Athos startled awake with a gasp. He sat upright, looking around trying to remember where he was exactly. d'Artagnan was next to him, still sound asleep with an arm draped over his eyes.

His heart skipped a beat when he realized that Porthos and Aramis were missing. Though he looked around their bivouac site, they were nowhere to be seen.

Athos remembered that Porthos liked to sit near the stream so he walked toward the sound of the water and, sure enough, found both missing Musketeers sitting beside each other on the log.

"Good morning," Athos called out. "How long have you been awake?" Athos stopped short when he caught sight of Porthos's shadowed face. His eyes were showing the weariness from lack of sleep, dark circles underneath red eyes.

"Aw, Porthos." Athos groaned, suddenly cognizant that his friend has been awake all night.

"He's alright," Aramis remarked. "Besides, I kept him company," he smiled. "We saw a shooting star and watched the sun rise. . . can't get much better than that."

"We have another long ride ahead of us and neither of you have slept," Athos shook his head. "I am beginning to regret not taking the guard duty more and more as each day passes," he drawled.

Porthos chuckled, "I won't complain abou' the king's lawn games ever again."

"Ha," Aramis snorted. "I bet you'll complain about something the first hour we're on duty. You're my witness, Athos, you heard me. I'll wager a bet Porthos here won't make the first hour without complaining—next guard duty."

"One hour," Athos said with a slight huff. "That remains to be seen," he smiled at his two friends.

"So, how long were all of you going to let me sleep?" D'Artagnan broke the silence.

Athos turned to find the young Gascon standing behind him, his dark hair disheveled and clothes tousled. He couldn't help the small chuckle escaping at the sight of his young brother Musketeer.

"What?" d'Artagnan asked, rubbing at his eyes still half asleep.

"We need to get moving. If we leave now, we can reach Reims by sundown." Athos' demeanor turned serious in an instant."It is time to get back to the mission; we're wasting daylight." He turned on his heel to head back to the bivouac site.

"You heard the man," Aramis slapped his hand down on Porthos' knee and patted softly a few times. "Time to get back to work—duty calls."

Porthos gave a soft huff of displeasure at having to leave his favorite spot. On this log, beside the stream, there were no nightmares. He didn't get any sleep, but he didn't need sleep when he was content and at peace—for a few restful hours.

After stopping in the first village they entered, the Musketeers found a place to get some breakfast; as well as water and feed for their horses. Their Musketeer pauldrons elicited several stares and quiet whispers from the locals not used to seeing King's Musketeers in their small, remote village.

Mostly, the Musketeers ignored the gawking stares and whispers and ate their breakfast, quietly keeping to themselves. Except for Aramis, whose eye caught sight of the tavern owner's daughter looking his way. The suave Musketeer raised his hat, tipping his head slightly with gentlemanly manners to the fair, blonde young lady.

"Don't even think about it," Porthos warned, glancing sideways at Aramis.

"What's the name of this village?" Aramis inquired. "I may have to come back. . ."

"Never mind," Athos said drily. "It's time we get back on the road."

As they left the tavern, Aramis turned for one last glimpse of the lovely young girl still smiling at him. "Such a shame, a perfect opportunity lost." Aramis bowed at the waist, raising his hat once more to the pretty girl, before turning on his heel to follow his brother Musketeers.

Back on the road, with stomachs full and feeling refreshed, it didn't take long before the playful –yet trivial—conversation began again.

"I'm tired," Aramis yawned loudly, stretching his arms out wide before scrubbing a hand over his weary face.

"You should have slept last night then," d'Artagnan quipped.

"I had to make sure Porthos here didn't go sleepwalking and get himself lost in the forest somewhere," Aramis chaffed lightly.

"Rubbish, I wouldn't have gotten lost." Porthos winked at Aramis.

"Sure was a pretty girl back there," Aramis said, his mind wandering back to the tavern. "Wish I knew the name of that village."

"It's best that you do not know," Athos drawled blandly. "She was too young for you,"

"Too young for me?" Aramis repeated. "Athos, I'm hurt." He removed his hat and placed it over his heart.

"I think you've gotten yourself into enough trouble recently," Athos scolded. "You need to avoid the opposite sex for a while, my friend."

"You're a hard taskmaster," Aramis grumbled,replacing the hat on his head.

"Are we there yet?" d'Artagnan bantered.

