Disclaimer: I do not own the Musketeers or any of the characters affiliated with them. If I did, it would never have been cancelled and there would have been way more episodes about Aramis ;)

Author's Note: While I embrace constructive criticism remember this old saying if you choose to leave a review "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"

And here I am, sliding in under the challenge deadline with less than an hour to spare (in my time zone at least lol) So I wasn't sure I was going to be able to get this one done, what with the new baby and all. I put it off until the absolute last minute and I don't think I really began working on it in earnest until yesterday. Then i was really under the gun lol and so was my poor beta, Arlothia. But she totally came through for me! So very special thanks to her!

So, this is an entry for June's Fete des Mousquetaires challenge with is "Fathers". This was an idea I had before this month's challenge was even issued, and so I was very happy that it fit. You'll find a bit more of my thoughts on this little ficlet at the bottom so as not to spoil anything.

Thanks for reading and enjoy.

Until you have a son of your own…you will never know the joy, the love beyond feeling that resonates in the heart of a father as he looks upon his son.
Kent Nerburn

The Road to Paris

"Is that it?" Raoul exclaimed as he bounced up and down where he sat in the saddle in front of his father. "Is that Paris?!"

"It is," Athos replied with a small, warm smile down at the top of his son's head. He glanced to the right when a second horse pulled up next to theirs. Sylvie smiled widely at him.

"Are you excited?" she asked Raoul.

"I want to see Uncle Aramis!" the four year old replied brightly.

"I don't think you're the only one, mon cher," Sylvie responded with a knowing grin at Athos. "Papa hasn't stopped talking about seeing Uncle Aramis for weeks."

Athos cleared his throat and shifted the reins in his hands.

"There is much to discuss concerning the war and the state of the city," he defended.

Sylvie rolled her eyes and chuckled, leaning closer to feign secrecy with their son.

"Don't let him fool you, Raoul. He simply misses his friend."

Brother. Athos' mind immediately corrected.

He missed many things about life in Paris, but the company of his brothers most of all. He missed d'Artagnan's enthusiasm and passion. He missed Porthos' ferocity and unshakable strength – both of character and body.

And he missed Aramis.

He missed the bright light of humor and mischief that always seemed to shine in the marksman's gaze. He missed his brother's selfless nature that always seemed to walk hand in hand with his daring bravery. More than anyone or anything else, it had been Aramis who had driven him mad in their days of service with the Musketeers. But he found himself missing his stubborn, trouble-attracting brother most of all recently.

"Well," he replied quietly, "it has been quite some time."

It had been years. Five long years since he had been in Paris. He and the others exchanged letters frequently, but that had been the extent of their contact over the years. Porthos, of course, could not simply leave the front lines and the men under his command to come and visit. D'Artagnan was kept busy with training recruits and governing the Musketeers. And Aramis, of course, had his duties as First Minister to keep him more than busy.

But the letters between them had never dwindled. It was by these that Raoul knew the others. Athos' son adored all three of his uncles deeply, but it was Aramis who had captured a special place in the child's heart. Aramis had always had a way with children, Athos knew, and that gift carried over even through the written word.

"You will see him soon," Sylvie reminded, gently urging her horse forward again.

Athos felt a smile of anticipation pull at his lips as he nudged his horse to follow.

A Musketeer escort met them as they entered the city, and at its head was a familiar grinning Gascon.

"d'Artagnan," Athos greeted with a smile, leaning around Raoul to grasp the captain's hand.

"Welcome home, Athos," d'Artagnan replied, smiling brightly in return. He nodded a greeting at Sylvie, smile turning warm and welcoming. Then he turned his focus to the boy sitting in front of Athos. "And you must be Raoul."

"I know who you are!" Raoul chirped excitedly. "You're my Uncle d'Artagnan! Is that the hat my papa gave you? Can I see your uniform? How many Musketeers did you bring? Are there more at the Garrison? When can I be a Musketeer?"

Sylvie reached over to squeeze her son's knee.

"One question at a time, mon cher."

"It's fine," d'Artagnan chuckled. "It is the hat he gave me. My uniform is right here," he tapped the pauldron on his shoulder. "I brought four Musketeers and there are many more back at the Garrison. And you've a few years yet before you can join our ranks, but I will save a place just for you."

Raoul smiled brightly, looking up at Athos excitedly, who in turn simply patted his eager son's shoulder.

"We should get moving," d'Artagnan turned his horse around. "Your coming home is all 'Mis has talked about for weeks and he'll have me thrown in the Châtelet if I delay your arrival at the palace much longer."

"Well we wouldn't want that," Athos agreed, urging his horse to follow d'Artagnan's lead. "Any news from the front recently?"

