AN: Here we go at last. I started writing this long before season 3 aired (and then life interfered). So cast your mind back to the end of season 2. Aramis off to Douai, the others off to war.
The inspiration and title come from 2Cellos cover of "They Don't Care About Us", give the video a watch :D The summary quote is from "Person of Interest". And the below quote is from "Love, Rosie".
They Don't Care About Us
Part One
It was no ordinary friendship.
We were inseparable, constantly being separated.
Chapter One
On returning to his tent Athos put his head in his hands and tried to hold everything in. They had lost six men that day, and countless others were wounded. They were expecting a skirmish, they hadn't expected so many. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't help but think of the families left behind to grieve the fallen. Athos pulled away to look at his hand, it was still covered with dried blood. He had crouched beside Gardet as the man drew his last breath.
Porthos pushed his way in uninvited and put a hand to Athos' shoulder. "You did what you could."
"It wasn't enough."
It was never enough.
"We had bad information, it couldn't be helped."
"You think knowing that makes it any better?" He turned to glare at Porthos. "Those men weren't destined to die. Something could have been done, if I…"
"You can't go back in time and change it. You can't bring them back. Dwelling on it will only drive you mad." Porthos' voice turned hard.
Athos opened his mouth to protest, but the harsh words died on his tongue. Instead he swept a hand across his tired face and sighed. "Forgive me my friend, I'm just a little weary. I think we all are. Where is d'Artagnan?"
"Helping with the wounded, did you want to see him?"
"No, no… is he all right?"
"A blade caught his arm, but it's not serious. You know what he's like, he'll put the others before himself. Too much like Aramis if you ask me."
"Quite." By now Athos had suppressed the automatic response to injuries - have Aramis look at it. He was always used to having his brother there. Now he wasn't. Part of Athos was thankful Aramis didn't have to suffer the trials of war. Hopefully he had found peace far away from the battlefield.
"Get some sleep. I'll sort the men out."
"Thank you, Porthos." Athos managed a small smile. "I'm glad you're here."
~oOo~
Aramis tied his horse to a tree and very carefully made his way down a steep slope to the stream below. He dipped his hands into the water and splashed his face. On such a warm day the cool water was most refreshing. It was times like this he regretted the heavy cassock he had taken to wearing. Having washed the sweat from his brow Aramis went about filling his canteen. If there was one thing he had learnt on his travels it was to take advantage of water while it was there.
For many months Aramis had stopped in Douai. He settled into monastic life well enough, but Aramis was Aramis, and a stationary sedate life of the strictest routine was never going to sit well with him. He remained devoted to prayer and observed all the day to day rituals, but he grew restless. After searching his heart and speaking for long hours with the Abbé, Aramis came to realise he could roam the lands and still serve God. And so he took to travelling between monasteries to help their local communities with his medical skills and anything else he could turn his hand to. It was the best of both worlds. A house of God was at hand for peace and quiet reflection when he needed it, but he was not trammelled by stone walls and dusty tomes. Life outside the monastery was there to be had. Though not all of his brothers approved of it, some thought it more proper to stay confined. But Aramis could see he was doing good in the world, and surely God would approve of that.
After spending some time in Narbonne Aramis had taken to the road again. The unfinished cathedral of the city was most impressive, even if it did take some imagination to see it complete. It was to be the largest in all of France, but work had stalled several hundred years ago. There was still enough of the cathedral there to be useable. Narbonne's cathedral was likely to remain half done evermore, however the the abbey at Foix was being rebuilt. Aramis heard monks speak of the building being destroyed during the religious wars, unfortunately the relics housed there were burnt. But despite this misfortune, like a phoenix from the ashes, the abbey would rise again. The idea took Aramis that it would be a fine thing to have a hand in rebuilding it, and so he set out to offer his assistance. Although it would take him west, and closer to the Spanish border. A voice at the back of Aramis' head wondered at the fact he had travelled so far south - was he unconsciously drawn to his friends? He did his best not to think of them, for thinking of them meant missing them, and that was a barely healed wound he had no wish to pick at.
When Aramis turned to climb back up the slope he stalled.
There was a man standing by his horse. The fellow was well armed, with a sword and pistol at his belt, he was clearly no ordinary civilian. As Aramis watched dumbfounded, the intruder set about untying his mount.
On recovering his wits Aramis called out. "That's my horse!"
The man lazily turned to him with a sly smile. "It's mine now."
Something in Aramis chafed at being addressed so casually, he was used to inspiring some measure of fear. The horse thief hadn't even raised his pistol! But Aramis supposed he was dressed as a monk, indeed he was a monk, and monks were not known for their prowess in battle.
