It occurred to me that I was remiss in thanking my beta-extraordinaire, Sharlot, who tirelessly slogs through these stories and keeps me on the straight and narrow. Bad Sue. Couldn't do it without ya, hon. You're the bestest. :)

Chapter 2

"How long has it been?" d'Artagnan poured some ale into their mugs and settled back onto the bench. His eyes danced between the new arrival and Aramis' delighted face. The last time he'd seen his friend this happy was when he'd recognized them in the cellar of the monastery in Douai. His smile had been tempered by disbelief back then as it was now, but after the trials and disappointments of the last few months, the Gascon was glad to see the much welcome hint of joy and wonder in the marksman's eyes.

Erias nodded his head in thanks and took a long drink from the mug before responding. "Like Aramis, my mother sent me to live with my father when I was ten or eleven years of age. Aramis was only a baby then, perhaps two? So it is going on almost twenty-five, thirty years since I've seen him." His gaze shifted to Aramis, a gentle smile curving his lips. "He was quite a fussy little child, if I remember correctly. But he loved to be held; would quiet right down when someone cradled him in their arms. And there was no shortage of willing women around to coo and cuddle with the pretty little baby." At Aramis' cough of embarrassment, Erias' smile widened. "He had a shock of dark curls, pretty much like he does now." He reached out and tousled the wild locks, laughing as Aramis pushed his hand away, mumbling something untoward under his breath.

"That explains a lot," Porthos snorted, throwing a knowing glance at his friend.

Aramis ignored him. "You said you went with your father, where did you go? Everoux?"

"No, to a village not far from there. Argentan. It is where I met my wife, Miren."

"Wife?" Aramis seized on the word. "You're married!"

Erias nodded. "With two beautiful daughters. Gianna and Bridgette."

Aramis beamed as he glanced at the faces of his friends. "I'm an uncle!" He held up his mug, clanking it against d'Artagnan's.

"To uncles!" the Gascon grinned, downing the ale in salute. Porthos and Athos joined in, a bit more reserved than the others.

"So why now?" Athos asked. It was obvious he was suspicious of Erias, even thought Aramis seemed to believe the man without reservation. "Why seek out Aramis after all these years?"

Erias sighed, his eyes dropping to the tabletop as he considered the question. "Like I said before, I had always entertained thoughts of trying to find him, but had little information to guide my search." He looked at each of them, his eyes finally coming to rest on Aramis who sat rapt with attention. "When I learned of our mother's death, I was only fourteen, but I convinced my father to allow me to return to the brothel to find out what had happened to you. I was told you had left only weeks before with your true father. I was glad for you. I'd hoped to find out where you had gone, but no one seemed to know anything other than a name; d'Herblay." He took another sip of the ale before continuing. "When I bought the inn, I kept my ears open over the years, hoping for some mention of the name, but I heard nothing. I had resigned myself to never finding you when about five or six years ago, travelers from Paris brought stories of a Musketeer who had been accused of treason, of sleeping with the Queen." His eyes on the table, he didn't notice the others stiffen and went on with his narrative. "I considered it folly, of course, a romantic tale that had grown to epic proportions as rumors are want to do." He looked up finally, a ghost of a smile on his face. "But then someone mentioned a name; Aramis." He shrugged. "I almost swallowed my tongue right there and then. Poor Miren, she thought I was about to have an attack of some kind."

D'Artagnan chuckled, watching Aramis as he drank in Erias' words like a man dying of thirst.

"After that, I tried to gather all the information I could," Erias admitted. "Rumors swelled about treason and Spanish spies and corruption in the palace… and then the war." His countenance shifted and his eyes took on a haunted expression. "I don't need to tell you the horrors of war."

D'Artagnan grunted and shook his head in understanding. The awfulness of battle was something that was not lost on the Musketeers. "Did the fighting come close to Evroux?"

"Close enough." Erias shuddered at the memories. "Sometimes we could hear the cries of the dying left on the fields of battle at night. I wanted to help them but…" he let his words trail off and Aramis grasped his shoulder in sympathy.

"Sometimes there is nothing that can be done but to leave the dead to their peace."

The others nodded, the solemn silence lasting a few moments until Erias cleared his throat, lifting the mug once more in the air. "To those who gave everything for France. May they rest in God's glory."

