This is the third story in my four-story arc. This follows the events in "For Whom the Bells Toll' and "Secrets and Lies". It would probably help if you read them first, as parts of this story deal with the events that happened in those. Again, thanks to my beta, Sharlot, who spends a lot of time editing these for me (as well as whining about there not being enough Annamis scenes!) She is priceless! I hope you enjoy!

Where the Heart Is

Porthos sat at the table, watching his friend. Aramis half-heartedly played with his food, moving the bits of meat around the bowl, dark eyes focused on something no one else could see. He hadn't as yet taken a bite of the stew Serge had ladled up for him, nor a nibble of the warm fresh bread wafting its alluring aroma throughout the courtyard despite most of the other men having finished their meals and gone back to their duties.

Ever since returning to the garrison after being shot in the attack at the palace, Aramis had retreated into himself, sullen, quiet; a shadow of the garrulous man they'd come to know. He had been full of joy and hope while recuperating at the palace, even having the opportunity to see the Dauphin in the company of the Queen. But since Anne had made it clear their affair could not continue because of the danger it posed to all of them, Aramis had sunken into a depression that none of his brothers had been able to pull him from.

It was obvious from the dark circles under his eyes that the marksman wasn't sleeping and his lack of appetite had caused a drop in weight, resulting in his belt hanging loosely on his hips and his normally robust complexion to appear sallow and pale.

At first they were able to pass it off as effects from the wound sustained in the attack, but with it now all but healed, Aramis still seemed to be performing his limited duties by rote, without the enthusiastic banter they normally associated with the loquacious Spaniard.

Athos slid onto the bench beside him and Porthos turned his head, giving him a grim look before sighing and returning his attention to his own meal. Few things could temper the big man's appetite, but Aramis' current state had proved to be one of them.

"Has he eaten anything?"

Porthos shook his head at Athos' soft inquiry, his eyes sliding back to the quiet man at the end of the table. "Nothin'. Just sits there and stares at…," he shrugged his shoulders, "whatever it is he's starin' at."

Athos sighed. "This has to stop."

"You got any ideas, I'm open to 'em."

Captain Tréville had kept Aramis on light duty around the garrison in deference to his condition, knowing it would take time for Aramis to regain his strength from the loss of blood he'd suffered. But even the Captain's patience had its limits, and Porthos feared they were fast approaching that threshold.

"Perhaps we should try the direct approach?" Athos suggested.

Porthos waved a hand to indicate he should give it a try.

Athos pushed himself from the table and crossed behind Porthos, settling himself on the bench directly in front of Aramis. The Spaniard didn't seem to notice.

"Aramis," Athos said quietly. He reached across the table and laid his hand on his friend's stopping the motion of the spoon within the bowl. After a few moments, Aramis seemed to notice Athos' touch and looked up, blinking as if awakening from a dream. "Aramis," Athos continued slowly. "This behavior must end. You aren't doing anyone any good by punishing yourself."

Aramis snorted a laugh through his nose, his eyes dropping once again to the table. "And just what would you have me do?"

"A start would be to eat your food instead of play with it."

"I'm not hungry." He dropped the spoon into the bowl and pushed it away.

"Aramis," Porthos slid down the bench until he was shoulder to shoulder with Athos. "You need to eat. You need to sleep. You can't keep going like this or…"

"Or what?" Aramis voice was loud in the deserted courtyard. "Or I'll be relieved of duty? Maybe that would be for the best." He lowered his head, elbows on the table, his hands grasping his tangled curls.

"We want to help you," Porthos continued, "but you have to snap out of this. What are we supposed to tell the Captain when he asks what's wrong?"

"I don't care," Aramis responded, shaking his head in exhaustion. "It doesn't matter."

The two Musketeers exchanged a worried glance. They'd never seen their friend so despondent. Even after losing so much at Savoy, Aramis had still been able to seek refuge in his friends, trusting them to hold him together long enough for his own self-worth to resurface and allow him the strength to come to terms with the overwhelming guilt and grief. But now, his world had been shattered once more, and the despair was dragging him further and further from them. There was no blood, no death, but the loss was perhaps worse. This time, Aramis had lost his heart and his soul when the Queen had said goodbye, and Porthos wasn't sure the man even wanted to recover from it.

Captain Tréville appeared on the balcony above them and motioned for Athos to join him. Porthos didn't miss the concerned glance the Captain directed toward Aramis, and nodded as Athos squeezed his arm as he rose to answer the summons.

"We'll finish this later," he whispered as he leaned over the table, purposely invading Aramis space to make sure he had the younger man's attention.

