Episode 10 – We Are the Garrison
Passion, Courage, Faith… Love
What will we do now?
Face every challenge the way we always have,
With great Passion; hearts that stay true to all they hold dear
Courage; no matter how many enemies lay in wait for us
Faith; that daylight will always follow the dark
And Love, above all else
Passion
Constance tiptoed from the room she shared with her husband, smiling as she took a moment to gaze at his sprawled form, still relaxed in sleep. At times like this, when the sun was barely beginning to rise above the horizon and the garrison was quiet and peaceful, she could hardly believe this was her life.
Her marriage to Jacques had been tempestuous at best, but there had been moments of happiness. Not the heart clenching bliss she felt now, but times of contentment, when she had believed her life, though not perfect, was good enough. She had resigned herself to living the mundane life of a merchant's wife; cooking, cleaning, sewing… all the duties young women were supposed to perform for their husbands. She had been… content then, but only until d'Artagnan had become part of her life. Little did she know how far from that world she would come.
Even having d'Artagnan off to war for those four long years hadn't shaken her commitment to what they had, to what she knew they would have. If she was honest with herself, she'd known it from the moment they met. Never a believer in love at first sight, she'd tried to ignore the feelings he'd stirred in her with that first impulsive kiss in the marketplace, reminding herself she was a married woman, respectful and above all else honorable.
Though after a while, she'd convinced herself there was no harm in daydreams. In those dreams her Musketeer had never disappointed her, always there to make her feel as if she was the only woman in the world.
Constance's smile widened. The reality had turned out to be so much better than any fanciful dream.
Quietly she pulled the door closed, turning on the landing to survey the peaceful courtyard of the garrison. While still not fully repaired, they had made great strides in returning it to its former glory, even adding new accoutrements such as a fully stocked infirmary and larger training facilities. The new recruits had arrived by the dozens and d'Artagnan had worked tirelessly to single out the men who understood the gravity of the position they sought to achieve. The regiment had been built on high standards, and he dare not disappoint or discredit the responsibility he'd been entrusted.
D'Artagnan had truly grown into his role these last six months. While it was still obvious he missed his friends terribly, he'd taken to rebuilding the garrison and the regiment with a fervor that would have exhausted most men. Whether it was to prove something to them or to himself, she hadn't deigned to ask, but she could see the change the responsibility was creating in her husband, and she was in awe of the man he was becoming.
Honorable, assertive, commanding, so confident and sure, Constance couldn't help but wonder where the impulsive, hot headed boy she fell in love with had gone. Not that she was complaining. Her husband was everything she'd ever dreamed of as a girl, and everything she had hoped for as a woman. How could she possibly ask for anything more?
As Captain of the Musketeers, he was a man who held the defense of Paris in his hands – and trusted her to share in it all.
The new recruits had no problem taking direction from her, seeing how much faith their new Captain placed in his wife and how well they worked together. Somehow along the way, she felt as if she had become a Musketeer too, and despite the fact she didn't wear a pauldron on her shoulder, the men d'Artagnan trained accepted her as such. It was a role she believed she had been born to, and nobody who knew her – knew them – would dare dispute it.
A shuffling came from behind and she smiled as warm arms wrapped around her waist. D'Artagnan drew her back against his bare chest, his warm breath in her hair.
"You left me," he complained, sounding as petulant as a child. Constance had half a mind to push him away - it wouldn't do for the Captain of the regiment to be seen snuggling on the deck like a five-year-old. But the strong arms around her squeezed and she was lost in the affection she felt welling up inside her.
"I have work to do," she said, hiding her smile. "No time to laze around in bed with a garrison to rebuild." She turned, wrapping her arms around him, pressing her body against his. She smiled up into his sleepy eyes. "And neither do you."
D'Artagnan grunted as he bent down to kiss her, sighing as he pulled away reluctantly. "Then I'd better get dressed." He grinned, his brows bobbing up and down as he nuzzled at her cheek. "Unless you have a better suggestion?"
She shook her head, exasperated. "You're insatiable." She slapped a hand on his chest, pushing him back with a laugh. "And you have a meeting with the First Minister in an hour."
D'Artagnan sighed. "Aramis was always the last to rise, and now he's taking meetings at dawn." He shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever get used to this."
Constance shrugged. "Aramis is a busy man. But I'm sure you won't turn down the offer of breakfast at the palace."
