Late Summer, 1643

Morning

"Papa?"

Aramis felt his daughter's head shift against his belly, but didn't lift from its impromptu pillow. He was lying on his back on the ridge above the pool at Bourbon-Les-Eaux with Isabelle curled sleepily at his side watching the sun rise over the trees. She had insisted on getting up with him to watch the dawn, stumbling along at his side, rubbing her eyes and yawning and coughing before finally relenting and allowing him to carry her. Her presence was a strange mix of comfort and distraction, keeping him from the very contemplation he had come here for and yet he would not change it for all the world. Small and warm curled against him, she reminded him simultaneously of how many years full of nights spent in tents deep in the woods that had passed without incident since Savoy and of what he would lose, far more precious than his own life, if it happened here.

And losing her had been so very much on his mind these past few weeks, that terrible shredding fear so very real again after the complacency he had fallen into after the birth of a true royal heir and then the king's death… And in many ways it had been worse than those first few years of Isabelle's life, when the slightest hint of her existence, in the wrong ears, would have spelled disaster for all of them, because there had been no sword, no battle he could have fought to save her from the illness stealing her life.

"Yes, polilla?"

"Why do we come here every year?"

It was not the first time that she had asked this. It was unlikely to be the last because he always evaded the question. "Do you not like Bourbon-Les-Eaux?"

"Yes, but…" Her head dug into his rib as she shifted to look up at him. "Can you not take me to Paris instead? I would so love to see Paris."

"Perhaps when you are older."

"Next year?" She asked hopefully. "When I am thirteen?"

He chuckled. "Older than that."

"How much older?" She pressed. "When I am sixteen?"

"Older."

"When I am married?" A hint of the good nature that she had surely inherited from himself slipped into her voice.

"Or when I am old and grey?"

"For certain." He told her.

She sighed, and her chest cracked loudly as she did so, and fell silent. Aramis smiled down at her, lifting a hand up to smooth over her thick black hair. Soon it would not be so easy to brush aside her curiosity about their yearly visits here and he feared it. He had learned, over the years, how skilled he was at lying. Falsehoods would slip from his tongue into the ears of trusted friends and colleagues and cost him no effort. The thought that he would one day lie just as naturally to Isabelle made him cold inside.

She stirred again. "Papa?"

"Mmm?"

"Will we still come here when I am old and grey?"

"You will I am sure."

"And you?"

"I shall be in heaven waiting for you when you are old and grey."

She sat up. "I don't want you to die!"

He looked up, cursing his stupidity. He should not think too much on death. "Everybody dies, Escarabajo." He told her. "And it will not be for a very long time."

Her hand strayed to his shoulder and the barely healed wound from his last battle. "Promise?" Her large blue eyes stared into his.

He propped himself up on his elbows. She was old enough to know that such a promise would not be in his control – these past few weeks would surely have taught her that – and yet he sensed she would not accept any reply that came with waver about God's will.

But perhaps God was not so willing for him to answer because before he could speak, there was a sound of a horse's hooves and a young boy's voice calling out, "Issss – aaaaa – belllllle!"

A grin broke out over her face and she scrambled to her feet, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled out in the same slow sing-song pattern: "Rrrrayyyy-oulllllllllll!"

It cost her a fit of coughing, but it was everything to hear her voice so strong again.

-o0o-

"…and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord. Amen."

Aramis crossed himself before reaching for the plate of roasted fish. He was aware of Athos at his side, quietly eating his own portion and watching this display of piety with guarded eyes.

"Isabelle looks well." Athos said.

Aramis hated himself for hearing the relief in Athos' voice as a selfish thing, as a statement that she was unlikely to infect Raoul with the scarlet fever that had almost killed her. It was born out of his own bitterness, he knew, and was not true, but his heart refused to be rational.

"Yes," he murmured and pulled out his cross. He kissed it. "Praise be to God."

Athos looked away, probably to stop himself from pointing out that his God had cursed Isabelle with the sickness in the first place and his gratitude was somewhat misplaced. But Aramis knew in his heart that it was all part of a Plan, for himself, for Isabelle…perhaps even their friends too. He just had to trust in it.

