Having grown accustomed to a life as sister to a musketeer, I believed that nothing after five years living such a life would shock me. How wrong I was. It began as most stories usually began, over a drink at the table in the barracks, where I had come to find Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan looking particularly miserable after their latest mission. As far as I knew, it had been to retrieve and escort a character of importance directly to the King. "Do not tell me," I announced myself as I met them with a fresh pitcher of wine to refill their glasses, "that your mission did not succeed?"

"Not exactly." Doleful eyes glanced upwards as d'Artagnan answered. "We completed the mission, except the outcome was not what we had hoped." Intrigued, I glanced to the three of them before stepping over the bench and settling myself down beside Aramis, feeling my body grow hot on one side as I did so but remained as calm as I was capable. "Bonnaire, the merchant we were sent to escort, you know why he was to be brought before the king?" To this, I shook my head.

"Because that little scoundrel was running amok in the New World creating tobacco plantations which were to be manned by slaves, which Spain have taken great offence to," ah, such is to be expected. With the trade pact between France and Spain, such a venture was guaranteed to be a direct violation of the treaty. "We brought him back thinking he would be justly dealt with, but alas…" sighing heavily, Aramis raised his glass with a swill of his wine, "the Cardinal has instead gone into business with the scurvy rat."

"Then he is at liberty to continue his plan?" Upon hearing this I looked quickly at Porthos, now understanding why he looked so dour and incensed. Knowing his background, I could recognise how distressing this would be for Porthos, as his own mother had been a former slave, and he possessed such heritage himself. I softened a little, looking at him. Admittedly, I had once been guilty of judging Porthos for his heritage. When we had first met, I had not liked him. Thought him beneath me, even. I had purposefully stayed away from him, did not speak to him, or even offer him a single hint of human civility. It made me quite angry and ashamed of myself to think on it now. Only gradually had I come to see Porthos for his own self. I saw his great kindness and humble soul, the warmth of his heart and his patience as he endured my scorn and contempt. He had borne it all like a gentleman, and eventually, I had recognised my own shortcomings.

"All those people…forced to work to their deaths." Sharp bitterness laced his tongue, no doubt imagining the suffering those poor souls must endure. Unable to help myself, I reached my hand across the table towards Porthos, offering it freely to him. The motion caught his attention and brought his gaze away from the glaring reverie it had held, recognising my extension of consolation in all that I had to offer, little as it was. Thankfully I caught his mouth tilt upwards on the profile I could see, his shoulder relaxing slightly as he brought his larger, heavier hand to rest upon mine and squeeze my smaller fingers. We looked at one another, and I wished I had the words to tell him that all would be well, but I could not give such falsehoods. All the same, there seemed to be an understanding between us.

"Bonnaire has more lives than a cat." D'Artagnan remarked as Porthos now brought himself around to face the table, still gripping my hand securely as I sat with them.

"If only those Spanish spies had taken his last one, hm?" He looked up wryly. "Or I had."

"What did they want with him, anyway?" With impeccable timing, my brother arrived at that moment with the answer to Aramis's question.

"The Spanish King wrote to Louis demanding he put a stop to Bonnaire's activities," he informed us, coming to join our little gathering at the table. As soon as my brother had started to speak, Porthos had quickly released my hand and drawn his away, shifting himself almost a little guilty which forced me to suppress a laugh. Athos was known to be a protective brother, but I did not doubt that he saw no reason to suspect or mistrust his own close friends with my person. Holding my hand was no great crime, and I desperately wanted to tease Porthos for this, but now was not the time or place. "The spies were sent to make sure that he didn't escape enroute…and to shoot him if he did." To this, Porthos suggested that they should have let them.

My brother gave a slightly puzzled expression, not understanding the reason for Porthos's cynicism, so Aramis promptly explained to him the reason for the sour mood surrounding them. "Bonnaire's in business with the cardinal." Athos stared at Aramis for a second, needing a moment to comprehend what he had just heard.

"He won't be punished?"