D'Artagnan grabbed her and tugged her close. "I'd rather have breakfast right here with you."
She shoved him back into the room with a laugh. D'Artagnan smiled, his eyes lighting with happiness as he bowed dramatically. "Whatever you say, Madame d'Artagnan." He blew her a kiss before disappearing into their room to prepare for his day.
Muffled sounds from below told her Serge was beginning preparations for the day and she turned back to face the courtyard, a satisfied smile on her lips. The sun would soon be up, the men rising from their bunks, arriving from their homes, ready to physically and figuratively build a new Paris… and she was right in the heart of it. It was exhausting work. It left little time for building a family of their own, but she knew that would come in time. Right now, this was what they needed to focus on.
And she wouldn't change it for the world.
Courage
Porthos roamed the dark camp, firelight highlighting the exhausted faces of his men. It was quiet this time of night. The fighting had ceased for now, the powers that be working to stop the aggression and end the war. They were still on alert, sentries posted and tension high despite the tentative reprieve from the battles, and Porthos took the opportunity to walk among his men to see for himself the toll these last six months of war had taken.
The men were tired, dirty and disheartened by the conditions and repercussions of the war. He was sure it was the same on both sides. He nodded at the men who looked up wearily from the flames to watch him pass, acknowledging their dedication with a grim smile. These midnight walks weren't just for him, they were so the men could see him, gain strength from him. He hoped he had enough to spare.
He'd meant what he'd said to Elody before he'd left. He didn't want to give up soldering. It was his life – the only thing he was really good at. If it wasn't for the war, he would still be a Musketeer, patrolling the streets of Paris, making it safe for all who lived within her walls. It was all he knew, and if he was honest with himself, all he'd ever needed.
But now there was someone else – two someones he thought with a smile. He ached to see his wife's sweet smile, to hold Marie-Suzette in his arms. He had confessed his fears about being a father to Aramis before his wedding. The marksman had told him that no man knows what kind of father he will be until he has the great fortune of becoming one; and then he can only do the best he possibly can.
Porthos smiled, his friend had a way of seeing things in a clearer light than most people. They had only been a family for a short while, hardly time to get to know each other before duty beckoned him away, but Porthos knew with all his heart he would do whatever it took to return to them. To all of them.
"You'll be back."
He chuckled as Aramis' voice filled his head.
He missed them.
Not just Elody and the baby, but his brothers as well. He had spent four long years missing Aramis and had just gotten used to thinking of the three of them as four again when he'd been sent back to the front. But this time he was here alone and not having his brothers by his side was something he had never expected to face.
He was surrounded by men; soldiers who looked to him for leadership, support and courage, but he'd never felt more alone. So many times he'd turned expecting a curt order from Athos, a pertinent question from d'Artagnan, a much-needed quip from Aramis, only to remember they were no longer at his back. How anyone could feel so isolated in a camp with a thousand men was beyond him, but he could not deny the sensation. For the sake of his men he had forced himself to shake off the melancholy and focus on the task at hand, but he was still painfully aware of the empty space where his three brothers should be.
The men were restless this night, murmurs rising on the smoke of the fires, rumors spreading that the end of the conflict was at hand. He knew the new First Minister was working tirelessly to bring about peace and he smiled, the thought of his old friend, dressed up in the finery his new role demanded. Porthos chuckled. It wasn't that he didn't think Aramis could pull it off – after all, the man could wear a monk's robe and still turn the heads of the fairer citizens of Paris – but the trappings of the court were something he'd never had to deal with before, and Porthos couldn't help but wonder how he was coping. Going from a monk to a Musketeer to the First Minister of France inside of a year's time would be enough to cause anyone to stumble. But if anyone could keep his head straight with the changes, it was Aramis. He had searched his entire life for where he actually belonged. He didn't find it in the monastery, and although Porthos knew he loved his life as a Musketeer, he'd always known his friend was destined for greater things. Now, with a chance to live his life close to the son he'd never be able to acknowledge, he hoped his friend had found some kind of peace. He prayed Aramis had found his place.
When he'd left for the monastery, Porthos had had his doubts. He'd never vocalized them, believing Aramis knew what he wanted, what he needed at the time. But unlike the three of them, four years had hardly changed the marksman. He was the same man – perhaps more tempered – but still following his heart, his conscience, no matter the cost. It was a trait Porthos had always admired even though it had cost them all dearly, but it was the one thing he could count on from his friend. Aramis would never surrender his convictions, and Porthos was counting on that to put an end to this war and bring him home. Bring them all home.
