For Whom The Bells Toll

by Sue Pokorny

A tragedy at the palace leads the Musketeers on a quest for the truth, but sometimes the answers lie too close to home. Can they fulfill their duty when the evidence points to one of their own? Or will they do whatever necessary to save their brother?

2. Chapter 2

For Whom The Bells Toll – Chapter 2

Porthos stared at his friend, his expression one of disbelief, anger and disappointment.

"Are you seriously considering him suspect?"

Athos sighed, his face betraying none of the emotions swirling inside him. They had wrapped the main-gauche in cloth and allowed the palace guards to remove the body before returning to the garrison. His intention was to lock the dagger away in one of the cabinets in Tréville's office, but Porthos would not be put off. Without preamble, and as soon as they were sequestered in Athos' quarters away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the company, the big man had made his opinion known.

"I merely asked for his whereabouts last evening," Athos responded, directing his attention to Aramis. "As Tréville explained, we would all have liked to see the Cardinal dead. It's a simple question. One we shall all have to answer. "

"You know where he was!" Porthos shouted, raising his arms in frustration. "He was with you!"

Although Porthos had seen the dagger and known its owner, he steadfastly refused to believe his friend guilty. Athos admired his loyalty – and shared it – but would be remiss in his duties if he did not pose the questions. Yes, Aramis did have more reason than most to see the Cardinal dead – as did they all - but while they wanted the Cardinal dead to avenge past actions, Aramis alone would find his death advantageous for the threat he could become in the future. They had no evidence that the Cardinal knew anything about Aramis' and the Queen's indiscretion at the convent, but if Richelieu threatened the Queen or her child, Athos had no doubt Aramis would do whatever necessary to protect them. It was that fear that drove him now. Unfortunately, it was something he couldn't come right out and ask without revealing Aramis' secret, so he found himself torn between his duty to the Crown and his loyalty to his brother. It was not a position he relished.

Athos nodded. "For a large portion of the evening he was with all of us, yes. But –"

"Aramis was right here," Porthos interjected. "In his room, sleeping off the wine the same as you. I tucked 'im in myself."

"But you didn't stay with him," Athos pointed out.

"What?" D'Artagnan joined in from his place against the closed door of the room. "You can't honestly believe Aramis had anything to do with the Cardinal's death?" He shook his head, an expression of disbelief adorning his face. "He was in no condition to stand, let alone travel all the way to the Louvre and covertly gain entrance to murder a man. I can testify to that myself."

"Besides," Porthos took up the defense. "You saw him this morning. He was barely moving."

"Yes, but he was moving."

Aramis, who had initially been surprised by Athos' suspicions, had remained silent since their return, sitting on the room's one chair as his three friends shouted at each other inside the small space. Seeing the emotions of his friends heating – and understanding why Athos was being more vague than usual - he cleared his throat and raised his head, gaining the rapt attention of the other three.

"D'Artagnan, Porthos, would you allow me a moment to speak with Athos in private?"

Porthos huffed a breath through his nose and with a sideways glance at Aramis, clasped d'Artagnan on the arm and pushed the younger man out the door in front of him, slamming the door in his wake.

"My friends are loyal," Aramis commented as the echo of angry footfalls faded down the stairs.

Athos rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement.

"All of them." Aramis stood and crossed the small distance, placing a hand on Athos' shoulder and giving him a sad smile. "I understand your concern, Athos. And I appreciate your discretion. But, I can assure you, my friend, I had no hand in the Cardinal's demise. However much I may have wanted him dead, I was not the instrument of his fate."

Athos nodded with a relieved sigh, accepting his friend's word. "I never truly believed you were guilty."

"But, considering the unique… circumstances I find myself in with the Queen, I cannot condemn your uncertainty." He slapped his hand on Athos' shoulder twice before stepping back with a small bow. "Hopefully, you will take my word as a gentleman and a Musketeer so that we can put this matter to rest."

Although Athos still had questions – first and foremost how Aramis' main-gauche found its way into the back of Cardinal Richelieu – he had known Aramis long enough to trust the man would never stoop so low as to commit such a cowardly act. Despite the motive and evidence against him, Athos believed his friend spoke the truth.