But Athos did not trust easily and certainly not in things he could not see.

They had always been very different in that respect but it had never felt so…insurmountable before. There was, he knew now, only one course he could follow and it was unlikely they would understand.

His friend was dressed fine - a true son of the nobility - and Raoul had stood tall and just as grandly at his side for all of minute before running off with Isabelle into the woods. There was very little left of the musketeer he had once been. Aramis wondered if Athos too felt the gulf of their experiences between them.

"I almost did not bring her." He admitted. "Perhaps I should not."

Athos lay a hand against his shoulder. "She is strong, Aramis." He told him. "And this is a place of healing."

Perhaps… But it was ultimately his own selfishness that brought him here.

Philippe…

He had never told his friends that the Queen's second son Philippe was his own. He guessed that they knew or at least suspected, for the boy looked very much like him and there was something in the brightness of his smile that was identical to Isabelle.

Another secret.

More lies.

When would the weight of them grow too much?

Midday

Aramis lay in the sun drying off after a swim with Philippe curled in his lap, almost asleep. His son was soft and small, fitting perfectly against him. Isabelle had been all sharp bones and tangled hair when she had been this age.

He stroked the boy's head gently and his eyes finally fluttered closed.

Anne was smiling at them from her seat in the shade. She had not joined them in the pool – it would be considered unseemly now the king was dead – and instead played the role of Regent, relaxing with her children away from the stresses of court. At her side was Isabelle, reluctantly consenting to the Queen brushing the tangles out of her hair.

Aramis returned the smile, eyes meeting hers and seeing the same gratitude there as he tried to express with his own: a silent thank you for these precious few days with their unacknowledged children.

"Maman," Louis said. He sat on a rock a few metres away, scowling. He had not joined them in the water, despite much coaxing on Isabelle and Raoul's part, and had ended the matter with a sharp I do not play with girls. "I want to go back to the chateaux."

He was small boy, given to being quiet and sullen; brightening only in the company of Cardinal Mazarin and D'Artagnan. Of the latter, it was easy to see why. The young musketeer's affection for the little king was evident and Louis responded to him in a way he never had his mother. That had quickly earned D'Artagnan the position as Louis and Philippe's personal guard.

"We will return later, Louis." Anne told him, barely looking up from her work and Aramis saw hurt in the boy's eyes as he watched her curl a lock of Isabelle's hair around her finger. Aramis knew that she was distracted by the feel and the reality of it against her skin. Aramis' own hand cupped Philippe's head lightly and understood just how deeply she was trying to map the sensation in her heart to sustain her in the long empty year ahead. But he also knew that all Louis saw was his mother ignoring him in favour of another.

"De Tan-nan could take me." Louis pouted. "Or Piedmont."

Piedmont immediately stood to show his readiness to obey his young king but D'Artagnan shook his head at the musketeer.

"It would be rude to leave our guests." Anne pointed out.

Louis stood up. "Maman, I want to go!"

The Queen finally gave him her attention. "I do not." She said firmly, her tone that of one accustomed to complete obedience.

"I will go!" He snapped. "I WILL!"

Philippe jolted in Aramis' arms at the noise and made a whine that threatened tears. Aramis hushed him, stroking his back, calling him cuervo and soothing him back to sleep.

Louis stomped away a few feet before sitting down again.

-o0o-

Porthos arrived at the pool shortly afterwards, richly dressed and looking relaxed in a way he never had as a musketeer. Aramis hugged him with one arm, Philippe curled in his other. He could see that marriage obviously suited him and Athos confirmed his opinion almost simultaneously as he told Porthos so. Their friend did not deny it.

Isabelle and Raoul greeted Porthos excitedly and he scooped them both up into his arms. The children giggled as he mock staggered under their weight and squealed as he threatened to drop them.

Isabelle's laughter got caught in her chest and she dissolved into hacking coughs. Porthos quickly put her down and the Queen flew over to her side, terror on her face. Isabelle accepted the comfort, leaning into the Queen's arms in way she never had before, as she struggled to breathe and Aramis forced himself to hold back, allowing Anne this rare moment of truly being her mother. His arms tightened around Philippe instead. Behind them stood Louis, staring at his mother, lips pressed together in a hard line. At his side was Raoul, who looked frightened and Aramis saw Athos take his hand. The boy pressed against his father's side.