"Porthos sends his usual letters, but Aramis is the one to ask about the state of the war. He's been working closely with the Generals since he was named Minister. He's even traveled to the front several times over the years."

Athos nodded slowly. He might have known Aramis wouldn't be able to keep himself completely out of the action. He just hoped his reckless brother was taking proper precautions.

"Personally I think half his motivation for those trips is just to go see Porthos," d'Artagnan went on. "I told him venturing to the front was reckless, but you know how he is."

Athos did. Simply calling him stubborn was too inadequate a description for Aramis.

"He lets me send an escort with him. Well, the queen insists he allow an escort. He fought it at first."

"He would," Athos agreed with a grin.

The palace gates came into view.

"This is where I leave you. I've a whole pack of recruits left unattended at the Garrison," d'Artagnan explained. "Tell Aramis I'll see him for our usual meeting tomorrow and if you could knock some sense into him about not ditching the guard I assign him, I would appreciate it. Five years and he's still finding creative ways to shake the men I assign his detail."

Athos had to smile at that. He would expect nothing less from a lifelong soldier like Aramis.

They shook hands once more.

"We'll speak more tomorrow," d'Artagnan promised.

Athos nodded and watched his old friend ride away, the other four Musketeers following after him. Once d'Artagnan was out of sight, Athos focused back on the palace gates.

"Ready?" Sylvie asked warmly.

Athos nodded and they started forward.

"You're fidgeting," Anne scolded gently as she placed a calming hand over Aramis', stilling the fingers he'd been drumming restlessly on the pommel of his rapier.

"They should be here by now," Aramis replied distractedly, eyes scanning the courtyard.

"They will be here," Anne promised.

"d'Artagnan probably took his time bringing them in. He likes to annoy me with things like that."

"Well you continuously evade the guard he tries to assign you so I suppose you deserve it," Anne reminded.

Aramis grinned mischievously, pulling his roaming gaze away from the courtyard to look at her.

"I've been a soldier most of my life," he defended. "And I'm still a Musketeer," his hand absently tugged and shifted the blue sash tied around his waist. "I hardly need protection."

"Yes, but it makes me feel better. You are more than a soldier now, mon amour. You are vital to France and invaluable to this war." She paused and then dropped her voice to a whisper. "And to me."

Aramis' gaze softened at her quiet declaration.

For a moment they just gazed at each other. Aramis leaned in slightly, unable to fight the invisible pull that always drew him to her, but her eyes lit up and her focus shifted.

"Aramis." She squeezed his hand gently where she still held it and tilted her head slightly toward the courtyard.

Aramis turned.

A smile, so large he felt it across his whole face, lit his expression as he saw two horses drawing to a stop.

Athos.

Athos saw them before either noticed their approach.

He watched the casual, comfortable way they stood together. Saw her hand on his and watched him vaguely lean in. The scene was intimate and familiar, one that had likely played out hundreds of times over the years. The last Athos had seen of them, Aramis had only just agreed to assume the position of First Minister and the queen had still been in grieving. There had been little between them that Athos had observed, save the hope for a future not yet realized. A future neither had dared to hope for.

The protective part of Athos, which had railed so fiercely against Aramis' doomed love for the queen, eased for the first time in more than ten long years. From the moment he discovered their tryst in the convent, he had feared it would mean Aramis' death. For many years it had seemed to result only in his broken heart. Now he could release that fear.

Both Aramis' life and his heart were safe at last.

Aramis suddenly turned and saw them.

The smile that lit his brother's face instantly drew an answering one from Athos.

"Go," Sylvie said suddenly, reaching to take the reins of Athos' horse. "I'll help Raoul."

Athos slid off the horse immediately and strode forward, matching Aramis' rapid approach with his own long stride.

"Athos!" Aramis greeted warmly, spreading his arms wide and enveloping Athos in a firm hug. "It has been far too long, brother."

Athos wrapped his arms around the marksman in return.

"It seems you've finally learned how to stay out of trouble," Athos teased, drawing back and holding Aramis by the arms to look him over. "I thought such a thing impossible."

Aramis laughed, taking the teasing in good humor. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there before, Athos noticed. Some of them spoke of new, heavier burdens. But most of them told the story of years of joy and laughter.

"You look well, mon ami," Aramis observed. "Sylvie has obviously done a better job looking after you than you ever did."

"Not a task he makes easy, as I'm sure you know," Sylvie put in as she led Raoul over by the hand.

"Oh, I remember quite well," Aramis replied with a chuckle.

"If you're quite through," Athos interjected wryly.

Aramis gave him another teasing grin and then focused on Raoul.

