him flabbergasted and then grinned.

Porthos laughed again, "We've all been wonderin' when you'd finally come to your senses and strike up the nerve."

Aramis looked sheepish and ran a hand through his hair. His face clouded over. "If we married, I would have to resign my commission," he said.

Porthos looked at him. "Maybe," he grumbled, suddenly serious, "but she's a Comtesse who works as a medic, I'm sure you could be a Comte that serves as a musketeer. Besides, wouldn't she be worth it?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes," said Aramis, a smile coming to his face when he thought about his Christine. "If anything was, it would be her."

Porthos laughed and thumped him on the back once more. "So, how're you gonna do it?"

oOo

It was a beautiful day in Paris.

Or it would have been if the Comtesse des Etoilles had been able to enjoy it as she wanted. Instead she was attending to her duty, representing the people of her town among the select number of nobles asked to attend at court that day.

It was hot in the throne room, and the sunlight streaming in through the large paned windows seemed to be taxing King Louis as he sat on his throne listening to one of his courtiers rant.

"Nobility is a birth right, handed down to us by God. It is the natural order of things. My only concern is for the recent over-saturation of your Majesty's court," oozed the Baron de Carbonne with fervour.

"If France is to be seen as a modern nation, we must accept that times are changing," said Louis plaintively, his hand moving to his temple.

"Yes, of course your Majesty. And France will lead modernization in its scientific, literary and cultural knowledge and with the superior might of its army, but to dilute your court with those that are so much…lesser…I only fear for how other nations may interpret our country's standing," said the Baron.

A murmur rose through the assembled courtiers.

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but nobility, honour and worth should be determined by a man's actions and not merely through his bloodline. There are many men and women without a title in your Kingdom who serve you faithfully and have done more to promote and defend the exceptionality of France than many of the nobility who simply reap the benefits of their taxes collected, but can rarely be bothered to even attend court," said Christine, stepping forward to address the King.

"A very good point," said the King.

"Well, it's not surprising that the Comtesse des Etoiles would argue such things. Her family has always had mixed blood," the Baron sneered.

A few people gasped at this response.

Christine turned slightly red at this remark but she smothered her anger and faced the Baron coldly, "My family has always put more value in the soul of a man than in his title. Impeding progress for the sake of archaic beliefs of greater or lesser, based solely on the merits of our ancestors, will see France left behind. It is action, not namesake that we should be honouring."

The King rose after this statement. "Yes, a lively discussion, one that we will pursue at another time, my dear Comtesse. Come, Baron, join me for lunch. I'm eager to hear of your new stallion," he said, dismissing the court as he left the room with the Baron.

The Queen stepped down from the dais and approached her friend. "Come," she said, taking Christine's arm, "Walk with me," she said and escorted her from the room trailed by two ladies in waiting. She nodded at Porthos and D'Artagnan to follow, both their eyes burning fiercely with pride as they gazed upon the Comtesse. She gave them a small smile as they fell in behind the Queen and her party.

"You really mustn't provoke the Baron like that Christine," the Queen said softly as they made their way across the gardens.

"I'm sorry your Majesty, but how can I keep quiet when such absurdities are uttered at court?" she said. "I have spoken with the King and yourself countless times about the goodness of the common man. Why should they be not represented in court?"

"I understand your frustration," the Queen replied, "But you must understand Louis' need to placate the court. His kingdom relies upon keeping the peace with his landowning noble courtiers. An uprising would be devastating."

Christine sighed. "I'm not asking that any lands or rights be stripped from these nobles; I simply question why we are so afraid to acknowledge the importance of the work of the people by allowing them to attend and have their voices heard at court. Should we not ask the farmer who feeds Paris how we can better the lives of its people?"

The Queen sighed and squeezed her hand. "You know I agree with you. And we are working so one day this will come to be, but you must be patient, my dear Christine. Not everyone is as forward thinking or as good as you are," she said with a smile.

Christine smiled back. "I am glad to know that at least you are," she said, "And I will try to be more patient and control my temper. It must come from my mixed common blood," she said with a grin.

The Queen laughed, "Mine is often blamed on my Spanish blood!"

The women and their escorts stepped under the arched walkway leading back to the palace. They had only passed the second buttress when suddenly something plummeted from the roof of the gabled path.

A young woman hung from the end of a noose.

oOo