A/N: Thank you to everyone that has come by to read! I very much appreciate it. Just a little note? When I first started this story (way too long ago) I had this idea in my head but names of towns for example hadn't been apart of the decision process. So don't take the town name too seriously :)

Chapter 2. On The Road Again

"Drop the stick!" Sebastien cried, his voice high and shrill. "Come on, Felix, drop the stick! Drop the stick!"

Benoit winced as his son's voice got higher and higher with every command to the newest member of their family. Felix was – according to his wife – a Papillion dog. Benoit had agreed to take her word on that. He couldn't remember his own name but for some reason he knew he didn't really know anything specific about dogs.

"Felix! Felix! Drop the stick, Felix!" Sebastien was running around in front of the house. The dog was keeping the kid on his toes. Benoit was pretty sure that Felix was the one running this game. The dog was beginning to show his cunning side.

Felix had wondered onto their land not long after they had arrived at their home. He was scraggy and dirty and looked half dead. Benoit had no idea where the little dog had come from but Sebastien had begged and begged for Benoit to save the little thing. He'd then begged and begged to be able to keep the dog. Benoit had promised the child that if the dog survived they could keep it. It turned out that the little scruffy Papillion had been stronger than he looked. A week later and it was like he'd never been on deaths door.

Benoit balanced high up on the ladder against the front of the house. The house needed fixing. The roof had holes in it, some of the walls were rotted and the floorboards near the fireplace were weak and dangerous. And that was just the house. If they wanted to live off the land like they had planned, they had a lot of work to do with the whole property. But … first things first – the roof. While there was no sign of rain he would make sure that the roof over his family's heads was safe.

He wiped a white rag against his sweaty forehead, and then down his clean-shaven face. It was hot, his dark curls were sticking flat to his head with the humidity, just like it had been the whole week they'd been living at the house … his house.

It felt strange to claim this house as his own. Odette had promised him that this place had been in his family for many years. She had promised him that he had in fact lived here in his childhood. He had hoped that seeing the place would have sparked a memory or at least given him a sense of vague familiarity. He'd been desperately hoping for something to hold onto as not even his children had jogged any kind of memory. He didn't feel a connection with his wife. They were like two separate people who shared a living space with children. But to his disappointment the house, the land nor the barn had caused any memories to surface. His past was as blank as it had been since waking up and being told that his name was Benoit Lareau.

"Felix!" Sebastien shrieked in frustration.

"Oh Shut up!" Mathieu shouted back. It was the first time the boy had spoken a word since walking out of the house that morning.

Benoit looked back and down towards where his oldest son was sitting on the wagon. The ever-present glare was firmly on his face but this time it was directed at his brother.

"You shut up!" Sebastien yelled back over his shoulder as he dove for Felix and missed. The dog danced around him, his ears perked and his tail wagging like he was having the time of his little life.

Mathieu jumped off the wagon and all but stomped over to where Sebastien and Felix were playing. Mathieu's longer legs and faster reflexes outwitted the fluffy ball of energy and suddenly the stick was ripped from his mouth.

"Hey!" Sebastien cried out. He jumped up to try and snatch the stick from his brother's hand to no avail. "Give it to me! Mathieu! Give it back!"

Benoit frowned not liking where this was headed. The older boy was deliberately antagonising his brother out of frustration, or spite. Either way it would not be tolerated. "Mathieu! Give the stick back to your brother," he called from his position on the ladder. He squinted down at the two boys, a sense of vertigo hitting him. He tightened his hold on the ladder, the panicked grip making it wobble beneath him.

Mathieu ignored him and instead teased the dog with the stick. Felix was now bouncing in front of him waiting expectantly for the stick to be thrown. Mathieu pulled his arm back and hauled the stick as far away as he could. The stick went flying over the decrepit fence and into the long grass.

Felix took off in the direction as soon as the stick left Mathieu's hand, determined to get his prize. Sebastien cried out and with both hands pushed the older boy. Catching him off guard, Mathieu fell to the ground. Sebastien didn't wait for a response. He took off after the dog, under the fence and into the grass that was easily a foot taller than him.

Benoit could hear the front door of the house open as he slowly made his way down the ladder and to the safety of the ground. A wave of dizziness swept over him as he stepped back onto solid earth. He kept one hand clutching the ladder to keep his balance as he rode out the spell.

Odette was already walking down off the porch, baby Elouise in her arms. A frown was set deep between her brows as she approached. "Just what is going on out here?" she asked as she handed the one-year-old to him. He accepted the baby immediately, fighting the problem with his equilibrium. The last thing he wanted to do was drop his daughter. He was already clearly failing one child; he didn't want to be a total failure as a father.