"Amen," Aramis responded as he clanked his mug against Erias' and d'Artagnan's. Since Athos and Porthos were out of reach, they simply lifted theirs in silent homage.

"So you heard Aramis' name mentioned in rumors and that was enough to lead you to Paris?"

D'Artagnan threw a questioning glance toward Athos, something in the Captain's tone making the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Athos ignored him, his eyes focused intently on Erias' face. The man met his stare evenly.

"A guest traveling to the coast brought news that the famous Musketeers had returned to Paris. With the war finally pushing past toward the northern territories, I thought it as good a time as any to find out once and for all if the man I heard about was in fact the baby brother I'd lost so long ago." He turned his attention to Aramis, placing a hand on the marksman's back. "I knew you the moment I laid eyes on you."

Porthos snorted in disbelief. "You recognized a man you 'aven't seen since he was a child?"

The big Musketeer's skepticism didn't damper Erias' conviction, and d'Artagnan noted how his expression grew fonder in the face of the other's doubt. "He is the spitting image of our mother. How could I not know him immediately?"

Aramis blushed and dropped his eyes, but the tiny smile lifting his lips betrayed his pleasure at the sentiment.

"I hardly remember her," the marksman admitted. "Her face is but a shadow to me now."

"You need only look in the mirror, brother. You have her eyes."

Aramis ducked his head, content with the comparison.

D'Artagnan caught Erias' gaze and smiled. Whether everything he'd said was true or not, for the moment, Aramis was happy in a way d'Artagnan had not seen him for a long while. If this stranger's claims proved false, they would deal with it later, but for now, he was grateful that the chance of finding someone he didn't even know he'd lost had given Aramis back the hope that he could find himself again amidst the turmoil they were currently immersed within.

"As loathe as I am to interrupt this happy reunion, duty calls." Athos voice held a touch of reluctance, but d'Artagnan couldn't tell if it was for the interruption of Aramis' elation or their questioning of Erias' intentions. "Aramis, my friend, you and Porthos are due at the palace shortly. Would you like me to find someone to take your place? I'm sure there is someone else available to escort the Queen and the Dauphin to the gardens."

Aramis threw his friend a dark look that was met with one of reproach. D'Artagnan shook his head at the Captain's blatant manipulation of the marksman's loyalties.

"I wouldn't hear of disrupting your duties," Erias said in dismay. "We've waited thirty years for our reunion, I'm sure another few hours won't make a difference." He avoided Athos' eyes, instead glancing at d'Artagnan who was barely able to choke back a startled chuckle. It wasn't often someone got the better of Athos, but when it did happen, it was enough to take them all by surprise.

Erias pushed himself from the bench, bowing to each of them in turn. "It was a pleasure to meet you all. I hope I have the occasion to know all of you better."

"Meet us later at the Wren," Aramis suggested as he followed his brother to his feet. "I for one, am interested in learning about the trials and tribulations of innkeeping in Evroux."

Erias laughed, a bright, full sound that reminded d'Artagnan of Aramis' from long ago. He stood and added his voice to the invitation.

"As would I." He held a hand out to Erias who took it with gratitude.

"Then I shall await your arrival." He bowed his head to Athos and Porthos before returning his attention to Aramis. "Perhaps you could walk me out?"

Without a glance to the others, Aramis smiled and threw an arm around Erias' shoulders, steering him back across the courtyard toward the archway.

D'Artagnan rounded the table, coming to stand beside Athos and Porthos as they watched the two men disappear through the gate.

"You don't believe him," d'Artagnan stated the obvious.

"I don't believe in coincidence," Athos corrected.

D'Artagnan waved a hand toward the gate. "Anyone with eyes could see he was telling the truth, Athos. He looked and acted so much like Aramis, how can they not be related?"

Athos exchanged a glance with Porthos who shrugged, but remained silent. "It is not that I doubt his claim," he explained. "I just wonder at the timing."

"He explained all that," d'Artagnan huffed, not liking the way his friend's were ready to tear at the one true spot of happiness Aramis had been able to find. "Aramis is his only living relative. Why wouldn't he seek him out?"

