Round 1 Story Title: Trading Sons
Author: Niki
Fandom: Man in the Iron Mask
Rating: PG
Pairing: Athos/Phillipe
Spoilers: The whole movie, including the plot and surprises
Summary: After Phillipe is switched with the King, Athos, Porthos, and Aramis accompany him to the palace, where Athos deals with some of his issues. (hurt/comfort)
Author Notes: Written for the 2009 Sneezefic challenge.
Bunny: #5

"Even if I could betray my king, I could never betray my son," Athos heard D'Artagnan state.

His heart slammed into his stomach as he recalled himself yelling at D'Artagnan about not understanding fatherhood. Though it all made sense now - his drunken stupor when the Queen became pregnant, the rabble-rousing when she had her child, and his yearning to help Athos with his own son, Raoul. Of course, the fact that he had his own son - one he could never claim - that was the answer to all of it. "Your son..." he heard himself whisper as D'Artagnan unburdened himself of years of the reality of watching his son grow to be cold and tyrannical, and now finding out that there was another. And yet, he forgave it all.

He forgave Aramis for following the orders of King Louie XIII, and locking up one son. And, perhaps even more remarkably, he didn't hold a grudge against Athos, who had threatened him and removed him from the brother in arms status, due the he absence of understanding of fatherly love that he perceived in D'Artagnan's life.

He had watched as D'Artagnan threw his body in front of the dagger meant for Phillipe, and heard himself apologizing for his misunderstanding. All that time had been wasted being angry, when he should have been supportive. He should have known D'Artagnan was holding something back. But, he was so far gone with grief, he couldn't see past his own pain.

Athos woke up in his plush room in the palace with a gasp and a sob. Sweat poured down his face and drenched his thinning hair. He got out of bed and walked around the chambers, feeling the odd texture of the rugs and wooden floor under the soles of his rough feet.

After the night in the Bastille, Phillipe had traded places with Louie, and was doing his best to fix the errors that his brother had so foolishly made. He had insisted Athos, Porthos and Aramis move into the palace, as was their right as chief advisors. There was a new head of the Musketeers, and Athos knew that D'Artagnan would have been very proud of his student.

Athos looked around feeling distinctly out of place. He shook his head and tried to discharge the feelings of loss. First Raoul, then D'Artagnan. He couldn't bear anymore loss. He could barely handle the losses he'd already had.

Athos stifled a yawn the next morning at breakfast with the others. He, Athos, and Porthos had been talking about how to keep the Jesuits away from this King. They had decided to let Aramis do his job as the leader of the Jesuits and to give them new orders. But, Phillipe would have to be on his best behavior and make sure that they saw the extreme difference between the way Louie ‘cared' for the people of France and the way Phillipe really cared about his people.

"Are we boring you?" Aramis asked, noticing the uncharacteristic yawn. He had been mulling over his new job in his mind. It was going to take a whole lot of force and faith in order to change the direction of the Jesuit order.

Athos sighed, heavily. "No."

"Is it the nightmare again?" This was serious. Athos had imparted his feelings of guilt to Aramis just after the night in the Bastille. Aramis had tried to council him, but Athos didn't want a priest; he wanted a friend. And, although Aramis tried to provide the support Athos craved, he found himself unable to do so without providing the type of counseling that upset Athos greatly. Although he had stopped asking about the feelings of guilt and loss, it didn't mean he had stopped caring about them.

Athos said nothing. He had confided in Aramis soon after D'Artagnan's death. He recalled the tears as they crept over the edges of his eyes, as his remorse flooded his soul and his guilt choked him with its icy grip. It was the closest he'd come to tears since he'd come to terms with Raoul's death.

"Always," he replied, simply.

Porthos diverted his eyes. Athos was no stranger to nightmares. Even as young musketeers he recalled Athos dealing with his demons as he slept. Now after the loss of his beloved wife, child, and closest friend he could only imagine the torment that tortured him in the night.

"Am I interrupting?" a low wispy voice asked.

