This one's a longer one! Keep the feedback coming!

Hope you enjoy it!

ooooooooo

Breakfast the next morning was solemn. Aramis' gaze uncontinuously flitted to the face of the clock mounted on the wall, while Porthos combatted the effects of too much good wine from the night before. Athos appeared unaffected yet watched Aramis from beneath the brim of his hat. Internally, he wondered if it might be a better idea for Aramis to remain at the inn, however, with the recognition by the valet and the fortuitous reunion with Annabella, the meeting between father and son was inevitable.

Thus it was that the trio arrived just prior to mid-morning at the General's estate.

As they neared the front of the house, the clashing of blades could be heard. The musketeers approached warily. In the courtyard before the doors of the home stood a dozen armed men, gathering to watch two men spar – One clearly had the upper hand as his opponent was bleeding rather rapidly.

The musketeers left their horses at the stable and approached the group on foot.

"I don't like this," growled Porthos lowly.

"Easy Porthos," muttered Athos. "Do not draw unless drawn upon. We are emissaries of the King. We must be received."

"It's not the receivin' I'm worried about," he muttered. "It's the leavin'"

Aramis said nothing, eyes fixed on the sparring men. Closer up, it was apparent that the more skilled swordsman was an older gentleman. Strong and handsome, with a few quick parries to dislodge a feeble counter-attack and a brutal blow to the face with the bridge of his rapier, the man stood over his defeated opponent as though to strike a killing blow.

"General d'Herblay!" Athos shouted as the General plunged his sword down quickly into the earth, inches from the reeling form of his opponent.

"In this army, we give no quarter," the older man said to the man at his feet, his voice low with a seductive quality. "In this army, we have no tolerance for weakness. We feel no pain. We need no sustenance." Turning to face his gathered men he continued, "in this army we worship discipline and glory."

"Glory or Death!" the assembled men shouted back at him.

"Glory or Death! Dismissed!" he repeated. The General stepped forward, cleaning his rapier on the sleeve of his shirt as his men helped his opponent to his feet and away from the stunned musketeers.

"Musketeers. I was told you would be arriving. I am the General D'Herblay," he said, extending his hand to Athos – his opponent's blood a scarlet stain on the expensive silk shirt.

Athos took in the man – His dark hair was streaked with silver. He was tall and broad – nearly of Porthos' size - and wore an exquisitely crafted rapier at this side. His clothing was of the finest silks, though the silk cravat he woredid not quite cover a large scar that crept up his neck. Power seemed to radiate off of him. "A jaguar," thought Athos as he shook the man's outstretched hand.

"Thank you for meeting with us. I am Athos of the King's Musketeers. We come bearing –"

"So this is what you've become, is it?" said the General, ignoring Athos. His dark eyes were locked onto Aramis', and in that instance, there was no question that the two men were related. The General stared back at Aramis with the same dark and deadly eyes that Porthos had witnessed countless times flash in the face of an enemy when one of their lives had been in danger. However, where Aramis' eyes, though dark and dangerous, were also capable of compassion and love, humour and mischief, Porthos saw only darkness and danger in the older man.

Aramis did not respond. He stared coldly back at his father, locked in a secret battle of wills.

"We come bearing a message from his Majesty, King Louis – " Athos tried again.

"Your reputation precedes you. Les Inseparables they call you. The King's elite," He purred. Every word was thrown like a dagger at his son. Porthos shifted his weight slightly, breaking the General's engagement as he took in the glower evident on Porthos' face.

"Sir, we come with a message from the King. Will you accept it?" Athos tried once more, his hand drifting casually to rest on the pommel of his rapier as he stepped forward in front of Aramis.

The General looked at the three men, taking in the defensive posture of the swordsman and the brawler and smiled, the ugly scar twisting at his jaw line. "Of course," he purred. "Forgive me. I am being rude. Let us reconvene inside. I've had my valet prepare refreshments." Without waiting for acceptance of his invitation, the General turned and strode towards the open door of his home.

"Aramis…" Porthos began, shifting his weight again nervously.

"Leave it," said Aramis as he strode after his father into the house.

"Athos," said Porthos, grabbing the lieutenant's arm before they made to follow. "I don't like this. Something doesn't feel right."

"It is our duty to deliver the message and await a reply for the King. Our interaction with the General need only be minimal." Porthos made to reply but Athos cut him off. "I know Porthos, I do not trust him either. The mania of his men has me concerned as well, but until he has taken physical action against us or Aramis, we are here at the General's leisure," he said and led the way into the house.

"Ok," Porthos grumbled. "But don't tell me that was fatherly affection. If he tries anything…" Porthos trailed off.

"…we'll kill him," thought Athos, sharing Porthos' sentiment.

Athos couldn't quite shake that standoff they had just witnessed between father and son, despite the volatile relationship he had had with his own father. There was something in the General's eyes as he stared at Aramis – more than anger…was it jealousy? Athos would need to keep his wits about him while they dealt with the General.

The musketeers were led to a large library just off the front hallway. The shelves were lined with military histories, and maps of past battlefields were piled on an ornate wood desk that stood next to a large fireplace. A fire crackled haughtily in spite of the heat of the morning.

