What if

by Vivien99

What if... Aramis wouldn't have overcome the incident in Savoy so easily? What if Porthos and Athos had to let go of their friend in order to heal him? What would have happened to their friendship? Mostly Aramis whump D'Artagnan has also his part in the story

So I had this thought running through my mind today... What if... Aramis hadn't overcame Savoy? What if he was way too broken to be fixed again? The friendship of Les Inseparables was just at it's beginning back then... This is my version of what could have happenened...

They watched how the man was dragged towards the carriage, struggling in the grip of the two Musketeers. It was silent in the courtyard, an invisbible cloud hovering over each soldier, darkening their day. The door of the wagon was opened, but before the man could have pushed in he wriggled free out of the grip and turned around. The two Musketeers guarding him didn't fight him further as the man looked at each Soldier in the courtyard. HIs eyes laid on Treville who stood on the balcony. The Captain seemed to got at least ten years older in the past months. Then, the man looked towards them. A hint of betreyal and pain in his gaze.

None dared to speak, as no words could apologies for all of that.

"I thought you were my friends," Aramis spoke, glancing and the Musketeers in front him. Porthos couldn't look him in his eyes any longer and stared at the Gate, biting his lip. Athos' face remained emotionless, eventhough his heart arched as he watched how Aramis turned around and was guided into the wagon. There was nothing they could have done and nothing they wanted to do. They didn't want this to end like this, but there was nothing else that they could have done. With each day that passed it got more dangerous foor each of them and someone had to stop it. Athos was glad that he didn't need to speak out his thoughts as Treville was faster. He had made the decision and ordered that Aramis would be brought away. Athos would have done the same, but he was thankful that he didn't need to. It was already hard enough.

The Musketeers watched how the wagon rode off and throught the gates of the Garrison, well knowing that the man inside would probably never return again.

As soon as the carriage was to be seen anymore, the soldiers began to talk quietly but agitated. Everyone but Porthos and Athos. They shared one look with each other, before they parted their ways. Aramis was the one who brought them together and he was the one who parted them. Without him, there was no reason for them to spend more time than necessary together - they didn't know each other that well though.

MMM

As he visited him the first time he had hoped to not find him in an angry state. Porthos changed his mind the moment he saw him. Porthos looked through the small outcut in the heavy door, which was secured with metal bars. Aramis sat in one of the corners of the room, knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them. His hair was messy and greasy, the few clothes he wore were ripped and dirty. He was barefoot and Porthos was sure that his feet had to be cold, since the ground of his cell was only earth and no wood. "How can you let him rot like this?" He asked angrily the guard who brought him to the cell.

"We had to take away his shoes from him after he threw them at us. His socks.. he ripped them apart by himself as much as his clothes." Porthos growled and shaked his head. They could have bought him new ones - but then he remembered that the asylum probably didn't have the money for things like this. "Let me in." He then ordered and looked one more through the bars, noticing that Aramis shivered. His hands were clenched to fists and quiet moans were heard from him.

"Be careful." The guard mumbled as he opened the door for Porthos, who stepped in immediatly. He didn't fear Aramis, eventhough he knew that the man could be very dangerous. But today Aramis seemed to have a calm day. "Aramis?" Porthos stood by the door, unsure if he should get closer to his friend.

The man in the corner lifted his head slowly and watched the Musketeer as if he had seen him for the first time. Porthos frowned at the bruises in his friends face and turned around to the ground. "Did you hit him?" The guard shrugged, holding his hands out in defeat. "It was not me. But I heard that he made some trouble, attacked the guards as they brought him something to eat. It was self-defense." Porthos didn't answer - he hadn't time to argue with the guards. So he turned back to Aramis and took a few slow steps forward to kneel in front of him - still having some space between both of them. Porthos heart twitched as he saw the sorrow in the man's eyes. The pain and the fear obvious. "How are you feeling?" He asked nevertheless, not knowing what else he should talk about.

Aramis stared at him with empty eyes before he looked away, not wanting to look his former friend into the eyes. "Don't act like you would care. You betrayed me just as much as Marsac did. You, Treville and Athos are no better than he!" Aramis hissed, still not looking at Porthos, who's heart twitched at the insult but he didn't say anything against it. He didn't want to make Aramis angry.

"It will get better, I promise. Here are people who can help you, who know what to do. Just wait, you will be back to yourself faster than you think."