"We can't reach Reims soon enough," Porthos muttered, grouchy from lack of sleep. "I'll be glad when this bloody trip is over."

Later, in Reims:

Finally, as the sun was beginning to set in the western sky, the Musketeers reached the town of Reims. They wound their way through the dusty streets of the town to the Palais du Tau where they meet guards at an iron gate.

"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers," Athos introduced himself. "We have business with the archbishop—he is expecting us," his tone conveyed authority.

The Musketeers are led to where the archbishop is signing papers at his desk in a large study. Athos hands to the archbishop his sealed letter, giving a respectful bow. "Your expected correspondence from the king, Your Grace."

"Thank you, Musketeers," the archbishop checked the wax seal and nodded. "Well done. I will have M. Deniel show you to your rooms for the night. He will also show you to the dining room where you may have dinner before you retire for the evening. He will call on you in the morning for breakfast before you begin your journey home. Again, thank you, Musketeers. That is all."

The four Musketeers bowed and made their exit, following M. Deniel to their rooms.

Later That Night:

After dinner the Musketeers were escorted back to their rooms for the evening by M. Deniel. "Is there anything that I can get for you gentlemen?" M. Deniel asked.

"Yes, actually, there is." Athos answered for the men. "Would it be possible to get a bottle of wine and four cups sent up to my room, please?"

"Oui, monsieur," answered M. Deniel. "I'll bring them right up.

M. Deniel returned after a few moments with a bottle of Champagne wine and four goblets. "Enjoy, monsieur. Bonne nuit."

"Merci," the Musketeers answered in unison.

"Well, I sure wasn't expecting this," Aramis said, holding up the bottle in awe. "To what do we owe the pleasure and the honor?"

"Perhaps the archbishop is pleased with his letter," Athos said, amazed. "Though I am quite surprised we were given such a fine wine as this—it is usually reserved for the nobles and the wealthy."

"This region is known for their fine wine. I never expected I would ever taste any—can't afford it." Aramis shook his head, still holding the bottle.

"Maybe we should come 'ere more often, eh?" Porthos clapped Aramis happily on the shoulder.

"Then, what are you waiting for?" d'Artagnan said with excitement. "Let's open it up and try it."

Aramis opened the bottle and swirled the open top under his nose, "mm, smells nice."

Taking the four goblets, Aramis poured a generous amount in each. He picked up his goblet to give a toast, "to the Archbishop."

"To the archbishop," the three said, holding their goblets up.

"Ah, now 'at's good wine. We really should come 'ere more often." Porthos smiled broadly.

After nearly two hours of conversation over good wine Athos called it a night, ordering everyone off to bed. "We have to rise early if we're going to have a decent start at the long ride home. So let's all get some good rest tonight, shall we?"

"I think I'll sleep like a baby after having that lovely wine," said Aramis. "My taste buds are still in Heaven," he smiled.

"I would love to share some Champagne with Constance," d'Artagnan remarked. "I know she would love it."

"Go on. Go, all of you, off to bed." Athos ordered as he pushed his friends out of the room and shut the door. He stood with his hand on the knob, allowing a broad smile to spread across his face. "My brothers. . ." he fondly remembered their conversation over the excellent bottle of Champagne.

Turning to the bed, Athos stopped at the table to pick up the now empty bottle of Champagne. "It is a good thing I do not have access to this wine at home. A very good thing indeed," he put the bottle down and went to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

"I'm staying with you tonight," Aramis told Porthos as they stood outside his room.

"I don' need a mother hen watchin' over me," Porthos grumbled.

"True, you do not," Aramis agreed. "But the company will do you good if your bad dreams return tonight. I don't want you to have to face your nightmares alone. Besides, you always sleep better—in such cases—when someone is with you." Aramis remained stubborn.

"In that case," d'Artagnan interjected, "I'll stay too—you might need help."

"Rubbish, both of you." Porthos glared at his two friends, who stood with crossed arms, shoulder to shoulder.

Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged silent glances, neither giving in.

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Fine, you can stay," he acquiesced.

Aramis and d'Artagnan were immediately awakened as they felt Porthos, who slept in between his two friends on the large bed, started twitching, shaking his head side-to-side in rapid movements.

"Uh oh, d'Artagnan sat up. "'Mis? Maybe we should wake him before he even has a chance to get too deeply into the dream?"

