Wow everyone! Thanks so much for the great feedback right off the get-go!

I'm going to try to post a new chapter every day or two. Thanks for the warm welcome into the community!

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The three men sat there in the glow of the firelight, reflecting on the marksman's statement. Words had never rung truer for the swordsman or the brawler either. Each man joined the Musketeers to serve their country, their king and justice and by doing so, protecting the innocent, they would make the world a better place.

"Your mother…" Porthos said after a while, breaking the silence thoughtfully, "She always sounded like such a good woman. How is it that she could have ended up with a brute like your father? – no offence!" he added hastily.

Aramis gave a wry chuckle. "None taken, mon ami. My mother," he said "was a saint. She taught me about love and what it means to be alive and to care for others. She was young when she met my father. He was handsome, and charming and used to getting his way, and she was very beautiful. He wooed her and promised to marry her in secret. My mother was in love."

"Needless to say, my father never returned. Now alone and pregnant with me, a Spanish woman on French soil, my mother was turned away from all the businesses in her village. All except one…"

Growing up in the Court of miracles, Porthos knew exactly what type of business would offer shelter to a young, vulnerable and beautiful woman…

"Madame Jasmine took my mother in. She gave us a place to live, but most importantly, she let my mother keep me with her in the brothel. I grew up there, a little king among courtesans, spoiled rotten. It was there I learned of the intelligence of women, and the idiocy of men. I saw love, and loss and the tragedy of loneliness. You know, half the patrons were only seeking comfort, a caring ear and a gentle touch to help them cope with their realities. I was taught to read and given books on theatre and poetry and Madame Jasmine taught me bookkeeping. One of my mother's regulars took a bit of a shining to me and taught me how to ride at 8 and shoot by 10."

Aramis paused for a moment, reflecting on a few happier memories from his youth before continuing. "It wasn't long after when my father came for me. My mother had written him, telling him of my existence. He arrived not long after my tenth birthday to take me to his estate. My mother begged me to go with him – I didn't know it then, but she was sick. Dying. – so I went with him, this stranger, and I never saw my mother again. She died less than a year later. I was told it was consumption, but I believe it was from a broken heart."

Aramis snapped a twig he had been toying with and tossed it into the fire. "When I arrived at my father's estate it was quite a shock. I learned that my father had been married and had one older daughter. His wife had died a few years before I arrived. My father, when he found the time…made a project out of me. He was determined to turn me into a man and to squash what he called my mother's weaknesses out of me. When he wasn't around I was mostly left to myself – my father drove away any of the staff that would befriend me and I was forbidden to play with the children of the village. The old cook and groundskeeper took pity on me – they taught me to sew wounds and about herb craft. Father permitted this as the groundskeeper also helped me improve my shooting. I was allowed to attend the church - my mother instilled her fierce faith within me early. Other than that and lessons with my father, I was mostly alone."

"What about your sister?" asked Porthos, disturbed slightly by the haunted loneliness that was now present in his brother's voice, failing to hide something unsaid about his childhood. "What was she like?"

"My sister? Annabella…" Aramis sighed. "I did not know her long. She was 5 years older than I was, but she was kind to me when I arrived. She laughed a lot, and she loved when I'd recite the poems I knew for her. We would make jokes about the young soldiers that my father paraded passed her, hoping that one would catch her eye. She, you understand, was his prize. She stood up to him. Tried to protect me…" Aramis paused. "He resented that there was a natural love between the two of us and she hated that…" another pause. "It was little more than a year after my arrival that he forced her away, sending her to the North. Five years later, when I truly learned what kind of man my father was, I ran away, renouncing his name and lands. I had hoped never to return here. I was sixteen..."

His two brothers sat stunned, listening to their third's origin story for the first time, each seeing a reflection of their own upbringing in the marksman's – Athos knew well the isolation and discipline of an uncaring father, while Porthos knew the struggle of his early life, the loss of a mother and the feeling of being lesser-than.

But Athos and Porthos knew Aramis well. Only they could recognize the depth of pain and unresolved anger in their brother - and there was something else that Aramis continued to skirt around. Athos and Porthos knew better than to pry, but they were wary.

Light chatter returned to the group as they settled in for the night. Athos, from his perch, watched Aramis as he lay sleeping, a serene calm on his face and a slight smile on his lips, dreaming no doubt about lying in the arms of one of his fair mistresses.

His brow furrowed. Athos had heard many rumours about the General D'Herblay and his method of discipline. As he watched his brother's sleeping form, he hoped that those rumours were unfounded and he vowed to no god and any god that might be listening that he would do anything in his power to protect his brother from the horrors he knew he was hiding.

oOo