Disclaimer: Okay, I forgot all about disclaimers in the first chapter. The characters are not owned by me, and I am accepting no compensation. I present the story for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's note: Thanks for the reviews! I sincerely appreciate your comments.

I put a little more angst in this chapter when D'Artagnan learns of Philippe than we saw in the movie. I felt that the different circumstances warranted a somewhat different reaction from him.

FOUR

Athos and Porthos were seated at the long wooden table in the kitchen when Aramis entered the house. Porthos had placed his hand on his friend's arm, offering comfort that Athos did not seem to want, for he withdrew the arm and moved it to his lap.

Both looked up when Aramis stepped inside, and before he could speak, Athos said, "I knew from the beginning that my son's death was orchestrated by that murderer, but the confirmation of such a despicable act does not change the fact that D'Artagnan allowed it to happen, so do not come in here and tell me that I am not justified in my anger."

Aramis shook his head, wearily. "I am not saying that your anger is not justified, just that you are directing it at the wrong person." He sat down at the head of the table and gazed across the length of it at his grief-stricken friend. "Athos, you know as well as I that there is nothing D'Artagnan could have done that would have persuaded Louis to release Raoul from the service. He did the best he could, the most his position allows. If he is guilty of anything, it is believing that the king was true to his word."

Athos looked away, indicating that he did indeed know that, but was reluctant to release his grip on the anger that had consumed him, for it was only that anger and his need for revenge which prevented him from breaking down completely. "He should have joined us at the start. He should not have needed confirmation from Raoul's commanding officer as proof that Louis must be removed from the throne."

"I know I am asking a lot," Aramis continued, "but I am asking you to let go of this hatred you have toward him. D'Artagnan came here of his own accord to bring you that letter so that he might apologize to your face for the mistakes he made in believing Louis' lies. He is a proud man, and it is difficult to admit to mistakes such as this and to ask forgiveness, but that is what he has done. He seeks redemption from us, but especially from you."

Athos looked away. "You have no idea what you are asking of me, Aramis."

"I am asking you to give him a chance to make amends."

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Just try, please," Aramis insisted. "There is more: The column of Musketeers that Devereaux saw yesterday was there on D'Artagnan's orders to purchase food for the hungry people in Paris."

"Purchase?" Porthos asked in disbelief.

"With money from D'Artagnan's own pocket. I fear we have misjudged him on more than one count. I have gone on the assumption that he was unwilling to get involved in the plight of the people. My Jesuit spies have reported that some of the citizens told them that he promised to speak to the king on their behalf, but then nothing was ever done to help them. Obviously, the king rejected his appeals, for he has used money he had been saving for when he leaves the service, money he will need to live on when he retires." He directed his gaze at Athos once again. "And, lest you have forgotten, had he not come here to warn me, I would at this very moment, be riding toward Paris and almost certain death."

Athos folded his arms on the table top and stared down at the smooth wood surface, scuffed and chipped from years of use. "Perhaps he has an ulterior motive," he suggested. "Perhaps he seeks to gain our confidence, and then betray us all."

"You don't believe that, any more than I do," Aramis replied. "D'Artagnan has been our friend and ally for more than twenty years. He has made some mistakes, yes, but so have we all. He now offers atonement for those mistakes by helping us to remove the present king from the throne. You heard his one condition: That Louis' life be spared."

Athos gave a low, sarcastic laugh. "I heard him say that, and I expected as much."

"He says he has personal reasons for this, and it is a condition that we should have no trouble honoring, since I had never intended to kill the king, anyway. I expect this transfer to be made without any bloodshed at all." His eyes lingered on Athos again, troubled by the hate that flamed in his eyes. "I expect you to honor that."

"He deserves to die."

"Perhaps, but you seek instant gratification for what he has done to you instead of justice. I believe it would be far better to allow him to live a long life during which to think about the ills he has placed on others. He will have a lifetime of suffering, for he will no longer enjoy the life to which he is accustomed. For him, that will be worse than death."

Athos shifted in his seat, then finally lowered his gaze to the tabletop again and nodded his compliance, however unwilling.

Satisfied, Aramis continued, "Now, the decision to bring D'Artagnan into our confidence must be made by all three of us, and he understands that his acceptance must be a unanimous vote." He glanced at each man in turn. "My vote is yes."

