And the final part of this story to wrap things up. Thank you very much to everybody who read this and enjoyed! Special hugs and kisses (from the musketeers, none of you care for my own I'm sure :P ) to all those who found the time to comment! It's greatly appreciated and made it so much more fun for me to share this idea with you. Hopefully, it was an interesting take on the challenge which is starting to get rather awesome stories written for it! Do check them out! :D

Also, if I do end up writing a follow up at some point, it will most probably be a new story so I will edit this chapter to include it's name. So far I got 2 yes votes and one vote that said both yes and no so still not fully decided. We'll see how it goes.

And so, without further ado, I present the last chapter of Destined to Meet!

Olivier wanted to forget everything. Forget his miserable life, forget the snake that claimed to love him but had been betraying him from the very start, forget that he had faked his own dead to cut any ties to his past. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to feel. He just wanted to get so drunk that his brain would stop working for a while and give him the peace and quiet he wanted. He would decide what to do with himself later, not that it mattered. Now, the only thing he cared about was hard alcohol running down his throat.

Sitting in his own corner of melancholy in a rundown tavern somewhere on the outskirts of Paris, he ignored the other occupants, wanting to be ignored in return. He could vaguely hear some commotion on the other side of the room, surely some drunks who got too brave with ale wanted to start up a fight. He couldn't care less. Let them beat each other black and blue if that's what they wanted. He didn't even look their way when the argument turned louder. However, he did start to care when it escalated into a full out brawl and one of the combatants crashed into his table, spilling the contents of his cup all over Olivier.

An all consuming rage fill him that had little to do with the unfortunate man currently picking himself off of the floor and everything to do with how things kept going wrong for Olivier lately. The moment the man stood up and was ready to charge into fight again, Olivier grabbed him by his collar and threw him against the wall. He wasn't as stocky as his opponent but Olivier had height and anger on his side making him more powerful. Punching his face a few times until his knuckles were bloody, Olivier only stopped when the man couldn't get back up anymore. Kicking him once more for good measure, he turned around just in time to receive a punch to his nose himself. Reeling back, he threw himself at his attacker blindly, making them roll on the floor as they fought for dominance. They managed to turn two tables over before they stopped and destroyed yet another one when Olivier threw him against it.

On the other side of the tavern, Isaac fought with a smile upon his face, taunting his attackers, asking if there was nobody who could take down the mighty Porthos. The name was new and didn't yet have a reputation though Isaac was hell-bent on changing that soon. He had learned from his father that musketeers preferred to use made up names to keep their true identity secret and chose Porthos as his. It sounded strong, fitting the man perfectly.

Grabbing two of his attackers, Isaac smashed their heads together, making them slide to the floor unconscious. Before they hit the ground, he was holding another one of his opponents in a headlock and using him as leverage, kicked a fourth one where it hurt most. His father had always told him to use anything within his vicinity as a weapon, a lesson that Isaac took to heart, so he grabbed a few plates from the nearby table and smashed them over the heads of the next three attackers.

Standing in the back his mouth agape with horror, the owner of the tavern watched with tears in his eyes as his beautiful establishment got ruined, smashed, destroyed by the fighting men. Running outside to get anyone with authority to stop the mayhem before there was nothing of the tavern left, he yelled and screamed for help. By the time a few guards who had been passing by arrived, the majority of brawlers was on the ground either unconscious, bleeding, crawling away, moaning in pain or a combination of these. Only a handful were still standing though most of them looked worse for wear. Splitting up to take care of the aggressive drunkards, they grabbed them. Those that struggled too much, like Isaac, they hit over the head and simply threw out the door; they would know what to do once they woke up as the tavern would be closed. Those who went willingly after seeing what they did to the giant, like Olivier, they simply threw out of the village telling them not to return.

In the middle of the ruins, there stood the owner, lamenting over God's punishment on his poor soul by sending him those brawlers. He couldn't get them to pay for the damage they caused as the guards threw all of them out but he at least memorized the faces of the most ruthless combatants to make sure they would never be welcome to his tavern again. Kicking one of the unconscious men on the floor in frustration, he went to get a broom and started cleaning the mess up.

Bleeding, bruised and with nowhere to stay, Olivier saddled his horse and decided to go to Paris straight away. In the deepest part of him, he had to admit that fighting like that made him feel better than he had since the terrible realization of deceit and making his mind up, he decided to join the army once he reached the big city. Remembering the musketeers he had met throughout his life, he thought that he would maybe join them. If his memory served him right, musketeers preferred to use fake names to keep their identities hidden; that would be useful since he had no desire to use his real one. Yes, he could get as drunk as he pleased, he could beat people up and he could protect France from treacherous spies that he loathed under a new name. Remembering a Greek child's tale that his father used to tell him when he was small, he thought of Mount Athos, a mountain only accessible by boat that rose from the fight between the Gods and Giants. It would suit Olivier well.