As he approached the southern most sentry, he tipped his head to the soldier – Beugard, he believed his name. He prided himself on knowing as many of the men under his command by name as he possibly could. It showed them he was more than simply their commanding officer, he was their brother in arms, something much more important under the strains of battle.
"Why don't you go and get somethin' to eat," Porthos suggested. "I'll take over for a while."
"General?" Beugard wasn't sure about relinquishing his post, obviously wondering what a man of Porthos' rank was doing out there in the middle of the night.
"It's all right," he smiled. "I was a Musketeer long before I was a general. Sentry duty is somethin' I'm more than familiar with." He tilted his head as he reached out for the musket the soldier held. "It's lookin' to be a quiet night. Go. It'll be fine."
Unsure, the soldier handed over the weapon and moved back toward camp, casting glances back at Porthos until he disappeared into the dark.
Porthos chuckled, making himself comfortable on the large smooth rock the soldier had taken as his position.
Was he so different now, he pondered? Sure his armor showed his rank, and the men looked to him with awe and respect, but he didn't feel any different. He was still Porthos.
Or was he?
Did Porthos truly exist without Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan? Did any of them?
Though he believed Aramis would remain true to himself no matter the position he held, was it the same for the rest of them?
D'Artagnan was now the Captain of the Musketeers. He had seen the way the lad had changed in the last four years, no longer the brazen, impetuous boy he'd been when he'd first forced his way into the garrison courtyard. He was a man – and a damn fine one. Porthos liked to think he had a part in that, that they'd all had a part in molding the brash farm boy into one of the most honorable and courageous Musketeers to ever wear the uniform. He would build a fine regiment; of that Porthos had no doubt. And when he returned to Paris, he would know it was safe under the Gascon's watch.
It was Athos he'd worried about since leaving the city. The former Comte had thrown everything away once before, trying to bury who and what he was in a bottle. While he didn't think it would happen this time, he was still concerned about how quickly the man had changed course yet again – although Porthos believed this change was for the better.
Sylvie seemed to bring out something inside Athos that he'd long repressed. It was like meeting him all over again. Smiling with such emotion in his eyes was something Porthos never believed he would see in his taciturn friend. And now that he was going to be a father, Porthos couldn't be happier for him. He hated that Athos thought they needed to leave Paris, leave the life he'd built in order to build a new one, but perhaps the swordsman had taken a page from Aramis and learned to follow his heart. While it led him away for now, just like Aramis, Porthos believed it would eventually lead him back home.
As the thoughts of his friends, his family, filled his mind, Porthos realized he wasn't as alone as he'd thought. Sure they were all far out of his reach for now, but they would be there, waiting for him with open arms upon his return. And for now, that was enough to get him through the night and look forward to the promise of a new day.
Whatever it may bring.
Faith
Aramis' gaze followed the boy as he ran through the gardens, nurses and governess giving chase. The child's laughter rang like cathedral bells, warming his heart, his eyes misting with affection for the son he could never claim as his own.
Athos had been right. Even if he could never truly be little Louis' father, he had already found a connection with the boy. He looked forward to his smile whenever he came into the room. Now that they were better acquainted, the young King had taken a liking to his new First Minister, freely showing him affection despite his governess' looks of disproval.
"A King should never invite such intimacy," the stern woman had rebuked.
"But it's Aramis!" the boy had countered, as if that explained everything. The Queen had smiled tolerantly, instructing the governess to allow him his childish tendencies for now. He would be schooled in diplomacy and etiquette soon enough, but for the time being, she wanted him to be happy.
Aramis had bowed to her, thankful for the small concession. After six years of watching from afar, every moment he had to get to know his son was worth more than all the gold in the world.
Of course, his new duties as First Minister left far too little time to indulge his desires; the war with Spain and the negotiations for peace were much too important to disregard even for a moment. The Queen had been conversing diligently with her brother, neither, it seemed, wanting to continue the fight for much longer. Phillip had made concessions and now that Louis was gone and Anne named Regent, the Spanish monarch had little desire to see his sister defeated and had offered terms for peace. Though they were still deep in negotiations, Aramis hoped they could find enough common ground to end the fighting and bring the men along the front on both sides home alive.