Still, that meant the man was stealing a monk's horse. Even if it was Aramis. How could he stoop so low?
"You would steal from a man of the cloth, Monsieur? Do I need to remind you of the hellfire that awaits such sinners?"
"Save your lecture, priest. If you want a horse, then pray for one. This is mine." He turned to leave and lead the horse away.
A monk he might be, but Aramis would not stand for that. He scrabbled back up the slope and shouted for the thief to stand and face him. Suddenly something collided with his side and a blow to the face sent him reeling. Aramis hit the ground and waited for the world to stop spinning, when it did he saw there was a second man. He must be getting rusty, how had he not noticed? Aramis did notice the boot coming for him. He managed to roll out of the way and gain his feet in time to fend off another punch before lashing out with one of his own.
"Oh, so you want to fight do you, priest?" The newcomer laughed.
The horse thief shouted over his shoulder. "Leave him, we need to go!"
"But the priest needs to be taught a lesson! This French pig thinks he can raise a hand to me!"
Spanish. They were speaking Spanish. Oh no…
But on the bright side, they didn't realise Aramis could understand them.
"Romero will have our hides if we're any longer!" The horse thief shouted back.
Aramis threw another blow while they were bickering. It landed and the Spaniard rocked back. He looked slightly stunned afterwards, as if he couldn't quite believe a monk had just hit him. They lay into each other then. Until a familiar click sounded and a new voice shouted.
"Lucero, stop!"
Aramis stilled and stood panting. His opponent shot back like a stricken dog. Aramis wiped at the trail of blood winding its way down from the corner of his mouth and eyed the stranger. He held a pistol ready to fire and had the air of one in charge, much like Athos. Though the thought of Athos caused a flare of pain that Aramis tamped down on quickly.
"Forgive me Romero, we were just taking this horse when the priest decided to fight back."
"Well, you were stealing his horse, what did you expect?" It was said somewhat wryly, Aramis tried not to smile.
Romero switched to French and addressed Aramis. "Drop your weapons."
"I have no weapons, can't you see I'm a man of the cloth?"
"And yet, I do not believe you are entirely unarmed. Please, drop your weapons."
Aramis gave a slight scowl and reached into the folds of his cassock to pull out a small knife. It hit the grass moments later.
"You can have the horse, I have little else for you to take. Now let me go." It wasn't in Aramis' nature to roll over so easily, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. The outcome would not be good.
"I'm afraid I cannot do that." A faux apologetic expression graced Romero's face. "You've seen us, I cannot allow you to leave."
"I will say nothing of seeing you here. I swear it." Aramis held his hands out in a placating gesture.
"And I can trust the word of a priest?"
"If you cannot trust the word of a priest, whose word can you trust?"
"Many a lie has slipped from between pious lips."
The figure of the Cardinal loomed large in Aramis' memory. It was true, religion and honour did not always sit comfortably hand in hand.
The Spaniard continued. "There are only two ways for you to get out of this."
Aramis frowned. "Let me guess, just one of those involves me breathing?"
"Bind his hands." Romero called to his men and Lucero went to retrieve a length of rope.
"What are you doing?"
"Saving your life." He said with a smirk.
~oOo~
Aramis sighed unhappily at this turn of events. He now found himself being led through the trees tied to his own horse, which was mounted by a Spanish soldier to boot. The indignity was too much. What would his friends have said? But it did no good to think of his friends, they were not here to deride his predicament or help him out of it.
"What is your name?"
Aramis was startled from his thoughts by Romero's question.
"Not your concern." He scowled.
"Then will you tell me the name of your horse at least?"
Aramis paused a moment before giving a hesitant answer. "Hawthorn."
"Hawthorn eh?" Romero reached a hand forwards to pat his withers. "He is a fine horse, too fine for a priest. I would have thought an ass would do for the likes of you."
"I am fortunate to have him." Aramis let the insult wash over him.
"You were fortunate to have him." The Spaniard corrected.
Aramis let out a frustrated huff. He was pulled along at a fast pace, and given no time to recover when his foot hit a stray root. He nearly went down to his knees.
"If you fall I will not pick you up." Romero patted the pistol at his side.
They carried on in silence, slipping furtive glances to the trees. Aramis was glad when the Spaniard began to slow down, with the exertion and heat he was sweating terribly.
Romero turned to address his men. "We're losing light, look for a place to set up camp."