"Rewarded." I too could not believe what I was hearing. It seemed unfair that a man set to be punished for breaking the law would instead walk away a wealthy man with all the prospects and hope for a life of luxury. It was a sting to our cheeks, and I silently prayed that justice would deliver itself upon the deserving.

"Well, here's to us dying together on some forgotten battlefield while Bonnaire ends his days old and fat and rich." Thankfully Aramis did not drink to his own toast and instead, poured the last of his wine onto the ground.

"Do not tempt such an evil fate, not even in jest," I requested quietly, my voice softening the way it always did whenever I spoke to Aramis directly. I could not bring myself to look at him, but upon hearing those words a flush of alarm had overcome me. "None of you will die upon the battlefield, for I forbid it. You will all grow old and feeble until your bones creak and your beards turn white, and in your dotage you shall all complain like the bitter old men you have become, drinking the finest wine and reminiscing upon the glories of your youth whilst secretly enjoying the peace and tranquillity of your waning years," I announced, raising a glass of my own to try and raise their spirits. "Whereas this Bonnaire shall perhaps grow rich, but may his dotage be plagued with gout and diseases, with boils and sores upon his backside which burst and ooze with all the disgustingness comprehensible to the imagination." At this, my dear ones laughed.

"An excellent toast, sweet Madeleine," Aramis praised as Porthos beamed at me. I blushed and quickly lowered my head so that my hair would hide my scarlet face. The laughter settled a little too soon, and once again the unsettled mood returned to weigh upon us. Of us all, Porthos was affected most.

"That man will go on to destroy thousands of lives, and there's not a damn thing we can do to stop him." It was a sorrowful notion, and I could not bring myself to imagine all those lives ruined for the sake of wealth and acquisition. Were I to build a fortune amassed upon the suffering of thousands of humans, or even senseless beasts, I would not be able to face my own conscience. The guilt would be too great to bear, therefore what use would riches and gold have if I feared for my immortal soul?

"Perhaps there is something we could do." Suddenly speaking, we all looked to Athos who had a deep, thoughtful expression. Intrigued, I lifted my head to observe him closely. His eyes rose to meet ours. "If we play our cards right, we may well be able to turn the tables on Bonnaire." We needed no further encouragement. I was eager to hear what my brother had plotted, and further interested in helping. Even if all that was required of me was to run a message to a Spaniard, I did so with gusto and conviction. My Spanish was perhaps a little rusty, but upon following my brother's instructions, I was able to convey his message to the spy he had captured outside of the palace.

The stage was prepared and set, all for the sake of ensuring that Bonnaire never made it to the New World, never acquired his ship and most certainly did not purchase the slaves he needed to work the tobacco farms. In truth, it was all quite simple. With the arrival of another character, a Monsieur Munier, who was a jilted partner of Bonnaire's seeking his trade goods, we had all we needed. The tavern by the harbour docks was the perfect setting and Bonnaire had settled himself there quite comfortably in his preparation for setting sail.

I served there as a wench, one of my many establishments of which I was likely to find a night's work for coin, and had made an agreement with the owner that we could make our little performance there. All I needed to mention that it was the King's business and the man was practically foaming at the mouth in anticipation. He was a stout believer in the King. Thus, I served drinks, swatted away stray hands with practiced efficiency when they wandered where they ought not, and kept a close eye on Bonnaire.

We did not want him completely blathered, so when he became too full into his cups, I watered down his drinks to keep him steadily sober throughout the evening. My ploy worked wonders, and when Munier made himself known, I quickly stepped aside to a safe space in the tavern, knowing what was to happen next. Bonnaire, a comely man by all accounts, was generous with his coin whilst under the impression he was about to make more elsewhere. This was about all I could say positively about him. Otherwise, he was a shallow laggard and an impish scoundrel who seemed to have little else to offer but his dreams of grandeur and farfetched tales which I suspected had hardly a grain of truth within them. I have worked in taverns long enough to know the type of man well.

