Note: One-Shot. Contains war themes, mostly concerning children and war, so warning, this is a little dark. Rated T, set in early S3, with a little extended scene at the end. Not beta-read, and not a translation this time, so my first published free-writing. It helps to improve my English, and since I was encouraged in my last story, I decided to give it another shot. Let me know if it's mostly readable, and I'll continue to publish here and there in English. I hope there aren't any grave mistakes.
I own nothing you can recognize. I hope you enjoy.
Vois sur ton chemin, gamins oubliés égarés
Donne leur la main, pour les mener
Vers d'autres lendemains
(Look on your path, forgotten and lost children
Lend them your hand and lead them
towards another future)
-Les Choristes, 'Vois sur ton chemin'
"No, Luc, you take this off. Right now!" Aramis demanded and held out a hand he pulled out of his heavy monk cloak.
"I'm training, Aramis. Is it a sin to be well prepared?" the young boy countered and Aramis ran a hand over his face in exasperation.
"No. But annoying a monk surely is." He waved with his hand again. "I'm not asking again, Luc."
If looks could murder, Aramis would've lost his head right there, but the child finally did as Aramis asked and threw the harness in Aramis' hands. Luc already turned around and wanted to make an angry exit, but Aramis clasped his hand around the boy's arm.
"War is not a game, Luc. I'm not doing this to offend you, but I'm doing this to protect you."
Luc scowled.
"What do you know? You are safe behind the monastery's walls, what do you care about the war raging right outside these gates?"
Before Aramis could answer, the boy ran off towards the quarters.
"Too much…" Aramis murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, and sighed. He did mean no harm to the kid, but Luc didn't seem to understand that his frequent sneaking out and his 'preparations' for a war he was not supposed to fight in were dangerous.
Nobody but the abbot knew about Aramis' former profession as a musketeer. Even though Aramis wasn't sure it was a 'former' profession. Here and there, he still caught himself using his musketeer senses. A healthy mistrust towards strangers, a breakdown of battle details he was able to filter through the noises they occasionally heard at the monastery.
All he knew about the war was what the abbot told the monks. Last he heard, General Lantier was battling the Spanish troops in this area, in company of Captain Athos and the musketeer regiment. The abbot didn't tell them because he wanted them to take a side, he told them because he wanted them to be prepared for everything. As monks, they were mostly left alone, apart from some people seeking shelter here and there. Much to Aramis' discontent. Thanks to the last decade he spent in the regiment, he knew too well how some wicked men took advantage of another man's goodwill.
His mind wandered to his friends. He hadn't heard from Athos, Porthos or d'Artagnan personally in months. But he knew they were together, and the thought of that warmed his heart. He hoped they knew how much he longed to be there with them, but he also hoped they understood he had to keep his promise and that his stay here was the best he could do to prevent France from any harm, especially when they kept the whole Rochefort-affair in their minds.
His restlessness on the other side didn't wear off in the last months. The abbot never failed to remind him that he wasn't ready to take his vows; that his heart still beat too much for the life of a soldier.
So Aramis found his purpose in guiding the children, and watching over them in every free minute he could offer. And even though kids like Luc made him wanting to pull his hair at times, he loved them all dearly. Of course, his thoughts also didn't come to a rest when he thought about the Queen or the Dauphin. The child was old enough to identify someone as his father, and it wasn't Aramis. It was the King. Even though he knew he had to accept this, for the rest of his life, no matter what happened, he still craved for taking in some place in his son's life. But he knew it was too risky, and he couldn't endure putting them all through this once again.
He sighed, rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and made his way towards the court.
"Brother Aramis!" a voice called from above and Aramis looked up, eyes narrowed against the high noon sun. Brother Rimaud stood on the monastery's walls.
"Stay there a second, will you?" Brother Rimaud asked before he looked down the other side of the wall.
"Who are you?" Brother Rimaud talked to a stranger Aramis could not see. The monk then gestured the person behind the gate to take something off, probably the weapons, Aramis guessed.