Aramis felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Porthos offering his silent support. He smiled at his old friend.

Finally Isabelle's coughs petered out and her colour returned. Anne helped her walk back to the bankside to sit on the rugs and cushions laid out there. She tumbled down with the air of someone who could not bear to stand any longer.

"Papa?"

Aramis settled at her side, juggling Philippe so that the boy was nestled between them. "Yes, polilla?"

She looked directly at Porthos. "If Porthos has children," she asked with a grin, "will they come to here too?"

Afternoon

Aramis settled back against the rough bark of a tree and watched the three boys playing together. Philipe was almost as tall as Louis was, despite the two years between them, strong and bold. Raoul was a fine boy, kind and well-mannered and as comfortable in the company of adults as he was in his peers.

"Papa?"

He looked around to see Isabelle standing at his side. "Yes, polilla?"

She sat down next to him and leaned into his side. She looked over at the boys. "Why doesn't Louis like me?"

Aramis sighed. How could he explain? The boy clearly sensed that his mother did not love him as she loved Philippe. No matter how careful Anne was, something of the tenderness she felt for the children she had conceived in love and desire slipped out, and it was all too glaringly obvious sometimes when she looked at Louis, a child born out of duty, that it was not there.

Louis had probably accepted that Philippe would always be the favourite, but to see his mother with Isabelle… And to be so deposed by a stranger…

"He is jealous."

He watched her absorb that.

"Why would he be jealous of me?" She asked. "He's a king."

"Because you are all the things that he will never be, Isabelle. Strong and brave and loyal and –"

She waited, "and?"

"And loved, polilla."

"Papa, of course he's loved!" She sounded indignant.

"But there are times, like today, when he does not feel it." Aramis thought of his own life. He had never questioned Adele Bassett's leaving him and yet he now knew she had been murdered. He had simply accepted what he had believed to be her rejection of him because he had not expected to receive any less. There were so many other moments too… "Sometimes it is hard to see that you are loved and easy to see that you are not."

In the distance, Raoul scooped up a giggling Louis and spun him around. Isabelle watched them, obviously thinking over his words.

"Papa?" She asked eventually.

He smiled, "yes, libélula?"

"You know I love you, don't you?"

He chuckled and put an arm around her. "Yes, polilla, I believe you love me almost as much as I love you."

"Isabelle?!" It was Raoul, beckoning her over. "Come and play!" He was still holding the young king and perhaps that was why Louis didn't protest the suggestion that a girl joined them.

She got up with a grin. "I will try to be more kind to Louis," she said as she hugged him goodbye, "so that he knows he is loved."

Aramis watched her run a few steps before she stopped and turned.

"But papa?" She looked sad. "I wish we had gone to Paris instead."

-o0o-

"You have not told them yet."

Aramis closed his eyes at D'Artagnan's words. "I had thought to tell them Friday." Their last day.

Coward. Was that D'Artagnan's unspoken word he had heard or his own?

"You think they will not understand." It was not a question.

Aramis' hand found his cross. "Do you?"

D'Artagnan looked away briefly and then focused on Aramis again. "They were not there when Isabelle was sick."

He replied. Aramis recognised that his own question had gone unanswered and accepted it. And D'Artagnan was right, of course. Athos and Porthos had not been there when the message came. But D'Artagnan had. Aramis would be forever grateful to him for riding out at his side through the rain to Mathilde's farmstead, arriving to find his daughter barely conscious with fever and struggling to breathe.

Only D'Artagnan had witnessed the force of Aramis' prayers, the depth of his belief…

And yet it would be dishonest to allow D'Artagnan to believe that the choice he had made had been born out of gratitude for the Almighty sparing Isabelle's life.

"I was tired of soldiering before that, D'Artagnan." He bent his head, feeling the stitches of his shoulder wound pull. "Isabelle's illness merely hastened a decision I had already made in my heart. I should have left the musketeers years ago as Athos did. I should have taken Isabelle and gone with Marie when she fled Paris." He saw D'Artagnan frown but chose to ignore it. He wanted to speak honestly because the lies were choking him, even if that truth was a selfish, callous thing that wished Athos' son away from him.