All three men looked up immediately as they realized that the King had come in without their knowledge.

They stood up as quickly as their aging bodies would allow.

"Please, sit," Phillipe implored. "I was wondering if I might join you for morning meal."

"Of course your Majesty" Aramis replied, pulling out the chair between himself and Athos. He hoped that Athos would respond favorably to Phillipe, as was his normal custom. ‘Perhaps,' he though, ‘a good breakfast with Phillipe will help his spirits rise.'

"Thank you," Phillipe replied sitting down, and picking up an apple. "My servants, they are a wonderful help, but poor company." He took a bite and looked around the table. He didn't join his advisors for morning meal often, but when they had lunch together there was typically laughter and joviality intermingled with the seriousness of the work to get done. Now, however, the silence made him uneasy. "Is something wrong?" he inquired.

Porthos diverted his eyes to his plate and hastily put food into his mouth. Aramis quickly drank his wine, but Athos didn't move.

"Of course not, your Majesty," Athos responded after a prolonged amount of time. He wouldn't look at the boy. He couldn't. Every time he looked into Phillipe's pleading eyes, he was reminded of D'Artagnan giving him the same look as he banished him from his home and his life. The same look that he received when he told D'Artagnan that the next time they met one of them would die. His vision blurred again as he heard Phillipe tell D'Artagnan that he was the one in the mask. ‘All that wasted time,' he thought to himself.

"The truth," Phillipe demanded in a tone that mimicked Louie's.

Athos snapped to attention. They had all learned to hate that tone. That demanding, snide tone: the one that called them liars and stole their right to have thoughts unknown to their King. "Nothing, your Majesty," he snapped as he pushed himself away from the table and stormed out of the room.

"Perhaps he feels you are not ready for the truth," Porthos offered.

"What is it?" he asked Porthos and Aramis, his voice thick with concern and trembling with worry. "What's wrong with him?"

He watched as they both adverted his eyes. "What's wrong?" he demanded in that same threatening tone.

"He has many demons," Aramis answered. "And some nights are worse than others."

Phillipe nodded. "I remember when we were all in the country manor. He would come into my room and we'd talk until he drifted to sleep. At first I thought he wanted companionship. Then I realized that he doesn't sleep well."

"Never did," Porthos interjected.

"His demons run deep. But, you are better off not pressuring him to explain. He comes around when he wants to. And that's all any of us can ask of him," Aramis advised.

Phillipe nodded.

"He's not weak. He's a strong man and a good swordsman. He protected your father, your brother, and he'll protect you. Don't make him feel weak. Don't make him feel old," Porthos said in a rarely used no nonsense tone.

Phillipe nodded again. They were correct, of course. He had asked Athos to view him as a son. And, Athos humored that whim. He had to make sure that Athos felt as secure in his new role as Phillipe did in having him there.

"Thank you," Phillipe said getting up and leaving through a hidden hallway behind the portrait of his mother.

Athos sat hunched over old documents. His wedding certificate to his beloved Rachel, old wanted posters, old letters. He was old. Everything in his life was old. And, worse, the most important things in his life were dead.

"Athos?" Phillipe implored quietly.

Athos scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed his graying hair behind his ears. "Yes, Phil- Your Majesty?" It was so easy for him to fall into the old familiar of calling him by his birth name. But, he knew it wasn't safe to do such things.

Phillipe took a step forward and saw the red rims of Athos' eyes. His eyes reflected those of a father who was annoyed with his son. He remembered seeing a similar look in the eyes of the priest who raised him when he was seven and accidently let the flock run over the hillside. He paused and licked his lips. It was obvious to him that Athos didn't want him there. However, there was nowhere else that he wanted to be. "I'm sorry for upsetting you," he stated. "I didn't mean to demand answers from you. Especially answers that I don't have any right to know."

A smile twitched at the corners of Athos' lips. D'Artagnan would have been so proud. "Your Majesty this is not your fault."

