Athos finds the letter in a pile of correspondence on his desk one morning in September. It is a year since he had pushed his horse almost beyond the animal's limits to get tothe crossroads, only to find Milady's carriage gone. Four seasons have come and gone since Aramis retired to the monastery at Douai.

He had been so sure that one, if not both, would turn up at the garrison before twelve months had gone by. Perhaps the illusion that their absences were temporary made life bearable. But as the days of September pass by, Athos begins to try to come to terms with the fact that neither Aramis nor Milady are likely to return.

Acceptance does not come easily. At times, he curses Treville for anointing him as his chosen successor. Late at night, if the window in his quarters is open, he hears the raucous laughter floating through the air from the Wren. Lying on the thin mattress, he tosses and turns, unable to shut out the noise that reminds him of Aramis. When he closes his eyes, he sees his friend balancing a melon carefully on his head, arms outstretched. A moment later, Porthos shoots cleanly through the melon, and the look of sheer joy on Aramis' face makes Athos smile in the darkness. Then the picture fades from his mind, and he is left with the ache of loss.

The dull boom of thunder echoes through the morning air. A slow, steady rain begins to fall outside his office, and a cooling breeze filters through the window. He thinks of Anne, and how ironic it is that such a cunning, dangerous woman is afraid of thunderstorms. At least, she once was—perhaps in England she has become accustomed to them.

With a sigh, he contemplates the sea of missives that lie on his desk, taunting him with their presence. He decides to try to come up with some basic scheme of organization. Surely Treville had one? Standing up, he begins to sort through the pile, putting official correspondence to the right side, and personal letters to the left.

He finds the personal letters the most draining to read. Destitute widows of long dead musketeers write short, desperate pleas for assistance. Fathers pen elaborately crafted petitions begging for a place for their son in the regiment.

A small, light blue envelope catches his eye, and he recognizes the stationary at once. His heart begins to slow as he picks it up and sees her flowing script, crowded and hurried. Sitting down, he hesitates for just an instant, then opens it, hungry for any sentence, no matter how brief, from her hand.

England is not what I thought it would be. I have returned to France, but only for a short time. I will be in the vicinity of your father's hunting lodge on 1 October. Meet me at the Avenue of the Birches on that morning. I will be there at dawn, and shall wait for you this time. A.

Twelve days later, he rides up to the road that leads to the lodge. The mist is still heavy in the air, but it is all as beautiful as he remembers. He dismounts, and secures Roger to a nearby tree. The animal noses through the leaves, seeking out blades of grass hidden under the carpet of autumn colors.

As he begins to walk down the path, everything he sees reminds him of Anne. The slim, creamy birch trees, swaying gently in the wind, bring to mind her grace. The kaleidoscope of vibrant leaves cause him to think of the sensuality she put into even the smallest movement when they made love. The small cairn of rocks to the right, each stone delicately placed on top of the next, recall the balance she brought to his life in the early days.

He covers almost a quarter of a mile before he enters the thickest patch of the swirling mist in front of him. At that moment, he sees her standing in the center of the path, not ten feet in front of him. The look in her eyes halts him in his tracks, and he stares at her, unable to believe what he is seeing.

I originally intended for this to be a one shot, but am having a hard time leaving it there. Perhaps this is my attempt to compensate for the fact that happily for Maimie, but sadly for us, there will be very little, if any, of her gifted acting in season 3.

The picture inspiring the story can be seen at Tumblr (lizcavil, The Light of Night). And if by some chance you haven't checked out any of her fics (Hide and Seek, Athos' Refrigerator, The Road to War, among other gems), please do! She is an amazing writer!