Chapter 3

The Wren was quiet, but considering it was only late afternoon, Athos wasn't surprised. Before the war, he had taken advantage of the solitude, purchasing a bottle of wine or two and sitting alone to contemplate the mess his life had become. After a time, Aramis and Porthos – and eventually d'Artagnan – had not allowed him to wallow alone and he'd slowly come to realize there was more to life than drink and self-recrimination.

Since their return to Paris, Athos had had little time to visit the place. He'd accompanied his friends a few times to share an early supper and a bottle but, as Captain, had been forced to curb his consumption and hence had not patronized the place as much. He glanced around the dim interior as he entered, realizing that some things truly did not change.

There were a few customers sprinkled about in varying degrees of sobriety, so it was not difficult to identify the man he'd hoped to find.

LaMonte leaned against the bar, cordially exchanging words with the barkeep. Both men looked up as Athos approached with welcoming smiles.

"Ah, Captain," LaMonte waved a hand to the man behind the bar. "Leon here was just regaling me with some of your Musketeers' more energetic exploits. I certainly hope my little brother was not involved in any of these brawls I've been hearing so much about."

"If there was a brawl involving Musketeers, you can be quite assured Aramis was at the center of it," Athos drawled.

LaMonte threw back his head, his laughter ringing through the quiet room. "I would expect nothing less." He glanced behind the Captain, his brows rising in question. "I see you are alone?"

"I expect the others will meet us here as soon as they return from the palace."

LaMonte nodded, picking up on the tinge of authority in Athos' voice. "But you wished to speak to me first."

"You're quite perceptive."

"I am an innkeeper," he responded. "Reading people is part of my profession." He motioned toward a table near the edge of the room. "Shall we?"

Athos retrieved the bottle and extra cup Leon had placed on the bar and followed LaMonte to the table. He sat, poured the wine into both cups and leaned back, placing his hat on the table beside him.

"You don't trust me." LaMonte observed.

Athos tipped his head in agreement. "Reading people is also part of my profession."

LaMonte chuckled and raised his cup. "I suppose it is." He took a sip of the wine and leaned back, mirroring the Captain's slouch. "Please. Ask your questions."

"A man came to see me today," Athos began, his eyes watching LaMont's face intently. "He said he was from Evroux, representing the Comte d'Everoux himself." LaMonte swallowed hard at the name but did not flinch. "I found it quite a coincidence that a soldier from that village would arrive so soon after an innkeeper from the same place."

LaMonte stared back for a long moment before sighing and dropping his eyes to the table.

"It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?" Athos asked, his voice even. "He claims you murdered the Comte."

The tall man leaned forward, both hands grasping the cup before him. He shook his head. "I didn't kill anyone. I didn't even know the Comte was dead, but I can't say I'm surprised."

"Perhaps you'd better start at the beginning."

LaMonte took a deep breath and ran a hand along the side of his head, reminiscent of a gesture Athos had seen Aramis perform in times of stress a thousand times.

"The Comte was a good man – aloof, not really a man of the people, but not a cruel man. He mostly left the people of the town alone. As long as we paid our taxes, he had little concern for us. But his son… now he's a different story." He took a gulp from the cup before continuing. "The Vicomte has a reputation for… taking what he wants. And he decided he wanted my friend's fourteen-year-old daughter.

Athos crossed his arms but didn't comment, unsurprised at the audacity of the powerful.

"My friend, Lorent is a good man but far from rich. He tried to get an audience with d'Evroux, but was turned away. He was desperate to save Claudette, so we went to the estate under cover of darkness. One of the stable hands had told us the Vicomte had been keeping the girl locked up in the stables, and when we found her she was in such a state…" He shuddered, haunted by the memory. "My only thought was what if it had been one of my girls? What if they were next? Before we could make good our escape, someone sounded the alarm. D'Evroux' men came after us. We hid Claudette and split up. I have no idea what happened to either of them."

"The Comte's man knew you by name."

LaMonte sighed and seemed to melt into the chair. "Then Lorent must have been caught. I only pray they did not find Claudette as well."