Rimaud started to open the gate slowly and carefully.
Aramis' hand flew to his side because of an instinct, to reach for a sword he didn't have. So many months here, but some habits he couldn't abandon.
The opened gate revealed a man, in a Spanish uniform. His weapons were draped over a horse that waited a few lengths behind him. Aramis gestured him not to move, but the Spaniard didn't care and made a step to the side, only to reveal a young, blonde girl, looking so lost that Aramis drew in a deep, sharp breath to calm himself.
Brother Rimaud joined Aramis, his relaxed body being the absolute opposite of Aramis' tense appearance.
"You speak Spanish, don't you?" Brother Rimaud whispered in his ears and Aramis nodded carefully.
He posed his question, but the reason for this visit was obvious.
"Cómo podemos ayudar?" he asked the soldier, in order to learn about his doing here.
"El pueblo estaba desierto," the man answered slowly, tilting his head towards the girl.
"The village was abandoned," Aramis translated and turned towards Brother Rimaud.
"Está sola," the Spaniard continued. "Necesita una casa y cuidado."
"She is alone. She needs shelter and care." Aramis' face turned softer.
"Francesa?" he asked in order to find out what language he needed to speak with the girl.
The soldier nodded.
"Gracias," the Spaniard then said, and squeezed the girl's hand lightly before he turned around to mount his horse, probably to join the rest of the troops. Aramis gulped. So they were nearby. The French troops as well. It was only a matter of time until it clashed.
But scenes like this reminded him about how similar they all were. Aramis had spent half of his life as a soldier, a warrior, doing as he was told to fight anyone who could be a threat to France. But as much as it seemed like in war, there was only a good and a bad side; it has never been like that. They were all men, with no common history, trying to kill each other to protect what's theirs. But what he just witnessed was a man, a soldier who might murder one of Aramis' former comrades tomorrow, being equally touched by a little girl's fate as any French man would as well. They shared the same compassion and the same pity towards the most gruesome victims of war.
He blinked to regain control about his thoughts again before he slowly approached the little girl. Another orphan the monastery offered to care for. Another child whose life had taken a turn thanks to this war. And they were brought to the only place of peace they could go to in this area, the only neutral soil.
He was a little surprised that the girl didn't back off. When he wore the musketeer armor, a lot of children were very skeptical and a bit scared, probably thanks to their parents, but Aramis wore the gown of a monk now. He was supposed to radiate peace and security.
At least in this part he seemed to succeed. The girl looked curious, and even though her body language was the one of a scared and frightened child, her facial features spoke of such an innocence it sent chills down Aramis' back.
He got on his knees in front of her, and he carefully looked her in the eyes, but the girl stared to the ground.
"What's your name?" he asked with a soft voice, not daring to reach out with a hand as long as the child didn't feel safe.
The lips of the girl trembled while she answered.
"Marie."
Her voice was so grief-stricken that it nearly sent tears into Aramis' eyes.
"Marie. That's a beautiful name."
Her face lit up just a tiny bit.
"Marie, my name is Aramis," he continued carefully and he watched in surprise as her head shot up in alert by the mention of his name, but she didn't say anything. "We are going to take care of you. Nobody is going to harm you."
He offered her a steady hand and without hesitation, the girl took it. Aramis managed to hide his surprise to this reaction and he turned around to lead her into the courtyard, passing a smiling Brother Rimaud on their way in.
On Aramis' signal, the monk closed the gates again. Once inside, Aramis knelt down next to Marie again.
"Okay, Marie. This here is the monastery of Douai. These men here, they are all in the service of God."
Marie inspected the building with big, round eyes, glistening with a child's curiosity Aramis hadn't seen in years. He squeezed her hand in a comforting way.
"You are safe here, Marie." The lie escaped his lips way too easy, and he turned his head away so the nervous twitching of his muscles didn't give away anything. He quickly corrected himself. "We are going to protect you." There, not a lie. At least if he spoke for himself.
