Early Summer, 1638

Morning

No good could come of this, Athos knew, and yet he did not turn back his horse as he rode towards Bourbon-Les-Eaux. He would keep his word, even if it was given under the duress of a child's tantrum, to the clear displeasure of her father and in his own mistaken belief that a year would be long enough for Aramis to have forgiven him.

He was wrong. And he was wrong to have made the promise. But that would not stop him fulfilling it.

D'Artagnan met him on the road to warn him of the increased guard this year, to ensure the safety of the pregnant Queen, but assured him that Traville had picked only the most trusted musketeers and D'Artagnan had assigned them to positions well away from the pool. Isabelle would not be seen and neither would…

Athos's hand found the top of the head of the small boy pressed against his chest.

…neither would Raoul.

-o-

Isabelle raced towards them as soon as she spotted their approach. She had grown tall in the year since he'd seen her last and more of her mother was apparent in her features, if you knew to look for it, but she was still far too much like Aramis. Her dress for once was clean. But it was still early.

"Athos!" She cried as she threw her arms around his waist and clung on tightly. He sighed. Last year she had hugged him a great deal more than she ought as if she thought she could make up for her father's coldness towards him. He suspected that the promise she had forced him into was as much about her curiosity to meet Raoul as it was to ensure his return. "And you did bring Raoul! I knew you would!"

Raoul's hand found his father's when Isabelle leaned over him but despite his innate shyness, he didn't shrink away.

Porthos joined them, clasping Athos' hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "I would ask how the domestic life is treating you, but I can see by your waistline."

Porthos said. "It's a good thing you brought your sword. You look like you need the exercise."

A little overcrowded now, Raoul pressed nervously against his father's leg.

Isabelle put out her hand, "would you like to see some spiders, Raoul?" She spoke gently, obviously well used to younger children. "I found a whole nest in those rocks over there."

Raoul looked up at Athos, who nodded his permission.

He and Porthos watched them go, hand in hand.

Porthos smiled fondly. "I knew that dress wouldn't stay clean for long."

Midday

It was noon before the Queen arrived tended by a nurse and several maids. Athos watched them from the ridge. The swell of her stomach was still quite small but she seemed tired and merely sat on the bank as her maids brought her buckets of the mineral rich water to sponge over her skin. Behind the royal party, a few metres away, stood one of the musketeers who had guarded the Queen on her journey here from the châteaux: Aramis.

And as if sensing Athos' recognition of him, Aramis looked up. Their eyes met across the distance. He nodded in greeting. It had been a long year since their last meeting in this place and there was a hunted look in his eyes that Athos could not remember ever seeing before, even at their most desperate hours. Aramis said a few words to the Queen before leaving her side. There was a momentary flash of deep concern on Anne's face before she quickly schooled it away.

Athos glanced at the roundness of her belly. Another of Aramis' off-spring? It was probably safer for him if he did not know.

It was only a minute later that a twig snapped behind him and he turned to see Aramis approach.

"Athos." Aramis stopped, tilted his head in greeting.

"Aramis."

Silence.

Athos waited. It was, after all, Aramis who had come to him. He should speak first. And truly, what more could be said that they hadn't yelled in anger nearly two years ago.

An icy hand clutched at Athos' heart. There was one more accusation Aramis could make and Athos feared it like he had feared nothing else.

They might have been stuck in that impasse, with a span of 5 metres and 2 years of pain, separating them if Isabelle had not run over and thrown herself at her father.

"Papa!" She hugged him and then giggled as Aramis scooped her up onto his hip. None of the previous bleakness was visible as he smiled at his daughter, wiped clean away by a look of utter pure love. Athos wondered if his own face did that when he held Raoul against him.

Aramis looked at Isabelle critically. "Tell me truly, how many smudges of dirt have appeared since I left this morning?"

She wiggled in his arms, "five!"

He cocked a dubious eye at her and she giggled, "ten!" She decided. "But Raoul made some of them when he hugged me. He's so sweet, papa, like Miguel only not so shy." She twisted in his arms and pointed, "see!"

Athos watched his friend – and he had to believe they were friends still – follow Isabelle's finger until his eyes came to rest on Raoul, small and chubby, hurrying to keep up with Isabelle.