"If this is what you call help then I don't want it!" Aramis faced Porthos again as he pointed at the small cell he was thrown in. As the Musketeer opened his mouth to argue with the man, to tell him that this was to keep him and others save, Aramis waved with his hand. "Don't say anything. Just - stop. Go and leave me alone, I don't want to see you. I don't need visits from a traitor."

Porthos gulped but tried his best to not show the pain these words enveloped as he rose to his feet. "I'm coming back in two weeks." He announced and left, leaving Aramis huddled up in the corner.

MMM

"I'm still not sure if this was the right decision," Porthos sighed as he leaned against the wall in the Captains office. Athos sat in a chair, his head rested on his hand as it still pounded from last nights drinks. "I'm not happy with this either."

Treville nod and leaned back in his chair. "I know, I don't like it either, but it was necessary - you know that too. Aramis was getting too dangerous for us and himself. He nearly killed you once Athos." The swordsman rolled his eyes, eventhough he couldn't argue Treville in this.

"You can't have anymore for the pain, you had enough for today." Athos pressed as put the bottle in his pocket. Aramis stood up on wobbling legs. "It's obviously not enough when I'm still in pain!" The marksman hissed and came a step closer. "Just give it to me Athos or I will get it."

Athos shook his head and headed towards the door. As he reached for the doorknob he was roughly pulled back and stumbled against the closest wall. Aramis pushed his hand against his chest as he tried to get to the pockets. Trying to not hurt the already injured man, Athos gripped him at both arms and pushed him back slightly - bringing some space between them. "Just give it to me!" Aramis screamed and took a step forward again, this time trying to get a grip at Athos' wrists. The swordsman managed to wiggle out of the grip and once again pushed Aramis back. But the marksman didn't stop and jumped at him again, one hand finding it's way to his throat.

With one hand Athos' tried to loosen Aramis' deathly grip on his throat, as the other one tried to push the man back - but despite his injuries, Aramis was still quite strong. He squeezed harder while he tried to get the bottle. "R'mis" Athos breathed out as his lungs started to burn and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. Aramis didn't stop, instead he squeezed harder.

Weren't it for Porthos who came inton the room in the moment where Athos fell unconscious but Aramis kept his tight grip around the throat, Athos wouldn't have survived. Later, in one of his clearer states of minds, Aramis felt terrible guilty and apologiesed a thousand times to Athos. The swordsman had never been angry, but since them he kew to not underestimate the injured Musketeer.

"This is so wrong. He already endured so much... too much. No man should have to experience the things he had, who knows how we would behave after something like this? It's just normal that he is troubled." Porthos once again sighed.

"He is not only troubled, Porthos. A part of him died that day and the rest of his soul... is lost. He is not only mourning, not just angry or troubled. He doesn't know what he is doing or saying most of the time and the times he does the guilt is eating him up!" Treville started to massage his temple as a headache started to form. He knew the feeling of guilt just too well.

MMM

Athos entered the cell one week after Porthos, just to find Aramis kneeling infront of the bed excuse of an bed. He mumbled words Athos couldn't understand, but he guessed that it was Latin.

As Aramis didn't seem to notice his appearance, he cleared his throat loud enough to let Aramis flinch. The marksman had never flinched before Savoy, Athos thought sadly. He had always seemed so calm, nothing could have disturbed him. He didn't twitch when a bullet was fired right beside his head, didn't flinch when there was an unexptected explosion. But now everything seemed to startle him. "Am I disturbing you?" Athos asked carefully but remained at the door.

Aramis sighed annoyed, but didn't move from his kneeling position or turn around to Athos. "You already did it, so what's the point of asking?" Athos had to agree that Aramis was kind of right. "I wanted to see you."'

"You don't need to open your mouth to speak." Aramis said coldly, still not turning around. Athos sighed, looking around the small cell. There was not much too see though. A small window, just as much as the one in the door, was over the bed. The bed was nothing more than a piece of wood and some hay, pillow and a blanket ontop. There was no torch or candle that could provide light in the night. "You seem better." Athos noticed. Of course there had been days like this back in the Garrison too. Day where they could talk to Aramis alost normally, but the most days he was a mess. Sometimes he wouldn't let anyone in his room and everyone who dared to open the door was punished with flying bottled or chairs. On these days he screamed and cursed, he hated everything and everyone. At most himself.

