If he'd been amazed before, Tréville thought, standing again at the balcony railing, he was in awe now. Athos, cleaned up and sober was not only a brilliant swordsman, the man was one of those rare born leaders. He was only a few years older than most of the other men in the company, but his quiet, authoritative manner, now that he had stepped from the shadows, was much respected among the men of the garrison. Even the crew who'd given him such a hard time originally, had fallen under the man's spell.

It had not gone unnoticed that he still tended to be most often in the company of Aramis and Porthos, it had earned the trio a nickname already – the Inseparables – and none of them seemed particularly offended by it.

Athos, whose light duty assignments had included some of the political correspondence Tréville despised, had a spent a week in the garrison office. Only once in that time, had he initiated conversation, and it had been to apologize for the deaths of Tréville's friends. The captain, who did his best to be fair-minded, had had to admit his friends had been the pursuers.

The pair had been eager to match skills with the comte, and in no mood to see reason. Athos had disarmed Guion in the first ten minutes of the match. The fool had refused to back down and ended up dead, which had enraged Chiasson who had foolishly challenged on the spot. Twenty minutes later, his body had lain beside that of his friend and the Comte de la Fère had walked away without a backwards glance.

Tréville had thought him a cold-hearted bastard. The Comte de la Fère would have agreed with him.

Athos had risen a bit more in the captain's estimation during that week. He had done what was asked of him, and done well whatever was put into his hands, without complaint. Had Tréville put either Aramis or Porthos to these tasks, he would still be hearing about it – more than two weeks later.

Tréville had been present the day the king had challenged Athos to a fencing match. And watched the man lose in such a manner that the king could call a halt while congratulating Athos most heartily and assuring him that there was no question the new musketeer would have won the match if he'd hadn't been hampered by his recent injuries. The king, all smiling teeth, had promised a rematch when Athos was completely healed.

Aramis, taking full advantage of the king's beneficent understanding of events, had whisked their trio away before he and Porthos busted something trying to hold in their laughter.

Fortunately Tréville was not royalty and knew that his good fortune in acquiring the Continent's finest swordsman had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Aramis' inclination to take on lost causes. For which he was grateful. Drawing back from his little trip down memory lane, he returned his attention to the courtyard.

Behind him he heard Aramis handing off his horse to a stable lad, having returned from duty at the Louvre. Porthos appeared from the armory and Athos stepped back, bowing diffidently to Frayne, who returned the gesture with a much deeper obeisance than had been in evidence just a month ago.

The trio met in the middle of the courtyard and headed for the mess hall, Aramis sharing some anecdote from his day at the palace apparently, for Porthos threw back his head and laughed out loud.

Athos glanced up to the balcony. "Will you join us for dinner, sir?"

Tréville took a moment to consider, then nodded. "I'll join you shortly." An invitation to dine with the Inseparables was not lightly turned down by anyone in the garrison,

Dinner and drinks having been consumed, Porthos brought out cards and invited everyone still in the dining hall to sit in on a hand. Since they all knew Porthos cheerfully cheated, there were no fortunes won or lost, though there was much good-natured teasing at the imaginary betting.

On the last round, Porthos bet a ship-o'-the-line that he held the best cards, after swearing he had nothing up either sleeve. Aramis' stake was a vineyard in Bordeaux. Tréville sat back to study his hand. He was not normally a light-hearted fellow, but the wine had flowed freely and the companionship had been jovial. Accordingly, he bet the queen's jewels. Athos, who had not been drinking, and who had played without the boisterous élan of his friends, put up Madam La Rue's brothel as his stake and won the last hand because Porthos had taught him to cheat masterfully

"And on that note, gentleman," Athos spread his cards on the table for all to see, "since I am now the proud owner of a ship-of-the-line, a fine vineyard and the queens jewels, not to mention an imaginary brothel, I believe I will take my leave before I am stripped to my smalls and regretting the evening." Amid chortles of delight he slid a hand into each of his jacket sleeves, leaving another half a deck on the table – all high cards. "Porthos," he collected his sword, "I'm indebted."

Athos donned his hat, adjusted the brim and bent at the waist, adding a graceful hand flourish to the execution of his genuflection. "The pleasure has been all mine, friends. Until tomorrow … I bid you all adieu."