Aramis didn't bother to respond and Athos shook his head before stalking off to the stairs.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"I have a summons from the King that needs to be delivered to a Compte a few hours ride from Paris. I was considering sending Aramis, but I wanted your opinion first."

Athos sighed and shook his head. "I don't think he's ready to be sent anywhere just yet, Captain."

Tréville pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. May I ask why? According to the surgeon, his wound is nearly healed, yet he looks as pale and withdrawn as the day he returned to the garrison - if not worse."

Athos shifted on his feet, at a loss at what to tell the Captain. "I appreciate your leniency, Captain. Aramis is… distraught. But I assure you, Porthos and I are doing everything we can to get through to him."

Tréville stared at him through narrowed eyes before sighing and dropping his attention to the papers scattered atop his desk. "See that you do. I can't afford to have one of my best soldiers out of commission for much longer."

Athos allowed a small grin to lift the corner of his mouth at the Captain's gruff attempt to hide his affection for the marksman. Whether it was due to his guilt for his part in the massacre of Savoy that Aramis alone survived, or because of a true fondness for the man, Athos couldn't tell, but either way, he was going to take the clemency the Captain was offering.

Tréville stepped around the desk and held out a sealed parchment. "This is the summons to be delivered. Take Porthos with you."

At Athos' hesitation, Tréville nodded his understanding. "d'Artagnan is due back within the hour. I will be sure to have him stay close to Aramis until your return."

"Thank you, sir." Athos accepted the parchment and noted the name and province of the recipient. The address was a village about ten liueu from Paris, roughly a four hour round trip if they encountered no difficulty along the way. It seemed like a straightforward missive that should allow them to return by nightfall. "We'll leave straight away."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It was late afternoon when Tréville again appeared on the balcony, He leaned his arms against the rail and took stock of the courtyard below. Most of the men were out on duty, either at the palace or on missions for the King or Cardinal Mazarin. Francois was limping toward the kitchen where he would be helping Serge prepare the meals until his broken leg healed and Henri was in his quarters, resting from the bout of sickness he had come down with two days ago. Although the physician said the young man would be fit for duty, he was still harboring a hacking cough and Tréville wasn't eager to send him to the palace in such a condition.

His eyes landed on the two men sitting at the main table beneath the balcony. He'd promised Athos he'd have d'Artagnan stay near Aramis, but with no other candidates to choose from, his options were limited. He considered making the trip to the Palace himself, but that would mean leaving d'Artagnan in charge of the garrison and he wasn't sure the lad was ready for that type of responsibility yet. If Aramis had been fully recovered, he would not have hesitated to take care of this business in person, but it was clear from the way the marksman sat hunched against the table that he was still despondent and not fit for duty.

Still, a soldier must put his duty ahead of his own misfortune. Maybe having something to take his mind off whatever was haunting him would give him a much needed reprieve from his suffering.

"D'Artagnan!"

D'Artagnan's head shot up as Tréville made his way down the steps, and the young Musketeer made to stand as his superior approached the table.

"I have a message that needs to be delivered to the Cardinal," Tréville stated, noting the mention of the Palace had caught Aramis' attention. "I need you to deliver it at once."

D'Artagnan looked back toward Aramis hesitantly. "I'm um…"

Tréville noted his reluctance to leave the marksman alone, assuming he had probably made a pact with Athos and Porthos to look after their ailing friend until he was able to function again on his own.

"Aramis," Tréville turned to the Spaniard. "I know you are not yet on full duty, but perhaps you would feel up to accompanying d'Artagnan on this mission?" He allowed a fond smile to grace his lips. "I understand your recovery has been difficult. Perhaps a change of scenery would do you good."

Aramis smiled the first genuine smile Tréville had seen from the man in weeks. "I would consider it an honor, Captain."

Tréville nodded and handed over the message, considering the matter settled. It was a simple directive to the most secure place in all of Paris. No matter what was distressing the Musketeer, how much trouble could he possibly get into at the Palace?

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

As they approached the portico leading to the wing housing the Cardinal's office, Aramis slowed, placing a hand over the healing wound in his side. He closed his eyes and bent forward, hissing in pain. D'Artagnan immediately placed a hand on his friend's arm, frowning with concern.

"Aramis? Are you ill?"

The older Musketeer shook his head. "I'm fine, d'Artagnan. The wound just aches when I've moved around too much."

It had been a short walk across the Pont Neuf to the Louvre and they had taken it at an easy pace, but it was still the most physical activity Aramis had experienced in the last few weeks. D'Artagnan was well aware of the concern plaguing Athos and Porthos over the condition of their friend and he shared their unease. Since returning from the palace, Aramis had been too quiet, distancing himself from them all, no longer the lively spirit d'Artagnan had become accustomed to. He knew the older Musketeers understood the reasons for their friend's sudden withdrawal, but they had, so far, been disinclined to share it. In any case, it was obvious the man should not have come and d'Artagnan was torn between completing the missive Captain Tréville had assigned him and attending his ailing friend.