Phillipe took a deep breath and nodded. He wanted to ask what was wrong again, but he didn't want to pressure him again, lest he shut down completely. "Well, if you would like to talk about it, you are welcome to anything I can offer. All you have to do is ask."

Athos smiled. "That is very generous. Thank you."

Phillipe walked closer to Athos. "You have been so kind to me. Your advice has gone beyond that of a royal advisor, and I don't want you to think that I don't appreciate it."

He watched as Athos turned his eyes to the ground. Shaken, he put his hand on Athos' shoulder. "You have Aramis and Porthos who will always be there for you. But, I will be there too, if ever and when ever you need."

Athos touched Phillipe's hand. He felt his heart swell with pride. Hot tears shone in his eyes. He shouldn't have been the one here to see this gift of generosity. D'Artagnan should be seeing this. He thought, not for the first time, about the pain D'Artagnan must have gone through supporting Louie, as his tyrannical son destroyed the country that his father had spent a lifetime trying to protect. He had so little time to get to know Phillipe, before the opportunity was taken from him. And, now Athos was living that life instead of him. He pondered on the Lord's cruelty, again, not for the first time. How much better it would have been for him to have been stabbed in the back with the dagger. He would have been with his son, and D'Artagnan would be here now. ‘So much better...' he thought. "Thank you," he replied simply, still unable to bring himself to look at the young king.

He felt Phillipe squeeze his shoulder and hard the carpet crunch under his shoes as he walked away.

"Come on Aristotle," Athos spoke in low tones to the black stallion which Phillpe had gifted to him when he moved into the palace. He pushed his hair out of his face, and pulled his cloak a little tighter around his shoulders. The wind began to whip around him and his hands started to hurt with the warning of rain. As soon as his was a reasonable distance away from the palace, he pushed Aristotle into a gallop, and tried to leave the nagging feeling in his stomach behind.

Phillipe stirred and awoke to the sound of hoof beats. Someone was leaving... in a hurry. He glanced at the moon and noticed that it was almost completely covered by heavy clouds.

He padded quietly through the hidden hallways into Athos' room. The hidden door creaked open. But, Athos wasn't there. Not that he'd expected him to be. There was, however, a lit lantern on his desk. Puzzled, Phillipe made his way across the room. When he got there he noticed a letter crafted in Athos' hand.

My Dear Friends,

As you well know, I have not been myself, as of late. The death of Raoul, Christine, and D'Artagnan weigh heavily on my soul, and I am quite unable to move past it. I am taking a sabatacle until I am able to sort through my pain.

Phillipe, you said that you would grant me anything within your power. I ask that you grant me this time away without repercussions upon my return.

Porthos and Aramis, I implore that you do not follow me. I need to be alone with my thoughts and memories.

Rest assured that I will return.

I thank you for your understanding. My pain is my own and brought on by me. Therefore, it is only fair that I deal with it on my own.

Yours in Service,
Athos~

Phillipe blinked back the emotions that he was sure showed in his eyes. The thought of Athos dealing with such pain alone upset him greatly. Porthos and Aramis, I implore that you do not follow me...That implied that they would know where he had gone.

He contemplated waking Porthos and Aramis. Surely they would want to know about this. He heard the rain start to fall, and recalled how its presence caused pain to his three advisors. He thought about Athos, out alone in the rain, with only his pain to keep him company, and he knew which choice to make.

Porthos yawned and stretched. He blinked in the pale candle light, and felt his eyes start to droop shut again.

Phillipe looked at him sympathetically.

He thought he felt guilty enough before he saw Aramis hobbling into the room, leaning heavily on a walking cane.

His concern must have shown in his eyes because Aramis said, "Don't worry about it, Your Majesty. Someday you will be old too, and then you'll understand."

Phillipe nodded and waited for Aramis to slide into his seat before he put the letter onto the table. "Read this. I need to know what you think of it."

"This had better be an attempt on your life," Porthos said, threateningly as he reviewed the letter.

"It is not my life which concerns me," Phillipe answered.

Porthos calmly handed the letter over to Aramis, with a solemn look on his face.