"Of course," Athos returned the bow, then stepped forward to place a more gracious hand on his friend's arm. "I pray my inquiry has wrought no ill will between us."

Aramis smiled and shook his head. "You may have some reparations to make to Porthos, but I understand you were simply doing your duty. Although, I am curious as to why you believed so quickly that I may be involved in such a crime."

Athos hesitated to tell him about the dagger, wanting to protect his friend despite his dedication to duty. Finally, deciding it would be prudent to have an explanation in case Tréville or the King should learn the truth, Athos crossed the floor and picked up the linen-wrapped weapon he had laid on the table when they'd returned from the Louvre.

With a furrowed brow, Aramis accepted the bundle and deftly unwrapped it, his dark eyes showing his surprise as he recognized the bloodstained weapon in his hands. If Athos was not convinced of his friend's innocence before, the look of complete bewilderment on Aramis' face now would be enough to persuade him.

"This is the dagger that killed Richelieu?" Aramis looked up, his eyes wide with shock, his voice trembling. "Athos, I…" he looked to his friend, his face conveying his confusion. "I have no idea..."

"Nor do I," Athos stated. "But, I assure you, no matter how this dagger came to be in the murderer's possession, I no longer suspect your involvement."

"How can you not?"

Athos smiled. "You have given me your word, my brother. And, as your friend and a fellow Musketeer, I have accepted it. Nothing else is needed."

Aramis shook his head. "You believe my word, despite the evidence in front of your eyes?"

"Of course." The answer was immediate and confident.

Aramis dipped his head. "Thank you, my friend." He handed the dagger back to Athos. "But I expect you would like an explanation."

"It would be… helpful."

"I haven't owned that dagger for some time." Aramis crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the cot. "I believe it was just after we defeated Sarazin in the streets and saved Madame Bonacieux. The blade was nicked and the grip worn so I took it to the cutler to have it repaired. While there, I found this." He drew a shining main-gauche from its sheath, twisting it back and forth, letting the light glint off the intricate design carved into the hilt. He gave Athos a satisfied smirk. "I couldn't resist such a beautiful weapon and worked a trade with the cutler. I haven't seen that dagger since."

Athos frowned and turned the stained blade over in his hands. "So whomever the cutler sold this blade to could be our murderer."

"It was long ago," Aramis cautioned him. "Many months have passed. He may not remember who purchased the blade."

Athos nodded his agreement. "But it is a place to start. Do you remember which cutler you dealt with?"

"Of course."

Athos walked to the door and placed his hand on the handle before turning to his friend with a crooked grin. "Then let us go find a murderer."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Stepping outside, they saw d'Artagnan leaning against the archway at the entrance to the garrison, his arms folded across his chest. They quickly made their way through the courtyard, and approached the young Gascon, whose attention was focused on the street at the other end of the arch.

"Where's Porthos?" Aramis asked, the concern in his voice obvious.

D'Artagnon nodded his head toward the street. "Gone." He turned and leveled an accusing stare at the other two. "He was very upset with both of you."

"What did I do?"

Athos huffed a sigh at Aramis' squawk of innocence.

Aramis graced him with a frown before returning his attention to the younger man. "He couldn't have gotten far. It shouldn't be difficult to find him."

"Porthos is more than capable of taking care of himself." Athos held an arm out to bar the others from progressing down the archway. "And we have a duty to perform."

Aramis took a step back, both hands on his hips, and craned his head back to glare at the top of the concrete arch. An aggravated sigh escaped him. "Athos…"

The older Musketeer placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "He will be fine. We will speak to the cutler first –"

"Fine." Aramis ran a hand across his face, then pointed a finger at him, his eyes wide with intent. "But then we will find Porthos and settle this discord between us."

Athos gave him a long look. "I suppose you want me to apologize."

Aramis shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt."

"I did nothing wrong."

"You disappointed him."

"Which was more your fault than mine."

"Perhaps, but the fact remains his ire is currently directed at you."

D'Artagnan, who had been attempting to follow the conversation, his head swiveling back and forth at the rapid exchange, was hopelessly confused. His brow raised and he held his breath at the glare Athos sent the Spaniard's way. He tensed, uncomfortable with the friction between his friends.