A couple set off into the trees ahead of them. Romero had four men with him, Lucero, the horse thief, and two others. More were fanned out amongst the trees, occasionally one would return to speak in hushed tones with Romero. No doubt he had more men further out scouting as well. The military part of Aramis' mind couldn't help but try to calculate the size of his force. It was not big enough to constitute a raid or meaningful attack, and it was small enough to cross the border and remain undetected on French soil. The men he conversed with spoke French flawlessly, and they did not seem overly Spanish at first sight. At a guess Aramis would put their purpose as soldiers on a mission of stealth, but to what end? He would just have to watch, listen, and learn.
Finally they reached a small clearing that was already half set up as a camp. A fire crackled and bits of food were being readied for cooking. Others started pulling out bedrolls and claiming their space. Romero suddenly gave a harsh pull on the rope and Aramis lurched forwards. The Spaniard took a handful of his hair and lowered a pistol to aim right between his eyes.
Aramis swallowed heavily and held himself very very still.
"If you run, I will shoot you. If you raise a hand to me or any of my men, I will shoot you. If you even think of making a noise, I will shoot you. Do you understand?"
He managed a small nod, and Romero released him.
"Tie him to that tree."
The rope was thrown to Lucero, and Aramis found himself tightly bound to a tree just to the side of the camp. Men melted into the shadows around him, taking up their watch. No doubt a close eye was being kept on him too, but Aramis couldn't help but try his bonds. Not that there was any give in them whatsoever. He let out a sigh and dropped his head back against the trunk. It would not be a comfortable night. His throat was parched too, and the food the Spanish ate smelled wonderful. It had been many long hours since he had eaten. Finally once they were finished Romero waved a hand over in Aramis' direction.
"Give the scraps to the priest."
The horse thief came over and dropped a bowl in his lap. It wasn't much, but it was making Aramis' mouth water. There was only one problem.
Aramis gave a sharp cough and the horse thief turned around with a questioning look.
"My hands."
The horse thief gave a grunt and returned to loose Aramis' bonds. Instead he tied the rope around Aramis' neck. "If you use those hands to try and free yourself from the tree, you should know that you're being watched and you're surrounded. You won't get far."
He had suspected as much. Aramis remained optimistic that there would be an opportunity for escape, if not here then somewhere else. The soldier in him was always looking for a way out. He tried to peer into the darkness to make out the unknown watchers, but the light from the fire had killed his night vision. There was little to be seen beyond the clearing.
After eating his scraps and begging a mouthful of water, Aramis closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree trunk. He wouldn't be able to sleep, but there was little else to do for now. The Spanish took to idle conversation. There were crude mentions of women back home, and derogatory comments on another regiment. It seemed the Spanish had their rivalries as well. And then talk turned to something else…
"Why are we bringing the priest along Romero?"
"He may prove useful."
"He's just another mouth to feed and a risk if you ask me. One word or a shout when we reach Foix and he'll ruin everything."
"He won't speak if he knows what's good for him. And you won't question my decisions if you know what's good for you." An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them in wake of the threat, and then Romero continued. "It has been many years since I was last in these parts, a local will be most useful, and a man of the cloth at that. He's not going to fight back."
Aramis unconsciously bristled at hearing that.
And then Lucero spoke up. "I don't know, he fought well enough when we took his horse."
"Lucero, you could be bested by my grandmother, and she's been in the ground ten years." Romero paused as a laugh ran around the campfire. "All right gentlemen, get some sleep, we've an early start tomorrow."
Aramis waited until they had settled down and were well away before he started twisting and turning, trying to catch a glimpse of those on watch. He couldn't see anybody, even when the fire died down and his sight improved, there wasn't a soul to be seen. But just because he couldn't see them, it did not mean they were not there. Still, Aramis was restless, it was not in his nature to sit idle and let such an opportunity pass by. His fingers worked at the rope around his neck, but the knot was tight, and he struggled to get any give out of it. It didn't help that he couldn't see. Instead he took a good look around and then tried the other end around the tree. Aramis smiled when it began to loosen. When the rope fell away entirely he took a good look around to make sure the Spanish were still sleeping and the men on watch were not in sight. Satisfied, he took off into the night, stepping carefully at first, and then near enough running when he was further out.
He couldn't believe how easy it had been. Perhaps all the threats about men watching had just been empty ones. Maybe they were just trying to scare him into being compliant. They were going to get a surprise when-
Suddenly something collided hard with his back and Aramis hit the ground. He gasped at the air with the breath being driven from his lungs. It took his mind a moment to catch up as he was roughly turned over by a man straddling him. Something hard struck his face and the end of a pistol wavered in his eyesight.
