A friend's spell
These four pieces are an extension and novelization of four particular moments of Episode 1 in Season 3, that got me me wonder a lot about the state in which Athos was when they finally re-encounter Aramis. D'Artagnan was happy, Porthos hardly containing his anger, but Athos seemed to just bask in the moment and in total awe of seeing Aramis, more than anyone could tell, or even himself imagine. And it showed through the entire episode. Why so? These are just a few guesses. All of them are Athos' POV.
Alexandre Dumas and BBC, thank you for creating such memorable characters. I don't own any of them, just the thoughts they trigger in my mind.
This is my first fic, I still not sure about the title, but I've been holding it for a while, it's time to release it. And I guess that as much afraid as I am of reactions and comments, I will welcome them all. Thank you in advance!
1. A light at the end of the tunnel
The moment Athos laid eyes on his face, he was totally taken by surprise. Time stopped. Earlier that day he may have considered for a half-second the possibility of seeing him among the other monks, since it was, after all, the Monastery of Douai they were headed; but the moment they started getting close to the buildings and when they entered through the tunnel and the caves of the monastery guided by young Luc, he stopped all distracting thoughts. His focus was on the gunpowder and their enemies, all his senses and his mind on the present mission.
So when they had cornered the shadow who was moving in the darkness and was trying to escape from them, the moment when the man had no choice but surrender, when that man had turned around, and the glim coming from the tiny cellar windows allowed them to recognize his features, it had been one of the biggest and best surprise to him in many years. Christmas, Easter Monday altogether in that precise instant. There he was in all his glorious bodily presence. His kind energy instantly pouring through, his brother's joy indeed reaching his dark brown eyes and his smile lightening up the entire room.
At that precise moment it was not the coincidence -or not so much- of meeting Aramis in such circumstances that struck Athos. It was not the surprise of the encounter. What struck him is that as soon as he saw him, he was caught in his friend's spell. There was no monk there. Just Aramis still being.. so Aramis.
How did he do it? How the simple physical presence of someone could have such effect on other's people mood and spirit? And how can that feeling could be back in a snapshot?
Aramis possessed that innate quality. Nature gave him good looks, no one would dare to say the contrary. But he had so much more, a grace shining inside out. Something noble in him; a divine spark, one could say. Centuries ago, French Kings were believed to have healing powers given to them by God to rule men with legitimacy, fairness and compassion. Aramis did that without any born-right. He brought light and comfort wherever he was. There was a generosity in his being that just shined through from his soul towards the others. It was not nobility by blood or title. Aramis nobility was of heart. Was it due to that unshakeable faith to the Lord, to his love for God and for life? Athos had wondered so many times what made Aramis so special...
He wondered about it from the very first day they met. How he was drawn to his wit and easy-going ways, and no matter how hard he resisted, it had been impossible to refuse that nagging gift. God knows he fought the feeling at the beginning, he knew that most of the time, this friendship would mean troubles! Lord he had been right about that. Yet it had been a compelling pull, a friendship he knew he needed. His young comrade back then had found ways to breach his walls without forcing them, just cracking them, by his way of being full of life and sarcasm, but also caring, kind, gentle, none of these qualities ever compromising his reliable skills and strength as a soldier. These cracks later let space for Porthos to enter too, and finally became a wide open door for D'Artagnan to fill those parts of his soul aching for one lost brotherhood long time ago.
There were so many reasons to enjoy Aramis' presence or to witness his qualities, but ultimately, whatever you'd chose to see in him, you just had to surrender to it. Most people would. He had witnessed it so many times. Those who wouldn't would be most likely jealous, or would just stop at his other innate quality: to be as annoying and irritating as possible, due to his incorrigible smartass way of doing things. But if you were able to just see beyond the gesture, the acting, the pride, his heart was just so powerful. You'd fall in love with this man over and over, just like he was falling now, simply taking in the feeling of Aramis' friendship, who had never stopped being his brother.
It felt to him like a silent wish came true. Was that real or just a dream?
Athos could not detach his eyes from Aramis. He was simply basking at his sight, totally in awe of having his brother in front of him. In the flesh. He had truly thought so many times about meeting him again lately. A longing that he had not shared with D'Artagnan and much less with Porthos. D'Artagnan was aching to see Constance, and Porthos had banned Aramis from his thoughts, buried the painful absence of their brother very deep down, making clear he didn't want to talk about him. How could he tell them that he would give anything to spend an evening with Aramis by the fire or in a tavern? To exchange feelings in their unique banter. Let him put his hand on his shoulder or rest on his forearm and let that wave of Aramis' energy reach him. Would they take it as they were not enough? Athos didn't want to hurt their feelings, but it was months now he was thinking of him.