Athos gaze shifted from the apprehensive expression on d'Artagnan's face to Aramis' more pointed air before dropping his head with a resigned sigh. "Fine. I will apologize."

Aramis' smile was instantaneous. "Thank you."

"Can we go now?"

D'Artagnan smirked as Aramis reached up and removed his hat, bowing gracefully, and extending his arm toward the entrance. "After you, mon frére."

Athos took a deep breath and rolled his eyes, then turned and preceded them through the arch.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The sword merchant Aramis had dealt with had a small shop on Rue Saint-Germaine, which was a brisk walk from the garrison across the Pont Neuf to the left bank. They were fortunate to find the cutler himself present and, after showing him the dagger in question, found the man had quite a penchant for faces.

"Ah, yes," the portly man crowed. He was seated on a narrow bench, sharpening a rapier with a jeweled basket. He narrowed his eyes at Aramis. "I remember you. How is that new blade working out? Fine piece of craftsmanship, eh?"

Aramis dipped his head in agreement. "It is a beautiful weapon, I'm surprised you remember me. It has been many months since I was here."

The cutler set the sword onto a small wooden table behind him and stood, wiping his hands on his stained apron. "I never forget a face," he grinned through rotting teeth, his eyes sweeping the three men before him, obviously hoping they had come to purchase more weapons. "Especially one who wears the King's pauldron."

"That is quite fortuitous," Athos stepped forward, his left hand tucked behind his back, his right on the hilt of his sword. "We are here to inquire about another of your patrons."

Athos noted the craftsman's disappointment, but he recovered quickly, no doubt realizing these men were soldiers and likely to be in need of good, reliable weapons at some point. Helping them now could only bode well for his business in the future.

"If you remember Aramis," Athos nodded toward his friend. "Then perhaps you remember the person who purchased his original main-gauche?"

The cutler grinned. "I ain't likely to forget her."

"It was a woman?"

The man nodded, his eyes lighting at the memory. "A pretty one at that," he responded with a leer. He rubbed at his chin, smearing the dirt that had collected there then raised his eyes to the ceiling as if the image of the woman in question would be found floating above them. "Most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen. She commissioned a piece from me – a small metal box. Said she was going to use it to hold an important memento… yes, that's the word she used. Memento."

Athos sighed patiently. "She also purchased this dagger?"

"Aye," he answered eagerly. "While I fetched the trinket box from the back, she was looking over my wares. She seemed interested in the collection of daggers, and when I pointed that one out and told her it used to belong to one of the King's Musketeers, her eyes lit up like the sun."

"Why did you feel the need to tell her it belonged to a Musketeer?" Aramis asked.

The man laughed and shrugged his ample shoulders. "Salesmanship, my good fellow." He leaned forward and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. Athos could smell the pungent aroma of his last meal on his breath. "You know the ladies love to hear stuff like that." He winked at Aramis, and the Spaniard took a startled step back. "They seem to romanticize your sort now, don't they?"

Athos grunted, which could've been taken as concurrence or contempt.

"She could hardly contain her excitement, that one, once I told her the dagger belonged to the brave and honorable Musketeer Aramis."

Athos and d'Artagnan directed identical glares of exasperation toward the marksman. Aramis opened and closed his mouth a few times, obviously at a loss at how to respond. He ran a hand through his curls and sighed, finally raising his brows in defeat and giving his friends a resigned shrug.

Athos shook his head and took a deep breath before returning his attention to the merchant. "Can you describe this woman?"

"She was a beauty," the man said with a leer. "She had dark hair that fell in those little ringlet things across her shoulders. I could tell she was a lady of fine quality, the way she moved in that red velvet dress with such grace and purpose." Athos could feel his heart sinking into his stomach as the cutler continued. Even as he tried to ignore the connections his mind was making concerning the image the man was weaving, he knew, deep down, exactly who had purchased that dagger. "And those eyes… green as emeralds, I tell ya."

Before either Aramis or d'Artagnan could comment, Athos thanked the man for his time and hurried them out the door of the shop and back onto the street. Once there he didn't wait for them to question the abrupt departure and immediately headed back toward the garrison.

"Athos!"