On other days he was lost in the darkest corners of his mind, reliving the events over again, remembering his fallen brothers. A doctor once called it depression. Sometimes Aramis just spoke things that didn't make any sense, jumping from one language into the others, talking about purgatory, hell, the Day of judgement and that his soul is lost and doomed.

The worst days were the once he seemed at most coherent. Aramis couldn't bear the guilt that pressed down on him, the thought that he was the lonely survivor ate him up. Once a cheerful and strong men, he was nothing more than a empty shell, hoping that his miserable life would soon end. One time he tried to end it faster than god wanted. It was the day they decided to bring him into the asylum,

Treville opened the door with a creak, just to froze right in the doorway. He needed a few seconds to realize what is happeninng and then ran over to the body on the bed. The sheets were strained red, the body on them dangerous pale. Glassy eyes stared at him, being horrible empty. "Just let me go." Aramis muttered through dry lips, pleaded. Treville shook his head and pressed his hands on the wound in the mans arm. "I'm not letting you die. I'm not letting anymore Musketeers leave, no you stay!" Aramis sobbed weakly, turning his head away to face the ceiling. "Just leave me like they did. I beg you." His voice was nothing more than a rough whipser, but Treville heard him and once again shook his head. He would deny Aramis this pleasure. He couldn't bear to loose another man. Not the last survivor. No Aramis needed to live and he would survivor again, if he wanted or not. Treville knew that Aramis was stronger than he thought, that he would overcome his grief and would get back to himself. It would take time but it was possible. Treville was sure about this, so he pressed harder on the wound and shouted for help.

"Marsac left me to die, let me end what he had begun." Aramis muttered, somehow holding on to conscious. Because deep down inside he still was a fighter. He didn't know it but he wanted to hold on. "Marsac is a coward, forget him! We are your family, not he. And we won't allow you to throw away your life. You lived for a reason."

MMM

The next time Porthos visited, Aramis had told him - or screamed at him - what he really thought of him. He insulted his brothers like never before. "You should have stayed in the Court, no one wants you to protect them." "Should have been slaved like your mother." "Pig." He punched him, through his pillow at him. And Porthos was sure, would have Aramis had anything ahrder, he would have thrown it too. He cursed and kicked. Until he managed to push the stunned Musketeer out of the cell and closed the door with a bang. "I don't want to see you ever again. Do you understand? Never again! You're dead to me. It's your fault that I'm stuck in here."

Athos wasn't treated much better and left the asylum with a broken nose and a swollen eye. The insults hadn't hurt him that much as Porthos, but that was just because there was less Aramis knew about him to hurt him. Still, the words the former marksman spoke pained him. "Traitor." "Coward." "You should have died in Savoy, not them."

Treville didn't even dare to visit the last survivor. He couldn't face him after being responsible that the mission in Savoy went so wrong.

MMM

The Musketeers continued their lifes. Athos and Porthos came to the Asylum a few more times, but never dared to get into the small cell that belonged to their friend. Soon, the guilt niggled at them too much at they couldn't bear the pain they felt when they saw him broken in the cell. They didn't want to abandon him, but he didn't elt them come close. When he noticed them at the door, he screamed at them. The times he was coherent enough to do so, at least. Sometimes he was too drugged to even move from his bed. Other times he was way too lost in his memories to even realize that they're watching him.

With the years their visits grew more infrequent, until they stopped completly. Neither Athos nor Porthos nor Treville talked much with each other. Porthos soon found some new firends between the new recruits. Athos kept to himself as before Aramis and spent his nights in lost taverns, while Treville tried to rebuild the regiment.

MMM

Five years had passed. Not much had changed for the Musketeers. Many of the men didn't even were in the regiment as Savoy happened, so there weren't many to remember. Porthos and Athos still rememered, but they didn't spoke about. They had went on with their lifes, living without their friend they lost in the massacre. He died that day. His soul at least. D'Artagnan was new to the regiment. His pauldron still untouched and shiny. After assulting Athos to be the murderer of his father and nearly killing him in the courtyard, he soon turned to be one of the best swordsmen in the regiment. He and Porthos seemed to get along quite good and even Athos spoke to him a few times. Everything was perfectly normal and fine for them.