"Do not worry about me, d'Artagnan." Aramis motioned toward the archway they were passing that led to the East wing. "I will wait for you inside. There is bound to be a nice soft settee close by I can rest on while you take Tréville's message to the Cardinal."

D'Artagnan hesitated, unsure whether or not to leave the man alone. He looked pale, but he'd been pale for weeks and d'Artagnan tentatively nodded his agreement. "I'll be as quick as I can."

Aramis waved him off as he attempted to help him inside. "Do not hurry on my account. I will be quite comfortable inside out of the sun."

"If you're sure?"

"Go," Aramis said good-naturedly. "You wouldn't want to keep the Cardinal waiting."

With a sigh of frustration, the younger man hurried off down the portico.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Aramis hated himself for lying to his young friend, but he was a desperate man. Athos had been right – this couldn't go on. His every thought since returning to the garrison was of his son. His soft skin, his innocent face. Aramis longed to hold him, to see recognition of their bond in his eyes. It had become an obsession; enough of a fixation that he'd jumped at the chance Tréville had offered and callously used d'Artagnan's trust against him. D'Artagnan had the fortitude to become a great Musketeer, but he was still naïve and trusted far too easily. Though experience would eventually temper that trust and make the young man less inclined to take anyone's word as gospel, it was a trait Aramis could use to his advantage now. Even though it made d'Artagnan easy to manipulate by those who knew him best, Aramis hoped the Gascon could hold on to his naivety as long as possible before the jaded reality of soldiering reared its bitter head.

Striding through the entrance to the East wing as if he had every right to be there, Aramis quickly found his way to the room he had occupied for the few days he'd spent recovering in the palace. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, he silently slipped inside the room and hurried to the secret door on the opposite wall. Pulling aside the heavy drapery that concealed the secret panel, he pushed against it, his heart beginning to quicken as the dark passage opened before him.

The passage had been illuminated by candlelight when Anne had guided him through it, but he was sure he could navigate the turns from memory even in the bleak darkness.

With one hand on the wall, he cautiously felt his way along the stone floor, his eyes trying in vain to see through the inky blackness surrounding him. When he'd negotiated the final turn, he reached to his left and placed both hands against the wall, feeling for the smoothness of the panel he knew would be there. As his fingers met the flat pane of the door, he sucked in a tremulous breath, his heart heaving against his chest. Slowly he pushed, moving the panel only a few pouce and peaked out of the small opening.

Another drapery blocked his view of the room. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow, listening for sounds of activity beyond. He could detect no one moving about and slowly pushed the panel further. As soon as the opening was wide enough, he slipped through, keeping the drapery between him and the open expanse of the room.

He held his breath and listened again, his heartbeat loud in his ears, but still there was no other sound. Then a soft gurgle drifted through the stillness and he swallowed, his throat suddenly tight.

He was here.

The Dauphin was here, alone.

Aramis had no doubt there were guards stationed outside the nursery door as well as nurses and maids on duty, seeing to the safety and wellbeing of the young prince. But for now, the room seemed to be empty save for his son and himself.

Quietly he stepped out from behind the drapery, his eyes drawn to the bassinette in the center of the room. Barely daring to breathe, he crossed the room, his footsteps muffled on the immense Persian tapestry that covered the cold marble floor. Looking into the crib, he was surprised to see two sparkling deep blue eyes staring back at him.

"Hello there," he whispered, a smile breaking across his face. "What beautiful eyes you have."

The child had been asleep when Anne had brought him here before, and he'd mourned the opportunity to see the boy's gaze connecting with his.

The baby gurgled again and wriggled inside the blankets, one arm escaping and reaching out as if beckoning to him. He lowered a hand, choking back a laugh as the tiny hand grabbed onto his finger.

"Such a strong grip," he cooed. "I know you are going to grow to be a great King someday." Without considering his actions, Aramis instinctively reached into the bassinette and lifted the child, holding him close to his chest, tracing a finger down the soft cheek. "There are so many things I wish to tell you, so many things I wish to teach you –" his voice faltered as his eyes began to fill with tears. "I wish… I wish so much for you, my son…"

A noise startled him and he looked up to see someone enter the room. His heart leapt to his throat as the woman stepped into the light and gasped at seeing the Musketeer, sword and harquebus hanging from his belt, standing in the center of the room cradling the Dauphin in his arms.