He stopped as his arm was grasped from behind, though there was no pressure and he could have easily kept moving forward. He sighed and lowered his head for a moment, then turned to confront Aramis and d'Artagnan with a level stare.

"It couldn't be her," Aramis said quietly, instinctively knowing what his friend had assumed.

"You heard the description as did I," Athos pointed out. "Who else would be quite so interested in a Musketeer's dagger?"

"That description could fit many women in the city," d'Artagnan argued.

"Besides," Aramis continued. "You told her to leave Paris. You spared her life. The Cardinal betrayed her trust, she has no one to protect her now."

"Exactly," Athos said coldly. He didn't miss the way both of his companions avoided using her name, as if saying it out loud would somehow make her appear like a ghost out of the shadows. "The Cardinal betrayed her. What better reason for her to murder him – and frame a Musketeer for the crime?"

"It does sound like something she would do," d'Artagnan admitted. "Like what she tried to do to me."

Aramis sighed. "It is quite a coincidence. And she does hate us all. It's conceivable she would take the opportunity to implicate me in the Cardinal's death." His hand was still on Athos' arm, and the older Musketeer placed his own hand over his friend's.

"If it truly was my malevolent wife, I don't believe she was targeting you, but using you to get to me."

"Which doesn't make this any better."

"No, but it does make her more predictable." Athos squeezed Aramis' hand and the marksman withdrew it. "We need to inform Tréville of our findings."

"We need to find Porthos," Aramis declared. "If Milady is back, he needs to know. All of us are vulnerable."

Athos nodded, understanding Aramis' need to find the missing member of their quartet. Porthos had been angry – and Athos could only hope his ire had cooled – but he was still owed some sort of explanation, not to mention the apology Aramis had made him promise to deliver.

"D'Artagnan and I will go back to report to Tréville. Meet us there in two hours – with or without Porthos." He gave Aramis a pointed look, waiting for the marksman to acknowledge the order. He knew the man was worried that their hot-headed friend could find all sorts of mischief if duly motivated, but if Milady was still in Paris and involved in the Cardinal's death, their troubles were graver than they had imagined.

Aramis nodded reluctantly then headed off toward the inner city.

"Shouldn't we go with him?" d'Artagnan asked, a hint of concern coloring his voice.

Athos shook his head, letting his eyes track Aramis until he disappeared around a corner at the far end of the street. "Aramis will find Porthos. We must attend to duty."

With a pat on the younger man's shoulder and a last glance at the now empty street, they headed back to the garrison.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis took a deep breath before he entered the tavern. It was the third such establishment he'd checked. After coming up empty at the first two, he prayed for success on this occassion, knowing his time was growing short and that he would be obliged to turn back in order to keep his word to Athos if he didn't come upon his rogue friend soon.

He'd started at the taverns just on the fringe of the Court of Miracles, knowing Porthos would start there, trying to work his network of informants in an attempt to glean some kind of information about the Cardinal's murder. Despite leaving the Court years ago, Porthos still kept in contact with some of its inhabitants. The series of events that had ultimately led to Portho's former friend, Charon's, demise had hurt his reputation with many of the area's denizens, but Porthos was still able to blend into the throng of characters that made up the Court – a pretense Aramis couldn't quite achieve.

The marksman was aware of the stares he was currently receiving from more than a few of the tavern's patrons. He knew he looked rough; his eye was still tender and most probably bruised and his headache, although receded to a dull throb, more than likely gave him an irritated countenance buoyed by the frustration brought about by his lack of success. The scrutiny he garnered made him uncomfortable, but as one of the King's Musketeers, fear was a constant companion and a few looks of umbrage were not enough to sway him from his mission. With quiet intent, he strode across the room to the long wooden board that served as the tavern's main bar and leaned across the beam to gain the attention of the barkeep behind it. The man took his time responding, glaring at Aramis when he finally deigned to acknowledge him.

"What do 'ya want?" the keep asked in a gruff voice.

"I'm looking for someone," Aramis smiled charmingly. "A friend."

"You ain't got no friends here, Musketeer."

Aramis sighed. "Be that as it may, I'm looking for a man named Porthos. I was hoping -"

A rough push from behind forced him into the edge of the wooden bar and he gasped as his ribs made sharp contact with the edge of the beam. With a slight wince, he turned slowly, smiling benevolently at the three rough looking men who stood in a semi-circle before him, effectively trapping him next to the bar.