"We need someone who can make this shot with one try. If he fails the king will be dead." Treville sighed, massaging his temple. The situation seemed hopeless. He couldn't even explain of something like this was able to happen! On one of the haunts, the king was captured by bandits. None of the musketeers was able to prevent it. Treville wondered if he failed to train them correctly. They somehow were lucky that the badntis didn't hate the king and jsut killed him, but wanted gold. More gold Paris could spare. Treville tried to talk to these men but nothing worked. They blanned to fake a trade and would take out the bandit in charge before they would notice that the gold wasn't there. Then they oculd attack and arrest the others bandits, without the kings being harmed - he hoped. But for that they needed a marksman who could make the shot. The place they met was outside of Paris, there was not much but fields and a lonely road. A bit in the distance was a forest - the only place where Musketeers could hide during the trade. And the only place where the marksman could be. It was ahrd enough to hit a target as big as a horse from this distance, but making a shot that would immediatly kill the captor was nearly impossible. Nearly.

"I know only one man who is able to do this shot." Porthos said and watched the reaction of Treville and Athos carefully. Both nod as they understood who he meant. "We don't know if he is ... back to himself yet. And maybe he is a bit rust." Athos worried, earining a confused look from d'Artagnan. "Who are you speaking about?"

"Aramis." The three men said simultaneously.

MMM

As he heard foodsteps echoing through the corridor, he frowned and looked out of the window. It was already dark outside - they got food an hour ago, so there was no reason for guards coming. It was quiet as usual and it the time for visits was already over too. Aramis listened closer, noticing that it had to be at least three men - maybe more.

He didn't like this. He hoped that they would be coming for one of the other 'patients'. He didn't like visitors or any other kind of contact to other humans. Sometimes he was forced to leave his cell and go into the small courtyard. They said he needs to get some fresh air and sun every now and then. But he didn't like that. There were always other patients in the courtyard too, he wasn't alone there. Moreover he heard the sounds of the Parisians street there, the horses and voices. It was so loud. He liked silence more.

Aramis flinched as he heard the rustling of keys and then his door opened slowly. He pressed himself against the wall behind his bed, his hands fisting into the sheets. "It's not morning yet." He said and carefully observing the guard who entered the cell. "I know, Aramis." Marcus said, a small smile on his lips. Marcus was okay. He was nice to Aramis, he never hit him. Sometimes he brought him some more soup if Aramis was very hungry and every now and then Aramis was allowed to use his rosary to pray. The guard noticed how tensed his patient was and how he pressed himself further against the door. Aramis still waited for the other men he knew that had followed Marcus to his cell.

"There are some old friends that want to talk to you Aramis. They need your help." Marcus explained and opened the door further. He didn't fear that the patient would escape. Aramis hadn't tried to leave since at least two years - he felt safer insided his cell. "I have no old friends." He frowned and his heart started to beat faster. He wanted to be alone.

As the first man stepped in, Aramis had to look twice. He had never seen him before - he wasn't even sure if he was already a man or just a boy. But the pauldron on his shoulder indicated him to be at least 19. He couldn't protest before the others followed. Aramis heart stopped a moment jsut to race afterwards even faster. "I want to be alone!" He exlaimed and pressed himself even more against the wall.

"Aramis, listen. It's very serious, they really need your help." Marcus explained. "No! Get them out of here, I want to be alone!" Aramis clenched his eyes shut as memories started to come up. Memories he had tried to forget for a long time.

"Aramis," it was Porthos who took a careful step forward. "The king is in danger and you might be the only person who can help us."

"No." Aramis shook his head in fear and disbelief. He just wanted to be alone again. "Marcus, please."

"He will die if you don't help us and you know what that would mean for France... We all would be lost in a terrible war between the nobles who want the throne."

"I don't care. I'm safe in here. I don't care. I want to be alone. Leave me alone. Marcus, please." Aramis breath went even faster than before as panic gribbed him tightly.

He was too lost in his fear to notice how Treville and his men talked quietly.

"He is not himself anymore, he is no use to us." "And what else can we do? There is no better amrksman than him." "Maybe there is still someone who can make the shot." "I doubt it."

"Let me talk to him." It was d'Artagnan sudden suggestion, whcih left them surprised. The boy shrugged. "He claerly started to panic as he saw you three. I only now meager details of what had happened to him, but if he blaims you for being here, maybe I should talk to him."

"We have nothing to loose," Athos agreed and left the cell. After a few seconds Porthos and Treville followed.

Meanwhile Marcus had managed to calm down Aramis somehow, who now stared at d'Artagnan. "I'm d'Artagnan." He said, smiling slightly at the man at the bed. "Aramis," the patient mumbled as he looked down.