"And what of the Comte? Did you kill him?"

LaMonte shook his head, adamant. "No. We didn't even go near the estate house, just the stables. If the Comte is truly dead, I suspect his son had something to do with it. As I said, he has a reputation for taking what he wants."

"It would not be the first time an heir did not have the inclination to wait for natural succession," Athos agreed.

They sat, silent, each man contemplating their next move. Finally LaMonte broke the tense silence.

"What now? Am I to be turned over to the Comte's men?" He seemed resigned to his fate, his dark eyes reminding Athos of Aramis' as he walked away from them all those years ago.

"No," Athos shook his head. While it was a case of one man's word against another's, Athos found LaMonte's version credible. "But you should know they are here and searching for you. We can protect you in Paris, but if you are found, there will be little we could do to stop them from returning you to Evroux for trial."

"Trial? There would be no trial." Erias huffed a laugh. "Turn me over and I will be dead long before I reach Evroux."

"I don't doubt it. Captain Cardonne seemed quite eager to see you hang for your crimes."

"Cardonne is as much a monster as the Vicomte. He does his bidding like a trained dog."

"Perhaps if you were returned with a Musketeer escort, the Vicomte would be more inclined to listen to reason."

LaMonte's eyes widened in surprise. "You would do that for me?"

"I would do it for Aramis." Athos admitted. "But you must tell him the real reason you came to Paris."

"I know," LaMonte nodded, acquiescent. "But I want you to know I truly am who I claim to be. Aramis is my brother. I regret it took something like this to force my hand, to make me search him out, but if this is my fate, I'm glad I was able to meet him before I die. I can only hope he will find it in his heart to forgive me and be there for my girls in my stead."

"Aramis has the biggest heart of any man I have ever known," Athos assured him. "But it won't come to that. If what you've told me is true, you have committed no crime. You will be there for your daughters."

"Thank you, Captain. I can't tell you how much it means to me."

Athos reached for the bottle and refilled both cups. "Tell him," he commanded. "If you care at all about him, you will trust him with the truth."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Porthos sighed in relief as they passed through the arch, dropping from his mount and gladly handing off the reins to the recruit tending the stables.

It had been a long day.

Just watching Aramis' unabashed observation of the Dauphin had been tense and exhausting. He'd spent the entire time on edge, studying everyone around them, trying to deduce which ones – if any – had their eyes on the Musketeer who had been the center of Rochefort's accusations. Though it had been four long years since they had managed to discredit the First Minister, he knew the rumors persisted and that despite the time and distance, none of them would ever be safe. There had been stares from a few of the courtiers who'd been around back then, some whispers, but none had outwardly made any signs of contempt or accusation. Most had simply gone about their business, ignoring the Musketeers as if they were no more than statuary adorning the gardens.

He seen nobody react to the blatant expression of longing on Aramis' face. Perhaps it was only his fears making him overly cautious, but just because he hadn't noticed any outright reactions didn't mean Aramis' or the Queen's glances hadn't been observed. It had seemed ages before the Dauphin had exhausted himself running through the hedges and been packed off by his governess for a much needed rest. Even the pouting protest he'd managed to put up had brought a grin of fondness to Aramis' lips. Porthos had simply rolled his eyes and continued praying no one else could detect the hint of paternal pride that seemed so glaringly obvious to him.

It wasn't that he couldn't grasp how hard this was for his friend, he just didn't understand how Aramis could not see the danger and curb his reactions. It was like he was taunting fate itself, either not knowing how transparent his emotions were or not caring how easy he was to read.

Of course it could just be that Porthos knew him better than most – or at least he used to. Aramis had never shied from expressing how he felt – despite the trail of broken hearts and angry husbands he'd left in his wake. But Porthos had hoped that four years in a monastery had tempered that characteristic, making him more subdued, more restrained where his emotions were concerned. He wasn't sure whether he was more frustrated or relieved to find that time had not changed the man from the idealistic romantic he had always been known to be.