"He's gone back home," Aramis said, quietly.

"Where's home?" Phillipe asked.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged knowing glances.

"He said he doesn't want us to follow," Aramis said, calmly trying to deter Phillipe from his line of questioning.

"Actually, he asked that neither of you follow. He didn't say anything about me."

A flash of lightening lit up the room, causing all three men to jump.

‘I know I'm going to regret this,' Porthos thought. "He's gone to his home in the country."

"Porthos!" Aramis chastised.

"Have you see the weather, Aramis? He may need help. And if he doesn't, he'll send Phillipe home, and no harm will come of any of it."

Aramis sighed heavily. He wasn't going to win this argument. "All right. I'll draw you a map. It's about a four hour ride from here."

The icy wind and rain whipped around Athos, tangling his hair and soaking his clothing. But, he didn't notice any of it. All he felt was anger and rage. He road his horse hard in the storm and didn't stop until he reached the cottage. It looked the same as when he had left it, those short months ago.

He dismounted and took three labored steps before falling to his knees. "Why?" he called into the storm. "Why did you have to take him?" If he had been asked who precisely he was talking about, he wouldn't have been able to answer the question. If he had been asked to chose a focus for the answer - Raoul or D'Artagnan - he wouldn't have been able to. As it was, nobody was around to ask, so it didn't matter to anyone but him that he meant both.

He looked at the front door and remembered sitting very low on the stoop and bird watching with Raoul. He had taught him to dance under the awning of trees which were now being thrashed about in the storm. He focused all of his rage into a yell and directed it at the sky. If God was angry enough to unleash such a storm on them, the least he could do was share in the rage.

Phillipe ran his horse hard, in the storm. He couldn't imagine why Athos would pick such a night to go back to his home. Fear and concern rose up from deep within him. He knew that Athos wasn't as young as he used to be, and he himself was having a hard time controlling his horse in the storm. But, he reminded himself, Athos has been a soldier for many years. He knew how to do such things without so much trouble.

He followed the directions that the other two had given him, to the letter, and before he knew it, he could see a tiny cottage in the woods. And, in front of the tiny cottage was a man, slumped face first in the mud.

Athos moaned and his head rocked from side to side. He knew he was in a bed. He knew that he was warm. That was all he knew.

Phillipe looked over his shoulder. When he had found Athos, he was face down in the mud in front of his cottage. Scare that the man had died, Phillipe quickly flipped him over and wiped off as much of the mud as he could. Although he couldn't feel any breath coming from the older man, he was immensely relieved when he felt him start to shiver in his arms.

He put down his quill and walked over to the bed. The fire had warmed the small cottage, and dried the older man. He sat down on the edge of the bed, and ran his hand over Athos' forehead.

"Hush, now," he said softly. "You're running a fever. But, you're safe, and you're cared for."

Athos tried to open his eyes. He knew that voice. He knew that touch. But, it couldn't be. "Raoul?" he breathed. He tried again to open his eyes, but the pain behind them made them feel swelled shut. "My head," he whispered.

"It's the fever," Phillipe answered. He moved over to the table and wet a cloth with cool water from the rain barrel outside. Gently, he placed the washcloth over Athos' eyes. "Don't try to open your eyes. It'll only hurt more."

Athos nodded meekly and reached out for Phillipe's hand. "Raoul, I had the more horrid dream. I dreamt..." a tickle rose in his throat and he coughed harshly. He felt sleep start to overtake him again. "I dreamt that the King... his eye... fallen on Christine. The King..." He drifted back to sleep.

"It's okay," Phillipe said. "I'll watch out for him."

Phillipe slept as Athos did, but his sleep was constantly interrupted, as he couldn't sleep through the bouts of coughing and mutterings of warning from Athos. The corners of his mouth finally twisted upwards as the first rays of the sun started to peak through the windows, and Athos finally rested. No sooner did Athos fall to sleep than Phillipe did as well, both men lightly snoring through the dawn.