Without the weight of a baby in her arms, Odette stalked over to Mathieu and hauled him to his feet. The boy shirked away from her and gave her a scathing look that was usually reserved for him. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Mathieu stood there, tight-lipped and silent. He glanced from Odette to Benoit and then back to Odette again before lowering his eyes to the ground.

"Answer your mother," Benoit ordered, adjusting the grip he had on the squirming baby in his arms.

"You can't tell me what to do!" Mathieu shouted at him with an intensity that was surprising … even for Mathieu.

"Mathieu!" Odette gasped.

Benoit raised an eyebrow, giving his best stern look. "You can hate me for whatever reason you wish but you will respect your mother. Now answer her," he ordered. He'd been lenient with the boy, not understanding why the child seemed to resent him so much. He couldn't understand it but he would not stand for this disrespect.

Mathieu backed down slightly. "Yes sir," he acquiesced through clenched teeth. The boy turned back to Odette. "Mama, Bash and that stupid dog …"

"What about Bash and his dog?" She asked him quickly, her voice tight and edged with disapproval.

Mathieu kicked the dirt with the tip of his boot as he explained. "He wouldn't stop whining for the dog to give him the stick. So I got the stick for him."

"It was a little less friendly than that," Benoit commented as he tried to disentangle his hair out of Elouise's chubby little hand. "Be truthful."

"I … I got angry. He just kept on shouting at that stupid dog and I wanted him to stop."

"And why weren't you helping your father with the house like I told you to?" Odette asked, her hands going to her hips.

"Because …"

"That is not an answer, Mathieu!"

Mathieu squinted up at her and then his gaze locked on to him, his face set in frustration and anger. There was so much on the tip of the boy's tongue. Benoit could feel it like a slap to the face even though nothing had yet been said. He wished he could get the child to open up, to tell him what he'd done so terribly wrong in order to receive the hate sent in his direction.

"I do not give orders for no reason," Odette continued when no answer was forthcoming. She reached forward and grabbed a handful of the boy's shirt. "You're father needs …"

"What?" Mathieu challenged. "He's not even…"

A loud, high pitched scream filled the air, sucking the life out of the argument that had been brewing between mother and son. Benoit felt panic seize his chest as he looked up and out towards the sound of terror. Mathieu turned quickly, gaze fixed on where the scream had come from.

"Where's Bash?" Odette asked, fear creeping into her voice as she scanned the front of the property.

At the sound of his mother's voice, Mathieu took off without warning. The boy charged over the decrepit fence and into the long grass. Within seconds Mathieu was out of sight. Benoit pulled Elouise away from his chest and shoved her into Odette's waiting arms. "Stay here," he ordered.

Relieving his belt of his dagger and gripping it tightly, Benoit ran in the direction of his son. His heart was pounding as he sailed over the broken down fence and plunged into the long grass that occupied their field. He ran hard, following the trail of flattened and broken grass Mathieu had left behind in his haste.

A shriek of fear reignited his sense of direction and Benoit raced towards the sound. Exiting the grass, Benoit raced into a thick of trees towards where he knew there to be a stream. It felt like forever and he found himself wondering how the children could have managed to get so far away so quickly.

Approaching the top of the small incline that lead to the stream, Benoit stopped in his tracks at the sight that was before him. Down by the base of a tree on the other side of the water, Mathieu was scrambling to help his sobbing and hysterical younger brother up a large tree. A mere fifteen feet from that tree was a wild boar. It stood there, snout pushing into the small remains of a very dead little Papillion dog.

Benoit spared half a second to be crushed at the sight before his sense of urgency returned. The Boar knocked the dead dog once more with its bloody snout before it raised his head and remembered that a bigger feast of two small boys was just before him.

It stomped and huffed in preparation as Benoit felt himself move without thought, his pistol gripped in his right hand. His boots tore up the ground as he raced against a wild animal that was intent on harming his children. Benoit felt panic as the boar picked up speed. He wasn't going to make it in time. Not in time to stop the beast.

"Mathieu!" he screamed and pushed his legs to move faster.

The older boy turned at the sound of his scream as Sebastien finally managed to cling to a sturdy branch. Mathieu's wide eyes locked with his as the boar closed the distance. Benoit dove the rest of the way, wrapping his arms around his son and turning so that his body acted as a shield. Benoit cried out as the animal's tusks penetrated his skin, digging deep into his side. The grip he'd had on the knife released, sending it flying in a direction that Benoit could not see. The boar released a high-pitched cry as it tried to dislodge itself from Benoit's side.

Benoit pushed Mathieu out from under him. "Run!" he screamed at the boy as the tusk was ripped from his flesh. He twisted without thought and grabbed hold of the animal by its dangerous bloody tusks. It surged forward with a grunting squeal, almost impaling him a second time. Benoit cried out as his body shook with the force of the animal's surprising power.

