He had to know what was happening because he feared the consequences if they didn't. Athos glanced at Aramis, then Porthos, no words needed to express a desire that their young Gascon not be left alone today. They both simply nodded.

Chapter three

Athos's desire to watch out for the man however were stalled at the first hurdle. D'Artagnan was invited to ride at the king's side, an order that was both a privilege and an impossibility to turn down. Athos rode at the back of the pack of noblemen next to Duval, an older musketeer who had remarked bitterly that the sheer noise of conversation would ensure that no animal would be getting close that day. Athos had agreed wholeheartedly, not that it was their place to advise on hunting. As the King appeared unbothered from what Athos could see of him, chatting away to d'Artagnan and his usual consort of trust advisors, they resigned themselves to a boring day on horseback. Further up, Athos could see Aramis and Porthos riding at the front of the entourage; he didn't need to see their faces to know they were bored already.

At least the Duke of Toulouse was not among the noblemen. His son sat astride a horse, a few rows in front of Athos, talking enthusiastically to the Comte next to him. Athos found himself studying the son, just about to see his youthful face in profile. He was a serious young man, talking intensely with the Comte at his side, the conversation looking almost entirely one sided. The Comte mainly looked bored, barely nodding in response to whatever the young man was speaking so fervently about. Not that it seemed to bother the youth at all. He was tall and rangy, sat proudly across a beast of a horse who walked along, his head held stiffly by the heavy hand of its rider. Athos wondered if the young man was simply a harsh rider or an inexperienced one. He seemed too comfortable to be that inexperienced, though. As Athos watched, he saw the young man free an ornate crucifix from his jerkin, kissing it before shaking it slightly at the Comte, who hid a poorly concealed eye roll. A religious man, then. That surprised Athos.

'Do you think there is a fawn left in this forest?' Duval asked as they trudged along.

'not unless one is lame and unable to move.' Athos replied, taking in the silent forest around them.

'unless it happens to be lying in the road, I fear the king will be leaving without discharging his weapon.'

'A fact that does not appear to be unduly bothering his majesty.' Athos noted, Duval smiling as the king's laughter caught on the wind and carried to them.

'Your boy appears to have the king's ear.' Duval commented.

Athos glanced at his compatriot but couldn't detect any malice behind the words. 'Don't let d'Artagnan hear you call him boy. Men have died for less.'

Duval nodded even as he grinned. 'I saw him challenge Chastain to a wrestling match once.' He reminisced. Chastain was a big musketeer who could give Porthos a challenge in size if not skill in hand to hand. 'I wouldn't have bet against him.'

'The king commissioned him. And they are not that far apart in age.' Athos answered his original comment. 'I believe his Majesty finds d'Artagnan…interesting.' His tone had unintentionally sobered as he spoke; he knew it wasn't always good to be of too much interest to those in power.

Duval nodded, his face already sobering. 'I think I am glad that I am not in any way interesting to our King.' He commented. Athos nodded, but before he could say anything, a gun was suddenly discharged.

In the initial chaos it took Athos a moment to work out that the shot had come from the middle of their group and not from outside. The horses had all startled badly, some, including the king's, dancing skittishly around. Athos could see d'Artagnan reaching for the horse, calming him quickly, keeping hold, his own weapon in his other hand as he said something to the king.

'Who dared to take a shot?' his majesty's voice boomed.

Athos almost groaned as the young son of the Duke of Toulouse raised his head, the pistol in his hand claiming his guilt as much as his hand, not that the boy even looked purburbed.

'Boy, you do not shoot before the King.'

'But there was a pheasant.'

'Then you should have spoken up!'

'This is a hunt, is it not?' The challenging comment drew a low gasp from the watching noblemen.

His Majesty was clearly working himself up into a rage, and Athos shared a knowing look with Duval, knowing how this could spiral. He began to move past the nobles who were settling into watch the show, glad that it wasn't them on the end of the king's wrath. D'Artagnan, though, already close to the king by virtue of keeping a steadying hand on his mount, leant his head closer to the king, speaking softly to his Majesty. Athos had no idea what was said, could only see d'Artagnan gesture slightly towards the boy with a knowing look to his majesty, who did as request and looked properly at the boy, sharing a smirk with the musketeer when he looked back with a nod of his head.

'You are right, of course. He is just a boy.' The king's voice carried better than d'Artagnan's, reaching them as Athos managed to draw level with Edwin. 'Don't shoot again.' The King commanded, 'not even if your life depends on it.' He turned, dismissing him with a cold shoulder.