"Raoul!" Athos exclaimed, his eyes opening wide with excitement.

Phillipe jumped when he heard the older man's voice. "Athos, rest..." he said, getting up.

Athos looked at him, confusion evident in his fever glazed eyes. "Where is Raoul?" he asked.

"He's not here, Athos," Phillipe answered, not sure of how to break it to him that his son was dead.

Athos nodded. "He's probably with Christine," he said, quietly.

Phillipe swallowed against the anxiety that was welling up in his throat. "Yes, that must be it," he said, re-wetting the cloth and placing it on Athos' forehead.

Athos sniffed wetly. He took a breath, and an expectant look crossed his face. "Acatsshh!" He sniffed wetly again.

"Here," Phillipe said, handing Athos his handkerchief.

"Thang you," Athos replied gruffly. "Etasschooo!" He wiped his nose, and sniffed against the runs, which caused a tickle to spread throughout his nose and throat. He coughed just before the sneeze exploded out of him. "Heh-ketcachoo!" He blew his nose fully and sniffed again. The tickles were still there, but he wasn't sure if they were ready to come out yet.

Athos coughed again, and again. Each cough seemed to spark another tickle and another cough. He pushed himself up on his elbow and tried to catch his breath.

"Here," Phillipe said, offering him water.

Athos wrapped one hand around the tankard and was surprised at how difficult it was to grasp onto it.

"Rest back," Phillipe said, helping lean against his pillows, and supporting the cup while he took a sip.

Athos sighed in relief as the coughing subdued. "Thank you," he repeated.

"You're welcome," Phillipe said, awkwardly. He wasn't sure how to handle taking care of Athos. On one hand he wanted to care for Athos with as much love and care as Athos had shown him since that first night. On the other hand, he couldn't imagine that coddling him would go over well. In fact, it could wind up with Athos getting angry, and his anger is what had caused the initial rift between he and D'Artagnan.

"You look like you're thinking about something," Athos said, out of the blue.

Phillipe snapped back to the present. "Nothing," he said. He recalled the day he made Athos cry asking about Raoul. He didn't want to know how poorly he would react if he brought up the issues about D'Artgnan as well.

"You're lying. You don't have to lie to me." He cleared his throat and took another sip of water.

Phillipe sighed. "How are you feeling?" he asked

"It's just a cold, Phillipe. I'll be better in a day or two." He sniffed wetly again, and took up the handkerchief. "Atcescchoo!" He blew his nose quickly and cleared his throat again. "Even if I sound worse than I am."

Phillipe nodded. "Good, I'm glad you're feeling better."

"What do you mean, feeling better? The last I remember I was outside... then... Raoul..." he trailed off as if he remembered Raoul being there, but knew that it wasn't possible. "How did I get here?" he asked.

Phillipe bit his lip. Lying seemed so easy, but when Athos had recovered, he'd remember the lie, and Phillipe didn't know if he wanted to deal with those repercussions. "I found you outside, and brought you in."

"Oh," Athos coughed. "You followed me then?"

"I had to. I was worried."

Athos smiled. "You are so much like Raoul," he said.

Knowing how proud Athos had been of his son, Phillipe couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," he whispered bashfully.

Athos suppressed a yawn.

"Are you hungry," Phillipe asked. He had brought some fruit from the palace and went to get it.

"Not right now," Athos said. "Where did you get food?" he added after a bit of thought.

"I brought it from home. Unfortunately, I didn't bring much."

Athos yawned again. He felt the crushing weight of regret fill his stomach. He missed Raoul so much. Being in his home only seemed to fill him with more memories of the past.

"Rest easy. While you're asleep, I'll go to town and get some supplies."

"We won't need much. I sh...should be Hekastchoo!" he sniffed into his handkerchief. "Excuse me. I should be well enough to travel in a few days time."

Phillipe nodded. "Good. When we get back to the palace, the doctor can look you over."

Athos meant to reply that he didn't think a doctor would be necessary, but he was asleep before he was able to speak the words.

