*Sword Heart*

by: WhiteGloves

"I disclaim any rights to own these characters. I have no other say whatsoever.

But 'The Three Musketeers' is a challenging story. If the pairing's not preferred, kindly let me be."

D'Artagnan's the Hero. Aramis is another.

Both for each other?

As far as the story goes then.

Take note however: This is Romance.

The three musketeers were legends. The fourth even.

No one would ever forget the renowned names of Athos, Porthos and Aramis— the three inseparables of the King's court. No one will appear without the other—they were known in their days and till then as the greatest of soldiers. Of great courage and skills comes their strong bond of friendship. If one had gone down the other two would weep and avenge the other; they won't stop till the last of the enemy has been brought down. This made the three formidable.

This bond was far made stronger by the arrival of a young Gascon youth that joined them later whose name also made Paris exult his name like the other three: he was d' Artagnan.

Brought up with courage and honor on his name, young d'Artagnan who was eighteen of age, sought his fate in Paris where his dream of becoming one of the King's musketeers pushed him forth. But even a good headed fellow can sometimes dig his own grave—especially for our hot headed youngster. With interesting events occurring to him upon stepping on the grounds of Paris, d'Artagnan found himself enemies with the great three.

And then there was the duel. Three duels in fact, from Athos, Porthos and Aramis— a reality by which our hero accepted in the end that maybe he won't be coming out alive after all. But as one saying has it—'there are things you cannot share without liking one another'—and having a clash instead with a dozen Cardinal guard in the middle of their duels was one of them.

Only upon it did he achieve great friendship and trust from the three musketeers.

It was All for one. One for all.

And all their adventures were accounted for from all of d'Artagnan's love affairs, the trysts, aiding the Queen and the Duke of Buckingham, the siege with England, searching for a certain Madam Bonacieux and the final meeting with a lady fiercer than the devil itself, Lady de Winter. It was a long adventure.

At last, after the long siege had ended between France and England and the internal troubles surrounding the monarchy had ceased for awhile, three of the musketeers mysteriously disappeared in the eyes of the public except for one. Only d'Artagnan knew what came of his friends after he was named the Lieutenant of the Musketeers years after the unspoken war with the Cardinal.

Time went on like the eternal flow of a mountain river.

But the names Athos, Porthos and Aramis continued to awe citizens of France and of other countries. D'Artagnan, who was then still under the service of the King and Queen continued to honor his friendship with the three and though at times admittedly he would unconsciously try to seek their comfort, he would collect himself and remind himself that the three were living peacefully already and had no longer need for any troubles from any 'affair of the states'.

It was then in the year 1635, two years later since he had last seen his friends that we find the great musketeer lieutenant, Monsieur d'Artagnan, age twenty eight, riding his horse in the night on the street near Rue Cassette. He was wearing his usual musketeer uniform but with an authoritative badge on his right breast. Whether the young lieutenant was paying attention to his surrounding or to wherever he was going, no one knew for he was lost in thought while riding, his body swaying from side to side a little; he was thinking of the lovely lady whom he had been speaking of moments ago. She was Madame Louise Latraviné, a respectable lady who has set her eyes on him. They met each other through Monsieur de Tréville, Captain of the Musketeers. D'Artagnan had to admit to himself that he was attracted to her—she was a beauty superior to others and as gentle as the north wind blows.

Yet it also reminded him of the other beautiful ladies he had encountered ever since arriving to Paris. His past romances that ended up in oblivion or rather—destruction of himself. The first lady he had ever seen and loved at first sight long ago was a woman of wicked background, Lady de Winter. Then another woman whom he loved so much like life itself was Madam Bonacieux. Both were with superior beauty like no other women.

Strangely, both of them were dead.

Reminiscing of the past did not help the young lieutenant in his present state of mind. That was why we also found him somehow clinging tightly on his horse for his body was swaying. Young d'Artagnan was drunk.

"If only life has more meaning than loving a woman," the poor hopeless romantic musketeer muttered to himself, "or if loving a woman wasn't as scary as loving a lioness..."

D'Artagnan hiccupped. This seemed to have woken him up out of stupor as he suddenly straightened forward and looked around him. Darkness of the night seemed to have alerted the musketeer senses. He silently berated himself for letting his guard down in the middle of the night. Plenty of people with grudges against him could be counted far more than his fingers both in hands and feet. It was unwise of him to travel too far away from people, let alone take the route far away from his home.