Isabelle wriggled out of her father's arms, grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the little boy. "Raoul, this is my papa."

Aramis knelt down. "Hello, Raoul."

Athos saw his little boy meet Aramis' eyes and felt sharp ache.

Aramis stood up. "He has Marie's eyes."

The name fell like a boulder between them.

Marie de Rohan, Madame de Chevreuse. Raoul's mother and Aramis' former lover.

You would know better than I, Athos wanted to say but instead simply agreed, "yes."

And there was that silence again.

Isabelle looked between her father and Athos and tightened her fingers around Aramis', "Papa, can't we-"

"My apologies," Aramis said and there was such blackness in his eyes, "I'm neglecting my duties to the Queen and must return." He looked down at his daughter.

"Come on."

"Can I not stay here, papa?"

"No."

"Please! I want to stay with Athos and play with Raoul."

"The Queen is expecting you." Displeasure slipped into his voice. "She wants to see you."

"I don't care!" She stared up at her father and didn't back down at the sight of his growing anger, "just because you do not like Athos anymore does not mean I shouldn't either!"

"This has nothing to do with Athos." There was note of tiredness in Aramis' voice and Athos had the sudden intuition that this was probably something of an old argument between them.

"Yes it does! You want me to stay away from him!" She accused. "And I won't, papa! I won't."

"Isabelle!" Aramis' voice rose sharply. "You cannot disappoint the Queen."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because she is your –"

"Queen." Athos snapped loudly, sharply.

Isabelle jumped at the harshness of his voice and Aramis instinctively responded to her alarm, laying an arm about her shoulders, even as his eyes cast thanks towards Athos for preventing him from allowing his anger to push him into making a very grave mistake.

"The Queen is very fond of you, Isabelle, and you should spend some time with her." Athos said and the evenness of his voice surprised him. "Raoul and I will still be here when you get back."

The little girl looked between them again, confused and maybe a little frightened. She clearly sensed that there was something else but was too young to recognise it.

"Promise?"

"I promise."

She drew in a deep breath and began to walk back to the pool, pointedly ignoring her father.

Aramis looked back once when they walked away but his face was unreadable.

Afternoon

"Is it the king's child?"

Porthos stopped cleaning his gun. "He thinks it is. That's all that matters."

Athos frowned. That wasn't the answer he wanted. "Buckingham is dead."

"She might have taken another lover, I suppose."

"Aramis?"

Porthos looked over at him. "Do you really want to know?"

Athos conceded the point.

Porthos returned to cleaning his weapon.

"We spoke." Athos said.

"Half a dozen words hardly counts." Porthos grinned in response to the look that Athos threw him. "Isabelle might have mentioned it."

Athos thought back to their stand-off on the ridge. Aramis had come to him but he had never got the chance to speak. Isabelle had interrupted them and then Raoul…

And they needed to talk.

"He is still angry." Athos said.

"He's hurt." Porthos corrected. "He loved her very much." And he trusted you completely. The words went unsaid as they always had been but Athos could hear them hanging accusingly in the air all the same.

"It was his choice to leave her." It sounded like poor justification even to his own ears. It was true; of course, Marie had not given away Raoul to save her marriage.

She had done so to preserve her relationship with Aramis. But the betrayal of his lover with his best friend had been too great a wound to forgive and she had lost him anyway.

"Do you really believe that?" There was a note of anger in Porthos' voice. It surprised Athos. In all this time, he, like D'Artagnan, had stayed admirably neutral. So much so that they had unintentionally made many of Athos' actions since then far simpler than they should be. His announcement that he was leaving the musketeers and resuming his life as the Comte de la Fere had been met with far less resistance from Porthos and D'Artagnan than it should. Their fear of the thought that Aramis might feel they were taking Athos' side if they tried to dissuade him too strongly had coloured all their actions and made it easy for Athos to dismiss them.

"He could have forgiven her."

"It wasn't forgiving her that he found difficult." Porthos got up. Athos recognised this. He was removing himself before he said something he would regret. "And it wasn't her actions that hurt him the most."

-o-

"I wish you were friends with papa again."