Athos sighed and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "You're right, of course. Perhaps I am being a bit more suspicious than necessary." He turned and glanced at Porthos, tilting his head toward the gate. "I believe your presence is needed at the Louvre?" His voice held a hint of suggestion d'Artagnan couldn't quite read, but Porthos sighed and nodded. He placed his hat carefully on his head and strode toward the archway in the wake of the others.

Without another word, Athos moved toward the stairway, leaving d'Artagnan standing alone, hands on hips, the sinking feeling things were not as auspicious as they seemed.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Porthos sighed for the hundredth time as Aramis watched the Dauphin frolic about in the gardens. The marksman's grin, under any other circumstance, would be infectious, but here, in the presence of the Queen and her son, it was dangerous.

A few nights ago, half in his cups, Aramis had relayed what had happened between himself and the King in the royal crypt. Porthos' heart had seized as he regaled him with Louis' threats to have him tortured and hanged for treason, somehow concluding that that one part of Rochefort's story held true. Aramis had no idea how or why Louis had been convinced his wife's and Aramis' affair was fact, but in the last four years, he'd come to believe it so, and Porthos feared for his friend's life more now than ever. The fact Aramis showed no outward sign of worry that the King would make good on his threats was something the big Musketeer could neither fathom nor appreciate.

They stood stationed at the entrance to the gardens, both in full view of the Queen and her ladies-in-waiting. While the Queen remained regal as always, nobody could miss the errant glances thrown their way – nor could anyone miss Aramis' countering smile. Perhaps it was simply because he knew – and dreaded – the possible outcome of such a display, but Porthos couldn't help but be frustrated by the lack of sense they both showed considering their precarious predicament within the palace.

"Stop it," he hissed, sidling closer to the marksman and throwing an elbow into the man's side.

Aramis grunted in annoyance. "Stop what? I'm merely in a good mood. Would you rather I pretend to be as dour as you or Athos?"

"It'd be a start," he conceded. "I don't know why I let you talk me into keeping the King's threats from Athos and Treville in the first place." When Aramis had realized he'd spilled everything the King had said, he swore Porthos to secrecy, promising to keep his distance as much as possible until Louis gave orders forbidding him access to the Louvre. Porthos had reluctantly agreed, assuming those orders would come sooner rather than later.

But no orders had been issued, and even though Athos made a point of trying to keep their trouble-prone friend as far from temptation as possible, their numbers were small and it was impossible to keep Aramis' name from palace rotation indefinitely without arousing suspicion. The fact that suspicion was hardly a concern anymore was a point that had yet to be brought to either the Captain's or Minister's attention.

"Besides," Aramis continued unabated. "I have just been introduced to a brother I never even knew I had. Why would I not be elated at the prospect?"

"Because the elation may be taken for somethin' else entirely."

Aramis tutted, his smile tempered in the face of Porthos' indictment. "You, my friend, worry far too much."

"The King threatened to have you hanged," Porthos retorted angrily. "How is that worrying too much?"

Aramis fidgeted, his eyes following the Dauphin as he chased after a fluttering insect. "Yet he has not acted on that threat." The marksman waved a hand dismissively. "And when and if he does, there is little to be done. If his majesty wants me dead, he will be compelled to explain why, which will bring about a scandal he has no desire to cope with."

Porthos studied the marksman's profile, not liking how calm and unconcerned he seemed to be. "What are you goin' on about?"

Aramis sighed but kept his eyes trained on the group of courtiers before them. "If Louis deigns to make his concerns public, he not only condemns his wife but his son as well. He's dying Porthos. He cannot leave the country without an heir or the crown will fall to Gaston. He may not be as wise a ruler as his father, but Louis is no fool. Leaving Gaston on the throne would ruin France and Louis would rather perpetuate a lie than leave such a legacy." He paused, his countenance turning somber for a moment. The King had traveled to Fontainebleau to consult with his physicians, so they were in no immediate danger of being discovered, but it was obvious Aramis knew the danger he was in just by being near his son. When he continued his voice held a touch of reluctance. "Besides, Louis truly does love the boy. I don't for a moment believe he would want to see the child persecuted."