Yet he recognized the area as his eyes finally managed to break through the darkness. Shadows of large trees of sycamores greeted him, and lights from villa's windows helped him. He was in a district so familiar to himself. Why—it was an area where a former friend was living—Aramis.

Fond recollection of a dear friend roused d'Artagnan to continue on his way. It has been years since he last saw his friends after all and in night like this one—where he was mopping about his romances—that he needed their company

But alas, d'Artagnan knew, as his horse draw near Aramis' empty villa that no friend of his was waiting for him. Not here in this area, not in Athos' silent and cold building, nor in Porthos' fashionably warm walls. No friend of his was waiting for him. He was, one of the legendary Musketeers of the King, all alone.

"Cruel hard labour without a friend," muttered the musketeer to himself, "everything else I do is for naught..."

And he passed by Aramis' dark window with head bent and lifeless soul.

But wonders of wonders— as D'Artagnan has just turned his back on—he noticed a flicker of light appear from the corner of his eyes. Turning his head sharply—he saw the flicker of light come out from none other than Aramis' window. A ray of hope suddenly appeared on d'Artagnan's eyes.

"What... could it be...!?" he whispered, half excited, half afraid of the answer as he jumped down from his horse without a warning. The young lieutenant remembered the land lady of Aramis' house say that this building was paid in full five years by Aramis himself. He remembered Porthos saying that it was probably paid by the former lover of Aramis—Lady Chevreuse who was said to be a kin to the Queen, Anne of Austria.

D'Artagnan crossed the lawn of the villa in long strides until he was by the door in a trice. Without warning and without even thinking of whoever maybe inside the house anymore (for his heart was sick of worrying), d'Artagnan banged his fist on the door.

He heard footsteps come and stop by the door but it did not open. It seemed like whoever was inside was too cautious.

Just like Aramis! D'Artagnan felt his heart pound hard against his chest. He closed his fists and continued to hammer the door with blood rushing through his veins.

"Who is it?" said a man's voice but d'Artagnan did not reply for just then he could not decide if his ears were deceiving him. Was that the voice of his dear friend Aramis or was that not?

But one thing was clear for the musketeer: destroy the door and friend or not—whoever was inside will pounce on him. So he stopped knocking on the door.

Seconds passed and he heard the bolt of the door moving finally. And then slowly, it opened.

At first d'Artagnan saw an aperture of light, and then he saw a shadow. A man's face with sharp and alert eyes greeted him but whether the man was angry or not, d'Artagnan did not care—because then he has already pushed open the door to its fullest and thrown himself on the arms of his friend.

There was no need to confirm it through words—d'Artagnan recognized his dark, gentle eyes and demure, intelligent and innocent expression. It was indeed, Aramis.

"Aramis!" he cried in joy as he squeezed his friend tight, and then all of a sudden realizing that his friend has lost weight since he had last seen him, "Aramis, it's me! D'Artagnan!"

Poor Aramis, who in his surprise at being embraced all of a sudden upon the force entry, only managed to stumble backwards in bewilderment.

"d'Artagnan?" he breathed, stopping his attempts to break free, his eyes wide, "are you really d'Artagnan!?"

The musketeer from Gascon held his friend in an arms' length so that they could have a better look at each other. D' Artagnan once again recognized Aramis' clean face, gentle eyes and peachy cheeks, his long eyelashes, straight nose and his pink lips; though why it was the things the he first noticed, he could not explain himself.

Aramis, on the other hand, looked carefully at his friend from head to toe with a surprised expression. He noticed that d'Artagnan looked manlier— not a trace of that young Gascon fellow whom he had challenged into a duel before. The look of one so inexperienced was no longer in d'Artagnan's brow and in the opposite—he looked like a soldier better than he could have ever remember. And not to mention taller and broader.

"You... you look different than the last I imagine you to be!" was his remark.

Whether d'Artagnan recognized this as a compliment or a jest, he did not show it. For then he embraced his friend tightly once more with happiness etched on his very face.

"I missed you!" the musketeer went on. Then taking Aramis by surprise, d'Artagnan caught Aramis' face in his hands and kissed him on the forehead, on both cheeks and finally on the lips.