Duly cowed, Edwin's head bowed, the king thanking d'Artagnan as he bid the hunt continue, d'Artagnan letting go of the horse and moving to continue at the king's side. Athos looked around, to check the youth was ok after almost inciting a proper tongue lashing from the king, but the look of loathing on Edwin's face caught the words. The youth was glaring in the direction of the king…no, Athos corrected himself, at d'Artagnan's back with such anger Athos was momentarily taken aback. 'I'll have your shot.' Athos spoke quietly, the youth swinging towards him and about to argue till he looked properly at Athos's face and closed his mouth. He handed over the spent gun without a word. 'You've never been hunting with his majesty.' Athos didn't pose it as a question and didn't wait for an answer. 'The king is hunting.' He carried on. 'the rest of you are here to watch.'

'There will be no animals to shoot with the noise the king is making.' The boy said sullenly.

'That is not your place to say.' Athos said, a sharp note to his voice. 'The king is not known for his patience; you would be best to stay invisible till we return to the palace.'

'Would have been fine if the musketeer hadn't laughed at me.' The boy spat.

'D'Artagnan saved you from the tongue of the king. Believe me, he was doing you a kindness.' Athos said. Edwin looked up to argue, but Athos glared at him, and the boy quelled, looking back at his horse, his shoulders set and tense, his hand automatically reaching for the crucifix at his neck. Athos left him the boy to sulk, but not before he caught the relieved look on the face of the Comte, who nodded gratefully at Athos that the boy was finally quiet.

'Who is that boy, anyway?' Duval asked as they turned into the long driveway some time later, returning to the palace, the single shot remaining the only one fired the entire hunt.

'The son of the Duke of Toulouse. Edwin, I believe is his name.'

'Duke of Toulouse.' Duval looked thoughtful. 'Thought I spied him yesterday among the crowds. Haven't seen him in years.'

'Gilbert said the same thing.' Athos said carefully.

Duval appeared to be trying to remember something. 'There was something…some scandal. Can't remember the details. Got to be almost 2 decades, under the old king even. I was only an infantry man in the regular army, I didn't care so much for court gossip.'

'You care now?' Athos asked dryly.

Duval grinned. 'Only thing that keeps days like this even half interesting.'

The arrival back at the palace was busy as the musketeers and assorted Red Guard sorted out horses and noble men. Athos lost sight of d'Artagnan, who the king had beckoned to stay with him, though he was happy to see that Aramis and Porthos also moved to escort the royal party back to his quarters where Treville and the Queen would be waiting to hear of the hunt.

There was a smaller dinner that night for only a select few noblemen, before the big main event the following night. The posturing and posing to gain invitation for that night's event had been going on for months, and had grown tiresome very quickly. The king, of course, had enjoyed the extra attention everyone was suddenly doting on him for the chance to be seen as one of the invited.

Treville came to the steps as the last of the horses was led away by the stable hands and the noblemen left to either ready themselves for the night or to find their own entertainment. 'The Red Guard have said they do not require any additional security help tonight.' Treville announced to the milling musketeers. One or two of the musketeers snorted quietly in amusement at the announcement. 'I offered our help, but it was turned down and as the First Minister and his Majesty agreed, I saw no reason to argue.'

Athos wondered how much Treville had argued. A night off in the middle of the King's birthday weekend was an unexpected result, one that would lend them energy for the biggest events tomorrow. The muttering ceased as Treville raised a hand. 'You will all be required, refreshed and ready, on the morrow.'

Treville disappeared back into the palace as dismissed, the musketeers scattered to find their own entertainment, far away from the palace if possible. Athos had just one thing he wished to accomplish that night, the unexpected time off finally allowing him time to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with d'Artagnan. Athos looked up as Aramis and Porthos, who had been behind Treville in the doorway, walked over to him.

'D'Artagnan?'

'Treville asked him to remain till he finished attending the king.' Aramis told him.

Athos raised an eyebrow in silent question. 'Didn't seem bothered.' Aramis answered with a shrug. 'Told him to meet us at the Grey if we weren't here.' Aramis added before changing the subject. 'That was the Duke's son, let off a shot.'

Athos nodded. 'He is young and inexperienced at court.'

'D'Artagnan did not appear to recognise 'im.' Porthos commented.

Athos shot him a look, working through the implications. 'So if d'Artagnan is familiar with the duke it did not involve the son… or was before the son was born?'

Porthos shrugged an either or gesture. 'you gonna ask 'im?'

'Yes.' Athos asked.

'You want us to stay around or disappear?' Aramis answered.

Athos had managed to think of advantages for both having and not having them there. Of course, the four of them together were close and whatever was affecting one affected them all. However, Athos also knew that by forcing d'Artagnan to talk if he didn't want to would likely involve a confrontation, and he wasn't sure more people would help or hinder the situation. 'Perhaps remain in the vicinity.' He suggested.