Aramis handed his reins to the recruit with a nod of thanks. He placed a hand on the young man's arm as he glanced around the empty courtyard. "Is the Captain in his office?" he asked, eager to be on his way to meet with Erias. Now that the distraction of the Dauphin was past, the marksman was obviously looking forward to his encounter with the man claiming to be his long lost brother. Despite Porthos' reservations about LaMont's sudden appearance, he'd take it as the lesser of the two evils at the moment.

"He went out an hour or so ago," the recruit informed him. "He expects you to meet up with him at the Wren when you returned from the palace."

Aramis smiled his thanks before turning to Porthos, a look of confusion marring his handsome face. "That's odd," he admitted. "Why would Athos leave without us?"

"Perhaps he wanted to speak with LaMonte alone." Porthos shrugged. If he harbored concerns as to the validity of the man's story not to mention his sudden arrival in Paris, it wasn't a stretch to assume Athos felt the same.

Aramis' brow furrowed, his countenance a swirl of confusion and annoyance. "Why? Erias is my brother. Athos has no cause to question him without my presence or consent."

"Athos is the Captain," Porthos reminded him. "It's his job to look out for his men. No doubt he's just trying to protect you." His tone was clipped, but after the frustration of the day, he was too tired to contain his irritation with his friend.

"I don't need his protection," Aramis bristled.

"You've made that quite obvious."

Aramis' eyes flashed momentarily, and Porthos sighed, chastising himself for allowing his aggravation to rule his tongue. He ran a hand down his face, suddenly unable to deal with the wearing discord still floating between them.

"I'm tired," he mumbled. "I'm goin' to get somethin' to eat. I'll find d'Artagnan and meet you later, huh?"

The anger in Aramis' eyes quickly dissolved, replaced by sad acceptance. With a quick nod, he turned on his heel and strode back through the archway, disappearing into the darkening streets.

Porthos' hung his head. He'd thought they were beginning to find their way again. Wasn't it just a few days ago they'd worked together, amazing the crowd with Aramis' uncanny marksmanship? It had felt like old times, like they had never been apart. Then being trapped in the demolished building, believing he and d'Artagnan would never live to see any of them ever again… it had been such a relief to find Aramis and the King alive and well even though they'd been under attack by Grimaud's men.

On their way back to the Louvre, Porthos had known something had transpired between Aramis and the King, but the marksman had been reluctant to speak of it, and Porthos' own aches and pains had quickly demanded his attention. It had taken another day – and two bottles of wine – before Aramis had old him of Louis' threats.

At first, all he'd wanted to do was spirit Aramis away in the dark of night to somewhere the King's retribution could not touch him. Even though there was still a sense of estrangement between them, he didn't want to see his friend come to harm. But the King had made the decision to leave Paris for the time being, giving them all a bit of room to breathe and decide what action – if any – they should take in the face of Louis new-found revelations.

He'd promised he'd keep Aramis' secret for now. If only he could convince Aramis that discretion was the better part of valor.

"What was that all about?" d'Artagnan was either getting much more stealthy or Porthos had allowed himself to become more distracted by the day's occurrences than he'd thought. "Where's Aramis?"

"On his way to the Wren," Porthos announced. "To meet up with that new brother of his, LaMonte."

"And you're still here, why?" d'Artagnan looked at him pointedly. The Gascon had a way of cutting through the nonsense, right to the heart of the matter.

"I didn't think he'd want two of us interrogatin' the man."

"You're with Athos? You don't believe Erias is telling the truth?"

Porthos shrugged. "I do. I just don't trust the fact he's showing up now after all this time." He glanced at the younger Musketeer, a tired look of resignation on his face. "I know. I'm an idiot. I suppose I shouldn't push him away when all I want to do is protect 'im, eh?"

D'Artagnan returned the smile, patting a hand on the larger man's broad shoulder. "Sometimes with Aramis it's hard to do one without the other." He pushed against Porthos' arm, forcing him toward the archway. "Come on, you look like you could use a drink."