Porthos watched the boy run through a small copse of flowers after the butterfly, his small hands rising up trying to snatch it from the air. He considered the explanation, but even the logic of his friend's argument couldn't completely dissolve the irritation the situation presented. "So you have it all figured out, huh?"

Aramis turned to him, a look of sadness flashing in his eyes. "Perhaps. But I know my opportunities are limited. Once Louis returns and makes his displeasure known, neither Athos nor Treville will allow me anywhere near the palace. Until then, I must take advantage of any opportunity I have."

Porthos huffed, knowing he didn't have it in him to deny his friend, even though it could quite possibly lead to his doom.

"I know you don't approve," Aramis conceded. "And I am sorry to force your silence, knowing you are simply trying to act for my own welfare, but please Porthos, allow me this."

"Fine. Just stop grinnin'."

Aramis dipped his head in acquiescence. "I shall endeavor to comply."

A shriek of childish laughter bubbled up from the garden and Aramis' attention was immediately drawn to the source of the sound, his face lighting up in a fond smile.

Porthos shook his head and swallowed his rebuke, knowing it would most certainly fall on deaf ears. It would be a long day. His eyes moved around the gardens, watching, searching, hoping that no one else would notice the look a paternal pride that shone in his friend's eyes.

Mmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos tossed the last of the scrolls onto the pile, sitting back in his chair and taking a deep cleansing breath. He'd been immersed in paperwork, hoping to distract himself from the morning's revelations, unable to quell the sense of trepidation he'd been feeling since the man claiming to be Aramis' long lost brother had stepped foot inside the garrison gates. It wasn't that he suspected the man was lying – d'Artagnan had been accurate in the respect that the similarities between their friend and Erias LaMonte were too obvious to disregard – but considering the hostilities they faced in the city at the moment, it would be dangerous to accept LaMonte's claims at face value. While the Captain appreciated the light LaMonte had brought to Aramis' eyes, he could not blindly accept his claims as true based on nothing more than his own testimony.

Without any more garrison duties to attend to, his mind was left to ponder just how he might verify LaMonte's story without upsetting his friend. He could tell Aramis had his heart set on the idea of a blood relative who truly wished to be a part of his life. The marksman had too many people he cared about who remained forever out of his reach and Athos could understand how tempting it would be to find one who wished to know him better and give him a type of family security he longed for.

Though Aramis considered Porthos, d'Artagnan and himself brothers, Athos alone could contest to the difference between a brother in spirit and one of blood. After all these years, he still found himself missing Thomas; the closeness they shared as children overshadowing his later doubts, the face of the boy he'd cherished still focused in his heart and mind. Aramis could never know that kind of closeness considering he grew up without his brother, but Athos hoped he could find something similar – if only to ease the burden of longing that weighed upon his shoulders.

Dealing with the aftermath of Grimaud's attacks had taken much of his attention as he, Porthos and d'Artagnan healed, and he had not inquired as to what had passed between Aramis and the King on their sojourn to the royal crypt. Aramis had not volunteered information, but considering the marksman's growing melancholy, Athos suspected there had been some sort of confrontation between the two and did not believe the inevitable fallout would favor the Musketeer. Louis' disdain for the Queen had become increasingly apparent, and if he had not made plans to travel to Fontainebleau, Athos would fear for his friend's continued existence. Perhaps it was simply Louis' reaction to the death of Governor Feron or fear of his own imminent demise, but Athos suspected the King had come to the conclusion all of them had feared he someday might.

The fact that the Queen and the Dauphin remained in Paris did not bode well for any of them. Athos could only hope that whatever the King suspected would remain no more than speculation, overshadowed by the trials he would soon face concerning his failing health. With no other heir than the Dauphin, even if Louis somehow did realize the boy's true paternity, Athos could not fathom his Majesty putting the country at such a risk – especially in these turbulent times.

A knock at his door interrupted his discouraging train of thought. Brujon leaned his head through the doorway at Athos summons.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Captain," the recruit apologized. "But there is a man here to see you. He says he is a representative of the Comte d'Evroux."

The name immediately set off alarms in Athos' head.

"Show him in."

He waited, brow furrowed as Brujon stepped aside and a well-dressed man rudely pushed his way into the office. The recruit hesitated in the doorway for a moment until Athos nodded, silently dismissing him. When the door closed, Athos gave the new arrival his full attention.