Struggling to hold the enraged animal off, Benoit was surprised when a loud pain-filled squeal filled the air moments before the pressure on him is released. The boar backed off and for a moment Benoit was confused. He laid there for a moment trying to catch a breath and glanced to his side. Mathieu was still on the ground. He was on his rear, staring at the Boar who coward backwards, Benoit's knife protruding from the back of its neck.

Benoit gingerly tried to rise off the ground as the injured animal now huffed and whined. "Math … Mathieu, go! N-Now …" Benoit ordered shakily, his side lighting up in agony as he got to his knees. The boar backed up further, enraged and preparing to rampage upon its new threat. "Mathieu! Run!" Benoit shouted as he launched himself at the crazed animal. He reached for its mane as the fingers of his other hand wrapped around his knife. He wrenched the blade from the pig's flesh and then was pulled forward as the beast launched itself forward.

Mathieu shrieked and back-peddled, fumbling with an attempt to get to his feet. Benoit latched onto boar almost riding it in an attempt to gain control. He thrusted the knife into the boar's throat and with a second final move, buried the knife in the animal's skull.

The boar dropped, the sudden motion sending Benoit crashing to the ground. He lay there for a moment, the only sounds coming from the whimpering boy in the tree and his own heavy laboured breathing. His side ached to the rhythm of his pounding heart. He was wet, drenched with sweat and blood and mud.

He needed to get up. He needed to check on the boys. Clenching his eyes shut, Benoit forced his muscles into action. He gritted his teeth and tried to hold back a groan as he rolled over. He paused on his side for a moment, reaching around with one hand to his left side to press against the burning pain that resided there. Glancing up, Benoit opened one eye and then the other and frowned at the sight of Mathieu. He was still on the ground, arms behind him holding him up as he starred at the now dead boar.

Benoit grunted as he shifted again. "Mathieu," he called as he attempted to push himself to his knees. The boy didn't answer him, his eyes fixed on the dead animal as if in shock. Benoit wanted the boys out of there, back in the relative safety of their crumbling home.

"Mathieu!" He called the boy's name with a little more force this time and was rewarded with a startled jump. It seemed to do the trick, snapping him back to the present. Mathieu's eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet with a lot less effort than it seemed to be taking Benoit. "Mathieu," Benoit called again, softer this time as the boy approached him. "I need you to get your brother and get back to the house."

"But … but what about you?" Mathieu asked. It was the first time he had seen anything in the realm of concern or care directed at him from the child. It was nice. Benoit just wished it hadn't taken them to nearly be eaten by a crazed wild boar to receive it.

Benoit shook his head; dark sweaty curls fell across his eyes. "I'm fine. Your mother will be worried. Go."

Mathieu looked at him sceptically but didn't protest any further. He turned and rushed over to the tree that still held his crying younger brother. Benoit sat back on his haunches, one arm wrapped around his mid-section, hand pressed against the still bleeding wound. He watched as Mathieu called his brother down and caught the younger boy in his arms.

As soon as Sebastien's feet hit the ground he was running to Benoit, crashing into him hard enough to elicit a gasp. He felt small arms wrap around his neck and after a moment he returned the hug with his free arm, squeezing the child tight. "It's okay," he whispered into the child's hair.

Sebastien cried into his shoulder, unintelligible words through his fearful heaving tears. He thought he heard the word sorry a few times and maybe the name Felix. Benoit's heart broke as he held onto the sobbing child. Poor Felix had never stood a chance.

"It's going to be okay." It wasn't right now. But it would be. "Bash …" Benoit tried to pull away to look at his son but the boy just held on tighter. "Sebastien, I need you to go with your brother." He looked over the child's shoulder to Mathieu who was standing back and for the first time looked like he wasn't entirely sure what to do. He met Mathieu's gaze and nodded, trying to once again extract himself from the death grip that Sebastien had on him. "Come on …"

"Come on, Bash. Mother will be worried," Mathieu tried, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and helping to break the embrace.

"W-What about Felix?" Sebastien hiccupped. His small body shaking in the after effects of the trauma they'd all just gone through.

"Bash, Felix is d-…"

"I'll take care of Felix," Benoit interrupted his son's lack of tact. "Now go home with your brother. Promise me. You'll both go straight home." With lack of answer from either boy, Benoit asked again. "Promise me."

Sebastien allowed himself to be pulled into a side-hug by his brother. Both boys nodded. "We p-promise, Papa," Sebastien added.

Benoit sighed with relief. There would be no more arguments right now. "Go now. I'll be right behind you."

Hesitantly Mathieu and Sebastien both backed away and then turned, quickening their pace as they headed back to the farmhouse.