"I know you would rather be alone, but I really need your help, Aramis. I will leave you alone after that, promised." Aramis didn't react, but he didn't stop him from speaking either so d'Artagnan saw that as a win. He started to explain the miserable situation they are in to the former marksman with a calm voice. "You are the only one who can help us now."

Aramis shook his head. "I don't like going outside. I like my cell." "It would only be for a few hours. Then you can stay here as long as you want." D'Artagnan kneeled infront of the bed. "If the king dies and a war starts you won't be safe here anymore. It will be loud and horrible. Many people will day and you won't be able to stay here."

Aramis fumbled with the sheets. "When I do it - you will leave me alone?" "If you want it , yes."

And then, finally, Aramis nod slowly. And d'Artagnan even thought to see a sparkle of determination in the otherwise empty eyes. "Thank you, Aramis. We will get you tomorrow morning. You surely want to practice a bit?"

The marksman didn't answer anymore, already lost in his thoughts again. D'Artagnan sighed and left, Marcus followed him to the waiting Musketeers. "Is he always like that?" Porthos asked, still shocked by how vulunerable Aramis seemed. Marcus shakes his head. "Most of the time, but there are darker times too. He still has some flashbacks. This is why I'm still not so happy that you want to take him with you. I don't know how he will react to using a weapon after all these years. We made quite an progress with him and it could throw him back to worse times."

Athos nodded in understanding. "I feared this too. But there is no other way. We just have to hope that everything will work out."

MMM

As d'Artagnan came to pick him up, Aramis already stood by the door. His toes wiggling at the could and dirty ground, but his back straight in determination. He will do his job and he will do it good and then he would finall be left in peace. Aramis felt a strange sensation running through his veins and then he faintly remembered what it was. Adrenaline. He had loved this feeling once. In his old life, he couldn't get enough of it. It was like air to him. He hadn't felt like this for ages and eventhough it felt kind of weird he kind of liked it too.

The young Musketeer smiled at Aramis as he opened the door. "Are you ready?" The former marksman nodded and stepped outside his cell. D'Artagnan eyed him for a short moment, noticing once again how badly he was dressed. He was barefoot and his shirt and breeches were nothing more than dirty patches. "We will get you something new to wear once we're in the garrison." He announced as they walked along the corridor. Aramis froze in motion. "What?"

"We surely have something that fits you at the garrison." Aramis shook his head. "No I'm not going there. You ever said I have to ge there!" He was already about to turn around, as d'Artagnan gripped his arm gently. "Alright alright. We don't have to go there if you don't want. We can go somehwere else, okay?" Aramis wasn't completly convinced yet, but he agreed nevertheless. Somewhat on the Gascon made him believe and trust him.

D'Artagnan once again smiled as they headed out of the asylum. For the first time in five years, Aramis feet touched the streets of Paris. He needed a moment to take in all the sounds and people surrounding them. He made a grimace as it where way too many impressions at one for him. "I want to go back." He said as d'Artagnan guided him through crowd. "Aramis it's just a few hours and soon we are out of Paris. But first we need to find a place where you can practice and I need to send word to the garrison that we're heading somewhere else."

Aramis sighed, he didn't want to argue. He just wanted to be alone. He felt that he could breath easier as they left the crowded streets and went through mostly unused ones. He once walked along Paris every day, knowing every corner and every hideout - but now it all seemed stange and new to him. As if it were another place somehow. It wasn't long till they arrived at a small house. "I can't practice here." Aramis said confused. There was no place to shoot without hitting a building or person. "I know. BUt I have to get back to the garrison first and as you don't want to go there I thought you could wait here. It's not far and I will be back soon."

Aramis liked the thought of being alone but then frowned. "Who's house is this?"

"Monsieur Bonacieux and his wife are living here. But at the moment Madame Bonacieux should be alone as her husband is away because of his buisness. She is a nice lady." Aramis was unsure and took a step back. He wanted to go back to his cell.

"Just for a few minutes?" D'Artagnan asked and sighed as Aramis shook his head again.

"What are you doing here?" Constance came out of the door, holding a basket full clothes in her arms. She had a light smile on her face and offered also Aramis, who looked away.