Aramis blushed scarlet at this that he immediately pulled away. D'Artagnan too seemed surprise by his last act that he ogled at his friend for a second. Both hesitated, until d'Artagnan himself forced a smile.

"I said I missed you!" it was an excuse, he knew, but in his excitement all he could think about was express how happy he was and how else can he show happiness aside from that?

Kissing a friend... a male friend... d'Artagnan felt beads of sweat fall down the side of his forehead. The room suddenly felt hot and his heart raced. He felt silly.

Aramis still looked perturbed.

"You're drunk." he then said, in a strange voice, casually raising a hand on his lips and turning away. Had it been anyone but Aramis, d'Artagnan knew he deserved a beating. But Aramis loved his friends more than he loved himself and that d'Artagnan was aware of. It was one of the qualities he liked best from his gentle friend.

D'Artagnan's smile lingered. Just then it didn't matter what happened.

And maybe, if Aramis allowed it, blame it all on the alcohol.

The two friends mutually agreed to forget the kissing part and continue enjoying the company of the other. Minutes later, we find d'Artagan by Aramis' dusty chair and table, drinking tea from a just washed tea cup. A bottle of wine which was given by the landlady to Aramis when he returned was on the top of the fireside but Aramis forbid d'Artagnan in taking it. So he was left with tea.

The fireside cackled quietly with fire dancing on it.

While he was there trying to sober up on the chair, from which Aramis pointed out that a must, the former musketeer rummage on his old books by the cabinet with dust and soot flying around.

"So you came back only to get a book you left around?" d'Artagnan found himself saying after Aramis had revealed the true nature of his return, "and all the while I thought you would take your post with the musketeers once more and join me—your favourite ally!"

"It is true you are one of my favourite," Aramis said placidly without looking at the younger man, who looked pleased at the confirmation, "but nothing could have convinced me to return in the service of the King. My hands are already full with my theological studies that I cannot be concerned with politics and other troubles anymore."

D'Artagnan, who has already finished his last cup of tea and was feeling wide awake than ever, watched his friend with transfixed eyes. He put his chin on his left hand and stared only at the dear friend he could not believe just within reach. How long he longed for a great company. How sweet he was feeling now... a feeling like this he could not share with anyone. Not even a womans'.

"You say that but..." d'Artagnan said, "I doubt you have thoroughly forgotten the excitement of being a soldier."

Aramis did not respond, but d'Artagnan could have sworn he saw him stop by a fraction of a second. It made him smile.

"I'm having troubles patrolling the area these days," d'Artagnan went on, sliding on the chair and putting both hands at the back of his head with his long legs stretched, "my enemies always outnumber me, I'm ambushed here and there. Locals are always in badly need of me and I always find myself in a duel or two. If my fate doesn't change today, I might find myself dead before sunrise."

Aramis, who has always been the intelligent one, smiled in spite of himself for he knew where d'Artagnan was coming from.

"Then find a friend," he said simply, taking a glimpse of the younger man at the corner of his eyes.

"I found you," was the simple reply.

"Find someone who's not occupied by priestly mission," Aramis continued but there was a smile lingering on his lips. D'Artagnan snorted.

"A new friend, you mean? You're like asking for an angel himself."

"What do you mean?" Aramis asked sharply, finally looking at d'Artagnan who has straightened on his seat and was now frowning on the table as if it upsets him. "What's wrong?"

"No loyal friend has ever come to me since the days I were with you and Athos and Porthos," d'Artagnan said sullenly, standing up and walking toward the fireside,"every man and woman come to me with a purpose; either to trap me of some sort or to ask for something in return. Twice I found myself nearly killed by their schemes."

Aramis looked so alarmed that he actually stared at his friend with wide eyes. D'Artagnan took the bottle from the fireside, opened it and then drank its content. Aramis opened his mouth to stop him but the sight of his dear friend in desperate need of company touched him.

"Don't drink anymore," he said gently after awhile, walking toward the younger musketeer and taking the bottle away from his hands, "you've had too much."

D'Artagnan sighed heavily, making Aramis look at him intently.

"D'Artagnan..." he whispered, not knowing what to say.

But the latter merely smiled and turned to sit by the dusty chair again.

"It doesn't matter, these are my own troubles now."

By which, though feeling guilty, Aramis had to agree.

"Are you still feeling intoxicated, d'Artagnan? Do you want another cup of tea?"

