It no longer mattered who the man had been, what he had done. What mattered now was that he was skewered on the point of a sword, his face betraying every ounce of shock he felt as he stared up into the face of his killer. There had been a time, exactly one year ago, when he could have beaten the young man before him into the ground without even a sword to aid him. There was a time their roles would have been reversed, but not now; not today.

Treville watched all that occurred from the platform outside of his office, the man currently kneeling, dying on the ground outside was one of the Musketeers. If he was honest, he wasn't unhappy to see the man die. He had, a time ago, been a Red Guard, but due to being a favourite of the King when he had been ousted from the Cardinal's troop the Musketeers had been stuck with the man. Now, he was dying at a younger man's feet, and Treville decided it was time to intervene now that the younger man seemed to be leaving as he pulled his sword from the man's stomach.

"You!" His voice was commanding, causing the young man to halt and look up. "You are aware that duelling is illegal?"

"Is it?" It seemed the young man was merely faking his confusion, as a pose to being truly ignorant of the law. "Well, that's very inconvenient. I rather wish someone had informed me of that before I came in here, and announced I was to duel that man." The young man offered Treville a ready grin, full of mischief and the surety of invincibility that came with young age, though there was something different about his. The boy's ebony eyes held an odd darkness that did no befit his age.

"I'm sure you are well aware of the fact, and also that it will lead to you being hanged." Treville said, his face stony as he watched the boy carefully for his reaction. It was well hidden, a mask fell around the boy's face as he met Treville's gaze steadily.

"Are you sure there is not some other alternative?" He asked calmly, he evidently knew that if Treville did intend to have him hanged, he would have had a couple of Musketeers drag him away to the dungeons by now.

"There is, perhaps, one." Treville said slowly, as though he were unwillingly considering it. "You have some skill with a blade, boy." That was an understatement, the duel had been over so quickly that Treville's hadn't realised there'd been anything amiss until a cry arose from the Musketeers in the yard. Even if the man hadn't been one of the finest Musketeers by a long shot, it was still incredible that such a young man had managed to kill him with such apparent ease. "And I take it you know how to use that pistol?" He continued, gesturing to the decorated pistol holstered at the boy's hip.

"Well now, there wouldn't be much point in my carrying it if I couldn't use it, would there?" The boy answered, carefree grin having returned to his face.

"Then, in exchange for your freedom, you can have the option of becoming a King's Musketeer." Treville said, then added. "Of course, I cannot guarantee when your commission will be granted, nor whether you shall even receive one, but I suspect it would be better than the alternative."

The boy took his time to mull over his options, before nodding slowly and grinning wolfishly at Treville. "I accept your offer, good sir." He said, and bowed with a flourish.

Later, in Treville's office, the young man was standing in front of his desk, the unruly curls of his chocolate brown hair falling in his face as he stood impatiently, waiting for Treville to complete the paperwork.

"Name?"
"Aramis." Was the short reply, causing Treville to glance up and raise an eyebrow.

"I need your full name." He said, waiting patiently as the boy seemed to struggle with the request.

"René Aramis." Aramis said finally, running his free hand through his dark curls in a way that betrayed nerves, the other tapping his hat against his leg.

Treville wrote it down, then said: "and your age?"
"Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two... That's rather a young age, isn't it?" Treville asked.

"Yes... sir." Aramis said, nodding. "That's not a problem?"

"Well..." Technically, it wasn't, the Musketeers had no clear guidelines about age limits, and the boy had certainly shown himself to be capable enough.

"No, no." Treville said finally, adding that to the paper. That was really all the official information Treville needed, but he proceeded with his usual questions anyway. "What can you do, Aramis?"
"Sir?" Aramis asked hesitantly, not quite understanding.

"Any extra abilities? You don't just become a Musketeer, and in the mean time we will need other ways to keep you occupied." Treville explained, "anyway, it is useful for any, er, unique missions."