Benoit sagged with more relief. He pulled his hand away from the wound in his side and held it up in front of him. It was covered in blood. His blood, the boar's blood. It was coated. It felt … familiar. The smell, the feel of it. The sudden flash of familiarity hit him hard. He stumbled back onto his rear and sat there for a moment feeling tired and disorientated. Why the hell would blood bring back a sense of memory. It was like his life before his accident was just in front of him behind a locked door but the key was just out of reach.

Xxxall4onexxx

"I cannot just walk away!"

"Well you must! YOU made this choice! Now for you to live with it you MUST forget it ever happened!"

Athos played the last conversation he'd had with Aramis over and over in his mind. No. That was a wrong choice of words. It had not been a conversation. It had been an argument. A private argument between the pair because no-one could know what had been discussed.

In truth, Athos hadn't meant to come down so hard on his friend. He wasn't completely without feelings. The other man had been through much, had lost much. Aramis' heart was too big for its own good. But that was also precisely why they were in the incredulous situation that they had found themselves … Aramis fathering the Queen's child.

No-one could know. Aramis had promised him that he could handle the burden of what had transpired. He had promised Athos that he understood the ramifications of his actions and that he would keep his distance. Athos believed him. He believed that Aramis had intended to keep that promise. But the further along the Queen's pregnancy advanced the more reckless Aramis had become … the broodier he became.

The errand had been Athos' idea. Send Aramis away on a simple solo errand for Treville. Away from the palace, away from the queen and the constant growing reminder that he could not have what he so desperately wanted. A simple easy mission to deliver a message to an old retired soldier that would have sent Aramis two days ride from Paris. Instead two months later their brother had yet to return. It was like he had vanished without a trace. It had been his idea and now Aramis was missing. Just like Aramis couldn't put aside his impending fatherhood, Athos couldn't put aside his guilt over their missing brother.

"Athos!"

Athos startled out of his thoughts, tightening his hold on the reigns. He glanced beside him to d'Artagnan. The boy was wearing the same frown he'd been wearing for the two months their friend had been missing. "What is it?" he asked.

"Are you okay?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos sighed and rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. "I'm fine."

"And him?" d'Artagnan asked, indicating with a nod of his head towards Porthos who has riding up a head. "I'm worried about him," he confessed.

"Porthos will be fine," Athos answered. Porthos had been irritable for the months since Aramis disappearance and he'd been single-minded and obsessive since they had been given permission to investigate three days prior. Athos knew that fine was a poor description for Porthos right now.

d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Is that the only answer you can provide?" d'Artagnan asked. The boy sighed, glancing out to Porthos and then landed his gaze back on Athos. "Forgive me but … things do not seem fine. You both do not seem fine. I … I am not fine," he admitted. "And before you suggest it Aramis is … he is not fine. If he was, we wouldn't be in this situation."

Athos paused. For once not really knowing what to say. d'Artagnan was right. Everything was far from fine. He turned to meet the boy's steadfast gaze. "What would you have me say?" Athos asked.

"I …" d'Artagnan paused for a second. "I don't know. But I am worried. What do we do if we don't find what we need in this town?"

That thought had crossed Athos' mind more than once since Captain Treville had advised them that there might be a lead on Aramis in the town of Aumelas. They had set off immediately for the town. It was at the very least a weeks ride from Paris and nowhere near where Aramis had been sent on his solo errand.

"I mean, even if Aramis was in this town as we hope he might not be by the time we arrive. And if he was there what was he doing there? Why has he not sent word to us?" d'Artagnan's concerns spewed forth like the flood gates had been opened. "What if Aramis was never there at all and this is all for nothing?"

Athos wished he had the answers to calm the young musketeers worry. Alas, he could not calm his own. A part of him wondered if Aramis had decided to leave for good, to vanish on purpose instead of coming back to a world where his desires were just out of reach. The thought was squashed as soon as it appeared. Aramis would never leave without a trace. He would not worry them like that. But the alternative … Athos feared that the alternative was much worse.

He glanced up, searching their surroundings. Finding a cluster of trees off in the distance not far from the side of the road, Athos pointed in their direction. "We should stop there for the night."

Out of the corner of his eye, Athos witnessed d'Artagnan's jaw tighten. He didn't mean to ignore the boy's questions. He just didn't have any of the answers. To d'Artagnan's credit he didn't continue his onslaught. He'd always had a knack for reading Athos well and right now it was appreciated.

"I'll catch up to Porthos and let him know. He'd ride all night if we let him." With that d'Artagnan gave his horse a quick kick and took off to catch their irritable friend.

Athos dropped his head and sagged in the saddle for a moment. He was tired. And worried. He reached up and removed his hat from his head, normally wavy brown hair, dark and sweaty. Wiping one forearm across his damp forehead, Athos then looked up to the sky. Hoping against all his nagging concerns that they would find their wayward brother. If Aramis was okay they could deal with everything else.

TBC …

A/N: God I hope this was okay. Feel free to drop me a long and let me know.