Thoughts of the fighting, as always, brought Porthos to the forefront of his mind. He missed his friend and couldn't help fear for him. But he'd meant what he'd said the day they'd said goodbye; he knew he'd be back. Porthos didn't leave. It wasn't in him. And now, with a family to come back to, he had every confidence his friend would return fit and whole and ready for whatever new challenge he faced.
It was Athos he wasn't so sure of. The man Aramis had come back to after four long years was not the same man he'd known before. This Athos was more open, less stringent, a change Aramis had been thrilled to see. Though he stilled wondered at Sylvie's choice, he couldn't help but admit, the young woman had been good for his friend, her gentle heart opening his to love again – something Aramis was more than happy to see transpire.
If only his own heart could be so free.
He sighed, his eyes dropping from the scene before him, forcing his despair down where it belonged. He had no cause to complain. He no longer had any want that could not be filled. Life at the Louvre had taken a bit of getting used to – servants following him, bowing to him, asking if they could bring him anything to make him more comfortable. It had taken months to get them to stop.
Though he knew it was a sign of respect for his new position, it made him uncomfortable to have anyone at his beck and call. He'd not been raised with this type of luxury and had little need of it. He'd spent four years in a monastery, rising with the sun, toiling in the gardens and educating the orphans of the war when he wasn't kneeling on the hard stone of the chapel praying for God to enlighten him. He had let go of almost everything that bound him to his material life – save for the jeweled cross gifted to him by the Queen. Knowing it was originally a gift to her from Rochefort should have tainted the talisman, making it something he would be eager to be rid of. Instead, it was a tangible reminder of what his decisions had wrought, and the devastation his base desires had inflicted upon those he loved.
He touched the cross around his neck, bringing it to his lips. Even now the trinket kept him from desiring that which he could not have. A simple reminder that he was lucky to be able to be a part of his son's life, and to wish for more was a prayer that would forever go unanswered.
Knowing he had a meeting with d'Artagnan, he reluctantly dragged his attention from the scene before him and moved to the stairs that would take him to his offices in the east wing of the Louvre. While he knew the Captain of the Musketeers would understand his need to be with the boy as long as possible, there was still the job of rebuilding the regiment to attend to, and he would give his friend every assistance to make it so.
As he rounded the stone wall leading to the path, he stopped, mesmerized by the beautiful sight awaiting him on the other side.
Anne looked resplendent in a silky white dress, her hair glowing in the early morning sun. Her pale eyes sparkled as she took a step closer and he found himself speechless, his breath caught in his throat as she drew near.
It was the first time he had seen her in anything other than black since Louis had died. She had observed her duty, the wife in mourning, and he had respectfully kept his distance from her, knowing his feelings for her were impossible to disguise and not wanting to allow any rumors to stain her regency. It had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, forcing himself to hide his heart, convincing himself it could never be free again.
"No more black?" Aramis stepped back, eyeing the white dress that draped beautifully down Anne's body. It was a stark change from what she had been wearing all these months in mourning, dutiful and respectful to her husband's memory.
"No more black," she smiled.
Aramis was frozen to the spot, his eyes holding hers as she stepped gracefully down the stairs, closing the short distance between them. He tensed as she pressed her hand to his chest, unsure of how to respond. This was everything he'd ever wanted but he didn't trust himself to read her intent.
"I am through mourning," Anne whispered, close enough to feel her breath on his cheek. "I am a widow, Aramis. And you, I believe, have never been married. This is no longer a sin."
Aramis swallowed, his heart racing beneath her burning touch. "No," he agreed. "Not a sin. But I fear it a dream. One I wish to never wake from."
Anne leaned forward, brushing her lips across his. "It's a dream I share."
She pressed her lips to his and he responded, taking her into his arms and holding her close. As the kiss deepened, he felt a part of himself finally fall into place.
As they broke apart, he suddenly remembered his meeting with d'Artagnan and stiffened, causing her to frown.
"Aramis?"
He brushed the back of his hand across her cheek, erasing the frown, smiling down into her eyes.
"It's nothing. I have nowhere I'd rather be."
D'Artagnan would wait. What's more, he would understand. He had told Aramis to have faith that everything would work out exactly how it was supposed to. Aramis had never believed the Gascon's words would come true. Perhaps he should listen to his Captain more often.
Love, above all else
"Where were you?"