She looked at him, and seemed to gather her courage to speak up.
"You don't bring any fire?"
Aramis felt a shudder running down his back, and he furrowed his brow.
"What do you mean?" he asked, hoping that she didn't mean what he thought she meant.
"Please tell me you don't bring the fire. Or the steel. I heard so many…" Her voice was barely more than a whisper.
Aramis' heart broke for the little girl. He had no idea what she had witnessed, and he for sure wasn't going to ask her. He shook his head as a response.
"No, we only have fire to keep ourselves warm in the winter."
She still faced him with big, teary eyes.
"You don't hurt anyone?"
Aramis tried his best to show her a confident and warm smile.
"No. Here in the monastery, we help people. We help those in need."
She nervously bit her lip.
"Do you help the injured ones too? Maman always says that only the good people help those who need it."
Aramis furrowed his brow.
"Yes, we help everyone, man, woman, or child, that seeks shelter or demands our care."
The way she looked at him. As if she had met him once, but Aramis was sure this was his first time meeting the girl. Perhaps she had heard his name somewhere once, or met someone Aramis knew.
"Do you heal people? When they come back not feeling good?"
Aramis gave a weak chuckle.
"I try my best."
"Can you show me?"
The girl arrived in the monastery not even an hour ago and Aramis already knew that she had conquered his heart. He had led her to the quarters where the other kids were currently staying, and he had introduced her to all the others, before he had sat down in the corner of the room, a bible in his hands and pretending to study it. But his whole attention was focused on the children and the way they interacted with one another.
"My name is Luc!" the boy introduced himself, waving with his wooden sword he kept hidden under his bed and thought Aramis didn't know it. "No worries, nobody will harm you here. I will make sure of it," Luc declared.
Marie smiled shyly, but her eyes shined with horror as she saw the sword.
"Luc, put the sword down, now is not the time," Aramis admonished without even looking up.
He didn't see it, but he could hear the boy snorting disapprovingly.
"You'll have me to protect you inside these walls," Luc continued his babbling.
"From whom?" Marie countered.
Luc stuttered. "Well, any threat that may come upon you. Even if it's just Aramis telling you to stop something fun."
This time, Aramis looked up annoyed.
"Careful, Luc. Or you'll…"
"Yes, yes, I got it," Luc interrupted and Aramis needed all of his power to prevent the amused smile on his face.
"What about musketeers?" Marie asked now, in a voice so innocent it made Aramis cringe, but he didn't interrupt the children. He just observed.
"Well, what about musketeers?" Luc repeated, clearly confused.
"Maman always told me they would protect us."
Luc, being the undefeated admirer of the musketeers he was, laid a hand on Marie's arm.
"Yes, but the musketeers are protecting us outside of these walls. Inside, we don't have musketeers to protect us."
Oh, you have! Aramis thought but not a single sound escaped his lips.
"Do you like musketeers?" Luc asked Marie, obviously hoping he could add another member to his group.
Marie nodded hesitantly.
"Yes."
"Aramis?" Luc turned towards the monk. Aramis closed the bible and sighed.
"Yes, Luc, what can I do for you?"
"Can we go outside, play a little?"
Aramis raised a hand.
"Depends."
"On what?"
"What you want to play."
Luc's face remained inscrutable, but his eyes lit up with a kind of mischief Aramis had last seen in the eyes of his friend d'Artagnan.
"We want to play the story of the musketeers. Of Captain Athos, and his first meeting with d'Artagnan. And the great Porthos and his adventures at the palace."
A phantom fist punched Aramis in the chest, and wrapped its iron claws around his heart. He never thought it would hurt so much to be excluded from the tale of his friends, but he could only blame himself. It was Aramis who had told them the stories, how much of it the children actually believed to be true, he didn't know. But telling the stories helped to narrow the pain he felt in the ongoing absence of his brothers.