"I vote yes, also," Porthos agreed without hesitation.

Athos did not raise his head, but continued to stare silently at the tabletop, not yet ready to commit to a vote. He was aware that the others were watching him, waiting for an answer, but he did not have an answer to give at that moment.

"Athos, you are the deciding vote," Aramis prompted. "If you vote no, we will provide him with a fresh mount and send him back to Paris. It is up to you, but I ask you, as friend, to think carefully about your answer, and vote with your head and not with your heart."

"Then I am not sure that I am of a proper mind to make a decision such as this right now," he admitted. "My heart bleeds with grief, and at the moment I am unable to separate one from the other. Yesterday, I nearly killed the man I once held as my closest friend, and I cannot yet feel remorse for my actions toward him. Seeing him here only serves to remind me of my loss and the role he played in allowing it to happen. I do not know if I can ever forgive him for that."

A quiet voice spoke from the doorway leading from the kitchen into the corridor. "Athos?"

They all turned toward it and found Philippe, the young man they intended to place on the throne, leaning around the door jamb, partially concealed by the open door leading into the corridor. As one, the three men swung back around to look at the door leading outside, worried that D'Artagnan might have followed Aramis back up to the house, but he was not present. Aramis quickly went to the door and closed it.

"You should not be down here," Athos told him, sternly. "We do not want you to be seen by him until we've determined whether or not he can be trusted. We are discussing the matter now."

"I know; I've been listening," Philippe admitted. In reaction to their disapproving expressions, he added, "I know; I should not be eavesdropping, but this matter concerns me, and I wanted to hear what you were saying. I was also watching from the window when you were outside."

"He almost spotted you," Aramis scolded, gently. "As Athos said, you should not have come down. You risk being seen."

"I know, but I do not believe he poses a threat to me." Shifting his gaze to Athos, he said, "I heard his apology and I saw his face when he was speaking. I believe he is sincere, and it is obvious to me that Aramis and Porthos believe it as well. It was almost as if you were trying to provoke him."

Athos looked ashamed. "Wounds fester when they are not confronted," he answered.

Philippe lowered his gaze to the floor, and all three men could see that the young man was disillusioned by what he had seen and heard from his mentor. "The wound that hurts you the most is your son. But that man came here to humble himself before you, to tell you he was sorry, and you told him to go to hell."

"You don't understand," he agreed. Turning his face away, unable to meet the boy's gaze, he looked toward the window.

"He says he wants to join us in removing Louis from the throne," Aramis explained. "The decision to allow him into our midst once again is important because he is the one most likely to be able to discern the differences between you and Louis. He has been the primary obstacle in our plan, for he knows Louis better than anyone else, save his mother. Athos has said it many times; his eyes are like those of an eagle. Few things escape his notice, as you saw from the window just now. He is the one who would have been the most difficult to fool. This is why I believe we should tell him about you and the nature of our plan. But, as you have just pointed out, this decision concerns you more than any of us. I would be interested to hear your thoughts on this."

Philippe was quiet for several moments, carefully considering his answer, his youthful brow puckered with concentration as he mulled over the things he knew about the friendship of the four men. "As a young boy, I heard the priest speak of the Musketeers and the four of you. Your devotion to one another and your courage are known all over France, and greatly admired. And here, in this place, I've listened to the things you have said about him, about his loyalty to Louis and his reluctance to betray him. But while you argue his motives, I keep coming back to only one thing: he believes that Louis is the only heir to the throne, that there is no alternative. He doesn't know about me. Perhaps he would be willing to accept me as Louis' replacement if he knows that I am not just some person off the street who happens to bear a resemblance to the king, but that I have a legitimate claim to the throne. I am the king's identical twin brother, born only minutes after him. You speak of D'Artagnan as a just and honorable man. You tell me: will he be disgusted by what his king has done to me?"

The three former Musketeers exchanged glances. Finally, Aramis nodded. "I believe he will be, yes."

"The three of you know this man better than anyone else, for you have known him many years. I have yet to meet him, but I saw his face and I believe that he is truthful." He gazed at them for a long moment, during which time none of them spoke, sensing that he had more to say. Finally, he added, "I wish you to tell him."