"You stayed because it was the right." He sounded like he believed that. Perhaps he did.

"When we rode out here, Isabelle said to me that everything is different now and it is." Aramis told him. "And now it is right that I join the church."

D'Artagnan put his hand on his shoulder. "You will make a fine abbe, Aramis."

-o0o-

Athos and Raoul were talking behind Aramis and Anne as they sat in front of the royal tent and Aramis found he could not help listening in. Raoul was a lively boy and could often draw far more words out of his father than any other person alive ever could. It amused him to listen.

Isabelle came running up, hair wild and dress covered in dirt. At least he could blame Porthos for that as his friend had been instructing the girl in the use of the foil. "Papa?" She said, sounding breathless. "Can Raoul and I show Louis and Philippe the eagle's nest?"

They had found the nest the day before, high up on the cliff above the pool.

Raoul scrambled to his feet, clearly eager. "Can I go, Papa?" He asked Athos, who nodded his agreement.

"You must ask the Queen, Isabelle."

"Oh." She turned to Anne and curtsied badly. "Your majesty, could I show Louis and Philippe an eagle's nest?" She had never called Anne by her name, despite being asked to on many occasions. Aramis knew it made Anne sad. "The eagles have a baby that's as big as they are and Papa said it will fly soon and I so want to see it again before it does."

"Is it far away?" She asked.

"It's up on the cliff but it's not far really."

"Do not take Philippe, he is too little." Anne said. "But I am sure that Louis would like to see the nest."

Louis, who was sitting once again as far away as he could, got up and came over. Raoul took his hand but when Isabelle went to take the other he pulled it away. Aramis' jaw clenched to see it but clearly Isabelle remembered her promise and she smiled at Louis. Raoul took her hand instead and they both giggled. Then she tugged on Raoul's arm and began pulling him away.

"Do not go too close to the edge, Cucaracha!" Aramis called after them.

She spun round and cried out: "Oh, Papa, I am not!"

He stood up, removed his hat and bowed reverently. "Mi pequeña cucaracha."

At his side, Anne was laughing.

"Papa!"

Raoul pulled on the hand that he held and she grinned before breaking into a run again. Half way up the ridge she stopped.

"Papa?" She called out. "If I were a cockroach, would you still love me?"

Anne laughed even harder and it was lovely to hear.

Aramis offered another bow. "For certain," he told her.

-o0o-

Aramis watched Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan sparring on the bankside and considered joining the fray. Anne and Philippe had gone into the tent, where her maids were attending to them, and that left him only with the air and the trees and the birds.

And it was the third day here and nature had begun to tire him.

Screaming spilt the air. His heart froze in his chest.

"PPPPAAAAPPPPPAAAAAAAAA!" The cry echoed around the pool.

Isabelle!

He searched desperately for the sound and his eyes caught on movement at the top of the cliff. Isabelle was lying at the very edge, clutching at the soil but then the earth simply…gave away.

Her body plummeted down. Aramis had seen men fall in battle, had seen lovers die in his arms, but nothing, none of it compared to even a second of this.

Isabelle hit the water with a harsh smacking sound, sending up a gush of water and disappeared.
Aramis was barely aware of running into the pool, his friends a mere step behind him. He swam over to the spot where he had seen her go down and dove under.

Hail Mary, Mother of God…

The mineral rich water was milky, a haze of blue white against his eyes. Shapes and shadows reigned around him, unclear and vague, and his heart lurched in horror at the thought that he would never see her in this gloom.

Pray for us sinners…

His lungs forced him to the surface, gasping for breath, but as soon as he had choked down several gulps of air, he went under again.

Now and at the hour of…

No God no.

A shape lay on the bottom of the pool, large and dark. He lunged for it and his hands met cloth. As soon as he had gripped it, he kicked up for the top and broke the surface with a gasp.

He heard Athos yell, "he has got her!" But it was distant against the terror clutching at his chest. Isabelle hung limply in his arms, unconscious, and it was all he could do to swim for the bank. He could hear Athos and Porthos yelling, Anne crying hysterically but none of it mattered.