The garrison was predictably quiet when they got there. They stripped their horses of saddles and reins, helping out the stable boys, busy with other musketeer mounts, by wiping them down and leaving them with water and hay aplenty. The stable boys nodded gratefully for the help.

They ate a meal in friendly company, played a few hands of cards, (Athos and Aramis refusing to make any money dealings with Porthos) and as the sun disappeared, and the lengthening shadows claimed the light in the garrison, and Treville and d'Artagnan had still yet to appear, they thought to relocate to the local inn.

Treville was entering the garrison as they walked towards the exit. He was alone, much to their surprise. 'Ok sir?'

'Yes Athos, the Red Guard appear to be coping with the twenty guests at dinner.' Athos knew that Treville would have reassured himself of that before leaving the palace despite his dry tone. He almost smiled.

'D'Artagnan seemed to think that you would be at an Inn already. I told him he could go meet you there.'

Athos didn't let his face echo the disbelief that d'Artagnan had gone anywhere near an inn. 'We were just on our way.' He told the captain, nodding a goodbye.

'Remember it's an early morning tomorrow.' Treville called after them as they disappeared.

Athos was not surprised that d'Artagnan was nowhere to be seen in the Inn Aramis had told them to meet in. He strongly doubted he'd ever been there. 'Stay here, in case he got lost on the way.' Athos told his companions. 'I'll have a quick look around for him.'

The others nodded, blending over to join in the various pursuits on offer in the inn. Athos made a quick round, returning to the garrison to check d'Artagnan's room (just in case, though he didn't think d'Artagnan would be that obvious). He checked Aramis and Porthos's rooms just in case, before leaving and going to the Bonacieux's house, though that stood silent and still. He knew there were many places d'Artagnan could go from there, and if he seriously didn't want to be found, Athos would have no hope in a city as big and as crowded as Paris. Athos felt disquieted that d'Artagnan was hiding away from them. Annoyed that d'Artagnan wasn't coming to them with whatever was happening. And a sense of foreboding he couldn't put a finger on but left him feeling unusually anxious. He found himself heading back to his own rooms on his way back from the Bonacieux's, needing to pause and collect himself before going back to the Inn. He stopped only long enough to freshen up, beating down the annoyance that d'Artagnan wasn't coming to them. Anger would not help.

He was startled by a knock on the door. Frowning, he got up to answer, surprised to find the object of his thoughts stood on his doorstep. The young man was framed in the doorway, and at first his gaze was on the floor, studying the stone work before he finally sighed, and looked properly at Athos. 'I…I need to tell you something.'

Athos didn't say anything, studying d'Artagnan in the poor light as he stepped away and gestured for him to enter. He was anxious, that much was obvious, as he stood tense and almost vibrating in the centre of the small room, studying it all without, Athos bet, taking in any of it. Athos moved around, lighting a few more candles to brighten the dimly lit room, before moving to the hearth, taking his time to light the fire to lend some heat to the chilled room, allowing d'Artagnan time to settle.

'Where are Aramis and Porthos?' D'Artagnan finally spoke.

'At the inn.'

D'Artagnan glanced around again, his face pale, his body near thrumming with pent up energy. 'Can you…find them?'

Athos stood up, moving slowly towards him, reluctant at that moment to leave d'Artagnan, even to fetch them. D'Artagnan looked up, finally looking Athos properly in the eye. 'I don't want to have to repeat the story.' He said simply.

Athos moved even closer, reaching up to rest a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder. D'Artagnan looked like he wanted to shake off the contact, but held himself still. 'What happened?' The d'Artagnan he had seen at the side of the king earlier had been looking almost relaxed compared to the morning. Now d'Artagnan was tense, apprehensive…fearful even, of something, or someone. He seemed to vibrate with tension under Athos's hand.

'Please, Athos.' D'Artagnan said simply.

'You will be here when I return?' Athos asked. Ordered.

'Yes.' D'Artagnan answered immediately. 'I promise.'

Athos nodded. D'Artagnan, he knew, was a man of his word. 'I won't be long.' He said, giving d'Artagnan's shoulder a quick squeeze in comfort and solidarity before he left, walking as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

xx

When Athos stepped back into the room with Aramis and Porthos in tow, he could see that d'Artagnan had not been idle in his absence. D'Artagnan had tidied up, not that the room had been especially messy (you had to spend time in a place to leave a mark), but the books on the stand were straight, chairs straightened, candles rearranged, and his wine bottles now all faced the same way, in a regimental line. One bottle had been culled from the line, stood open and breathing in readiness on the table, cups already to be claimed. Athos glanced at this, then looked back at d'Artagnan a single eyebrow raised in a pointed look.