"Coud you do me a favor, Madame Bonacieux?" Constance nodded at d'Artagnans question but still eyed Aramis. "Can you send word to the Garrison that me and Aramis aren't returning? We are heading somewhere else.." For a moment d'Artagnan thought if he already knew where to go where Aramis could practice unnoticed. The marksman noticed that the young musketeer had no clue where to go. "Say them we head to my usual practice place. They know where."

Aramis didn't like the idea that the other Musketeers would know where they were and would msot likely follow, but he hated the idea of staying inside of Paris any longer even more. D'Artagnan nod in agreement and talked to Constance quietly some words Aramis couldn't understand, before the women hurried away and towards the garrison.

MMM

Aramis took in the sight in front of him with a mix of feelings. In his old life,this was his favorite place. Here, he was alone and at peace. He had time to think and time to practice, doing what he did best. The trees at the edge of the forest still perforated through his many hours of shooting here.

"Shall we start?" D'Artagnan asked and loosened his weapon from his belt. Aramis turned around and faced the Musketeer. His eyes fixed on the weapon, widened. He felt his chest tighten as he gripped the pistol and felt the strange but familiar weight in his hands. "Everything okay?" The Musketeer asked as he watched how Aramis examined the weapon.

"You're not caring for it well." The marksmann muttered and frowned as he saw already dirt and rust at some small points, earning a laugh from the Musketeer. "You may be right. Maybe you can show me later how to clean it properly."

Aramis didn't answer. He hated how bad this weapon looked, but he didn't want to promise the lad to meet him ever again. He still wanted to go back to his cell. D'Artagnan took a few steps back as Aramis lifted his arm. It was steady as it has always been, the gun looked more like an extension of his arm than a weapon. Aramis didn't need to think a moment of what to do, it was anchored in his mind since years. Nothing was more natural to him than this. He shot and it his target. But as the shot echoed through the woods, Aramis elt the weapon fall as if it was afire. Pictures shot through his mind.

"NO!"Aramis screamed as he parried another stroke and saw over the shoulder of his attacker how Léon looked down the barrel of a gun. The marksman slashed his opponent at the chest and took a step forward, just to feel how something hard collides with his head. As his vision blurrs a gunshut echoes through the woods and Léon falls to the ground. Another Musketeer he couldn't save. Aramis didn't have the chance to see more or to do anything, as darkness surrounded him.

"ARAMIS!" D'Artagnan shook the marksman who tried to push the foe away. He already managed a stroke against the Musketeers cheek, but it wasn't hard enough to let d'Artagnan loosen his grip. "Aramis you are save, you aren't there anymore." D'Artagnan repeated for the third time as he watched how the marksman slowly found back to reality. He looked around confused until he finally seemed to remember where he really was. D'Artagnan huffed, as he suddenly had to hold most of Aramis' weight as his knees buckled. "Easy there." D'Atagnan guided the man towards the ground to sit.

Aramis hid his face in his hands, his chest heaving heavy. "Hey it's okay, you're safe." "Nothing is okay!" Aramis hissed as he looked up. "They are dead! They are all dead and I couldn't save any of them! Even Marsac left! They're all gone, all despite me. I didn't save any of them." He shuddered at the memories.

D'Artagnan didn't know what to answer, so he just gently stroked Aramis arm. The marksman didn't pull away as he tried to catch his breath. "I want to go home."

"After this, okay? Please Aramis you are needed more than ever. Just a few hours more than all of this is over." The marksman took a deep breath and nodded weakly, eventhough he didn't know he was supposed to be a help when he wasn't able to shoot.

His concern was disturbed by horses coming over to them. Porthos and Athos on them. His stomach twisted. "Get them away!" He begged and tried to crawl away from them as they dismounted quickly. D'Artagnan stood up and stopped the two men from coming closer. "Give him somme time," he said as he looked down at the shell of a man. "Get them away." He begged again as he felt anger in himm raise. He didn't want to get angry. Aramis always did things then for that he felt guilty afterwards. He wasn't able to control himself when he got angry, he knew that himself. He didn't want more reasons to feel guilty. He just wanted to be alone.

"Why is it that you don't want them close to you?" D'Artagnan asked curious, as he only knew some parts of the story and only from the point of view of Athos, Porthos and Treville. Aramis never had a chance to tell his story. And when he did, he did it when no one listened but god. He did it everynight. There was no night he didn't rememebr all the events that had happened since Savoy. He went throught each day again and again, hoping to find the reason why all of this had happened to him, to find a sense in all of this. But he never did. It was hopeless.