In short, he was also a coward, and the moment Munier revealed that he had hired men to beat down Bonnaire for his faithlessness and betrayal, Bonnaire quickly looked like a scorned dog in fear of its life. That was when my brother and the others appeared, drawing their swords to defend Bonnaire seemingly on behalf of the king's business. It was all just a ploy, you see, to gain Bonnaire's trust. Once Porthos had offered further distraction by deciding he would simply kill Bonnaire himself, supposedly forcing Aramis to stand in his way, Bonnaire was more than amenable to escaping with d'Artagnan to his vessel.

Only, it was not the dream vessel he anticipated to take him on his voyage to a better life. Oh no, of course not. In fact, it was a Spanish charged ship, where Bonnaire would find himself in the hands of the Spaniards who had been sent to ensure that his actions were stopped. It was a very strange thing, I do not think anyone ever heard of Emile Bonnaire again after that night. I chuckled about it in my head, imaging the would be slaver rotting away in a Spanish cell for the rest of his days, losing weight instead of gaining it, with no hope for gold or standing to ever lay itself at his feet.

Once Bonnaire had left, all of us settled down and a cheer rose up in celebration as I quickly rushed around to pass out ales and wine. Once this was done, I allowed myself a few moments to see to Aramis and Porthos, who was quite certain that his performance had Aramis convinced that he had been serious. "Admit it. I frightened you." At this moment d'Artagnan returned, successful in his venture, so I hurriedly poured him a drink to reward him for his part in this scheme.

"I was quaking in my boots!" Porthos laughed and I could not help but smile too. In the end, all was well. At the other end of the table, my brother spoke with Munier, a key being handed over to the former trade partner of Bonnaire, however before I could tune into their conversation, Aramis's hand clamped down upon my hand which made me jolt violently and squeak in alarm. "But I almost forgot! You, my dear Madeleine, have been keeping secrets from us!" As my heart raced, I had to swallow several times to push the rock in my throat back down as my entire torso seemed to contract, tensing under Aramis's touch as I flickered with confusion.

"Secrets? I do not know what you mean, Aramis." I thought at first that this might be just one of his little jokes, where he often teased me somehow for his own amusement, but this time it was not the case. Truthfully, what came out of his mouth next shocked me more than anything else I had heard that day.

"That you are, in fact, a noble lady of the blue-blooded kind!" All at once I froze, and I was quite certain my face also became petrified with shock. "Whilst on our little adventure, we discovered that your brother was none other than the Comte de la Fère, which would make you Lady Madeleine de la Fère, no?" The three men were smiling at me, expecting perhaps that I would laugh and admit to my true identity. I continued in silence and shock. The look of fear and alarm gradually seemed to dawn upon Aramis, who finally deigned to look at me. He blinked in surprise. "Madeleine? Are you alright?" I started to stutter.

"How did you come by this? Who told you? Was it…?" At the other end of the table, my brother remained blissfully unaware of what was happening.

"We needed somewhere to rest for the night so that we could sew Porthos's wound," d'Artagnan slowly began to explain, his expression of confusion deepening at my unexpected reaction. "Athos brought us to your home. We found out who you both were there." Home…I had fought so desperately hard for five years to forget that place, and the life I once had there. It hurt to think of it because I could not bear to miss it, not in front of my brother. So many happy memories…destroyed in a single moment. This dwelled as an afterthought, however, as my mind shifted to something else which it found more distressing at present. I turned in my seat to look at Porthos, dragging my arm free from Aramis's grasp.

"You were wounded?" Why did the fool not say? I watched him shift his shoulder, his gaze betraying his injury even as he attempted to hide it.

"It's nothing, barely a scratch…" I did not believe a word of it, rushing to my feet and naturally reaching for Porthos. Shifting his thick leather jerkin, I found spots of blood on the white shirt beneath at his shoulder, wet and warm to the touch.