The General stood in front of his desk, his likeness in full battle glory was captured in a portrait hanging from the wall behind him. The body of a massive bear was stuffed and stood threateningly next to the desk, still emanating power despite the lifelessness of its glass eyes.

"I killed that one with this very blade," said the General, pulling a dagger from his belt and gesturing at the stuffed animal to Porthos. "That was in my much younger days," he said smiling widely with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

Porthos said nothing, but stared back at the cold cruel eyes, hopefully communicating his own penchant for violence and protectiveness of his brother in the silent exchange. The General smiled again, a slight shift in his eyes indicating that the message may have been received.

"Again, forgive me for that display earlier. My men need to be reminded what serving under me means."

"Glory or death. Without mercy. Without remorse," spat Aramis.

The General shifted to look at his son. "It is good to see you, my boy. I'm glad to see they've made a man of you. I've heard a lot about you through the years…the boy spy was it? Then death from the line? Your rifle skills used to make the rounds through the ranks. La Rochelle? D'Orsay? Alemagne ? I would have hoped that your years in battle would have finally driven those weaknesses from you…"

"It is not weakness to show mercy," responded Aramis. "It is not weakness to save a life."

The General sipped his wine, smiling dangerously. "I don't believe we've been introduced," the General said suddenly, turning to face the others, a pair of dark eyes and a pair of blue ones flashing in the library.

"Name's Porthos du Vallon," he said.

"Porthos du Vallon," the General drawled. "Yes, yes, I've heard all about you as well. Crawled your way up from the streets, I heard, to become the best hand-to-hand fighter in the infantry. I'm assuming that's how you won your commission, is it not? That leaves you, Athos, I believe? Forgive me, but your military record was not as clear."

"I was known for a time by another name," Athos put bluntly, ending the inquiry. "If you will, sir, here is the missive from his majesty, the King. He is expecting a reply."

The General took the papers from Athos' outstretched hand, and giving them a cursory looked, he asked the muleteers to wait in the foyer. Twenty minutes later, Charles appeared. A similar sneer, though somewhat cowed was on his face.

"My master has asked that you dine with him and his daughter this evening," he said sourly.

"Perhaps not," said Aramis a disdainful smile on his lips. "The service here is not to my tastes."

"Aramis," scolded Annabella entering the foyer from an adjoining hall. "I remember you being far more courteous than that." Aramis blushed slightly, a little boy once again admonished by his older sister.

"I always said your father should have put that dog down when he was still a pup…" sneered Charles.

"Charles!" turning on her heel to face the valet, eyes burning. In that moment, it was clear to Porthos that though her eyes were lighter, Annabella had also inherited some form of the fire of her father. "How dare you! These men are guests of this house. How dare you say such a thing!"

" I am sorry Miss –"

"These are Musketeers. Representatives of the King and my guests. When did my father permit discourtesy in his home!" she scolded.

"Forgive me Miss. That was not meant for your ears…"

"I am no longer a little girl anymore," she said coldly. "You will address me as Mistress. If I ever hear you treat my guests this way again you will be punished."

"And," she said taking a step closer and dropping her voice to the stern, cold tenor of a general, "Aramis is my brother and the finest marksman in France. I would be very careful of what you say in his presence. He is no longer the small boy you used to torment.– yes, I know how you treated him. You should be ashamed." With that she turned her back on the stricken man who cowered out of the room.

"Annabella…" said Aramis, staring at the woman. Her face was flushed though the fire in her eyes dampened as she took in her brother.

"Well, that proves it," thought Porthos. "Even anger can be beautiful…"

"Sorry," she said blushing more deeply. "I have been wanting to do that for so long!"

"It was well done," said Porthos grinning.

Annabella beamed at him and Porthos' heart melted in his chest. "Pull yourself together man!" he thought.

"Please,' she said, "Don't let that disgraceful invitation deter you from its intent. Father and I would like to have you stay for dinner…and maybe as our guests for the duration of your visit?" she added hopefully.

"We will insist upon remaining in our rooms at the inn," answered Athos, "However, we would be honoured to dine with you this evening."

Annabella deflated slightly, but recovered at Athos' promise of dinner.

"Well if I've enticed you with dinner, perhaps I can also convince you to join me for a quiet lunch?"

"Please," she added, her fiery eyes soft and pleading as she once more looked in Aramis' direction. He swallowed and nodded his head slowly.

She grinned triumphantly. "Excellent. I'll advise the staff to prepare a table in the solarium. It's a little cool to eat outdoors today. Please, make yourselves comfortable. This was your home once too, Aramis," she said pointedly. "Not all your memories of this place are awful, surely." And with that she left the trio staring after her in her wake, Aramis blushing once more.

"I don't think you've ever been this quiet, this regularly, for this long in your life," said Athos after a few moments. "And, she's made you blush at least three times now" he added matter-of-factly. "We must ask her secret," he said with a cocked eyebrow, humour twinkling in his eyes.

Porthos' bark of laughter and Aramis' hearty chuckle lifted the spirits of all three men. Aramis ran a hand through his curls and shaking his head, he gestured to his brothers. "Come on," he said and led the way to the solarium.

oOo