D'Artagnan simply shrugged, taking a mouthful of the wine in his hand, his small but unrepentant smile soothing something in Athos.

Athos settled at the table, not about to ignore a bottle of wine, pouring cups for Porthos and Aramis before serving himself. He turned to offer d'Artagnan a top up but the Gascon shook his head, taking another small and hurried sip. He hadn't stopped pacing slowly round the room since they had entered.

'You know who the duke is.' Athos stated.

D'Artagnan nodded, stopping by the small bookcase and flicking open the cover of the top book.

'The Duke of Toulouse.' Athos prompted. He saw Aramis shoot him a look at the pressing questions; they all knew the youngest of them did not react well to being pushed. Athos, though, felt a pressing need to know, and even though they had been gifted an evening, it didn't feel like a lot of time to do anything. He felt antsy, unprepared for an attack that was coming, but he didn't know from whom or for what.

Athos did pause, watched d'Artagnan flick rapidly through the book before closing it sharply, leaving the books to move listlessly towards the single window, looking out on the quiet courtyard below. Athos opened his mouth again but Aramis shook his head, stopping the question in its track.

'The duke didn't have an heir.' Athos almost startled when, after a long period of silence, d'Artagnan finally talked. Framed by the window, lit from behind by a guttering candle on the sill, they could only see him in silhouette. It was still obvious the shudder that worked its way through the thin frame. 'He had been married many years but his wife had never born him a child, an heir.'

A deep breath, a slow release, and d'Artagnan turned, staying where he was in the window, but finally looking at them, allowing them to see his face.

'The couple agreed that a younger woman may have more luck, and provide an heir for the estate, less it fall to someone not carrying their name. The Duke's eye was caught by a young maid in the house, and he took her as his mistress. She was Portuguese. She came to Toulouse when she was young, seeking employment.' There was a slightly wistful tone as he spoke, his look faraway as he told the story. 'She found it on the Duke's estate. She started as a chambermaid, worked up to a maid attending the Duchess. She was more successful than the Duchess, and bore her master a son, she agreed would become his heir. The Duke acknowledged him as such, and he grew up with his mother on a small holding in the grounds of his estate.'

Athos wanted to ask questions, demand answers, get to the crux of the matter, but he didn't need Aramis to tell him that d'Artagnan had to tell them this in his own way. That he had to be patient. D'Artagnan would occasionally look up from an intimate study of the floor, as if to check that they were still there. Athos took to shifting occasionally in his seat to subtly fill the silent pauses, Porthos quickly catching on, his leathers creaking as he would settle and resettle in the chair. Aramis's full attention was on d'Artagnan.

A breath hitched as d'Artagnan took a breath, a sip of wine galvanising the words again. 'Everything was well, everyone was happy with the situation. The son was healthy and was growing. His mother no longer had to work long hours as a maid. And the Duke had his heir.' A smile twisted his lips for a moment, a wistful smile that turned uglier the longer it stayed, soured. Silence permeated the room, tension almost a living, breathing thing growing in stature at the story unfolding.

'But then the Duchess, late in life, became with child.' D'Artagnan said quietly, his words now carefully empty of emotion. Athos longed to stand, to approach him, to stand with him and place a hand on his shoulder, but he didn't dare move. 'Better, she bore him a healthy son.'

'How old was the older child?' Aramis asked into the silence when d'Artagnan didn't immediately carry on.

D'Artagnan's head came up, and he studied Aramis for a moment. 'He had just turned 5 when his half brother was born. He was out in the courtyard when the news of the child's birth was announced by the Duke himself.' For a moment there was a shadow of a hopeful smile on d'Artagnan's face. 'He was happy with the idea of having a brother but his mother wasn't. He didn't understand why his mother cried at the news. He didn't understand when instead of congratulating the Duke, she began pleading with him, pleading for her son.' Another, shallower breath that hitched, catching in the throat. 'Pleading to be sent away, allowed back to Portugal. The child didn't understand, he didn't want to go Portugal, he wanted to stay at home. But his mother was down on her knees in front of the Duke swearing that she wouldn't say anything.' Athos felt a cold chill work up his spine, making goosebumps break out and the hair at the base of his neck stand up on end.