"You've opened your wound again, I'll sew and bind it for you…"

"Honestly, it's nothing…"

"Argue with me and I shall sew your mouth shut too. Now come." Speaking forcefully, I grasped Porthos under the arm on his good side and hauled him to his feet. Technically speaking I would never have a hope in hell of shifting Porthos, but he rose to his feet and obeyed the moment he felt me tug upon him.

"Madeliene, if I have given offence…"

"The wounded must come first, and I have work to do after. Goodnight, gentlemen." It sickened me to so rudely interrupt Aramis in such a manner, but truthfully I only wanted to escape that situation as quickly as possible. Already I could feel tears threatening to spill, hot and sharp like burning needles stabbing into my eyes as I dragged Porthos away from the others, leaving their baffled expressions behind. Thankfully I never went anywhere without emergency supplies, so I was able to scavenge some liquor from the barkeep as well as some spare rags.

My mind was rattling with memories and thoughts as I continued to force Porthos to follow me outside where it was quieter and I could focus on my task. I did not even realise he was calling my name until he pulled back his arm, forcing me to a halt whereby he caught hold of me, turning me to face him. "Madeleine, what's gotten into you? What…" he faltered. In the flickering light of a nearby fire, the tears were illuminated into bright glassy panes. "Oh no…was it what Aramis said? He didn't mean nothing by it, I know he never meant to upset you…" I choked on a laugh. Porthos had always been hopeless at comforting others, he hated it most when I cried, always becoming flustered and would cluck like a mother hen. It was the sweetest thing. "Please don't cry, you know I'm useless at this kind of thing,"

"Yes, you are." I agreed, managing to laugh as I quickly dried my own eyes. Softening his grip upon me, Porthos rubbed my shoulder to try and comfort me, which was successful but also made me want to cry more, which was an intolerable contradiction. "I apologise, I do not know what came over me… I was caught off guard."

"Is it something to do with you being a noble lady?" I looked up at him, having to arch my neck substantially to do so. "Look, I never knew…I didn't realise…I had no idea that's who you were." Lifting a hand, Porthos rubbed his face with a heavy sigh before offering me a grim smile. "Guess it does explain how you were when we first met."

"Oh please, do not remind me of such a time. I am ashamed of how I acted towards you back then," it was true. I only had to think of it and I would cringe. "Yes, I was once a lady from a noble house, but that ended five years ago. Now I am just a humble servant, seamstress and tavern wench." I lifted my needle and thread. "Now, shall I start my work?" At this Porthos visible blanched. He had always hated needles, and made such a fuss whenever someone needed to close a wound. With Aramis and Athos, they had to knock him out just to sew a wound shut. Thankfully, Porthos made a valiant effort not to struggle so much when I was working on him myself.

I made him sit near the fire for warmth and light, having him settle upon a cluster of crates so that he was at the perfect height for me to work on him. Then I helped him shrug one arm out of his jerkin and lifted his shirt up so that he could slip his arm out of that sleeve too, letting me pull the shirt over his head so that it rested on the one side. I carefully positioned my cloak which I thankfully had had the forethought to snag before leaving over him, protecting his dignity though several women were already giggling and watching as I began my inspection. "Two inches deep, from what I can see. What happened?"

"Oh you know, the usual. Someone tried to kill me," he stated simply, as he always did whenever I asked about this injury or that, "with an axe this time. Bloody hurt." I swatted his arm lightly.

"Mind that tongue, sir. Noble or not, a lady is still a lady," thankfully my nerves had calmed somewhat since Aramis's sudden confrontation with my true identity. Holding a needle always seemed to help focus my mind. It always required great care to thread a needle, and greater care to close a wound with as little discomfort to the victim as possible. Once the thread was prepared and I had washed the wound with the liquor, I allowed Porthos to have a swig to settle his own nerves as I undid what remained of Aramis's work. His stitches were fine, but not quite as fine as mine would be.

"Can I ask you what happened?" Ah, I worried he might ask me this.