Athos looked up at the girl's voice. She stood on the edge of the blanket he had laid out so that Raoul could nap in the shade, yellow dress filthy and torn to shreds at the hem. Her thick black hair had dried into messy curls and her face was smudged with dirt. She reminded him of Aramis after a particularly good bar fight.

"We are still friends." He told her.

"That is what papa said too."

To his surprise, Athos found comfort in that. He patted the blanket at his side and with a smile she stepped onto it – kicking dirt up as she went, he noticed – and curled up next to him far closer than he had planned.

"I like Raoul."

Athos smiled. "I like him too."

She giggled at that, because she did not know that it could be any different. But it was a revelation to Athos. Not that he loved his son, but that he liked him, liked the little person that he was.

Isabelle pressed closer to him. "Papa likes him as well." She clearly had her father's gift for manipulation. "We could all take him hunting. You and me and papa, and Porthos and D'Artagnan too," she looked pleadingly up at him, "like when I was four. We always had such fun."

Athos let himself remember, for a just a minute, what it was like riding at his friends sides, not just on those hunting trips with Isabelle, but on missions, on duty, he would be a liar if he said he did not miss it. "Perhaps when he is older," Athos said.

She sighed, "it might be too late then."

"Too late?"

She burrowed into his side. "For you and papa to like each other again."

He was at a loss as to what to say. He opened his mouth to say her name but another voice cut him off.

"Isabelle!"

They both looked towards the voice. It was Porthos.

"The Queen is asking for you."

There was no mistaking her reluctance as she got to her feet, but she didn't protest. Athos knew the time was coming when she would begin to question her yearly visits here and he did not envy Aramis the choice he would ultimately have to make. Truth or Fiction?

Isabelle went to Porthos' side and took his hand. She looked back at Athos.

"Promise you will bring Raoul next year."

"If I am able, we will certainly come."

"Raoul wants to come back." Her father's child indeed. "I know he does."

"Isabelle –"

Her lip trembled. "Promise," she insisted. "Please."

"I promise."

Evening

It was a strange kind of torture to watch them together: Raoul and Aramis and Isabelle. They were playing in the shallows, entertaining the Queen who sat on the bank. They looked to Athos like the family he had always imagined having when he married. It made his heart ache and yet he should have expected a scene such as this. Raoul had quickly become Isabelle's shadow, trotting along behind her throughout the day, babbling away in his incomprehensible baby talk. Of course he would find his way into the precious time that Queen shared with Aramis and Isabelle.

Athos found his eyes drawn to Aramis. His friend looked relaxed at last, splashing and tickling the children, and it seemed Isabelle was right. Aramis did like Raoul. Very much.

"I will hate to disturb them."

D'Artagnan's voice at his shoulder made him jump. "D'Artagnan."

He turned to see the younger man and Porthos mere feet from him.

"Being the Comte de la Fere has dulled your senses, Athos." His young friend teased. "We have been standing here for the last five minutes."

"You may rest assured the same cannot be said of my sword skills." His voice was a mild threat that D'Artagnan met only with a grin.

"Porthos and I are about escort the Queen back to the châteaux." D'Artagnan said.

"And Aramis?"

"Aramis is staying here." Porthos said in a voice that suggested their friend would be given little choice in the matter.

D'Artagnan looked at Athos. "You should talk to him."

"There is nothing more to be said." A lie, because there was, but Athos did not want to think on that.

"You could start with 'I'm sorry.'" Porthos told him.

"Aramis did not accept my apology then; he will not accept it now."

"You cannot know that until you offer it." D'Artagnan placed his hand on Athos' shoulder. "It has been a long and hard year without you, Athos. We have all been changed by it."

"He will not forgive me."

Porthos made that huffing sound again but this time he did not walk away. This time he stayed and let the frustration and anger he felt show clearly on his face.

Perhaps they should have done this long ago. Perhaps the combined force of their rage would have healed things quicker. Maybe it would have been the penance his heart had always wanted since that very moment when he had woken in the inn with Marie, naked and beautiful, at his side.

(Maybe it might have made it worse.)

And Athos knew that was what they feared. Too afraid of pushing him further away, of giving him reason to hide in the bottom of a bottle again, they had held their tongues and allowed the gulf between their friends to go unfought against and as a consequence, unhealed.

