Disclaimer: The Musketeers are not mine. I'm just borrowing the concepts and characters for a little while.

Spoilers: None. Takes place between the first and second season.

A/N: This story is dedicated to Celticgal1041 in honor of her 2015 and 2016 birthdays.

Please Note: Because real life is very busy at the moment, I will only be posting one chapter per week. My apologies for this first part being so short; next week's chapter will be quite a bit longer.

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"We are all one – and if we don't know it, we learn it the hard way." – Bayard Rustin

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Prologue

It all happened so fast.

One minute they were riding towards Paris after a successful mission, and the next they were under attack.

One moment they were laughing at something Porthos had just said about the Red Guards, and the next they were fighting for their lives.

One minute they were four exhausted men looking forward to a night's rest in a real bed, and the next they were two men helping their injured friends stay alive.

It all happened so fast. Yet, when d'Artagnan looked back on those moments, time seemed to have learned a few new tricks, speeding up and slowing down as it pleased and in the end, had seemingly changed his life forever.

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To be continued

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Next week: Chapter One: Hollow Victory

Happy Birthday, Celticgal! Breithlá Sona Duit!

Many thanks to Tidia for proofing this chapter for me. Remaining mistakes are my fault.

Thanks for reading!