"You deaf, Musketeer? The man said you ain't welcome 'ere."

Aramis held up his left hand, his right hovering lower, near the hilt of his sword. He knew the quarters were much too close to chance drawing the weapon, but he instinctively dropped his arm, the comfort of the blade strengthening his resolve.

"I assure you I received the message loud and clear, my friend. I just wish to –"

Whatever else he intended to say was thwarted by a sudden crash of glass followed by a blinding pain in the back of his head. A flash of bright white overtook his vision and suddenly he found himself on the ground, trying to curl into a ball to protect his head and torso from the vicious kicks that were coming too fast at his body.

He had no idea how long the assault lasted, but he gradually became aware that the blows had ceased, even though the sound of furniture breaking and the thud of bodies hitting the floor momentarily continued. A familiar roar filled the air followed by the scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet before a sudden silence surrounded him.

He sensed a presence near him and tightened his muscles in an effort to protect himself. He nearly jumped out of his skin as a hand came down on his head, unexpectedly gentle and mercifully familiar.

"Aramis?"

He nearly laughed in relief, groaning instead as the hands moved to his side, pressing against his aching ribs.

"'Mis? Can you hear me?"

He winced as the soft voice reverberated in his head, a feeling of shelter and security nearly overwhelming him. Taking a gasping breath, he shifted slightly, slitting open his eyes, swallowing thickly as the world moved in and out of focus.

"There you are," the voice said, dripping with concern. Aramis squinted, desperately trying to bring the face drifting in front of him into focus. He managed a wan smile, as his friend's familiar visage took shape. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Porthos chided as he leaned back on his heels. Aramis watched as the larger man pulled his scarf from around his neck and folded it, pressing it gently to the side of Aramis' head.

"Looking for you."

Porthos shook his head in fond exasperation. "You shouldn't 'ave come here."

"Apparently I had little choice since this is where you seem to be."

"Unlike you, Aramis, I have friends in the Court. Good thing one of 'em recognized you and found me before those men stomped you to pieces."

Aramis huffed an indignant laugh, immediately regretting as the throbbing in his head increased. "I had the situation well in hand."

Porthos pressed the scarf harder to make his point.

"Ow!"

"Exactly." He removed the material long enough to part Aramis' hair and peer at the damage done to his head. "You're lucky they didn't split your head like a melon."

"It rather feels as if they did. What hit me?"

"Wine bottle."

Aramis sighed. "I hope it was empty. I'd hate to think they wasted good wine on this."

"I doubt if there is such a thing as good wine in this place." Porthos looked around, his expression warning anyone near to keep their distance. Aramis squinted past his friend, noting the small crowd of people watching them from across the now silent room. "Think you can stand?"

Aramis nodded, holding out an arm, thankful for his friend's assistance. Once upright, the various bruises on his arms and body began to make their presence known and he groaned as his ribs and back joined his head in protest at the movement.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here."

Aramis didn't complain, merely allowed Porthos to lead him from the tavern and into a narrow alley a few buildings down. Once they were safely out of sight of the hostelry, Porthos eased him down against the brickwork and knelt beside him. Gently moving Aramis' thick, dark curls, the big man winced at the gash, still bleeding sluggishly.

"This may need needlework," he cautioned before replacing the scarf against the cut.

Aramis lifted a hand and Porthos removed his own from the dark curls, letting the marksman take over the pressure. Once sure his friend was able to keep the makeshift bandage in place, Porthos leaned back against the opposite wall and gave the smaller man a disapproving glare.

"You could've gotten yourself killed," he said bluntly. "What the hell were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinking I needed to find you before you did something stupid."

Porthos huffed a laugh. "So you figured to do something stupid first?"

Aramis returned the smile. "It sounded like a good idea at the time."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're the fool who encourages me."

Porthos chuckled loudly, smiling at his friend with unabashed affection.

"I was coming back, ya know."

Aramis nodded, swallowing thickly as his he felt his brain slosh inside his head. "I was impatient."

"You never were very good at waiting."