And so he let them play under his watch. He observed Luc claiming to be the great and courageous d'Artagnan, and he watched the kids chasing each other just for the fun of it. The giant walls of the monastery were like a shield that protected them from all the evil that lurked out there.
And Marie, the little girl that had probably seen so much evil in this world at her young age, she played and enjoyed the game. Aramis claimed to have seen a lot of the horror that this world. He had witnessed Savoy, he had been culpable for putting his son's life in danger, as well as the Queen's. He had seen the works of madmen, and the power of desperate and misunderstood people. Still, he was sure he had not only seen half as much as Marie. She wanted to help people, she had said. Her village burnt down, her family God knows where. But all she wanted was to care for the people. This simple way of thinking warmed Aramis' heart to a degree he didn't even think possible.
But Anger suddenly welled up in him as he saw how easily Marie was happy. She certainly wasn't happy when she was brought here, but perhaps she didn't even fully understand what had happened to her. It was the war that raged just in front of their door that caused the destruction of a child's happiness like this. It made him want to retrieve his weapons and end this himself, but he couldn't. A child's life was destroyed within seconds, because it was a necessary, strategic move, but nobody really seemed to care. The best thing to count on in times like these was the mercy of another man and God himself.
He thought about all the things these children had endured already, and he realized why he was doing what he was doing. He was going to be the father-figure for them that he couldn't be for his own son. He was going to guide them, and maybe just be a comforting presence, all he could do, so they still contained some of their childish happiness, that was just way too precious and too easily erased.
He watched happily as Marie was screeching with joy when one of the other girls chased her around, and he spotted Luc, the oldest of the kids, standing a little far to the right, watching with a content face.
Marie smiled such a short time after she was brought here.
With Luc, it had taken months until Aramis had seen him smile for the first time.
It's been a month since Marie's arrival at the monastery when she first got confronted with the immediate results of war. Aramis had let the children go outside of the monastery's walls to enjoy some time in the wild, but only under his watch, since he knew there may be battles raging nearby. He went out to collect some herbs that grew in this area. The monastery was running out of resources, the last cart with supplies was raided not too far from here before it had reached its destination. Marie insisted on accompanying him. She showed a great interest on how to heal the sick and wounded the people that sought shelter and the monks had offered to care for.
While Aramis explained the looks of the herbs to Marie, a guttural scream pierced through the air. Aramis' senses were on high alert when he spotted Luc running down the hill towards him, his eyes wide open in panic, carrying a young girl named Charlene on his arms that had tears streaming down her face.
"What happened?"
Luc, clearly trying hard to maintain an indifferent expression on his face, pointed towards a lump behind one of the trees, a short distance away from them.
Aramis took a few steps forward, narrowing his eyes in order to see better. After noticing the steel lying nearby as well as the grey cloak surrounding the lump, he knew what Charlene probably made so upset.
"Luc, bring the children back to the abbey," he ordered.
Luc shot him a sour glare.
"Don't treat me like a child."
Aramis whirled around, swallowing down an angry response and answering with a calming, but urgent voice: "I am not. I'm asking you to bring them back. They really shouldn't see this. Please, for once, just do as I say."
Luc looked puzzled, but he nodded hastily.
"Yes, Aramis."
And to Aramis' content, he led the children back towards the monastery, where they would be much safer for now. The way was not very long; the entrance to the monastery was in his eyesight, so he hoped that the children were able to do that without him. Still, he waited until he saw the gates close behind them before he turned towards what had made Charlene so upset.
And he felt a presence next to him, someone grabbing his hand tightly. He looked down to Marie, who apparently had escaped Luc's eyes and now looked up to him with big, round eyes.
He sighed.
"Alright, but you do as I say."
She nodded and grasped his hand even tighter, as he now slowly approached the body, bedded on leaves and dirt. It was a man, a soldier, obviously, even though Aramis couldn't tell whether he was Spanish or French. His head rested against the tree, the rest of his body sprawled on the ground, the blood soaking the earth underneath the man.