"And who is this? Not mi amigo Raoul?" Aramis knelt down before the boy and made a show of marveling at his height. "You are much too tall and strong!"

Raoul looked up at Athos. "Mi amigo means 'my friend' in Spanish," he explained in a whisper as if Athos didn't already know.

Then he looked back at Aramis "It is me, Uncle Aramis! I'm Raoul!" the boy insisted.

"Are you certain?" Aramis questioned with feigned doubt.

Raoul nodded seriously, eyes wide and sincere.

"I promise!"

Aramis narrowed his gaze and Athos smiled at the playful light shining brightly within his brother's dark eyes.

"Prove it."

"How?" Raoul asked.

"If you really are mi pequeño amigo (my little friend), you would know how to count to ten in Spanish as I taught you in our letters."

Raoul's face lit up and he immediately launched into a recitation of the required proof.

Aramis' face broke into a relieved smile.

"Wonderfully done! We'll work on your pronunciation later. With only your father to help you I can't hold it against you. He was a terrible student." Athos opened his mouth to argue that it was perhaps Aramis' teaching, but his brother went on quickly and prevented any rebuttal. "Come now, you must be famished and the king is excited to meet you."

"Really?!" Raoul exclaimed.

"Oh yes. He wants to show you all his favorite climbing trees in the garden."

"Well let's go!" Raoul was nearly bouncing in anticipation now.

"Raoul, your manners," Sylvie corrected even as she curtsied to the queen. Athos followed suit and bowed as the queen finally approached, having stayed back as Aramis greeted them.

"Athos," she greeted warmly, gripping both of his hands and smiling. "It brings us both such joy that you have returned."

Athos dipped his head in acceptance and pulled away one hand to beckon Sylvie closer.

"My wife, Sylvie."

"Your Majesty," Sylvie dipped her head.

"Please, call me Anne," the queen insisted, releasing Athos completely and gripping Sylvie's hands in the same fashion. "Aramis and your husband are like brothers. I imagine that makes us something like sisters."

Athos' brow rose in surprise at her candor concerning her relationship with Aramis. He slid a glance at the marksman, but his gaze was settled on Anne, a warm, contented smile on his face.

"Come, let's go inside. The king is anxious to receive you," Anne said.

"Then we can eat?" Raoul asked hopefully.

Anne smiled down at him.

"The king had them make a special cake just for you," she revealed.

Raoul's eyes somehow widened further and he looked up at Athos.

"Cake, Papa! Cake!"

"Well we should make haste then, shouldn't we?" Athos asked.

Raoul nodded and nearly leapt to Aramis' side, grabbing his hand and chattering rapidly at him as they all made their way inside. Athos walked behind them, Sylvie at his side. The Queen Regent led the way.

"Remember Louis, caution. Raoul is much smaller than you so not too high," Aramis warned as the young king led Raoul by the hand towards what Athos had heard them declare 'the best climbing trees in Paris'.

"Yes Aramis!" Louis shouted over his shoulder.

Athos watched Aramis keep his eyes on them for a moment longer before retreating to stand with Athos, and together they watched the boys play.

Their boys, Athos reminded himself.

He glanced over at Aramis, listening distractedly as he chatted about the current status of the war and the latest he had heard from Porthos.

Athos hardly heard him.

The entire way here he had gone over and over in his mind how he wanted to have this conversation. It was years too late, but it wasn't the sort of thing you put down in a letter. Aramis deserved to hear the words in person. He deserved to know that Athos had been wrong.

"Athos, are you even listening?"

Athos blinked and came back to himself to find Aramis watching him in amusement.

"I'm sorry," he blurted suddenly in a tone that indicated he wasn't apologizing for his lack of attention.

Aramis stared at him blankly for a long, quiet moment.

"Athos, what on earth are you talking about?" the marksman asked with a confused chuckle.

Athos remained serious, unwilling to release the moment now that it had begun.

"I didn't understand," Athos went on.

Aramis shook his head and held up a hand.

"Athos, you're not making any sense."

Athos huffed a self conscious breath and tried again.

"When he was born...when your son was born," he said the words quietly, wary even if no one was near, "I didn't understand what that meant to you."

All traces of humor drained from Aramis' expression. He cast around a cautious glance, likely ensuring they were in no danger of being overheard.

"It wasn't until Raoul was born that it became clear to me."

Aramis sighed, looking suddenly weary.

"Athos, you don't have to…"

"I do," Athos insisted, reaching to lightly grip his brother's shoulder. "I do."

Aramis clenched his jaw and fell silent.