"Ah," Aramis tugged at his curls again. "Well, I can speak Spanish-"
"Fluently?" Treville cut in, his eyebrow raised once more.

"Yes... sir." Aramis nodded, "and Latin, some Greek, a little English." He rubbed his temple with a thumb, "I can sew, along with some physician work. And, of course, I can read and write. Also ride a horse."

"You're a doctor?" Treville asked, this boy was becoming more interesting by the second.
Aramis nodded, "of a little skill." He said, and it was hard to tell whether he spoke of modesty or nervousness.

"Well, we do already have a doctor, but it always helps to have another." Treville said with a small smile, "and no doubt your language skills will be of some use in future." Treville stood from his seat, taking one more look at the young man stood in front of his before reaching a decision.

Aramis was perhaps a little taller than average height, and he was certainly well muscled; the kind of muscles grown from hard labour, endured every day for a long period of time. He held himself with a steady assurance, probably developed from a long held confidence in his own abilities. Though, with all his attributes that hinted at maturity, his tender age was betrayed by his clean shaven face which showed young and angled (though undeniably handsome) features.

"Very well," Treville said, "welcome, to the Musketeers, but before you start, get a haircut." He added with a grin, gesturing to Aramis' hair, which just brushed his shoulders.

That was certainly not how Aramis had planned on this day going, when he had set out from his rooms that morning he had known he would either end up dying; but for the right reasons, or living; but as a hunted man. Aramis had never once entertained the idea of becoming a Musketeer, not even an ordinary soldier, especially not within the few months he had spent with the clergy and certainly not in all the years spent being prepared for the life of a monk.

As he left the captain's office, he wondered how his life would proceed now, Aramis had spent the last year training in the art of fencing each day in order to get his revenge on the man who had mistreated him. It had been at a time when Aramis was still part of the clergy, and he had been spending time in the house of a certain young woman, apparently in some relation to the Cardinal. That particular Red Guard had found him in the young woman's bedroom and had taken him out, onto the street and beaten him in front of a cheering crowd, on that day he had sworn he would have his revenge. Because of that Red Guard, Aramis had been forced to leave the clergy; his entire life had been tipped upside down, again, and the only thought that forced Aramis to wake up in the morning was that he would take from the Red Guard what he had so easily and mercilessly taken from him.

It did not take long for Aramis to become one of the regiment, he joked easily with his brothers in arms, proved his loyalty more times than some of the most veteran Musketeers, and never turned a man away when in need of stitches, whether it was for a shirt or wound. And it wasn't just the men that took a liking to him, Aramis quickly aquired a reputation amongst the women of Paris; especially those of high nobility and power. Though, this did cause a few problems as most of these women were married. Close as he was with most of the regiment, save those jealous of his natural skill with guns and the ladies, his closest friend was certainly Marsac and the two were all but inseparable over the growing weeks and months that Aramis spent with the Musketeers.

Sooner than Treville could have predicted, the young man was fully commissioned into the Musketeers for saving the lives of three other Musketeers, with great risk to his own, from a group of hostile Spaniards while delivering a powerful nobleman to Paris. Treville believed that Aramis would have gained commission sooner, had he sent the young man out on more missions more often, but he was still at a relatively young age and though already a good soldier, still required training.

A year passed and from the look of Aramis, you would have thought he had chosen to become a Musketeer, rather than being all but forced into it, because of how well the job seemed to fit him. He had grown, in more ways than one. Now, at twenty-three, he had developed yet more, leaner muscles and still held himself with the same, steady assurance, but now from confidence in those that surrounded him instead of relying purely on his self. His skills with weapons and in horse riding had also improved. In his spare time, he read and practised his languages; not wanting to allow such skills to slip. Aramis had also grown a beard and moustache, thanks to the constant teasing of the regiment that mostly seemed to suggest he couldn't, he had also had his hair cut to a better length and his curls now ended around his ears.
"Aramis!" A Musketeer, who Aramis recognised as Baudin, jogged down the steps from Treville's office towards him.