"Where are you going, priest?"
He was shaken hard.
"Where do you think you are running to?"
The man had dropped on him from a tree… Aramis was so occupied with his flight he hadn't noticed a dark shape in the boughs above.
"On your feet."
The Spaniard got up and took the length of rope still attached to Aramis' neck. He gave a strangled cry as the man yanked on it until he was up. After gaining his feet the soldier side of Aramis started wondering if he could pull the rope from the Spaniard's grasp and strangle him with it, but the pistol was pointed at Aramis as if he could detect such machinations.
He was led back to the camp where he was thrust to his knees before Romero. The man did not look too happy at having been woken.
"I am disappointed. I thought you said you understood what would happen if you tried to run?"
Aramis breathed harshly and dropped his gaze to the ground.
"You clearly don't understand, I will have to make you understand." Romero reached down to Aramis' chin and tipped his head back so their eyes could meet. "Know that I do not want to do this, but I am a man of my word, and I believe I said I would shoot you. Is that so?"
Aramis just glared.
"What did I say, priest?" There was a dangerous edge to Romero's voice.
The hand at Aramis' chin started to grip his jaw painfully tight.
"Answer me!"
Aramis swallowed hard and struggled to get his words out. "You would shoot me… if I ran."
"And what did you just do?"
He felt like a child being chastised at his father's feet. "I ran."
"So you see, I must shoot you, how else are you going to learn?" The Spaniard's tone changed, he almost sounded apologetic. And then he switched to Spanish and addressed his men. "Take him to the tree. Are you sure we're entirely alone? I don't want the noise attracting attention."
The rope was thrown to Lucero and Aramis found himself being dragged back to the tree he had been bound to.
After some discussion one of the men on watch returned. "There are three men who have been hunting nearby. They have stopped for the night and they are not so close that we risk being seen, but a gunshot may be heard."
Romero nodded slowly and thoughtfully, but he took up his pistol and advanced towards Aramis all the same. Was he really going to shoot? It would be the height of foolishness. Aramis feigned a lack of understanding when it came to their words, he didn't let it show on his face, but a spike of fear still assaulted his heart. He didn't know this man. Romero might very well be a fool.
Frantic words suddenly spilled from Aramis' lips. "You don't have to do this. I understand. I was wrong to run away, I will stay with you-"
Romero cut him off. "I am a fair man, and a man of my word, as I said before. Do you think my men will respect me if I set out consequences and do not follow through? You had fair warning. Now you reap what you have sewn."
He raised the pistol.
"I will stay! I will not run again!" Desperation tainted his voice as Aramis looked down the barrel of the gun.
Aramis closed his eyes and braced for impact. Instead he felt Romero take hold of his left wrist and pin his hand to the trunk. The cold metal of the barrel dug into his palm.
"Please…"
It lingered there for an endless moment before being pulled away. Aramis let out a slight sigh of relief.
"Lucky for you a shot may bring unfriendly eyes our way." The gun was holstered. Though the Spaniard's grip on Aramis' wrist remained. "Mendez, come here, be ready."
The horse thief stepped forwards. So he had a name. While Aramis warily watched Mendez approach he failed to notice Romero reach behind his back.
With one swift movement a stiletto flashed in the the firelight and plunged into Aramis' palm going through to the bark beyond. He surged forwards instinctively trying to get away, but Mendez pushed him back and covered his mouth. The scream Aramis let loose was smothered into nothing.
His hand was a mess of pain, Aramis longed to clutch it to his chest for some relief, but the dagger kept it pinned and any movement was agony. Even the slight twitch of his fingers set a fire alight in his flesh. Blood seeped around the narrow blade and wound a trail down Aramis' wrist. With the dagger still embedded the blood loss wasn't too bad. Not that that was any comfort to him. He tried to control his breathing, which had turned to harsh, stilted gasps. They were soon muffled by a gag Mendez tied tightly around his mouth.
When Mendez stepped away Romero leaned in. "Look at me."
Aramis' damp eyes remained glaring at the middle distance, so Romero reached forwards to grip him about the jaw and force him to look.
"Unfortunately I had to amend my promise a little, but the effect was much the same." The Spaniard seemed to search his eyes. "Now you know I am a man of my word, you will have no cause to doubt me. Know this - if you try to run again I will shoot you, and it will be somewhere more lethal."
Aramis' eyes just rolled.
"Do you understand?"
He managed a nod.
"Good."
Romero retreated back to his bedroll while the other men returned to watch or sleep. Aramis' heart sank. He was going to be left there, hand pinned in agony, all night.