"It is too risky," Athos objected.

"It is more risky not to," Philippe reminded him. "If it is true that he is the one person who might identify me as an imposter, then it is imperative that he be brought in the plan." Backing out of the kitchen, he closed the door.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by the crackling and popping of the fire in the hearth behind Athos.

Aramis rose from his chair and went to the door and opened it again to allow the cooling fresh air into the house.

"Philippe may be young," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "but I am amazed at the way he watches, listens, and learns. In that respect, he reminds me very much of D'Artagnan at that age. And he is right. D'Artagnan believes there is only one legitimate claim to the throne." He shook his head slowly with great regret as he stepped back into the kitchen. "I have known about Philippe' existence since the day he was born. I should not have allowed this go on as long as it has."

"You could not have known that Louis would become such a bad king," Porthos said.

Again, the three men fell silent, each one lost in his own thoughts.

Finally, Aramis broke the silence again. "Athos, have you any more thoughts you wish to share?"

"I only want to protect Philippe. That is the most important thing."

"We all want that, and I am firmly convinced that the best way we can protect him is to bring D'Artagnan in on this matter," Aramis insisted. "If both he and the queen mother accept him as their king, no one else will question any differences in behavior that they witness from him."

Athos looked at him for a long time, carefully considering Aramis' logic. Finally, he asked, "What about the queen mother? How do you suppose she will react to all of this?"

"I will need to travel to Paris before the exchange is made to advise her of our plans. How she will react is anyone's guess, but I would assume that she will be overjoyed that her son is alive and out of the mask. What she may object to is the fact that we will be forced to incarcerate Louis. It is my hope that we can convince her of the necessity. Athos, the longer we drag this out, the more time we waste. We cannot keep Philippe hidden from D'Artagnan much longer, or it will interfere with his training. I must know: Are you with us?"

Athos dragged his fingers through his thinning hair and thought carefully about everything that Aramis had said. Finally, he nodded. "Very well. We will bring him into our confidence, but I will be watching him closely, and if he does anything to harm that boy, he will answer to me."

"All right. The vote is unanimous, then. Porthos, would you go to Philippe's room and bring me the mask?"

"What for?" Porthos asked, surprised.

"I want D'Artagnan to understand the full scope of what Louis did to his brother, and what better way than to show him the actual mask that Philippe was forced to wear?"

Porthos rose from the table and went up to Philippe's room, leaving Athos and Aramis at the table. The intense sadness in Athos's eyes tugged at the priest's heart.

"Athos, it hurts me to see you suffering so. I truly wish there was some way I could relieve your grief."

"So do I. Unfortunately, there is nothing that anyone can do. My son is dead, and no one can bring him back."

Aramis rose from the table. "I'll go bring D'Artagnan inside."

Athos nodded, slowly.

In the paddock behind the stable, D'Artagnan knelt down beside the gelding, and placed his hand on the left fetlock, feeling the heat that radiated from it. The joint was swollen and feverish, evidence that he had pushed the horse almost beyond its endurance.

Rising to his feet again, he patted the animal's neck with great affection and a sense of guilt. Taking hold of the halter, he led it in a small circle, testing its ability to bear weight. It followed him willingly. There was no limp, no indication that the animal was in pain, but he knew that to ride it before the swelling subsided would result in serious problems.

Releasing the halter, he allowed the horse to return to its hay. As he turned back toward the paddock fence, he saw that Aramis was standing there watching him.

"How is he?" the priest asked.

D'Artagnan walked toward him. "He will recover in a few days, but for the moment, I am afraid he is lame."

"Well, you're not going anywhere for awhile anyway, so it doesn't matter. We have taken a vote, and the decision is unanimous."

D'Artagnan cocked his head, slightly, surprised. "Even Athos?"

"He understands that we need you on this matter." Aramis jerked his head toward the house. "When you are ready, come inside and we will tell you of our plans." Then he turned and walked back to the house, picking up the bucket of water he had drawn earlier and had temporarily forgotten.

D'Artagnan gazed after him for a few moments, feeling surprised that Athos had agreed, then climbed between the railing and followed Aramis up to the house, curious to hear of the plan that the priest had devised to remove Louis from the throne.