Aramis knelt down next to the man, rolling up his right sleeve to feel the the pulse. It was faint, but it was there. The monk then had a closer look at the knife that was still stuck in the man's abdomen. He carefully looked at the wound, strategically shielding Marie from it with his own body, when Marie suddenly screeched. Aramis turned towards her, but then he noticed the little girl staring at the man's face. Aramis followed her gaze and saw the eyes of the wounded man wide open, the blue iris staring back at him tiredly.
Aramis immediately faced the man, speaking loud and clear.
"Where else are you hurt?" he asked, hoping that the man was indeed French and was able to understand him.
He was lucky.
"Not…knife…attack," he mumbled senselessly, before his eyes closed again. Aramis frantically tore away the fabric of the shirt so he could treat the wound and maybe remove the knife.
Marie crawled over to the other side, putting her hand on the man's cheek while Aramis inspected the wound, carefully checking how deep the knife was embedded in the man's abdomen.
Suddenly, with a loud gasp, the man regained his senses and threw himself against Aramis' firm hold. The monk leaned over, while Marie again put her hand on the man's face in a soothing manner.
"Do you remember where you are?" Aramis calmly asked and the man's eyes locked on his, mistrust shining in his eyes.
"Who are you?" he grunted and tried to back away, unsuccessfully.
"My name is Aramis. I'm going to help you. But I need you to stay calm," Aramis instructed and waited until he got another reaction.
The man seemed to hesitate for another second, but after scanning Aramis' monk clothes, he nodded weakly.
"What is your name, soldier?" Aramis continued his questioning while he offered his water can to him. The soldier gratefully accepted and took a deep sip.
"They call me Chace."
"You're French?" Aramis asked unnecessarily.
Chace growled affirmative.
"I was on an errand for General Lantier," he panted and squeezed his eyes shut against the pain. "I was surprised by a Spanish patrol."
Aramis tilted his head in sympathy.
"I need to remove the knife before I can help you to the monastery as quickly as possible where we can take care of you. Otherwise, you're gonna bleed out."
Chace shook his head and clawed onto Aramis' sleeve.
"No," he grunted, his eyes desperately begging Aramis to understand. "I need to get back to the others, they need to know…" His hand clutched a letter, which was tainted with blood in spots.
Aramis gently took the letter from his hands.
"There is no way you can get back to the troops now. We'll make sure the letter is delivered to General Lantier." Chace didn't look convinced.
It was Marie that now made Chace look at her, her sweet, innocent face granting him a reassuring smile.
"He doesn't hurt people," she stated and looked up proudly to Aramis. "He helps them. He is going to help you, you don't have to worry."
Aramis didn't know what Marie had experienced before she was brought to Douai, but he had never expected her to stay so calm at this sight. Chace was surprised to see a child, he probably hasn't seen one in a while. Who knew how long he had been away from home until now.
Marie started to talk to Chace, and by the way the soldier reacted and interacted with her, Aramis guessed that he had a daughter himself. He asked her random questions, about her favorite color or her pretty dress, and Marie didn't show any fear at all answering these questions.
She kept him so occupied that Chace barely noticed Aramis pulling out the knife and treating the wound.
It was late at night. The children were sleeping in their beds, and the wounded men the monastery offered care for were treated as well as the monks could. The soldier, Chace, was still in a weak shape, but Aramis had kept his promise.
Later that day, he had delivered the letter to a French patrol that had passed the monastery, and which was on their way to the General. Aramis knew these men, since they visited the monastery rather often to look for their wounded soldiers, and they had promised him to deliver the letter as fast as possible.
Now he stood on a small balcony made of stone, right outside of the room where he had brought Chace. The night was quiet, and Aramis pulled his cloak tighter around his body to shield it from the cold breeze. The clouds covered the moon, and the torch attached to the outside of the monastery's walls were the only source of light.
Aramis sighed while he stared at his hands. He didn't have a chance to clean them yet, but looking down, he realized it was a wonder the children didn't run away, completely scared. His hands and parts of his cloak were covered in dried blood, occasionally mixed with dirt. He would have to clean it with water later before he'd go to bed.