Phillipe returned to the small house just after dusk. He had spent considerably longer than he had anticipated in the town. Getting food was easy, finding a messenger who would go all the way to the palace was harder.

Athos was still asleep, but Phillipe could see beads of sweat start to appear on his forehead. He put the fruit, bread and salted meats away, and went to see to his friend.

The fire had long since gone out, and despite the fever, Athos was shivering.

Phillipe sighed and tried to push away the guilt of leaving his friend for so long. Quickly, he started the fire and went to see about his friend's fever.

"Raoul?" Athos asked, as he stirred awake. He opened his fever glazed eyes and saw a cloaked figure, but because of the fire behind it, he was unable to see a face. He remembered Phillipe had gone to town and assumed that he had not come back yet.

The figure before him said nothing, but carefully wiped his face with a cool cloth and dabbed his lips with water. ‘That was definitely not Phillipe,' he thought to himself, knowing that the boy was far too self conscious to take care of anyone that way. "I've missed you," he whispered.

The figure nodded, rewet the cloth and placed it on Athos' head. "You're fever... it's too high," Phillipe said quietly.

"But, I have to talk to you," Athos said, knowing that they didn't have much time - til dawn at best. "I have to tell you how proud I am of you. And I know you're not alive, but I see you." He reached out and grabbed Phillipe's hand. "And I feel you." Tears welled up in his already fever bright eyes.

"I know," Phillipe said, squeezing Athos' hands.

Athos was quiet for a second and then continued. "Have you seen D'Artagnan?"

Phillipe stiffened and remained quiet.

"You have then," Athos replied solemnly. "Is he still angry with me?"

Phillipe sighed. He would like to hope that his father hadn't held a grudge into death.

"He is." Sadness filled Athos' soul, and he knew he deserved what he got. "I never should have pushed him away. My anger... you know my anger. It got out of hand. And, now he's punishing you. My son, I am so sorry."

"Father," Phillipe started, but didn't know how to finish.

"I have cursed you to an afterlife alone. Unless... Christine?"

"She is here. She wishes you to be well, and not sick of heart. We are happy together."

Athos still looked sad. "Then I cursed D'Artagnan to an afterlife alone. He spent so many years alone. It's not ... heh...." He reached for his handkerchief, but didn't get to it in time. "Het-ketschoo!" he sneezed into a cupped hand. He reached for his handkerchief with the other hand and cleaned himself up as gracefully as possible.

"Bless you. How is your cold? Are you lying to the young man who has been looking over you?"

Athos' eyes shot open at once. "You saw that, huh? I am more sick of heart than sick of health. I think if I knew that you and D'Artagan were all right, then I'd be doing better."

Phillipe took Athos hands in his. "I am happy. And, if I see D'Artagnan, I'll send him your regrets. I'm sure, he's not still angry."

Athos sighed and settled himself back onto the pillows. "You don't know him like I do, son."

Soon after his eyes closed and he fell to sleep.

When he awoke, the rays of the dawn were coming in the windows and Phillipe was asleep in the chair next to the bed.

A choked cough escaped from his chest, and he felt bad as he saw Phillipe stir from his slumber.

"You're awake," Phillipe said, exhaustion seeming to pour from his entire being.

"You shouldn't be," Athos said. The congestion that had been in his voice was slowing dissipating. He cleared his throat anyway and winced at the soreness that had settled there.

"I'm sorry I got back so late," Phillipe said. "I got caught up in town."

Athos sniffed. "It's all right. I know this area is strange to you." He debated whether or not he should tell Phillipe about Raoul's visits. He decided against it. The young man was worried enough as it was. He didn't need to be concerned that he was losing his mind as well.

Sleepily, Phillipe made a plate of fruit and bread. He wasn't sure how hungry Athos was, but he was fairly certain he wasn't ready for meat.

"Thank you," Athos said, taking the offered plate. He looked at the dark circles forming under Phillipes eyes. "You should rest. You look so tired," he said, using his best caring friend tone.