They were all three seated at the table when he entered. Aramis sat at the head of the table, Athos at the foot, with Porthos seated on the other side. All of them were watching him. Aramis gestured for him to sit, so he sat down across from Porthos and waited.

Aramis began, "During our meeting at the monastery, I told you that I knew of a way to replace the king. It is foolproof!" He paused, and shrugged. "Well, perhaps that is exhibiting a bit too much confidence, for I feel certain that you would not have been deceived, which is why I needed you in on this from the beginning."

"You said at the time that you needed me, but you did not elaborate on why," D'Artagnan reminded him.

"He always takes the long way to come to the point," Porthos reminded him.

Aramis ignored him. "As I was saying, for many years, I have been keeping a secret, a secret known but to a few. That secret involves the birth of current king."

Surprise flickered in D'Artagnan's eyes, wondering what secret he could possibly know about the birth of the young king.

"The secret is this: The night Louis was born, a second child was also born to the queen. An identical twin."

Aramis had expected to see surprise reflected in D'Artagnan's countenance, but nothing could have prepared him for the astonishment he saw sweep across the younger man's face. For a moment, D'Artagnan's breath caught in his throat, as if he was temporarily rendered unable to inhale, and his eyes widened with disbelief. "Twins?" he whispered, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "No! That cannot be!"

"It is true," Aramis confirmed. "I was on duty that night, and I was summoned to a rear door of the palace, where a newly born infant was placed in my arms. That child was the younger of the twins. Faced with the prospect of twin sons born only minutes apart bickering over their rights to the throne, the king made the decision to eliminate that possibility by removing one of his sons from the palace. I was given explicit orders from the king himself. Under strict confidence, I was told to take the child far from Paris, where he would live his life in anonymity, never knowing his true identity."

Here, Aramis paused to allow the information he had just related to sink in.

D'Artagnan was breathing heavily, as if winded from a long run, and he could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest and pulsing in his ears. He knew his eyes must be huge with disbelief, but there was nothing he could do to hide the expression of shock that he knew must be evident on his face. "The queen?" he asked. "She allowed this?"

"She was deceived. The king knew that she would not sit quietly by while her child was removed from her possession, so she was told that her second son had died moments after he was born. There was no reason to reveal his birth to anyone."

"But he survived?"

"Yes. Even then, I knew I eventually intended to become a priest, so I made some inquiries through the church and located a woman willing to care for the child. Financial support was provided to her in exchange for her service. When he was on his deathbed, the king revealed the twin's existence to the queen and to Louis. But the news that Louis had a twin brother was met with fear that his brother would someday challenge his claim to the throne, and he felt that the method his father had used to conceal the brother was insufficient. So our young king ordered me to do the most shameful and despicable act I have ever committed. I was ordered to remove the boy from the home in which he had been raised, and to take him to the prison on the isle of St. Marguerite, and there to place him in an iron mask, so that no one could see his face and bear witness to his remarkable resemblance to the king."

He had been concealing the iron mask on his lap beneath the table, and he now withdrew it, complete with the iron cage to hold it in place about the wearer's head.

"This very mask," he said, placing it upon the table before D'Artagnan.

The Musketeer drew a deep, shaky breath and released it in an equally shaky exhale of horror. "My God," he whispered. He felt as though he would suffocate, as if he could not draw in enough air no matter how deeply he breathed. Resting his elbows on the table, he folded his hands, lacing his fingers together, and pressed them against his lips to prevent them from trembling, hoping the others would not notice his distress.

"For my king and my country, I carried out my orders and did this contemptible thing," Aramis continued. He indicated the iron mask for emphasis. "Louis ordered this done to his own brother, his blood, and I am ashamed of the part I played in it. For the past six years, the boy has been living in the prison, his entire head enclosed in this cursed contraption, never knowing the truth about his offense. We – the three of us – went to the prison earlier this week and brought him here. Our plan is to replace Louis with the twin. It is an excellent plan, without treason, for he is also the son of the king! There will be no bloodshed, and no revolution. No one, save the four of us and his mother, will ever –"

Aramis glanced at D'Artagnan as he spoke and broke off suddenly.