'The duke refused. He didn't need the boy anymore. He had a legitimate son, and had no need for another. He was…unnecessary.' D'Artagnan's words, spoke with a matter of fact-ness that grated uncomfortably, made Athos want to shudder. As much as they could have pieced together the parts of the story, Athos wanted to deny it, even as d'Artagnan's words refused him. The thought that d'Artagnan had been banished with his mother, to live in poverty because he was no longer necessary made him uncomfortable, but something told him that wasn't the worst of it, d'Artagnan's quiet words continuing the story shattering the hope that banishment was the worse that a small boy had endured.

'The child was unnecessary, and couldn't be allowed to survive, to claim his inheritance. The duke accused the mother of being a witch, of casting a spell on the duke to make him love her, and so that she could birth the bastard son. He incited the local Catholic priest to have her tried and when they found her guilty, they built the pyre in front of the house the duke had given her. The son was to die at her side, as guilty of the sin as his mother.'

Aramis's voice when he spoke was rough with checked emotion, the horror clear on his face. 'What was the child's name?'

'…Henri.' D'Artagnan finally answered. 'He was named Henri by his father. He was to die with his mother aged five, no longer necessary. He was strung up to the stake, over watched by the monster himself, as they set light to the pyre.'

Another hitched breath, a shudder through the body, but d'Artagnan's voice continued, low and gravelly and haunting in the silent room. 'He saw his mother die. Give into the smoke and flames when she couldn't fight anymore. The boy was beginning to burn when one of the gardeners knocked out the Duke's guard who was standing watch, and cut the boy from the pyre. He beat out the flames, carried the boy to the stables and stole one of the duke's horses to escape on.' Another pause, another collecting breath. 'The gardener had been in love with the woman for years, had been near enough living with her and her son for the past few years. He lost the woman he loved, but rescued the son. The bastard son.' The voice became bitter and twisted on the last sentence.

Silence filled the room, d'Artagnan taking an age to gain the courage to look up at them. His look focused on Athos, a pleading quality to it. Athos, though, for once didn't acknowledge the look, desperately trying to fit the story in to all they knew of d'Artagnan.

'What did the mother call her son?' Aramis asked quietly, needing d'Artagnan to acknowledge his part in the story out loud.

'Henri.' D'Artagnan answered immediately. 'When the Duke was there. When not, she called him Charles.'

'What was the gardener's name?' He asked, already guessing, but wanting d'Artagnan to tell the whole story.

'Alexandre d'Artagnan' D'Artagnan finally answered after a pause. His look paused on Aramis for a moment before once again seeking Athos.

Alexandre d'Artagnan had rescued him, rescued him from certain death at the hands of the duke, and raised him as his son. D'Artagnan had watched his mother burn at the stake, convicted of witchcraft. D'Artagnan was the son of a duke, and had watched his father kill his mother because they had become an inconvenience. It was breath taking in its sadistic nature. And Athos was struggling to fit it all together and also to consider all it meant in the here and now. He studied d'Artagnan, thought about the man who had stood fearfully on his doorstep. 'The Duke knows who you are.' He finally stated as much as asked.

D'Artagnan simply nodded.

'When did you see him?'

'At the palace. I was waiting in the stable as Treville checked over the security for the dinner tonight. He found me. Said I had my mother's looks.'

'He threaten you?' Porthos all but growled.

It seemed to take a lot for d'Artagnan to tear his anxious gaze from Athos to acknowledge Porthos's question though he didn't answer directly. 'He fears what I remember. What I will do about it. Asked if I'd tell the king.'

'The Duke is powerful.' Aramis said thoughtfully. D'Artagnan was studying Athos again, though, didn't hear the words. Athos wasn't looking at him, didn't see the scrutiny he was being held in, the near panic that was becoming visible in d'Artagnan's eyes as his mentor didn't react to the story. To his story.

'He won't try anything.' Porthos disagreed with Aramis. 'Not at the palace surrounded by guards. 'sides, 'e's' he waved a hand in d'Artagnan's general direction 'a musketeer now. Not a boy. Not so easy to kill.'

'He won't want the story to get out, though. For his Majesty to find out.'

'Wonder if the son knows?' As Aramis and Porthos conversed, wondering on the permutations of what might happen, d'Artagnan shifted, walking unsteadily towards the door.

'Where are you going?' Aramis asked when he noticed, making Athos and Porthos look up too.

'Back to the garrison. Early morning tomorrow.' D'Artagnan almost sounded casual, though the way he avoided Athos's sharp look spoke volumes. His mentor's non response was becoming painfully obvious.

'We need to' Aramis was interrupted by d'Artagnan reaching the door. 'I'll see you tomorrow.' He said quickly as he practically run through the door. At Aramis's look Porthos got up and followed.

xxx

When Athos turned to him, Aramis saw exactly why d'Artagnan had felt the need to escape. Athos looked angry.