"This is not possible" had whispered Aramis recognizing them too before leaning towards D'Artagnan who, without a doubt was already reaching for his embrace, with the widest smile Athos had seen on his face for a very, very long time. D'Artagnan was clearly as thrilled as him.
While the three brothers had faced war and death together as one, on their own for a long time now, Aramis was still a missing piece. He was the missing piece for the unit as such, who eventually had to find new ways to fill the void of what Aramis use to bring to it. That was a long list: besides his irreplaceable skills as marksman, his instinctive warrior reflexes, he was also their medic, their priest, their conscience, and no matter what, the one who could deflate any tense situation with a word, a sentence or a smile; because of that he was also the one who would always more easily reach young recruits, children, lay people. This capacity of connecting with people, not scaring them, had helped them many times. But he was also a missing piece for each of them, individually, in unique ways. Athos was not sure how much the others were truly managing his absence: as months and years had passed by, it has become more and more uncomfortable to talk of the good old times and of Aramis. To Athos, though, time had only made more clearly why he was missing him.
In truth if there was an "impossible" thought, it should have been that Aramis really could have believed they were not meant to meet ever again. That this reunion was not to happen. How could he even consider that possibility? Maybe he thought he did not deserve it? Oh, yes, that kind of stupid guilt would be very typical of him. Athos also knew that because of that self-guilt he was probably carrying, right now in that moment, Aramis was for sure the most grateful of them all for this encounter, as if rewarded for something he did not deserve. Realising and remembering the way Aramis' heart and mind would work was only making Athos even more grateful for this impossible encounter.
Aramis, in one piece, smiling at them, looking decently healthy although somehow pale, not dressed as a soldier, no shields up –not like the three of them– seemed to radiate everything Athos was craving: the end of war time, that light so desperately needed at the end of the tunnel made of too many bloody cruel years. Porthos had adjusted admirably to his role on the battlefield and had kept rising above the events by his determination as well as demonstrating impressive tactic and strategic skills. Athos, as centred as he finally found himself to be in the higher officer role, in truth, was feeling heavily the weight of captaincy. He had missed being a musketeer in Paris. Being with civilians. The past year, in particular, had seemed never-ending, a sort of feeling of getting trapped in a time loop. He was witnessing Porthos hardening day after day, D'Artagnan losing hope to see Constance ever again, so many of their regiment dying, good young men, and he knew they all needed to come back home. To Paris. To the Garrison. To Treville. Could the Garrison ever feel home without Aramis? What Paris would be like now? Rumours of what was going on in the city of the lights were worrying.
Even though he had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, during the last six months his mind had wandered towards Aramis very often. Athos was a good leader on the battlefield. Always showing calm, he knew better than anyone to be authoritative, seemingly detached when giving orders, his legendary glare a powerful tool, head over heart, yet communicating the right kind of concern towards his men. Disciplined. For the sake of men under his command. Rules that were already guiding his previous life as a Musketeer, and even before, those ways instilled throughout his entire education.
But through all the years fighting side by side with Aramis, the marksman had demonstrated him that you could have a beating heart as well, that it actually made them better Musketeers. Better men. Truly, it was sometimes more messy, Athos was often unnerved that part, but Aramis' ways of questioning blind orders, despite his own advice to others of not getting involved, that natural capacity of putting himself into other's people shoes and wanting to help them had almost always gave their inseparable group the feeling of having a moral compass guiding their service. Being a musketeer in Paris was different than just being a soldier, you'd serve a different goal. The life you live has a certain sense. You served your king, but you also served justice, and more importantly, the people. And being a musketeer side by side with his three brothers, that was a life of duty but also of incredible purpose. Not the raw survival when, on the other side were simply following orders as well for some king and piece of land. Not the mind torture to keep refining a battle tactics knowing that so many men may, and will perish because of it, on both sides. Because of your decisions. There was no sense in war. Just the sense of loss lives and he knew he was very tired of it. That's why his mind had been reaching out to Aramis' memories. For all that was not strictly rage, cruelty, but gentleness, easiness, compassion, love. The way Aramis would joyously throw his arm around his shoulders after a fight and heading for the tavern, without even doubting that it would be welcome, and he, Athos, reputed so cold, would not only allow him but definitely welcome his warmth, would shake off his sombre thoughts; the way he always would take care of them, even more than they knew, preserving them from his own demons and battles; the way he would talk about the beauty of women, the way he would stop and smile to a toddler, or still smile even in the saddest moments.