Staring at the mask, his mind in turmoil at the things that had just been revealed to him, D'Artagnan felt the emotional agony building inside him to an uncontrollable level. His eyes welled with tears, blurring his vision, until they became so full that the tears spilled over the rims and trickled in two wet lines down his cheeks.

Astonished, Aramis looked across the table at Athos, who looked back at him with surprise that equaled his own. Porthos was gaping across the table at D'Artagnan in disbelief, and he shifted questioning eyes to Aramis as if to confirm that the priest was witnessing the same thing.

Aware that his anguish had been noticed and that they would ask questions that he could not answer, the Musketeer slowly stood up and turned his back on his friends. Then, without a word, he strode to the door and went outside, leaving the three men to stare after him in surprised silence.

Aramis followed him to the door, but did not go after him, recognizing that he was struggling with emotions that he had yet to reveal to them. He watched as D'Artagnan walked to the low stone wall near the stable and leaned his left hand on it while he dragged his right hand across his eyes. Aramis knew that he was wiping away tears.

"Of all the reactions I could have anticipated from him, I never would have expected that," he said, quietly.

Athos shook his head slowly, at a complete loss for words.

Aramis stepped away from the door to provide his friend with the privacy he would want if the situation was reversed. "During our service, the four of us have witnessed many terrible things. The question is, why would he be so greatly affected by this cruel act against a young man he has never met?" He sat down at the head of the table again to think and consider.

Athos and Porthos exchanged glances; they hadn't a clue.

Aramis stroked the beard on his chin in silent contemplation for several moments, then picked up the mask and gazed at it. "We were all horrified by the notion of a young man being locked in this mask, but none of us were driven to tears by it." He stood up again and placed the mask back on the table as he paced around the room. His hands were clasped behind his back as he slowly circled the table. "What could possibly make this so emotional for him?"

Athos went to the window and watched as D'Artagnan left the low stone wall and walked slowly down the road toward the stone bridge that spanned the river, apparently seeking some time to himself to take in what he had just been told. A frown furrowed his brow, and his fingers thoughtfully stroked the graying hairs on his chin. "Something is really eating at him," he said, quietly.

"What's he doing?" Porthos asked.

"Walking toward the bridge."

"But why?" Porthos asked, completely flustered. "I don't understand this at all."

"None of us do," Aramis told him. "I don't believe I have ever seen him so close to breaking down."

"The only time I have ever seen him so close to weeping was the night Louis was born," Porthos reminded them. "He was pretty emotional that night, as well."

Aramis abruptly stopped pacing. "The night Louis was born?" He paused briefly, then added, "That was the night he became drunk."

Porthos nodded.

"Could it be possible?" Aramis wondered aloud, then a moment later rejected the notion with a wave of his hand, as if casting the idea aside as absurd. "No, it is unfeasible. Totally out of the question."

"What is totally out of the question?" Porthos asked. "You are making no sense, as usual."

"Oh, my God," Aramis breathed. "It all makes sense. As impossible as it seems, it makes perfect sense!" He slammed his hand triumphantly on the table top. "I think I understand!"

"I wish I did!" Porthos glanced at Athos, annoyance rising. "Do you understand this, Athos? He continues to confuse me! He is doing that a lot lately!" Turning to Aramis, he demanded, "Why can't you just come to the point without first taking all these detours?"

Athos was frowning at Porthos's outburst, even though he was in complete agreement with him. "What are you talking about, Aramis?"

Aramis shrugged, raising his hand as if to fend off their questions. "He mentioned a few things to me in confidence, nothing that revealed the exact nature of his secret, but enough that I think I've figured it out."

"And?" Athos prompted when he failed to continue.

Aramis shrugged, apologetically. "Unfortunately, as priest and friend, I cannot reveal it, but I believe he will when confronted with it." He joined Athos at the door, but the Musketeer had moved out of sight. "We will give him a few minutes to get himself under control, and then we will talk to him."

"Talk to him about what?" Athos asked, impatiently.

"About an act of high treason," the priest replied, evasively

Athos exchanged an exasperated glance with Porthos, who threw his hands in the air in frustration.

On the other side of the door leading into the corridor, Philippe stood quietly listening to the conversation and nibbling his lip, wondering as the former Musketeers were wondering, why the news of the queen's twins had affected D'Artagnan so dramatically.