"Unless you wish for me to accidentally sew your ear to your shoulder, I suggest you refrain from asking me questions whilst I work," speaking as calmly as I could, I used a clean cloth to remove the moisture and blood which remained as the alcohol dried almost instantly upon Porthos's skin. Compared to my cold hands, his was rather hot which I took to mean that the wound was a little enflamed. This was not a good sign, but the stages were still early. Porthos obeyed diligently and did not speak again as I eased the point of the needle into the flesh. He hissed and groaned at every turn, but he made a valiant effort not to flinch and twitch.

From where I stood, I saw him clench and unclench his fist repeatedly as a means to cope with the pain. This always baffled me. I have watched these men walk around with injuries which must have caused them immeasurable agony and discomfort, yet they flinched at the sight of a tiny needle. Porthos was the worst for it. He would rather walk around bleeding openly than willingly allow someone to sew a wound shut, though of late he had learned that I never accepted a refusal and knew it was better for his sake to simply allow me to do my work.

The stiller he stayed, the faster I finished. In fact, within a minute, my expert fingers had closed the wound and tied off the thread. All that remained was to place a clean covering over the cut so that I could then wrap it. "I will want to see you first thing in the morning for fresh bandages and so I can put a salve on it," I informed Porthos naturally, giving him no room for arguments, "and there is to be no extraneous movements, lifting or fighting to be allowed until this wound has healed sufficiently."

"I know, I know, same as always." Pleased that Porthos knew better than to argue, I quickly finished securing the bandage around his shoulder and chest, reaching around him to pull it across his front. Once all was finished, I stepped around to his side and pressed my two fingers to my lips, kissing them before then pressing those same fingers tenderly upon his shoulder.

"A kiss for a swift recovery," chanting in a singsong voice, this was a routine part of the treatment I had continued from the very beginning. I could never remember who had said those words to me or where I had learned them from, but I had always done this for as long as I could remember. Even when I had once played with my porcelain dolls, if I pretended one of them was sick or hurt and I was caring for them, always they would receive a kiss for a 'swift recovery'. Pulling his shirt back over his head and putting his jerking back on, Porthos smiled at me warmly.

"You're the best, Madeleine. Never seems so bad when you're the one with the needle."

"That is because Aramis is too rough with his hands, needlepoint work requires a more delicate touch. Especially for tender skin like yours, Porthos." I teased, making him flush slightly and chuckle. For a moment we stood there beside the warmth of the flickering fire, my thoughts now drifting once more to what Aramis had uprooted in my memories. He had meant no harm, he did not know. How could he? Yet now, all I could think about was my old home, my old life…and part of me wished I could go back to it.

"You alright?"

"I am well," it was a natural response, but not an honest one. I did not have enough time in the world to try and explain how I was feeling at that moment. Still, I was grateful for Porthos being concerned, as it brought a measure of comfort to my addled mind. At that moment I heard the door to the tavern swing open to permit my brother Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan to leave. At once Athos strode towards me, eyes heavy with concern. They must have told him how I had reacted to being confronted.

"Madeleine," reaching out his hand, Athos grasped me tightly and drew me into him so that I was pressed in close to his chest, allowing him the reach to press a kiss to my brow. Behind him, Aramis removed his hat and held it mournfully over his heart.

"Please, dear Madeleine, forgive my insensitivity. I did not mean to cause you distress," always the gentleman. I was glad my brother's embrace was hiding my face, as I felt my cheeks flash with a bright heat whilst my pulse quickened.

"I know you were not malicious in your words, Aramis. It is I who should apologise for startling you. You caught me by surprise, is all." Smiling dashingly, this seemed enough to satisfy Aramis who promptly placed his hat back upon his head, but it was not enough for my brother. He always worried more than anyone else. Releasing me from his grasp, he studied me closely, seeking answers to his unspoken questions in the realm of my expression and gaze. "You returned to our home?" The question arose in a whisper, almost having not dared ask it in the first place. Athos steeled himself for a moment, as if resolving to tell me something.

"I did."

"And?"

"And what?"