"Agreed," Aramis said in a low whisper. "Porthos? Come on, brother, wake up." The medic shook the broad shoulders gently.

"God, help it stop raining. . ." Porthos mumbled. "Stop the thunder, please. . . I need to hear if they move."

Aramis and d'Artagnan traded horrified glances. "What the hell did he see out there?" d'Artagnan voiced.

"Wake up, Porthos." Aramis shook the shoulders with more urgency. "Porthos, you're not in the forest anymore. Wake up!"

"I need light. . . I have to count the bodies. . . they're coming. . . they're coming! No!"

Suddenly, Porthos sat upright in bed screaming. "No!" Porthos gasped, his chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

Aramis and d'Artagnan each held an arm in their strong grip, preventing Porthos from causing anyone harm.

"Porthos, slow down your breathing," Aramis instructed gently. "You were dreaming, but it's over. You're okay now. Just try to take slow, easy breaths."

"No, it was real. I saw 'em."

"No, you were dreaming, my friend." D'Artagnan rubbed his hand in soothing circles on Porthos' back. "We're not in the forest, Porthos. We're at the Palais du Tau, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Porthos said after a minute. He concentrated on getting his breathing under control, his head cradled in his hands. "Hell, I could use some more of that Champagne."

"Ha," Aramis exhaled a huff of air. "You and me, both."

"Um, excuse me," d'Artagnan cracked, with feigned insult. "Make that all of us."

"Right, of course," Aramis corrected himself. "That's what I meant."

After breakfast the Musketeers were preparing to leave the palace for their journey home when the archbishop called from his study.

"Athos, if I may?" The archbishop quickly followed after the Musketeers, stopping them before they left.

The Musketeers bowed reverently. "Your Grace?" Athos asked expectantly, as he bowed at the waist.

"Forgive my tardiness with this, gentlemen," said the archbishop. "I have a letter I would like delivered to the king. If you would be so kind to deliver this directly to the king," he handed Athos a letter sealed with his Episcopal ring.

"Yes, Your Grace," Athos bowed. "We would be happy to deliver this letter for you. After all, you have been most gracious with your hospitality."

"Very good, thank you," the archbishop nodded. "I have something I would like for you to take home with you."

M. Deniel handed a bottle to the archbishop, who then handed it to Athos. "A memento from our proud city," the archbishop smiled. "Godspeed on your journey home; I do hope that we may meet again. God go with you," he said, returning to his study.

Athos turned the bottle in his hands, his eyebrows raised in amazement.

"Is that what I think it is?" d'Artagnan asked, trying to get a glance at the bottle.

"Indeed it is, d'Artagnan. We'll save this for when we get home. Oh, and Porthos?" Athos's mouth curled with the hint of a wry smile. "When you complain about the heat and the flies and the dust on the road, remember that we would never get this," he held up the bottle of Champagne, "on guard duty at the palace."

Aramis laughed, "now we have something to look forward to after the long ride home." He clapped Porthos and d'Artagnan heartily on the shoulders.

"Aye, I can't wait to get home." Porthos laughed, clapping his hands together with excitement.

Late Afternoon:

"Hey, 'Mis," Porthos called. "Do you see those clouds over there?" He tipped his head toward the western skies. "That don't look too good."

"No, it doesn't," Aramis agreed. "Athos, do you see the clouds? Looks like we're in for a storm," stating the obvious. "How far to the next village?"

"We've got a long way to go before we get to the next village." Athos shook his head, watching the western sky. "There's just not much civilization along this road between Paris and Reims."

"We've noticed," d'Artagnan remarked drily.

It wasn't long before the wind started to pick up and the skies turned dark.

"If we had known it was going to storm we could have stayed in Reims an extra day." D'Artagnan turned his head away from the blowing wind.

"Instead, we're going to get trapped right in the mid'le of it," Porthos growled. "I hate gettin' wet."

"I thought you didn't like heat, flies and dust?" Aramis joked. "We've endured plenty of each today on this road! Looks like this storm will blow all your hated vices away—you might even get a bath as part of the bargain."

D'Artagnan giggled.

"What are you tryin' to say, 'Mis?" Porthos narrowed his eyes.

"He's saying you need a bath, Porthos." Athos interjected drily.

D'Artagnan and Aramis giggled.