"Captain Treville wants to talk to you."
Aramis groaned as he stood from the table where he'd been cleaning his musket; glad of the brief respite from the erratic autumn rain. Treville probably wanted him to lead something, possibly a training exercise, and he really didn't want to do that; Aramis didn't exactly have a problem with leading per se, he just thought there were others who were more suited to the job. With a sigh, Aramis nodded to Baudin and grabbed his rather battered brown hat then headed up the steps, taking them two at a time.
"I rather think Chevalier would be good on this one, sir." Aramis informed the captain as he sauntered into his office.
"What?" Treville frowned at Aramis from where he sat behind his desk. "What are you talking about?"
"You want me to lead some kind of training exercise, don't you?" Aramis asked uncertainly, removing his hat from his head and tapping it against his head.
"No. Whatever gave you that idea?" Treville asked, shaking his head at the young man. "I'm asking you to pay a visit to the palace and enquire as to how many guards they require for the King's dinner next week."
"Ah," Aramis nodded, "of course, sir." He grinned, giving a flamboyant bow before turning and striding out of the room.

The ride to the palace was short, the conversation about the guards needed for the dinner shorter still, as such it was barely dusk as Aramis rode back through the streets of Paris to the garrison. Just as he was cantering through the streets, he heard a commotion in front of him, Aramis slowed his horse to a walk and squinted through the dusk and light drizzle of rain. By a tavern, and not a particularly respectable one, he noted, a fight seemed to have broken out. Now, technically Aramis was off duty, but through the weather he could make out the uniform of the Red Guard, and any opportunity to ruin their fun was welcome to the Musketeer.
"Gentlemen!" He called, dismounting from his horse and summoning a jovial grin. "What on earth is all this fuss about?"
" 'E cheated at cards!" One member of the Red Guard cried, pointing wildly and best he could at the man who currently had him in a headlock.
"That hurt," the large man growled, shaking the man.
As Aramis neared the group, he could make out two or three men (they were all bundled on top of each other) lying in a heap on the ground, the Red Guard in the large man's grip appeared to be the one with the least problems.
"And that's also slander," the Musketeer added as he came to a halt a few feet away from the large man.
"He attacked us!" The Red Guard squeaked.
"No no no no no." Aramis said with a frown, almost tutting at the Red Guard. "One man attacking four... is it?- Four Red Guards just doesn't sound right. What I think is far more likely is that you four did in fact lose, very badly, at a game of cards, then attempted to slander this man, and when that didn't work out; lost your tempers and attacked him. I know which way the judge would see it, at least. Especially with the reputation that the Red Guard has been gathering recently."
It was only now that the man seemed to realise Aramis was a Musketeer, and his face twisted into a sneer. "Musketeer scum..."
Th large man, who had been silently watching the proceedings, apparently decided now was the time to do something. His fist connected with the Red Guard's face and the man crumpled to the ground, out cold.
Aramis raised his eyebrows and looked at the large man, who bared his teeth at him in a wolfish grin. "Got tired of his talking." He said by way of an explanation.
"I see," Aramis said, eyes sweeping once more over the now four collapsed bodies in the street. "And did you deal with all of them?" He asked.
The large man paused for a moment before answering, "yeah, but you were right, they started it."
Aramis nodded thoughtfully, "that's quite impressive." He said finally, looking to the large man, who shrugged.
"Thanks. And, uh, thanks for not arresting me, I guess. 'M name's Porthos." Porthos said, holding out a hand.
"Aramis," said he, taking the other man's hand. His grip was tight and the dark skin of his hand calloused and rough.
"You know," he said casually, releasing his grip. "Skills like that could get you a place in the Musketeers."
Porthos snorted and shook his head, "that's a nice story, maybe something out of a fairytale. But real life doesn't work that way."
Aramis shrugged lightly, "suit yourself." He said, lifting his hat to Porthos before turning and walking back to his horse; he still had quite a way to ride before he returned even to the garrison.