"And what may I do for the Comte d'Everoux?"

The man bowed formally, pulling the feathered hat from his head, revealing a shock of tousled blonde hair. The sudden reminder of another blond Comte they had the bad luck to encounter all those years ago, set Athos even more on edge.

"I am Pierre Cardonne, Captain of the Comte's guard," the man introduced himself with an air of self-importance. "I have already spoken with Captain Marcheaux of the Red Guard and am here to inform you of the arrival of my contingency as a courtesy."

"Your contingency," Athos repeated. "You realize you have no authority here in Paris."

Cardonne narrowed his eyes in defiance. "I am under the authority of the Comte d'Everoux –"

"Who also has no authority here in Paris," Athos interrupted. "Unless the King sees fit to grant it. I have received no such orders from his Majesty." Athos settled back into his chair, pleased to see the man before him bristle with indignation. He'd spent half his life dealing with the arrogance of the nobility, he had no intention of giving credence to it now. "What is your mission here, Monsieur?"

Cardonne huffed at the lack of title, but responded nonetheless. "I have been tasked with tracking a thief and murderer. I have been assured by Captain Marcheaux the Red Guard will not interfere in our search. I expect the same from the Musketeers."

Athos ignored the thinly veiled order. "You said this man was a murderer. Who did he kill?" While Cardonne's brusque manner was off-putting on its own, his physical resemblance to Rochefort made it impossible for the Musketeer to see past his inherent arrogance.

"The Comte himself," Cardonne squared his shoulders as he relayed the information. "It is his son and heir who has tasked me with this command. So you can understand why it is paramount that it be my men who apprehend this monster and see him pay for his crimes."

Athos nodded sagely. He could comprehend the man's need to see justice served, but it still didn't give him the right to conduct a manhunt inside the city. There was enough unrest in the streets without the addition of hired thugs harassing innocent people. "You believe this man is in Paris?"

"We trailed him to a point just west of the city wall," Cardonne explained, his patience obviously waning. "Captain Marcheaux assured me my men would not be interfered with –"

"Marcheaux does not speak for the Musketeers." Athos' smile was cold. The Captain of the Red Guard's capitulation was another mark against the Comte's man. "I assume you have proof of this man's transgressions?"

"He was seen leaving the estate grounds on the night in question. My Lord's body was found soon after."

"That is hardly proof of guilt," Athos scoffed. "But I can understand your need to question him. I assume you have a description of this suspect?"

"I have better than that," Cardonne responded. "I have a name. Erias LaMonte."

Athos was careful to show no reaction. "When you find this LaMonte, what are your orders?"

"To return him to Evroux so the new Comte can exact justice." Cardonne announced as if it were obvious.

"You mean to hang him."

"Of course."

"Without a trial?"

Cardonne's chuckle made the hair on the Captain's arms stand on end. "He will be given a fair trial before he is executed. He is a dangerous man, Captain."

"Why did LaMonte murder the Comte? Did he have a quarrel with the man?"

The man's certainty troubled Athos, and he found he could not reconcile the image of the Erias LaMonte he had met with the viscous criminal Cardonne professed him to be. He admittedly had his doubts about LaMonte's reasons for seeking Aramis out, but he'd sensed no outright animosity in him. In fact, the way Aramis and d'Artagnan had taken to the man spoke decidedly in his favor.

"Why do these peasants do anything," Cardonne spat. "He was probably trying to rob the estate and got caught. I don't see how it matters, Captain. I have made my request, will you honor it?"

Surprised at his sudden change in opinion considering LaMonte, Athos realized it was his duty as Captain to cooperate and give Cardonne aid in apprehending his prisoner. But he also owed Aramis the benefit of hearing his newfound brother's side of the story. If Cardonne's accusations proved true, Athos would hand the man over himself and deal with the fallout as best he could.

Athos stood and walked around the desk to the door. "Give a description of the man you seek to Brujon on your way out. If any of my men happen upon him, I will send word." Perhaps if Cardonne believed he would cooperate as Marcheaux had, it would buy him enough time to find LaMonte and get the truth from him before deciding whether to turn him over or not.

He just hoped Aramis would understand if fate forced his hand.

TBC