"True. I'm a man of action." He grinned at the easy banter, but it faded quickly. "Athos is waiting to apologize."

Porthos' expression sobered and he diverted his eyes. "Is he now?"

"He wasn't being disloyal, Porthos. You know him better than that."

"I thought I did," the big man shook his head. "But he seemed to accept your guilt a bit too easily."

"He had his reasons to suspect my involvement."

Porthos growled in irritation. "You talkin' about the dagger? Anyone could've taken that. I'll bet you didn't even know it was missing."

Aramis smiled at his friend's steadfast belief. "I traded that dagger many months ago. We've already spoken to the cutler to find who he sold it to."

Porthos eyes widened expectantly. "Yeah?"

Aramis started to nod, but thought better of it. "Yes. It seems a beautiful woman with dark hair and green eyes purchased it when the merchant told her it was formerly owned by one of the King's Musketeers. He was even gracious enough to give the woman my name to entice her into purchasing the weapon. Apparently, it was an opportunity too fortuitous for Milady to pass up."

"Milady de Winter?" Porthos nearly spat the name. "You've got to be joking."

"Afraid not, my friend." Aramis sighed and closed his eyes, allowing his head to lean back against the brick wall. "Athos is, of course, beside himself with recrimination for allowing her to escape."

"Of course," Porthos couldn't help his snort of derision. "He'll be blamin' 'imself for everything that woman does until she's locked up in the chåtalet or executed by order of the King."

They sat in silence for a moment, each reflecting on the damage the woman who called herself Milady de Winter had done to the psyche of their friend and their sense of security.

Aramis opened his eyes to see Porthos watching him, taking in the pale face, the bruised eye and the overall air of fatigue that seemed to hover around him. Aramis knew he'd been acting differently since Anne had announced her pregnancy, but he'd hoped he'd been able to hide it well enough to avoid detection. From the way Porthos was studying him at the moment, he wasn't quite sure of his success.

"There's something else, though, isn't there?"

Aramis looked away, trepidation and resolution warring across his handsome features.

"Just come out with it, Aramis."

The marksman sighed, wrapping both arms around his torso and lowering his eyes to the ground between them. "You're not going to like it."

"Probably not," Porthos agreed. "And I can probably save you the trouble of saying it out loud. I thought you promised to aim lower."

Porthos stifled a laugh at the wide-eyed look of surprise on his friend's expressive face.

"How…?"

"I'm a lot more observant than you and Athos give me credit for."

"Apparently." Aramis had the grace to look abashed.

"So?" Porthos pressed. "What happened to your promise?"

"In fact, it was you who told me to aim lower, I never actually agreed…"

"Aramis…"

His head came up at the low growl. "I assure you, my friend, what transpired was not intended in advance. By my word, my aim was… neither low nor high. I did not set out to seduce the Queen." He laughed, but the sound was more sad than happy. "It was rather the other way around."

"She seduced you?" Porthos' voice rose an octave in disbelief.

Aramis quickly shook his head, squeezing his eyes tightly as the sudden dizziness reminded him why abrupt movements were currently a bad idea.

"'Mis?"

He held up a hand as he heard Porthos shift, ready to come to his aid. "I'm alright." He swallowed loudly. "Just keep forgetting that certain actions are unadvisable at present." He opened his eyes and gave his friend a convincing smile, relieved when Porthos settled back on the other side of the narrow alleyway.

"So?" Porthos prompted. "The Queen?"

Thankfully they were alone in the alley, the sounds of the Parisians going about their daily business far from their position. Still, Aramis lowered his voice, careful of the precarious situation he was about to bring forth.

"It was more an attempt at comfort."

"Comfort," Porthos repeated.

"Do you remember me telling you about Isabelle?"

Porthos' brow furrowed at the unexpected segue. "Your betrothed?"

Aramis nodded slowly, pleased his brain decided to stay put this time. "She was there."

"At the convent," Porthos clarified, causing Aramis to smile again at his friend's perceptiveness. "And what? She turned you down?"

"She was a nun, Porthos." For all his obvious perceptiveness, Porthos could still be quite dense at times.

Porthos smiled indulgently, and Aramis returned it, silently thanking his friend for the attempt at levity.

"So her father had her in a convent all these years?"

