"Our reputation precedes us."

x

"You've made us famous," Athos drawls, languidly approaching Aramis through the shadows of the cellarage. "Or should I say infamous?"

Even before he looks up, Aramis can see the wry smile descending from Athos's face. He returns it when their eyes meet, while keeping nimble fingers to the task he'd set them to – winding cordage for the tunnel exodus – until Athos seats himself on the barrel next to him and draws a pause.

Seeking his face, Aramis stares without thinking, watching Athos without pretending that he isn't.

It's comforting, having him so near. Effortlessly familiar, despite the loss of days between them.

And yet, so very strange.

He can't help but remember the last time they were in a monastery together. Under siege.

It feels like something from a hundred years ago. And it feels like yesterday.

From the antechamber, a trickle of muted laughter drifts up from the children. They all know well enough to be cautious – to be quiet – in these circumstances. Aramis isn't overly concerned that it will grow out of hand. Still, he glances to see what's drawn their attention and finds d'Artagnan listening intently to one of Aramis's own stories about him, as told by Adele.

Undoubtedly being fact-checked by Luc.

Luc, the curious. Luc, the impetuous.

Luc, the brave.

Aramis smiles.

When he turns back to the rope on his knees, Athos is watching him, and not trying to pretend that he isn't.

"I've made you only famous," Aramis assures with a covering grin. "Never infamous. My stories were never from the perspective of our dearly departed cardinal after all. Though, Luc has grown disconcertingly fond of d'Artagnan's adventurous brashness. And there is infamy in that."

Athos huffs with a gentle smirk, but tilts his head after, watching, as though trying to read through the shadowed labyrinth of Aramis's mind.

That too, is familiar.

If anyone could pull off such a trick it would be Athos. Even here in a place so unfamiliar to their friendship.

The abbot, God rest his soul, would have appreciated Athos's demeanor, as Mother Superior once had in the place of Isabella's passing. Isabella's murder.

"The way those children look at Porthos," Athos says, "one might think they'd suddenly found themselves in the presence of a flesh-and-blood avenging angel."

"Or a giant," Aramis quips, though after a space becomes serious. "Children in these circumstances need avenging angels – heroes capable enough to chase away their nightmares and grant them sleep. I cannot think of anyone more fitting than the three of you."

"The three of us." Athos lifts an eyebrow. "What about you? I sense you have not made an appearance in these stories?"

"These are children of war. The stories are about warriors."

"We have been to war together. You and I. And Porthos." Athos eyes remain steady. Fixed. Kind.

Aramis feels a familiar pain flare below his sternum. Glancing over at the children and their audience, his eyes drift, crossing to Porthos before sweeping away. "Not this war," he says through dry lips.

Athos waits him out, reading him too well.

"The stories were for me too, of course," Aramis admits, casually as he's able. "It was a way to not think about…"

"What you feared?"

"Yes." He nods, breathing to keep the emotions under his skin from becoming too obvious. "A way to make you the victors of any nightmare I could imagine. It worked, more often than not. As you well know, I've always had a gift for romanticizing." He glances at Porthos again, unconsciously, reflexively, but doesn't linger, returning focus quickly to the linked rope across his knees.

In silence, Athos hands him another line. "We told stories of you too," he says, less subtle than Aramis expects. "We spoke of you often."

"It is not the same though, is it?"

Athos's eyes wrinkle, touchingly, and Aramis speaks again before Athos can say whatever compassionate thing is on his tongue.

"It's okay, Athos. You… you let me go… without ranker or blame, and I... I appreciated that, more than I can say."

"I let you go. That does not mean you stopped being my brother, nor that our oath was forfeit. By you or by me. Was it?"

"Not all of you feel that way."

This time, Athos is the one to seek Porthos's profile. "He missed you. In a way, you were always there, even those times when he wouldn't say your name."

Aramis flips the rope without looking up, weaving in another link. "My actions. My consequences. I don't blame him. I accept my penance. I accepted it long ago. It is no less than I deserve."

Athos's hand lands on his forearm. "No, you don't." His gaze is steady. More gentle than Aramis feels prepared to accept. Athos leans back, but the warmth remains in his eyes. "You have the right to live whatever life you wish. We all do."

x

Notes: This one is probably the least complete-feeling missing scene fill-in of the prompts I've chosen to jump off of, but I wanted to color in some of the conversation we saw between Athos and Aramis before the point where we joined it in-progress on the show. It's not the last Aramis and Athos have to say about these topics either, so there will be more conversational fill-in moments between them.

Upcoming, however: More between Aramis and Porthos, with eventual understanding and compassion on all sides. I tell you now, lest you think I'm reveling in the disjointedness of their relationship thus far in this episode. I'm not. There is more, in my version of events, to everyone's emotions and actions than the show delved into, and I want to tease that out more.

While each prompt scene I write should stand on its own, in a sense, there is an inevitable weaving together of a larger story... of sorts. So, that makes everything clear as mud, right? Good.