"I'm fine," Phillipe insisted, slowly chewing an apple. Every motion seemed to take more energy than he had.

"Phillipe," Athos said, his fatherly demeanor starting to show through, "get some rest. I'm feeling much better today." He sniffed back an ill timed sneeze. "Really."

Realizing the truth in Athos' words, he got up, but looking around he could only see one more bed. "I - I can't," he stuttered, knowing that the bed used to belong to Raoul. "I can't take your son's bed."

"You can and you will," Athos insisted. "Go ahead. You're exhausted."

Too tired to fight him, Phillipe lay down on the bed. His exhaustion took over and, nearly immediately, he was asleep.

When Phillipe awoke, Athos was out of bed and sitting at the kitchen table.

"You're feeling better," he said, getting up.

"Ah! You're awake. Good! I saw you got some meat at the market. I started cooking it. Do you want supper?" He coughed lightly.

Phillipe smiled. He supposed he didn't need to call for Aramis after all. Hopefully, Aramis would arrive by nightfall and they could go back to the palace the next day. "That sounds nice."
He joined Athos at the table, and noticed that Athos was trembling.

"Are you all right?" he asked, placing his hand on Athos' arm.

Athos nodded. "I'm not quite up to snuff yet. I've been up and about most of the day. Cleaning up and sifting through some old memories. I was standing right here, playing my violin, when D'Artagnan came in and told me that the King's eye had fallen on Christine. That's when," he gasped. "That's when I first yelled at D'Artagnan. Within a month I threatened his life... and within three months, he was dead. My apology... it wasn't enough... it was weak." Silent tears of anguish crept out of the corners of his eyes.

Ashamed of his display of emotions, he got up to check on the meat. "It's done," he said, breathlessly.

"Athos," Phillipe said, getting up.

Athos stumbled back towards his bed. "I - I need to rest," he said, unable to keep the tears from flowing anew.

Phillipe came up behind him and assisted him into the bed. "Do you want dinner?" he asked, awkwardly.

Athos took a few shaky breaths, but shook his head. "I ate earlier. You eat now."

Phillipe cast him an anxious smile. "Thank you." Before turning back to the fire he added, "I'm sure my father would have forgiven you."

Athos looked up at him, tears still leaking from his eyes. "I'm not."

"Aramis," Phillipe said, opening the door.

"I'm sorry, I'm so late, your Majesty." He looked at Athos, sleeping peacefully in the bed. "How is he?"

"His cold is better. But, he is still guilt ridden with what he did to D'Artagnan."

"I was afraid of this," he said, slowly taking off his cloak.

Phillipe was surprised to see that he was wearing his Musketeer's tabard.

Athos stirred in his sleep.

"He thinks I'm Raoul at night," Phillipe whispered.

"I'm not surprised. His guilt runs deep and he has many regrets."

"Raoul?" Athos whispered, from his bed.

Aramis turned to face his friend. Athos' face was flushed, and his eyes were tightly shut.

Phillipe grabbed Aramis' arm. "His fever isn't as high as it was. He may not be able to keep the hallucinations for as long as he has been these past few nights."

"D'Artagnan? Is that you?" Athos whispered. A smile crossed his face. "You're talking with Raoul? You've forgiven me...for my hatred... for my sins?"

Aramis smiled. That was a question he could answer honestly. As both a friend and a priest. "Yes, my friend. You have been forgiven."

"You will take care of them then? You will watch over Raoul and Christine?" Athos begged.

"I will," Aramis said, making himself the promise that he would continue to pray for their souls. "But, only if you will take care of mine."

Athos smiled. "I will. Good-bye, my friend." His eyes shifted to Phillipe. "Good-bye, my son." With that, he drifted back into peaceful slumber.

"Are you sure you're ready to leave?" Phillipe asked, as they locked up the cottage.

"I am," Athos said, with a smile. "Aramis, you really didn't have to come to check on us. Phillipe and I were just fine."

"But, I appreciate it," Phillipe said, packing the last of the supplies on each of the horses."