Aramis sobered as he remembered his surprise at finding his former lover after so long. "Apparently it was her decision alone. She did not believe me cut out for a simple life and, after losing the baby, left of her own accord to save me from making a mistake. She considered it a kindness."

"How could anyone mistake leaving for a kindness?" Porthos shook his head in disbelief.

Aramis shrugged wearily. "I do not have an appropriate answer for that."

Porthos pursed his lips as he studied Aramis. "So what happened?"

Aramis took a deep breath, shifting painfully as his ribs and back began to ache in earnest. "The assassins found a way into the convent through an opening in the cellar. She was there…." His voice began to tremble and tears clouded his eyes at the still painful memory. "I arrived in time to kill them, but… she died in my arms."

"I'm sorry, mon frere."

"As am I." Aramis gave him a tremulous smile and tightened his arms around himself as a pain more emotional than physical shook his frame. His eyes lost focus as he continued in a voice so quiet, Porthos had to lean forward to catch the softly spoken words. "Anne – Her Majesty – saw my grief. She was trying to console me. Two people, commiserating about the loss of a child… one thing led to another and…." He looked up and Porthos' heart pained at the tear that slowly slid down his friend's cheek. "She is a beautiful woman. And a kind and generous soul."

"She's the Queen," Porthos reminded him softly.

"Yes, She's the Queen. As you and Athos have quite succinctly pointed out."

"You told Athos?" Porthos tone wasn't quite accusatory, Aramis noted. He sounded more… hurt.

He didn't bother to answer, simply stared at the other man, one brow raised, a slight grin lifting the corner of his mouth.

It didn't take Porthos long to understand the implication and his eyes widened in shock. "He caught you?"

"He walked in on us – after."

Porthos couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped his mouth. "What I would've paid to see that! Did you at least get a rise out of him?"

Aramis lifted his hand, thumb and forefinger nearly touching one another. "A small one," he admitted. "But he quickly regained his composure."

"'Course he did."

Aramis returned his friend's grin for a moment before allowing his eyes to communicate his apology. "I wanted to tell you, Porthos, but…"

"You're still an idiot, but you were trying to protect me. I know." The big man's perceptiveness and easy acceptance once again humbled the Spaniard.

"If anyone found out about our indiscretion, I would be hanged for treason. I couldn't risk your life by sharing my moment of weakness."

"It ain't a weakness to find comfort in someone's arms, 'Mis." Aramis couldn't help but be amazed at the capacity for forgiveness that welled inside his friend. The man was truly an enigma. A child of the Court; a thief and criminal from a young age, but a man with a heart the size of France who truly embodied the spirit of a Musketeer. "Besides," Porthos continued. "If anyone did find out, do you really think they'd believe I didn't know?"

Aramis smiled, tilting his head in acquiescence. "Fair point."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, the sounds of the city providing a subdued background to their thoughts. Suddenly Aramis felt his friend's gaze upon him and he looked up, surprised to see shock and sympathy combined on Porthos face.

"What about…," Porthos stumbled over his words, his eyes wide with concern and Aramis knew the moment his friend had figured out the real predicament he had landed them all in. "Please tell me... it's not… Damnit, Aramis! How could you be so –"

"Virile?" Aramis' attempt at levity fell short.

"Not funny," Porthos growled. "Is the child yours?" His voice was a mere whisper, as if even saying the words out loud were blasphemy.

Aramis smiled sadly, allowing all the pain and trepidation he felt show for a moment in his eyes. "Anne believes so." He shook his head and gave a little laugh filled with entirely too much pain. "Even if it is true, I can never be a part of his life."

This time Porthos did move, shuffling across the rough ground until he was pressed next to his friend, able to put an arm around his shoulder and pull him into a warm embrace. "I'm truly sorry, my friend."

Aramis leaned into the familiar comfort, and for the first time allowed himself to give in to the sorrow he'd been carrying inside.

"I swear to you now, Aramis," Porthos said quietly, his strong arms tightening around the man he considered family. "I will protect your child with my life. I will watch over him and allow no harm to come to him as long as I shall live."

And to his surprise, Aramis' did not feel weakened by the need to be embraced. All he found in Porthos' arms was strength.

TBC