Athos startled, the hand that had been softly caressing Sylvie's swollen stomach, faltering as his attention snapped back to the present. "What? Oh, I was… thinking…"
"Of them?" She smiled, knowingly, not the least bit put out that he had drifted from their quiet, intimate setting.
"You know me too well." He had taken most of the day, composing a letter to Aramis, informing his old friend that they had settled in Piñon for the time being until the birth of their child. He knew out of all of them, Aramis would understand his need to vent his fears and concerns, and could almost see the marksman's smile as he read the words Athos had spilled onto the page concerning his impending fatherhood and the terror it invoked within him.
He'd asked how Porthos was faring. Rumors were swirling that the Queen had been able to come to terms with her brother, the fighting no longer taking lives on either side of the struggle. He'd no doubt Aramis had played a role in the peace – pleased he'd accepted the Queen's proposal, serving France with his tactical and ecclesiastic knowledge rather than his sword.
He'd also inquired after the garrison and d'Artagnan's new crop of Musketeers. He had little doubt the Gascon would make them proud, and he hoped his rise in rank would serve them all well.
"I know you miss them."
Athos sighed and nodded, unable to deny the truth of the statement. "They have been my constant for so long, probably the only reason I am still alive today and not drowned in wine in some broken down tavern in Paris."
Sylvie shook her head. "I can't imagine you allowing yourself to go down that road."
Athos huffed a laugh. "Trust me, I am a much different person now than I was then."
"Thanks to them?" She was quite intuitive, probably one of the many reasons she had so easily captured his heart.
"In part."
She shifted, moving her head so that she could gaze up at him from where it lay on his shoulder. "Tell me about them," she invited. "They're your family. I want to know them better."
Athos hesitated, the longing in his heart for his friends something he had hoped to keep hidden from her. He had made her a promise – a vow – and like Aramis, he felt the need to keep that vow at all costs. Would letting her see how much he missed them make her feel as if she was forcing him to leave his life behind? It wasn't true, of course. He had made the decision to go, to give them and their child a fresh start without regret. But no regrets didn't mean he couldn't miss what – and who – was no longer an arm's length away.
"D'Artagnan will make a fine Captain," he began, the Gascon's face coalescing in his mind's eye, making him smile. "He was nothing but a rash boy when he first arrived at the garrison."
"To kill you." At his look of surprise, she shrugged, a sheepish smile gracing her lips. "Aramis told me."
"Aramis is quite good at telling stories."
"He said d'Artagnan was instrumental in saving you." She rested her head back against him, one hand playing with the ties to his shirt.
"He was. And we all saw the potential in him then. I always said he could be the best of us all. Since that day, he's done nothing but prove me right." He tilted his head, letting it fall to rest on her hair. "Four years of war changed him; made him stronger, made him into a fine soldier, a fine man. Somehow, through it all, he held on to his passion for life, his decency, his desire to right the wrongs of the world. And he has Constance there to keep him from wallowing in the regrets every soldier eventually has to face."
"She's fierce." He could hear the smile in her voice. Sylvie and Constance had bonded almost instantly. Athos had presumed it was because each could see the goodness in the other.
"Yes. Quite. And together they can accomplish anything. I have no doubt they will rebuild the garrison and the Musketeers into the finest fighting forces in all of France."
"And Porthos?" Sylvie prompted after a moment of silence. "I know you fear for him being back in the thick of the fighting."
Athos grunted in acknowledgement. "Porthos is courage personified. If anyone can come out of this still true to himself, it's Porthos. And now he has Elody and the baby to give him a reason to make sure he does return."
"They've known each other such a small amount of time. Do you think that will be enough?"
Athos couldn't help but smile. "Porthos guards his heart carefully. He let Elody in without a struggle. I believe that means she is worthy of him."
"But you still worry for him?"
"Porthos had a tendency to throw himself into the fight, forgetting all else, but I believe knowing he has a responsibility back in Paris will be enough to temper that. He'll be all right. I have no doubt he will distinguish himself before the war is done and people will speak his name with reverence."
There was another moment of silence, Athos reluctant to continue, lest his true unease come to light.
"So if it isn't d'Artagnan or Porthos that has taken your concern, it must be Aramis."
"Aramis has always taken most of my concern."
She laughed at the dry delivery, tilting her face back up to frown in confusion. "But he's safe. Better protected than any of you now."
"Aramis' greatest enemy has always been himself."
"You don't think he'll be a good First Minister for France?"