"I just…" part of me hoped that my brother, in returning to our family home, might have found a little peace there. Perhaps the memory of the past had faded enough that those walls had not haunted him, that guilt had not stared at him from the shadows…and grief had not lingered at his back no matter where he turned. It was a feeble hope, but I could not help myself. "I wondered if we might…if we might go back," I ventured to suggest. "To visit mother and father's graves, and Thomas's…I thought…"

"There is nothing for us to go back to." My brother cut me short and I promptly clamped my mouth shut. So this was it, then. My brother was still haunted by the past even after five years of distraction and distance. "In any case, the house is no more. It has burned to the ground." The news came so nonchalantly that at first I had not understood its implications. My distraction of disappointment did not allow me to recognise what my brother was telling me until a few moments later. Then, it struck me.

"What?" My voice was hoarse from shock, my eyes wider than ever as I gaped at my brother. "What are you saying?"

"It's true," d'Artagnan offered, drawing my stare from Athos to himself. "I saw it happen. The fire was vicious and unmerciful. I'm sorry, Madeleine, but I do not expect much has survived." Men. How cruel they could be. They did not understand. They did not understand the importance of one's home to a woman, so how could they tell me so bluntly that the home I had once loved was now nothing more than rubble and ashes? I staggered backwards, losing the air in my lungs.

"Madeleine…it is for the best." My brother tried to soothe me, making to catch me before I could fall but I slapped his hands away.

"Do not touch me!" My home…my precious home…gone. "Do not…do not…how did this happen?" But to this, my brother never answered. My heart beat frantically in my chert, pounding against the cage which held it as my body swayed between distress and rage. "Our home is gone? Truly?"

"That place was no longer our home. It was nothing more than an empty shell of timber and stone," Athos remained stoic and monotonous, seemingly utterly unaffected by the fact that the house we had both been born and raised in, the house he had inherited from our father was now ashes. "It means nothing to us."

"It meant something to me!" Having staggered into my anger, my voice raised itself in a manner not befitting a lady, but I hardly cared in that moment. Let the onlookers stare. They were mere spectators and had no meaning to me at this moment in time. "That place…that was our home, my home! How could you let this happen? Tell me, who started the fire? Who?!" In my spark of fury and distress, my hands had slammed against my brother's chest, wanting to push the truth from him as an unsettling chill suddenly swallowed me. I grasped at his lapel. "Was it you? Did you do this?"

"Madeleine…" the warning growl told me that I was close to exceeding his patience. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan had politely moved away at this point, but I could feel their gaze upon us. "It is done!"

"It is not fair, it is not right! I had hoped to return one day, to start anew! Now you tell me our home is burned to the ground and you act as if it means nothing to you. Athos! Is your heart so cold and dead that you are incapable of feeling anything?!" My cheek burst with a sharp, stinging pain. I gasped, my hand flying to clutch at the burning print which lingered, shock silencing me in an instant. Behind us, the others all shouted in disbelief and surged forwards, but their own shock caused them to falter. Before me, Athos was staring directly back at me. He held up his hand, looked at it in horrified disbelief at what he had done. He had struck me. For the first time in my entire life, my elder brother had struck me. I knew he regretted it instantly, watched the shadow of his abhorrence and distraught cross through him, but when he reached out that same hand which had caused me pain to try and touch me, I flinched from him.

This, it seemed, hurt him cruelly. His features contorted in pain to see me flinch from him, his breath hitching as he began to tremble with shame and remorse. "Madeleine…oh Madeleine…I am so sorry…forgive me…" my stomach twisted sickeningly. This time when he reached for me, I reacted upon instinct. My hand curled into a tight fist and swung with all its might, crashing into Athos's face with so much force that his head rocked backwards and even his knees buckled. My brother dropped to the ground and I did not hesitate to spring over him and sprint away, still clutching my burning face. Behind me, I heard his desperate voice crying out my name, begging for me to come back.

I did not stop. I did not even look over my shoulder. I just ran.