Porthos chuckled, nodding in acquiescence, and allowed his young friend to steer him out of the garrison.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The two men pressed their hats down as the Musketeers strode past their position near the garrison gate. They'd been almost ready to give up for the day, believing Cardonne a fool for thinking they could find their quarry by watching the Musketeers. Their leader had not been as convinced of the Musketeer Captain's cooperation as he'd been with the Red Guard's. He'd suspected the man had been merely placating him with little intention of assisting with their search, let alone allowing them to carrying out their orders within the city walls. It had been a long shot that LaMonte had even come this way, and an even more remote possibility that he'd allow himself to be known to the men who guarded the city, but Cardonne had been adamant the Musketeer Captain knew something and had ordered them to stay close.

They hadn't seen the Captain leave earlier, but they could hardly believe their luck when they'd heard the two Musketeers mention LaMonte's name. And to hear that they believed him a brother to one of their own – Cardonne would be pleased with the information. They would probably be rewarded for their diligence.

"What're the odds LaMonte's teeling the truth?" The shorter of the two asked, his eyes following the two Musketeers as they moved down the street.

His partner pushed off the wall, motioning for him to follow as they began to trail the soldiers discreetly.

"Whether it's true or not is of no matter. They believe it, so they'll protect him." The man grunted a laugh. "Smart move, if you ask me."

The Musketeers moved without alarm and the Comte's men kept their distance, just close enough not to lose them in the city's darkening streets.

"But brother or not, he's still goin' to pay. The Comte will see to it. Come on, we can't lose them."

Silently they followed the Musketeers to the tavern they spoke of. The taller made himself comfortable outside ordering the other to bring Cardonne back. Once they ascertained whether or not the man the Musketeers called Erias LaMonte was indeed the one they sought, the Captain would want him taken quickly. It would be more difficult than anticipated to take him right out from under the Musketeers' noses, but considering the Comte's golden appreciation sure to be bestowed upon them, they would most certainly find a way.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis had always believed he had siblings somewhere out there. It was too much to assume he was the only product of his mother's many 'suitors'. She had been a beautiful woman, kind and vivacious, the type of woman any man would want to be near. It was no surprise she had borne other children, though he had never known them or inquired of their existence. He'd been content with what he'd had; Pauline, Alexander, Collette, Tristain… children he had considered family even though he knew he was no more related to them than the men who'd come to see his mother and offer him sweets before disappearing into her rooms. It had never bothered him to not have a real brother or sister, his family at the brothel enough to keep him happy.

When he had left to live with his father, the man had seemed to enjoy teaching him about the workings of the distillery and Aramis – René – had relished the knowledge and basked in the attention. He'd realized years later that it must have been at his wife's insistence he'd been enrolled at the seminary school. Perhaps Madame d'Herblay had suggested the school to separate him from his father's plans for him, or perhaps it had been to wash the taint of the brothel from his soul. Perhaps it had been simply to force the discipline he'd been quite eager to avoid. Whatever the reason, Aramis had accepted the decision as he had all others and thrown himself into the experience. He'd absorbed as much knowledge about God and religion as he could while remaining true to who his mother had taught him to be. He hoped that by studying hard and becoming a good man he'd be able to make her proud.

His father had loved him as he was – he'd never doubted that. Despite the time it took for his wife to accept Aramis as part of their family, Arnault d'Herblay had never once treated him as anything other than his son. Even when he'd fought Isabelle's brothers after they learned of her pregnancy, his father had stood behind him, encouraging him to make the right decision, giving advice but never condemnation.

He prayed Erias had had the same level of love and support his father had given him.

Thoughts of his brother made him pick up his pace, eager to learn more about his life. While he'd had many brothers within the Musketeers – Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan close enough to be considered family – he found himself excited to know his true brother; a man who not only remembered him from before he could recall anything, but who knew his mother perhaps better than he ever would. With a renewed determination, he pushed on toward the Wren, forcing himself to let go of the frustrations Porthos had brought to the surface and look forward to the evening and the revelations it would bring.

TBC