Thank you all again for you kind and generous remarks. It's been so much fun reading through the comments. You all help make this happen so a huge applause to you.

And we continue...

Athos watched until Aramis entered the chateau and disappeared behind the closed doors. He took a deep breath, leaned against the mare's shoulder, and rubbed his hand over his face. The weight of the queen's safety was out of his hands. Despite her return, the king would be beside himself until he knew she and the child she carried were safe, until all threat of illness passed. Athos had done his duty as best he could under the conditions they were in. He couldn't, if he tried, think of what he could have done differently. Had they stayed at the monastery, it was only a matter of time before the queen would be used as a pawn in Souder's game. Had they stayed another day with Amelia, they could have been further delayed or overtaken should Souder and his men be searching for them. Athos looked toward the chateau and watched the rush of activity through the windows as several ladies-in-waiting, servants, and guards rushed to attend the queen.

When Athos heard the crunching of gravel beneath booted feet, he looked up and exhaled slowly. He pushed himself away from the mare and handed her reins to the young man, who walked toward him from the stables.

"Extra feed for her," Athos said as he ran his hand along her neck. "She's earned it."

"Yes, Monsieur," the lad said. He had overly large brown eyes, a long narrow nose, and wiry, short red hair. He was wrapped in a warm doublet, thick britches that plumed at his thighs, and tall boots. The young man led the mare toward the stables while speaking quietly to her.

Athos watched them go and then slowly, with a severe limp, walked toward the chateau. He looked at the steps, groaned with a wince, and then carefully took a seat on the bottom riser. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbed his faced and ran his fingers through his wet hair before resting his forehead in the cup of his right hand. Athos was exhausted, sore, hungry, and severely unmotivated to move. Every nerve, tendon, muscle, and bone craved rest, warmth, and nourishment. He looked up, watched gray clouds cross the sky and the bright moon that caused their edges to glow. The rain had stopped but a heavy mist still hung heavy in the air.

Athos listened as a door latch clicked, boots scuffed with a constant stride across the stone pathway, and he heard the gruff voice of Porthos, who took a seat beside him.

"Are you all right?" Porthos asked, and leaned forward.

Athos nodded and craned his neck to look at him. "The queen?"

"Bein' tended to."

With a deep breath, Athos then asked, "The king?"

"He's ready —"

"He's alive?"

Porthos raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"We didn't know," Athos said and rubbed his face. "We were being held together when he was forcefully removed."

"By forcefully," Porthos said and motioned to Athos' eye, "you tried to stop 'em?" He curled his lips into a knowing, but gentle smile. "He's ready to 'ang everyone involved." Porthos took a deep breath. Then, with his elbows on his knees, he folded his fingers together. He looked into the distance and then remorsefully said, "The monastery caught fire," he looked at Athos, "we thought you were both lost in the flames."

Athos looked side-eyed at Porthos. "Survivors?"

"A few."

"Father Andre?"

Porthos shook his head.

"He helped us escape," Athos said, and then exhaled slowly. "Shit." He rubbed his thighs and then shivered.

"You ah," Porthos said. He looked critically at Athos, the paleness of his features, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the slight shake of his hands and shoulders because of the cold and his wet clothing. "Do you need some help?"

Athos paused, looked toward the moon in the distance, and hesitantly nodded. "Yes."

Porthos chuckled, stood, and then stretched his hand toward Athos. "I'm 'ere for you, brother."

Athos quirked a subtle smile, grabbed the outstretched hand, and stood stiffly with a groan.

"This place 'as more rooms than the Louvre," Porthos said as he walked slowly beside Athos, who limped up the steps and into the chateau.

When the warmth of the inside of the building hit Athos, he paused suddenly in the hall. The chill of his bones forced him to stop, his muscles froze, and he hitched his breath. He didn't realize how cold he was. He heard Porthos chuckle and then grab Athos' arm and pull it over his shoulder.

"This way," Porthos said, and guided Athos toward the southernmost wing of the chateau. "Holy 'ell you're cold."

"The queen lost her cloak —"

"I noticed that," Porthos said with a wince.

The halls were quiet except for the sounds of staff frantically gathering supplies for the queen. Doors were pushed open, slammed shut, glasses chimed, fabric shuffled, and shoes tapped and scuffed the floors. Porthos opened the door to the room next to his own and guided Athos toward the chair near the fireplace.

Athos sighed as he sat back. He closed his eyes, rested his head against the high-back, and listened as Porthos quickly started a fire. Within minutes sparks were flying upward, and the kindling burned quickly as Porthos added a log atop the firedog. The room was small with a narrow bed with a heavy coverlet that hung nearly to the floor. A credenza stood against the far wall opposite the bed with a bowl and pitcher, and several folded cloths. The walls were bare except for the window above the bed.

Porthos lit the candles on the credenza and watched Athos kick off his boots and stretched his toes. Athos pulled off his woolen socks and noticed the black and blue bruising around his left ankle that spread across the top of his foot. The pain was receding, but a dull ache persisted. Blisters had formed and popped on the balls and heels of his feet.

He shivered, despite the warmth from the fire. He nodded in thanks when Porthos draped a blanket over his shoulders and then sat across from him.

"What do you need?" Porthos asked and winced when he looked at Athos' feet. "Other 'an dry clothes an' some new socks."

"A drink," Athos said.

Porthos chuckled, slapped his thighs as he stood, and said, "I'll find you somethin'."

"Find Aramis too."

Porthos frowned and said, "You got some injuries — other than your feet that need tendin' to?"

"No."

Porthos huffed. "Liar." He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Athos sighed, rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair, and tiredly rubbed his brow. The snapping of wood, the movement of the flames, and the warmth of the blanket over his shoulders soothed his aching joints. He looked toward bed, yawned, and leaned back against the chair and allowed the warmth of the fire to lull him to sleep.