As Clarie began to regale her mother about her adventures she did not miss out a single detail. It had been nearly three weeks since she had last saw her dear mama and with only her grandfather for company Clarie was desperate for a fresh set of ears to listen to her stories. She explained how she had travelled across France on a white dapple pony, swam the Mediterranean Sea meeting mermaids and shipwrecked sailors and climbed the highest mountain in all of Europe. All from the confines of their farm. Jocelyn listened attentively, gasping and asking questions at the appropriate moments and as the light began to fail she tucked her daughter into bed and kissed her goodnight.

As Jocelyn came back downstairs she found Tristan sat in his chair by the fireside, smoking his pipe and a tankard in hand. Sitting down across from him she rest her head against the pine chair.

"What is it Tristan?" She sighed,

"When are you going to tell him?"

Jocelyn didn't answer which prompted the old soldier to question her further,

"He has a right to know Jocelyn. Clarie has a right to know who her father is."

"She has her mother and a papa, both who love her dearly. Why does she need to know?"

Tristan set his mug down on the hearth and fiddled with the end of his pipe. He exhaled slowly before giving his reasons,

"I will not always be here, Jocelyn. When I am gone who will look after you, who will look after Clarie?"

Jocelyn looked at him with love in her eyes, reached towards him and grasped his aged hand between her own,

"That will not be for a long time Tristan. By that time Clarie will be grown and we will not have to worry."

Tristan smiled at his ward but could not help but worry. He felt an obligation to reveal Clarie's existence to her father, to his son. But respected Jocelyn's wishes to not tell him. She had explained what had happened between them in Paris and though he admired his son for not forsaking his oath, he was disappointed with him for forsaking his lover.

O0o

"Papa a rider is coming" Clarie shouted towards Tristan.

The old man had been chopping wood, his back towards the dirt track that entered his property. He squinted in the sunlight, holding his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. Tristan recognised him straight away, the rider in black and called out to the child.

"Clarie go into the house."

The little girl looked towards her grandfather then to the stranger riding down the path, but obeyed him. She ran five or six paces toward the house only to falter as she remembered she had left Gisele on the floor again. Turning to go and collect her favourite doll, Tristan shouted to her again,

"Clarie, inside!"

"I forgot Gisele." She explained apologetically.

Tristan looked from the rider to his granddaughter and back again. He had dreaded this day, feared it for six long years. But now he was here, now he had seen the little girl playing and running about, he knew there was little he could do to stop it. The rider in black pulled his horse to a halt in front of them both and peered down at the child from on high. Tristan grasped his granddaughter by the shoulders and held her tightly to his form. Clarie grasped her doll in one hand and held onto her grandfather's sleeve with the other. All the time she stared up at the newcomer with bold interest. The rider jumped down from his mount and let it stand loose.

"Hello…" He began.

"Hello Rene." Tristan interrupted quickly.

Rene walked over to the little girl and crouched before her,

"Hello."

"Hello," she replied timidly.

"Who might you be?" He asked kindly,

"My name is Clarie."

Rene looked up at Tristan with confusion, but the old man refused to look at his son.

"Clarie? That is a pretty name. How old are you Clarie?"

"I have just turned six."

The rider stared intensely at the little girl and took in every detail. The colour and curl of her hair, the shape of her nose and the deep, dark, brown of her eyes.

"Where are your parents Clarie?"

"My mama is inside the house but this is my papa."

"Her Grandfather," Tristan corrected.

"Grandfather?" The man questioned before rising to his feet. He glared at Tristan in a way that Clarie did not like. However, there was something familiar about the man in black that as a six year old she did not fully comprehend.

"Where is she?" Rene pressed,

Tristan did not answer but merely pointed his head in the direction of the house. Rene looked towards the ancient stone building, in the long years he had been away, he had managed to keep it well maintained. Under other circumstances he would have questioned how, but after meeting the little girl called Clarie, he understood completely how a man of little means could keep his home in full repair. Rene walked slowly and uncertainly towards the door and had only walked a few paces when it opened, creakingly slow. He held his breath in his lungs and watched as a figure appeared in the doorway. It was Jocelyn.

She came outside a look of pure shock on her face. Only then did he see it, did he understand completely. Rene turned to face Clarie, still clutching her doll and looking completely ignorant to what was going on. She was the spitting image of both Jocelyn and he. The weary man rounded on Jocelyn who had burst into tears, though was trying her best not to let them show. He continued to walk over to her, water brimming at the corners of his own eyes and met her face to face. He grasped her by the wrist and pulled her toward him where they embraced one another for the first time, in such a long time.

~o0o~

Authors Note: There you are. I hoped you enjoyed the final chapter. I took inspiration for this chapter from a line Aramis says in the film. When D'artagnan asks him what has made Athos so bitter, Aramis replies, "What happens to any man. A woman." I thought what a delicious idea that he too has his own heartache and secret. Once again I hope you liked this story. R+R of all kinds welcome! Thanks Mrs-E x