Comte Olivier d'Athos de la Fere

Aramis takes his own seat, pushing out Athos' chair with his toes as he sets to serving up the souffle. "Indeed," he says, "It will take far more than that to see us turn from you," he says lightly, but he cannot pretend they have not been changed by it. Porthos has shaved his head, for heaven's sake, and Aramis wishes he could say it only goes as far as that.

"Are you alright?" he asks at last, sharp eyes not allowing Athos to escape.