"And I will be by yours," Athos smiled at the soft kiss before he sat up and moved his hand to stroke his thumb against Aramis' cheek, feeling the soft skin and lines underneath, and loving them. This was his Aramis, even if the one he knew was younger, younger than him, and had been gone for a few months in 1635, with no word. Rumour had it he had become a monk of sorts. But this was the Aramis Athos wanted. This was his love.