"No, I'm better," the musketeer said with a fresh smile that surprised Aramis, "it's been long since I felt like this. Thank you for coming back, Aramis."

It was a heartfelt gratitude when d'Artagnan said it. He was feeling genuinely happy that Aramis was there. Though his true friend may leave any moment, d'Artagnan was still thankful he was there. It has been long since he talked about his worries like that. Not of worries about ambush and all—it was the fact that he longed for someone to trust. Someone to take shelter on. It was a pretty lonely life without a friend.

Aramis, by then, has resumed searching for his long lost book while d'Artagnan watched him quietly. The night outside was dark and cold yet the lieutenant was feeling warm and untroubled. It was the first night of that year that he ever felt like that and it made him think.

Friends make each other feel safe...

His eyes continued to watch his friend intently and by and by he was engrossed by the sight more. He slowly appreciated Aramis' appearance as a man. Long ago he had thought that Aramis was really not suited for battle. That was for the reason that he was just too demure. Then he saw the gentleman fight like a wild spear and all his doubts about the former musketeers' skill diminished. He was like a war god himself. Beautiful Aramis.

The drunk man suddenly found himself surprise at his own thought. Then gradually, he accepted it.

It suddenly made him feel even happier. The thought itself was happiness.

Meanwhile d'Artagnan's silence made Aramis a little concerned that he stopped hunting for the book just to look at the man. He found d'Artagnan staring at him intently with gloomy eyes. It made him pause.

"D'Artagnan?" he called, "are you feeling all right?"

In response, d'Artagnan's voice was heavy.

"Say, Aramis," he went on, "how's being an abbe for you?"

"Hm?" Aramis glanced at him a little, before continuing in ransacking his cabinets, "it suits me better than being a soldier. You know how I've always longed for a peaceful life where I can focus on my theological beliefs."

"Do you really consider it better?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

D'Artagnan hesitated, and then let his head fall down on his arms a little.

"I don't know... I think it suits you too."

Aramis smiled a little, then looked at his friend who was still staring at him through his arms.

"How about you then, dear romantic friend? How is your romance going on?"

D'Artagnan chuckled at the mere thought. He could remember very well how Aramis had always been against having women in their every meeting. Aramis had always been the gentleman and he probably could not understand how easy it was for Porthos and d'Artagnan to fall in love to maidens at one glance. Then the thought made d'Artagnan embarrassed for some reason.

"My affairs are but a trifle on my cold life," he said, still too embarrassed to look up at his gentle friend, "I... I've never had any serious relationships... not anymore."

Aramis chuckled and shook his head slowly with a smile lingering on his lips. D'Artagnan found his response too attractive. It was something he had never seen before. It made his ears grow hot.

"Please don't think of me as a woman's man anymore," he said with a dark look on his face.

The change made Aramis continue smiling as he continued searching for his books.

D'Artagnan's eyes were only for him.

A warmth that could not be given by any woman... a warmth he only felt just now... maybe... just maybe... d'Artagnan felt his heart pound against his chest. Could it really be...?

"Say... Aramis..." he went on softly, his voice gradually fading as his eyesight blur, "being a priest... don't you think you can still take your time outside before finally deciding?"

"Hm? Why's that?"

"Because I think you still have things you ought to do here... I mean... you wanted a peaceful life... yet as an abbe you also want to help many people... but an abbe cannot do anything when people are being oppressed... you can only do action through being a soldier."

Aramis thought for awhile and then sighed.

"That may be true..." he straightened and glanced on d'Artagnan's way, only to find the younger man half on his sleep. "D'Artagnan, why not sleep on the bed?"

"It's dusty."

"I know..." Aramis actually smiled this time as he walked towards his friend and tap his shoulder, "do not sleep here, friend... you'll catch a cold."

"Aramis," d'Artagnan said with eyes almost closed, "is it... is it not love when it's not between a man and a woman?"

The former musketeer's eyes widened at being asked such a question.

"D'Artagnan?"

"Because I think," the younger man whispered almost to himself, "I have fallen in love with you."

Aramis stared at the sleeping figure with hard and disbelieving eyes.

And the silent night continued.

~To be Continued~

I remember Aramis... I've always thought he was a girl.

Then I read the books. He's suspicious. Even if he isn't then

I'll continue! :) I love the prospect is all!

Let's finish this in three chapters!

Thank you for Reading!