Athos shook his head dismissively. "I think he will be one of the best men to ever lead the country."
"Then what? Why do you get such a look in your eyes when you think of him?" He avoided her gaze, knowing that even though both Aramis and the Queen were now safe, there were still secrets that should never be shared. Again, Sylvie read his thoughts as if she had taken up residence inside his head. "You can't tell me."
He sighed, finally meeting her eyes. "I don't want there to be secrets between us."
"But some secrets need to be kept."
He nodded, reluctant. "Yes. Some are… some are secrets of life and death. Things that can never be known for the sake of France."
"This has something to do with Aramis and the Queen doesn't it?" He didn't know why he was still surprised when she was able to read things so clearly. He was beginning to believe the woman was clairvoyant. Sylvie laughed again, the sound like the tinkling of bells to his ears. "Don't look so surprised. Gossip travels."
He chuckled and they settled back down, both watching the flames dance in the fireplace. He really wanted there to be no secrets between them. If they were to forge a life, a united front for their child, he should be able to tell her anything. But this was not his secret to tell. He tried to imagine what Aramis would say, what advice he would give under these circumstances.
"If I tell you this, you must swear to never repeat it to anyone. Ever."
She looked up at him, her eyes dark, solemn. "I swear. On the honor of our child."
He smiled, his hand on her stomach stilling as she folded her own over it. "I know you to be a woman of your word." He took a deep breath and settled back, his eyes on the fire once again, his voice hushed as they were in a church. "If you heard gossip from Paris, then you've heard the rumors, about Aramis and the Queen." He posed it as a statement, but waited for her nod to continue. "It's true."
"I thought so." She smiled. "It's the way he looks at her. A woman can tell. The Queen is now a widow, and who she consorts with is no longer anyone's business but her own."
"If only that were the end of it." Athos took a breath, pausing to consider how to say the rest, but once again, she read his mind.
"The Dauphin?"
He sighed and squeezed her tighter, shaking his head in wonder. "You are quite insightful."
She shrugged, laughing. "It's a gift."
"One that serves you well." His mirth quickly abated as he remembered how hard he had tried to keep Aramis from compounding his mistake. "I spent so much time trying to force Aramis to ignore the child, to wipe it from his mind and move on as if it had never happened. I didn't know until now just how impossible that would be. I see our child growing inside you and I am overwhelmed by the feelings of love and devotion – and I haven't even met him yet."
"Or her."
"Or her." He amended, contrite. "But Aramis, he was faced with a child, a son, he could never call his own. Right there, for all the world to see. How impossible a position he'd been in, and I had no way to fathom the depth of it. I failed him then. But I hope I was able to help give him a little of what he longed for."
"It was you who suggested he be chosen for First Minister, then wasn't it?"
"It didn't take much persuasion," he admitted. "I believe her Majesty wanted Aramis from the start, but was afraid of the possible repercussions. The rumors of their affair did damage, and she was desperate to avoid making it worse for the sake of their son. But, as you said, she is no longer married to the King. If she wants to have a relationship with Aramis, she should be able to. I believe the people of France will approve of a Musketeer despite the past rumors. Especially one who is now First Minister and who places the needs of Paris and its citizens first."
"Do you think the two of them have come to the same conclusion?"
He fervently hoped so. Athos had recommended d'Artagnan to replace him, hoping Aramis had not seen it as a slight, but insistence that he look favorably upon the Queen's offer. Luckily, the marksman had already made his decision. "Aramis is one of the most intelligent and passionate men I've ever known – when he is not getting in his own way. I am confident they will work it out."
"Then there's really nothing to worry about is there."
Athos sighed, realizing she was right. Again. Evidently he was going to have to get used to that.
"No, apparently not."
Athos never dared to believe any of them would live long enough to find a happy ending. Glorious death in battle, fighting for King and Country, dying by the others' sides was the best he had hoped for. Bound together by honor, none of them had truly ever given light to the thought of anything more. But now, perhaps, they had all found their true paths, separate for now but forever tied together… one for all, and all for one.
Finis
Thank you to all who traveled with me through these missing scenes and codas. I hope they have helped smooth out the season for you as they did me. Also, thanks to Carrie and all the Guest reviewers I couldn't thank personally – your comments were all welcome and appreciated! I may add to these if I get inspired, but for now I have to get back to work on the three sotries I have started. Hope ya'll enjoyed! - Sue