"What I asked of you back then, to forget him, to accept that he could never be yours…" Athos felt his own heart clench at the flash of pain in Aramis' gaze, "I didn't realize then what I was asking, not really. I thought I did, but then…" he trailed off, his gaze searching out his son where he played.

"Then you had Raoul," Aramis finished for him. His voice was quiet and knowing, with a lingering note of pain the memories of that time brought back.

Athos turned to face his brother fully, waiting for Aramis to meet his gaze before going on.

"It was only after Raoul that I could even begin to fathom the pain you must have felt. I should have supported you. Instead, I told you to forget something that could never be forgotten, to accept something that could never be accepted."

"It's over now, Athos," Aramis insisted, but his voice was strained. "The life I have with him is better than I ever could have hoped for."

Athos squeezed his shoulder. Aramis was right, to a point. The outcome Aramis had achieved was beyond even the best case scenario that Athos had ever thought possible. But it wasn't over. It would never be. Because no matter how close they grew, no matter how much time they spent together, Louis would never know that Aramis was his father. Aramis would never be able to claim him as his son with anything more than privately whispered words.

Athos saw the painful truth of that knowledge reflected in Aramis' gaze.

"It's enough," Aramis insisted. "It has to be."

Athos shifted his hand to rest on the side of Aramis' neck.

"I didn't start this to cause you fresh pain. I suppose that means I am sorry yet again."

"Why did you start this? Why say anything?" Aramis asked, but he wasn't angry. He only sounded genuinely curious.

"Because I was wrong, Aramis."

"But you weren't wrong. He's not mine. He can never be," Aramis reminded.

"I was wrong to leave you alone with that knowledge," Athos explained. "I was the only one who knew. I was the only one you had to turn to and I failed you. It's no wonder you made the choices you did to be close to him, even just to see him. I couldn't understand why you did it then. I couldn't understand why you would risk so much for a child who could never be yours."

"But I made wrong choices, Athos. No matter my reasons, I was blinded by…" Aramis waved a hand in frustration as words failed him.

"By love," Athos finished. "By the kind of love only a father can know for his son...love beyond all reason. How could anyone expect you to act rationally when such a thing has consumed you? I would have done the same, if it had been Raoul. I might have done worse."

Aramis' chin lifted slightly as his gaze searched Athos' and Athos could see him begin to truly understand what Athos was attempting to tell him.

"I know that it was years ago. I know that you have likely already forgiven me for how I handled the entire thing because that's just who you are. But I needed for you to know that I understand now. And that I'm so very sorry that I was not the brother you deserved. Perhaps if I had been, things might have been different."

Perhaps Aramis would not have gone to such extremes just to be close to his child. Perhaps he would not have kept so many secrets from them. Perhaps he would not have left them for four long years.

"It's in the past, Athos," Aramis insisted gently. "And whatever transgressions you imagine you've committed against me have been forgiven many times over. We can't change the choices we made. All we can do is accept them and realize that they brought us here."

Aramis gestured broadly to the area around them. To the boys playing happily together amongst the trees. To Anne and Sylvie where they sat under an awning and chatted pleasantly.

"And I am very happy with where I am, mon frère. Perhaps he will never call me father, but I have gladly accepted whatever pieces of that role I can. Perhaps it would have been easier had we done things differently, but I would gladly take those days of pain if it meant I ended up right here, with him...with her."

Athos smiled.

"She was quite candid about the nature of your relationship," he observed.

Aramis chuckled.

"It's been five years, Athos. We've learned when and where we need to be discrete and when we can let that guard down a bit. We can't exactly shout it from the rooftops, but we allow ourselves certain freedoms within the palace walls."

"Good," Athos nodded in approval.

Aramis' brow arched in surprise.

"You deserve every bit of the happiness you've found here," Athos explained. "I feel as if I can finally stop worrying so much about you...although we will discus your trips to the front lines and your habit of ditching the guard d'Artagnan assigns."

Aramis rolled his eyes dramatically.

"Really, if they can't keep track of me then they don't deserve the job in the first place."

Athos opened his mouth to reply but then he and Aramis both caught sight of what their sons were up to.

"Louis, we've talked about leaving snakes alone!" Aramis called out as he started across the garden.

"Raoul, don't poke at it. Put down the stick!" Athos shouted at the same time as he matched Aramis' stride.

The end

There you have it. Short and sweet. I did this fic because I always thought Athos lacked any sort of empathy for what Aramis went through concerning baby Louis. Speaking as a parent, it must have been devastating and heartbreaking for him every single day. So as soon as the show revealed that Athos would become a father, I couldn't help but think that he would finally GET it. He would understand Aramis' obsession with the baby. But of course he was already out of Paris when his son was born so the conversation was years in the making.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!