Aramis collapsed to his knees on the bank, gasping for breath, and laid Isabelle down. He put his head against her chest and felt a rush of relief. Her heart still beat, but it sounded rapid and inhuman, and there was no movement of her chest…

"Isabelle!" He shook her, pulled her up against his chest, stroking and slapping her back as he did when a coughing fit stole her breath. "ISABELLE!"

She made a choking sound and vomited over his chest, a rush of milky water and bile, then coughed violently before vomiting again. He could feel her trembling and hugged her tightly against him. Fear and terror still clawed at Aramis' heart as he pressed kisses to her damp head and murmured a jumbled mix of Ava Maria and Spanish against her hair.

Porthos knelt at their side and carefully wrapped his fine cape around Isabelle. Anne joined him, arms reaching for her daughter, uncaring of who saw her tears. Aramis allowed her to her cradle Isabelle to her, too weak with his own relief to think of propriety and he leaned into her warmth himself.

He heard Raoul's voice in the distance screaming, "Papa! Papa!"

The little boy ran up, tears running down his cheeks, and all but threw himself at Athos. Athos pulled the boy up into his arms and clutched him to him.

"Isabelle fell, papa!" He sobbed out. "And I could not…" His breath hitched and hiccupped. "Papa I tried to…"

"Hush, Raoul." He murmured. "She is safe now."

"But Papa it was Louis!" He cried out. "Louis said he hated Isabelle and he pushed her away so hard and… and she slipped and fell and…and…" Another sob wracked him and Athos rubbed at his back to sooth him. "I was so angry that I yelled at him and he ran away into the woods and..and… Papa, I don't know where he went and I do not care!"

-o0o-

The search for Louis had been brief but Aramis took no part in it. The boy had apparently only stormed off a few yards from the cliff edge before sitting down to sulk. D'Artagnan and Piedmont had found him quickly.

Aramis stayed with his daughter in the tent and had tried not to think to bitterly of Anne, clearly worried for her missing son and unable to bring herself to be close to Isabelle until he was found. He tried not to think to bitterly of Louis either, tried to find the sympathy he had felt mere hours ago, but there was too much anger and fear in his sinful heart.

He could hear his friends, through the fabric, talking about finding Louis. They sounded distant, probably over 30 feet away, but closer still was the sound of Anne's voice. He could see her shadow through the tent, two others at her side, one tall and well formed, Piedmont, the other smaller and probably one of the nursemaids, and in the centre of them, the smallest shape of all, Louis.

Aramis stroked Isabelle's hair as she dozed and listened to Anne trying to explain to Louis what he had done was wrong. Aramis knew that the boy was too young to understand.

The conversation ended abruptly at the little boy's harsh declaration, "I hate Isabelle and I hate you!"

I hate Isabelle.

The words sliced into his heart like a blade.

There was sharp slapping sound and then a second of silence before Anne gave a little cry of horror over what she done. Louis dissolved into sobs and then the only sounds were of Anne hushing him.

It felt as if the knife twisted so tearing was the fear. Aramis knew there was no going back from this.

I hate Isabelle.

Louis' voice rang in Aramis' head.

…As he feared it rang in Piedmont's…

Aramis knew Piedmont to be a good man and loyal musketeer…but he had witnessed far too much already.
Aramis' hand found his cross.

"Aramis."

Athos stood in the door of the tent. There was a darkness on his features, a deep weight, that Aramis had not seen there since Raoul was born. And Aramis knew he understood what must happen.

"You heard the king." Aramis asked.

"Yes."

"Tell me there is another way, Athos."

"I cannot." He stepped into the tent. "But you should not do this alone."

Isabelle coughed and drew his attention back to her. "Isabelle?"

She smiled sleepily, "yes, papa?"

He took her hand in his and hoped to one day have the courage to tell her of what this choice really meant for her.

He hoped she would forgive him for it. He knew that Anne never would. "Shall we go to Paris, polilla?"

And she smiled so brightly at him he could almost convince himself that it was absolution.

Evening

Aramis checked over the horses tack. Anne stood at his side, her eyes full of desperation. He would hate himself for this in the years that would follow, he knew, but that would not change his mind.