A sudden strong gust of wind blew, nearly stealing the Musketeer's hats away; each had to reach up to hold down their headgear. The horses snort loudly, sensing danger coming their way.

"We may not be able to ride through this storm if it continues to worsen," yelled Athos over the loud wind to Aramis beside him. "Let's give it a few more minutes and see."

The wind only worsened in intensity, becoming so strong the horses were having difficulty walking in a straight line; and the men were having a hard time staying in the saddle. The Musketeers long ago gave up trying to hold down their headgear, having stuffed their hats into saddlebags.

The skies then opened up with a pouring rain mixed with small beads of hail, hitting hard against bare heads and faces. "We have to take shelter in the forest—go deep into the trees." Athos turned, yelling loudly over his shoulder to the men behind him. "We have to wait for the storm to pass."

Athos went first, leading the way into the trees to seek shelter from the angry storm. He continued riding as he looked for a place where all four horses and riders could comfortably fit while waiting for the storm to pass.

"We'll wait here!" Athos continued having to yell in order to be heard over the wind roaring through the tree tops.

"I don't know that this storm is going to pass anytime soon!" Aramis wiped away the water dripping into his eyes from his wet hair. "We may end up being in here all night."

An audible groan escaped from Porthos—which he instantly regretted as all eyes turned to him.

"Are you okay?" d'Artagnan asked with concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Porthos lied. "I don't like it in here. . . but it's no bet'er out there." A growing sense of foreboding started weighing heavily on his mind. His heart sunk in his chest at Athos' order to take refuge in the forest, yet he had no choice but to obey.

The last time Athos ordered them into the trees to escape a threat it did not end well for any of them.

Now, Porthos found himself having escaped into the forest again. Though it was along a different road, on a different mission, and a different threat, everything else felt the same. Queer feelings of déjà vu flooded over the large man, sending shivers throughout his body.

"Porthos? What's wrong?" Aramis asked. The pale complexion of his friend, with an obvious look of fear brewing in his large dark eyes, worried the medic. "Porthos," Aramis whispered softly as he sat next to him still on horseback. "Is being here in the forest frightening you?"

The eyes of the frightened man darted nervously around the group, who were all watching him with concern. Or is it pity I see in their eyes?

"Porthos, you're among friends—brothers—there's no need to hide to your fears from us." Aramis soothed. "We only want to help."

The large Musketeer shook his head. "No, I'm fine, 'Mis." Having gotten control of his emotions, Porthos buried his fear down deep in order to put on a brave front.

"Mm-hmm" Aramis gave a throaty sound of disbelief, not buying his friend's brave face. He has heard enough of the nighttime mutterings to start putting together the pieces. He knew that in Porthos' mind, he was trapped in the frightening forest of Torfou, surrounded by dead bodies in a storm.

The pieces of realization were starting to fall into place. Aramis knew Porthos' fear was of being trapped in the forest during another storm. The only part missing were the dead bodies. We can do without that part, that's for certain. We must stay vigilant to make sure that grisly detail remains absent from this particular situation.

Aramis and d'Artagnan traded anxious glances. They were thinking of Porthos' words during his latest dream at the palace in Reim. It was quite apparent to Aramis that every dream Porthos was experiencing was getting more frightening in detail than the one before.

If the same details were mixed together again—even though this was a different place and a different mission-there was no telling how Porthos might react.

Aramis knew that Porthos was outwardly putting on a brave front; but that bravery disappeared when trapped in the grip of a violent and terrifying dream.

God forbid, if they had to stay the night in this forest because of the storm.

Both d'Artagnan and Aramis breathed a sigh of dread and braced themselves mentally for what could be a very long and difficult night ahead.

A/N:

Reims France sits in the Champagne-Ardenne region. Their local wine—called Champagne to represent the region—actually began as a mild, flat type of wine similar to a burgundy. The Champagne was a favorite among royalty and the wealthy in the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries.

In 19th century France, the first sparkling Champagne (as we all know it today) was actually created by accident! The pressure in the bottle, due to the fermentation of the wine, caused the corks to explode off when opened. Champagne was given the nickname, "the devil's wine" due to the inability to control that explosive action when the corks were removed, making opening the bottle quite dangerous!
The name 'Champagne' has VERY strict regulations attached...and ONLY wine from the Champagne region is called by that name.