Aramis stood up slowly, staring at the two Musketeers with empty eyes. "They betrayed me. We proised each other to alway be there for each other. After... that day... they promised to stay by my side and help me, they said I would forget it soon and get better. They promised it! But I don't! I never forgot it and I never will! Their ghosts will always haunt me. They lied to me."

Porthos tried to explain himself but was hushed by d'Artagnan. "Okay, I can understand your anger... I really do. So how about you ignore these two okay? Just don't think about them, they're not worth your attention right?" Aramis nodded slowly. Athos gave D'Artagnan silently a bundle before he and Porthos went back a few steps.

The young musketeer opened it just to find two weapons with filigree craved ornamentions. "They're beautiful," he noticed and looked at the two men asking:"Who's this?"

"Mine." Aramis answered instead and looked at them with a mix of sorrow and nostalgic. They stood for his old life. One which started with adventures and happiness, with the love for excitement, danger and fights and which ended through exactly this.

He sighed and looked at the trees which are standing a few feet away. "I will try it one more time." He said and took one of his guns with a shaky hand. He was thankful that it was already loaded.

Once again the following movements were instictively, well practiced and fast. As the bullet whizzled through the air, the Musketeers watched how it hit a small branch of a tree and it fell to the ground. D'Artagnan looked dissapointed and turned towards his comrades. "He didn't even hit the trunk," he whispered, not seeing that Aramis stared at the weapon in his hand absentminded. "He hit exactly what he wanted." Explained Porthos, a mix of joy and proudness sparkling in his eyes. Athos nod his agreement. "He searched the smallest target he could get and hit. He is the right one." D'Artagnan's expression turned from dissapointment to awe as he understood and looked once again to the small branch that now lay at the ground, broken in the middle. It wasn't broader than two fingers.

Aramis tossed the weapon aside. Once again memroies flashed through his mind, this one how Bertrande was shot in his sleep. But this time he knew that they would come and somehow managed to not get too lost in them. Marcus had once showed him some things how to avoid that. He touched each of his finger with his thumb, first the little finger, then the ring finger and so on... It calmed him and madde him think about something else, eventhough the pictures were still infront of his eyes. He didn't get lost in fear.

"Do you think you can manage this, Aramis?" The marksman flinched as Athos spoke to him and tunred to him, before he nodded. "I'm doing this not for you." He then said suddenly. "I'm doing this to be finally left alone." The Musketeers nod as they understand, and eventhough they won't admit it, after all these years his words still sting.

And eventhough he won't admit it, Aramis wasn't angry at them anymore. He had been. He hated them for months. But he understood that he hated himself for being like this and not them, and he hated the memories they brought with them. And the expectations. Each time he looked at them he had to think back to the moment he left to Savoy and to the day they found him in the forest, alone and nearly frozen to death. And he always saw this glint of hope in their eyes, knew they just wanted the old him back. But he couldn't fullfill this expectations and he hated the guilt he felt because of it. He didn't want to dissapoint them, but he did over and over again. And eventhough he won't admit this too, he maybe did all of this more of them than for him. To not dissapoint them for once. But he won't ever tell them that or admit it to himself - because that would mean to having to face the hate he in reality feels towards himself.

MMM

For a moment he felt normal. As he climbed up the tree and positioned himself on a big branch, it felt like it was right. For a few minutes he didn't think about his fear, his memories or brothers - he thought about which tree would offer the best view and how to climb up to not fall down. He loaded his weapon in swift movements and checked if his view was clear. There werre standing a few carriages on the open field, in which the gold was supposed to be - but they were were only filled with stones and hay. Some Musketeers and Captain Treville sat on their horses infront of the wagons, staring into the distance from where the bandtis would probably come.

They waited minutes. And minutes turned to hours. The sun was shining bright on the sky and blended Aramis. He pulled the hat deeper into his face. He was lucky that Porthos and Athos had brought beside his weapons clothes for him earlier too. It felt good to wear clean clothes and shoes on his feet. He stared into the distance concentrated, waiting for the bandits finally arriving. In all these hours he didn't spend a thought to Savoy as he was way too fixed on his mission.

As a group of riders came into his view, he felt adrenaline pumpig through his veins, making the blood rush in his ears. He now took slow and deep breaths to slow his pulse. His hands were steadier than for the past five years as he laid his finger on the trigger and waited for the right moment. He saw the familiar figure of the King who was held infront of the bandits, the man pressed his gun against the kings temple. Aramis shot had to kill him before he was able to react and pull the trigger to.