The way Aramis would show his fragility when he would need him, Athos, to be the strong, the wise one; those times that it was not the ever-tempering presence and vital grounding force of Porthos he seek, but those times Aramis would open and show his emotional pain on issues he felt Athos would understand particularly well, for common wounds maybe. In those times, Athos would feel his own gentleness flowing strongly, remembering he was needed, he was being given a chance to give the best of him to his brothers. That was Aramis main gift to him, the need Aramis had of Athos, who could make him feel safe when he decided to open up, like an older brother. That had no price to him. That… incredible trust in their friendship. He had managed without Aramis four years, but now he just needed him back. He wanted him back. More than ever. D'Artagnan himself, who had filled in many ways the heart part in their team, had lost some hope, joy, and would not be able to sustain that role by himself much longer.
All that was meant when he had said to Porthos "We are also musketeers" and forcing the decision to come and help the dwellers of the monastery. Porthos who was insisting of focusing only on their military goal, and not being diverted to help some monks –Athos wondered how much Porthos, at his exact opposite, was trying to avoid such reunion with Aramis. But that was it. Athos said it loud needed to be a Musketeer for people again. For life, and not just for death.
Aramis may have known that truth in his heart when not joining them. That war could have wrecked his soul to a point of no return.
Athos had not been disappointed by his decision. Often during these years he had even been glad the marksman had made the choice not to go to war again, like a piece of them, of what they were once, was preserved. The only doubt he had all the way long was if Aramis was doing the right thing in secluding himself into a monastic life. How someone so full of passion and as spontaneous as Aramis could ever fit to vows of silence, chastity, temperance, obedience –just the idea that he would obey a religious man would make him smile. Aramis and the word orders never mixed well. How much had he tested the Abbey's and other fathers' patience? He knew that Aramis had felt responsible for Adele's death, then Isabelle's, then the whole affair with the Queen... Marguerite, Lemay. Rochefort's death had not solved much at the end for Aramis torment. For all that Athos had been far from convinced that becoming a monk and spending days in prayer would change anything to Aramis' restlessness. He knew better than anyone that the past can never be changed. Yet, trying to reason Aramis out of his idea would have been impossible. No one could ever make Aramis obey or bend. Maybe Treville. In general, Aramis was the kind of man who needed to find truths by himself, to reach to the conclusions by experience. Or be whispered by God himself in his own heart. It had always proved difficult if not impossible to reason him. This is why Athos was never really trying to give him orders, letting him act instinctively, that being his best quality as a warrior. Aramis would follow Athos lead without doubting when he was being fully trusted, not questioned. Trust was the core of their relationship. But could that way of acting in the battlefield have worked during four years? Yes, he guessed it would have, Aramis had always the best instincts when fighting. He could be so fierce. But Aramis going to war with a guilt-ridden motivation, as his own crusade could have easily cost him his life. That would have been much worse than missing him four years. It would have been devastating.
He simply had missed him, plainly. He had been sometimes worried too. What if anything happened to him? They were three, he was on his own. Who would have his back? A raging fire could happen, for sure he would try to save everyone, at any cost. A contagious fever from attending sick people could reclaim his life too. He had mostly hoped that Aramis would find all the good reasons to keep living even without the anchor of his brothers' presence.
Because, despite how Porthos took Aramis refusal to come to war, thinking that Aramis would not feel guilty for letting them go to battle without him was not making honour to Aramis loyalty and friendship. Of course, it was the direct consequence of his choice. No one else to blame but Athos knew it must have been hard on him. Every time all these thoughts would come to him, and it had been increasingly the case the past year, he had found himself wishing for Aramis to show up, to tell them he was fine, to offer them that incredible simple presence in the darkest moments. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, he was in front of him! Of course troubles would eventually catch up with Aramis, no matter how much he pretended to stay hidden from the world. He was also smiling at such realisation, to the magnet of Aramis was to problems.
"You still have that knack at getting into troubles brother" he said while he smiled deeply, fondly at Aramis and the forecoming physical pleasure of hugging him.
He was entering the light at the end of the tunnel. He was sure of it.
TBC