"Please do not do this." She begged. "I will send Louis away. He will never come here again."

"He is the king." Aramis stated and how could he make her see how dangerous that made the child's jealousy? "Even now, he is king and he will soon realise the power that he holds over grown men. Men who will stop at nothing to curry favour with him in the hope of reward when he comes of age." He moved to Isabelle's horse. "That day is coming."

"He is a small boy, Aramis, and I am Regent."

"That will matter little to those who wish to gain power, as you yourself have learned." Aramis told her. He wanted to tell her of his suspicions about Cardinal Mazarin, warn her to keep Louis away from him… But she would just dismiss him as a jealous lover and it would do no good. He turned to look into her eyes. "We cannot risk coming here again."

She paled at his words. "Please, Aramis." She clawed at his arm. "Do not take her away." There was a terrible grief in her voice. But it was nothing to the grief he had felt watching Isabelle fall. "You are too good and too honourable to do this."

Was he? Mother of God, he did not know anymore…

"Louis will not forget this day. He will not forget what his anger drove him to and he will not forget what it cost him. And if he ever learns who Isabelle really is..." He laid a hand against her shoulder. "All it would take is one word from him in the wrong ear…"

"I would not let that happen, Aramis!"

"You would be powerless to stop it!" The rage ripped from him and he drew breath and continued more evenly. ""I am truly sorry."

"You will never see Philippe!" She threatened, a cruel and desperate act, but all she had.

It cut deep, as she knew it would, for he loved his little raven haired son as deeply and as completely as he loved Isabelle and the thought of losing him forever...

But in truth, beyond the few days here, Philippe was part of Anne's world, not his. Nothing would change that, no matter how many years they came here. Just as Anne would never, truly, be anything more than a visitor in Isabelle's life.

Aramis closed his eyes. "Then know that I understand the pain I have caused." He saw her face soften. "Should Philippe ever learn who I am to him, I pray that he understands."

"Aramis," Athos interrupted them, Raoul in his arms. The boy had barely let his father go since he had returned from the search. "Stay until morning."

Anne searched his face, clearly hoping he would listen to his friend. "I cannot."

Behind Athos came Porthos carrying Isabelle.

"Papa, tell Porthos I can ride my own horse!" She sounded happy, untouched by the darkness around them. Aramis wanted her to keep hold of that forever.

"He knows that quite well, polilla." Aramis said as he pulled up her hood, blinkering her view of the world and concealing from her the grief that Anne was unable to hide.

Anne stood still, tears welling in her eyes, and as Aramis watched one streaked down her cheek. He ached to brush it away but forced himself to ignore it. He got up onto his horse. Porthos put Isabelle into the saddle in front of her father before climbing onto the back of Isabelle's white mare. They turned their mounts ready to ride out but D'Artagnan stepped out of the shadows and blocked their path. He held Philippe in his arms.

Aramis took one last look at his beautiful son before he spurred his horse and rode away.

Night

Mathilde stood looking at Aramis with tears in her eyes. "You are going to take her away as suddenly as you brought her." She said bitterly. "You do not think to ask."

"I do not have time." He told his sister but did not look up from gathering Isabelle's few possessions and packing them into a bag. "Not then, not now. I am sorry."

"Where will you go?"

"I am to join a convent. The nuns there will take care of her."

"I take her care of her."

"I know." He put his hands on hers and looked into her eyes. "But she is not safe here anymore."

Fear filled her eyes. "Who is she, Aramis?" She asked fearfully.

"If any of the king's men come here, acting on his behalf or on the Regent's, tell them that Isabelle died of her fever. Ask Miguel to disturb the earth under the ash tree and put up a cross for a grave. Visit it as often as –"

"Aramis!" She demanded, cutting off his instructions. "Who is this child?"

"I cannot tell you." He closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"You made me a promise that one day you would."

"And I will."

"Aramis…Rene…" She put her hand on his arm. "I need to know who I am protecting with my life and the lives of my own children."

He drew breath and saw another road of lies ahead, long and twisted and bitter… Perhaps today, he would choose not travel it.

"She is my daughter," he told her, "but she is also the daughter…of the Queen."