For a moment neither of them spoke as they stared at each other in shock. It was Aramis who broke the tense silence.

"Madame Bonacieux." He nearly sagged in relief at the familiar face. He had heard from d'Artagnan that Constance had been offered a position in the Queen's court. It was Aramis himself who had recommended the seamstress, hoping Anne could find someone to confide in, someone she could trust within the walls of the Louvre.

"Aramis?" Constance responded, wide eyed and confused. "What…?" Her eyes moved to the open panel door and the dark passage beyond. "What do you think you're doing?" Her consternation was quickly replaced with irritation as she strode across the floor. "You have no right to be here."

I have more right than anyone, he wanted to say, but held his tongue.

Constance gently took the child from him and placed him back into the bassinette. Once the baby was settled, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away as voices were heard in the adjoining chamber. "You have to leave, now!" Her voice was panicked as she pushed him toward the panel and he craned his neck for one last look at the infant wriggling in the crib behind him.

"Constance, please," he pleaded. "You don't understand."

The voices were growing louder as she shoved him forcibly through the doorway. "You can explain later. Now go!"

Gloom encompassed his eyes and his heart as the panel clicked shut and he found himself alone in the cold passage. He leaned back against the rough stone wall and closed his eyes, bringing a vision of the baby's innocent face to his mind. He smiled, but his heart was heavy. How was he supposed to stay away? How was he supposed to go on, pretending that everything would be all right when his heart was breaking? If Anne didn't want his love, there was nothing he could do. She was entitled to make her own decisions, but what of his son? He was just a baby, unaware of who or what he would need in his life. Was he supposed to simply forget about him? Go on as if there was nothing connecting them together?

Aramis didn't know if he could. He knew Anne was right, to acknowledge the baby's true parentage would condemn them all, but to watch from a distance as they lived their lives without him was a torture he was not sure he could withstand. He could see no solution to the dilemma and he knew even to hope was to condemn himself to misery.

Depression enveloped him like a blanket. Maybe it would be better for him to leave Paris. Maybe it would be easier to forget if he was no longer faced with the possibility of seeing them each and every day. He was no good to Tréville in his current state, and he couldn't endanger his brothers by continuing on his current path. But he knew of no way to alter it. Athos and Porthos had always trusted him with their lives, and he had relished the faith they'd shown in his ability to defend them at all costs. But he feared those days were now gone. His indiscretion had put them all at risk, and now his persistent pursuit of an unattainable goal could further endanger them. His friends were right. It needed to stop.

He just had no idea how.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

D'Artagnan paced around the portico, his eyes sweeping up and down the walkway for what seemed like the hundredth time since he'd returned to the East wing. He'd delivered the message to the Cardinal, waiting patiently for the man to compose his reply before hurrying back to the archway where he'd left Aramis to rest – only to find the Spaniard nowhere in sight.

His first thought was that Aramis had felt better and started back to the garrison without him, but he quickly dismissed the notion, knowing his friend would never worry him thusly. He considered the possibility that he'd maybe collapsed and been taken to a room to rest, but there did not seem to be any undue activity that would indicate such a crisis had occurred. A quick search of the immediate area had confirmed the Musketeer missing and d'Artagnan was at a loss to explain his absence. As concern slowly turned to annoyance, the young Musketeer began to wonder if Aramis had come upon a willing young woman and escaped into one of the rooms of the palace for an afternoon dalliance. Although the marksman had looked to be in no shape for such exertion, d'Artagnan would not put it past him and his anger and frustration grew as time passed.

Soft, shuffling footsteps echoed from beyond the archway and d'Artagnan hurried back inside, relieved to see Aramis appear at the doors of the East wing. All anger flew from his mind as he took in the pale countenance of his friend as well as his haggard breathing. Aramis looked even worse than he had before.

"Aramis?"

"I'm fine, d'Artagnan," the older man assured him. His voice shook and his smile seemed forced. Worried, d'Artagnan placed a hand on his back for support.

"Where were you? I thought you were to wait for me here?"

"I sought something to drink," Aramis responded. His eyes skittered away and d'Artagnan recognized the obvious lie. "I thought some cool water would make me feel better."

"Do you think you can make it back to the garrison?" d'Artagnan asked, concern etched on his youthful face. Whatever had happened to the man had erased any sign of progress he'd shown since they'd left the garrison. "Should I summon a cart?" His friend really didn't look well. His normally lively eyes were clouded and bloodshot and his shoulders stooped as if they carried a great weight.

Aramis chuckled, but it lacked the man's usual charm. "Always the worrier, my young friend. If we take it slow, I'm sure we will make it back without incident."

D'Artagnan guided him forward, praying he was right.

TBC