The bandit moved around and gestured a lot as he spoke Treville. Aramis aimed at the spot between his eyes. Another deep breath and he shot.

Treville saw how the man fell to the ground lifeless before the sound of the shot reached his ears. Soon, the Musketeers were engaged in a hard fight, Porthos and Athos immediatly at the side of the King.

Aramis suddenly felt way too exhausted and let his gun fall down the branch and onte the ground. He looked down and wondered how he was supposed to get down again as fear started to nibble at him. He was prepared for the sound of a shot and somehow managed to stay somehow composed, but the sounds of metal clashing onto metal made his stomach twist. He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, his fingers digging into the wood beneath him. "Stop." He muttered and tried to think about something else than his brothers being slaughtered, but each time he imagined to be somewhere else the pictures came back.

He jumped from his place on the ground, where he had slept just seconds before. He had already his sword drown and fought the first attacker while he still tried to understand what was happening. As he had a few seconds to glance arpund the camp he saw some of his brothers already slaughtered in their sleep. Others were still engaged into a hard fight, but being suprised by the attack, half asleep and terrible outnumbered one Musketeer after another fell. Aramis watched how a sword pierced through Joel, how Pierre lost his head and how Thomas' throat was slit. He wondered how he would die as he already accepted to die in this forest as his fate.

He flinched, as d'Artagnan called his name. "Aramis, are you okay? Can you come down?" Aramis shook his head and whimpered as he saw how the blade of a sword pierced through the young Musketeer from behind. He closed his eyes again, but there was the boys voice again. He dared to look again jsut to find him still standing theree, perffectly fine. As Aramis looked towards the battlefield he noticed that the Musketeers had good chances to win and that Porthos, Athos and the king ran over to them.

"Aramis, come down!" Pothos called and looked up to the marksman still clinging to the branch. The marksman clenched his eyes shut as the sound of the fight still reached his ears and as he saw how a bullet flew right through Porthos' chest and a daggerd was stabbed into Athos throat. "NO!" He screamed but still was unable to move.

"Aramis, jump. We will catch you." The markman once again opened his eyes just to see the Musketeers still alive and healthy. He gulped. He had to get his mind under control again. He forced himself to sit up and tried ingore the sound of battle. "I can climmb down on my own." He called before he started to climb down the tree in swift movements until his feet had solid ground beneath them again.

MMM

"You really want to go back there?" D'Artagnan asked concernd as they stood in front of the Asylum. Aramis nod. "It's safer there." He mumbled and didn't dare to look up again. He didn't want to see their dissapointment. They didn't argue with hi as he enntered the bulding, leaving the men behind.

"I really thought we could get him back this time." Porthos confessed.

"Yeah, I thought so too." Athos sighed but shook his head then. "I think there are things no mind can overcome."

"He seemed a bit more... sane at the end. Maybe he is getting better? Maybe he just needs some more time." D'Artagnan said hopefully. He really started to like Aramis.

Porthos smiled weakly at the hopeful Gascon. "He already had enough time. These, d'Artagnan, are wounds that won't heal." The young Musketeer frowned as Porthos and Athos walked away and parted at the next crossing. He didn't like how they thought, but he had the bad feeling that they were right.

Since then, all three of them conitnued to visit Aramis every now and then. It was not regulary but every few weeks someone came into his cell for a few hours. There were good days, in which he actually talked to them. But then there were also times he was still lsot in his memories, caged into the darkness of Savoy.

Then, war started. The three fought on the same battlefield but not together - they still barely knew each other. Each one was on his own, still they somehow mangaged to return to Paris four years later.

I had been four years since Aramis suddenly hadn't heard anything new of the Musketeers anymore and was finally left alone. From his point of view, they just stopped to be interested into visiting him anymore.

As they came back to see him again, his cell was empty.

So I wrote all of this at once and I usually never write THAT long at one piece. But it was a idea that just stuck in my head this morning and I had to put it in words. I hope you liked the story and I'm looking forward for your reviews.

What is your version of the ending? What do you think why Aramis cell is empty? So many possibilities...

I'm thinking about adding a small extra chapter, describing what all of this would have not only meant for the Musketeers, but for France and Paris too. Still not sure about it though.