"What Porthos means is," D'Artagnan translated, because while Porthos thought his huff was clear, it was not. "Aramis forgave you a long time ago."

And Porthos clarified. "But maybe he needs to hear that you actually give a damn about hurting him."

-o-

"Raoul is a fine boy."

Athos' hands stilled against his horses tack. He did not turn to look at Aramis. "He is."

"Like his father."

Athos still did not turn. "Perhaps you mean that as a question." He wished he did not sound so bitter.

Silence.

Athos cursed himself. It should not be this hard. It should not be that a man had come to him to receive his apology. He forced himself to turn then to see Aramis standing behind him, holding his hat to his chest. Isabelle was at his side. That hunted look was back in his eyes.

"Isabelle," Aramis said, not really taking his eyes from Athos, "run back to the pool and collect your cape for Raoul. It is a cold night."

"Yes, papa."

She hurried off and as soon as she was out of sight, Aramis stepped forward. "It was not a question." He said.

"I would ask it in your place." Athos told him and turned his attention back to tacking his horse. He knew no good would come of goading Aramis to ask the very thing that Athos feared he would. It would only hurt them both. And yet he could not stop. "You must surely wonder."

"Athos, do not do this."

He closed his eyes. "Ask me."

"No."

"It is all there is left to say between us so ask me!"

"I will not."

He spun about and grabbed at Aramis' collar and screamed, "Ask me, damn you!"

Aramis pushed back, anger rushing to his eyes. "How do you know that Raoul is yours and not mine?"

Pain lanced through him. He let go of Aramis and stumbled back.

Aramis pushed his hair back with his hand. "I apologise," he said, shame clear in his voice. "I should not have asked that."

Anger flared in Athos' chest, as much for himself for forcing the issue, as for Aramis. "How do you know Isabelle is yours?" It came out as a snarl. It was cruel of course to curse Aramis with the same doubt that curled its way around his own heart during his blackest nights.

"Because I trusted to Anne's word," Aramis said and his voice was so calm. "As I believe you do."

Trust to a woman's word? Was that all? Was that really what Aramis placed his faith in? Athos almost staggered under the weight of it. Trust the word of woman who lied so freely to her husband? To her lover?

"There are other things as well." Aramis continued. "Isabelle's little toe is long and curls over just like mine. Her whole feet are identical to my own and I do not think she would thank me for them. I can see my mother in her eyes." He smiled fondly, more to himself than to Athos. "And I believe she has my smile." He laid a hand on Athos' shoulder. "Athos, you will see yourself in Raoul as he grows." And you will not see me. The words were not spoken, but he heard them all the same. "Marie would not have lied to you."

Athos felt the tension in his shoulders ease, spreading out from the spot where Aramis' fingers touched him. The warmth of them washed through him. If his brother believed Marie then perhaps he could have faith in that.

"I'm sorry." The words came softly to his lips.

"Athos, I will never expect you to regret sleeping with Marie," Aramis told him, "just as you have never asked me to regret the night I spent with Queen, even if it leads us all to the hangman's noose. We both gained far too much."

"But you will allow me at least to regret the very great wound that I inflicted upon your heart." Athos told him. "And upon our friendship."

Aramis' hand moved up, cupped against his neck. "Only if you will allow me to forgive you."

Perhaps they would have embraced then, but Isabelle's happy squeal as she returned, clutching her cape, broke them apart.

"Are you friends again?" She demanded and didn't wait for an answer, throwing her arms around both of their waists, before letting go and bouncing around. She ran to the blanket where Raoul was sitting, quietly pulling the petals off a flower. "Raoul, our papa's are friends again and this is going to be the best week here ever!"

Night

The room that Athos had been given in the châteaux was one of the finest. There were undoubted perks to being the son of the nobility. Last year he had stayed in the servant's quarters, with Porthos snoring in one ear and the sound of a rat gnawing inside the wall in the other.

Athos lay on the bed watching his son sleep. Raoul's fingers twitched against the pillow. Athos looked closer and saw…hands.

He looked at the little boy's feet. Small and perfectly formed and…

Raoul's little toe was little. And it didn't curl.

Athos smiled.

In fact, the foot looked much like his own.

He fell asleep holding it.