Taking in a deep breath, he leaned over the wall and stared into the blackness that was this night. The silence made him nervous. It felt like the calm before the storm. There had been times where he had enjoyed the silence. It was the time during his time as a musketeer where he'd devote some moments to his faith and God, and sometimes just to himself to recover from an exhausting fight. But in Paris, he had known that once he walked back to the garrison, his friends would be waiting there, providing him with anything but silence. Porthos and d'Artagnan would fight over their recent card game, and they would have teased Athos for his brooding and grumpy behavior. Athos would've shut them up with a dry comment, but eventually, the bickering would've started again, and Aramis most likely would've joined in.
Here, the only things that disrupted the silence were the monk chants or the screams of wounded men, suffering in agony. The happy screeching and laughing of the children were the most beautiful sounds Aramis experienced in his everyday life at the moment.
Aramis suddenly flinched violently and got pulled out of his thoughts when a loud bang echoed through the silence of the night, accompanied by flashes of light thrown over the sky in the distance. Aramis had been a soldier almost all his life. He knew these sounds too well. The Spanish forces and the troops of King Louis finally clashed. A battle had started, and his friends were right in the middle of it.
Aramis clasped his dirty hands around the heavy, golden crucifix he wore around his neck and started praying loudly, his eyes clenched shut. He sent his friends all of his strength, and he just hoped that God would protect them. He prayed as if he talked to his friends face to face, speaking words of comfort and encouragement, and after a while, he finally concluded with an 'Amen' before kissing his pendant.
After casting one last glance to the distant battle, he turned on the heel and headed back inside, shutting the door behind his back. He almost ran into Chace. The soldier had a broad, and slightly blood-soaked bandage around his lower abdomen and stood by the door, his hand grasping the stone wall for support.
Aramis' eyes widened.
"You shouldn't be up, Monsieur!" he said and guided the wounded soldier back to his bed, lowering him slowly on the mattress. "And this time, you stay there!" Aramis commanded and granted Chace a stern look. "What were you thinking anyway?"
The French soldier looked at him tiredly, his eyes dull and a little glassy.
"I heard you outside," he answered with a low voice, in order to not wake the other men lying on their beds in this room.
Aramis didn't know what to answer to that.
"I saw a battle erupting not too far away from the monastery," he confessed, not reacting to Chace's prior statement at all.
"But you didn't just pray for the souls of the soldiers, did you?" The wounded soldier asked mercilessly.
Aramis looked to the floor, before he knelt down in front of Chace and helped him to lie down.
"I prayed for every soul embroiled in this war. But yes, I addressed a few more specific words to some men who are important to me."
"You have friends among the soldiers?" Chace asked sincerely, apparently not too surprised.
Aramis nodded.
"I'm sorry I listened, but those were very kind words." He laid a weak hand on Aramis' shoulder. "Pray to God they hear them."
Aramis smiled at him, thankful for the words out of the soldier's mouth, before he stood up again.
"You should get some rest."
Chace didn't react, but when Aramis turned on his heel to leave the room, he called him back.
"Brother, you said your name was Aramis, am I right?"
Aramis furrowed his brow, but nodded.
The French soldier closed his eyes briefly, and a grin appeared on his face.
"You know, there was a musketeer named Aramis once. I never met him, but his friends speak highly of him. The stories are told by Captain Athos himself."
An amused smile flashed over Aramis' face and he tried to hide how much these words warmed his heart.
"Really?" he asked. But he restrained himself. "Then it seems like I should be honored to carry the same name."
Chace stared at him, and Aramis wasn't quite sure what was going on in the soldiers mind. He turned to leave again and almost reached the door, when Chace posed another question.
"So, you are not this man? A soldier, fighting the good fight side by side with his friends, who is protecting France from evil?"
Aramis turned around again one last time, his hand already on the door-knob, a reassuring smile on his face.
"Me, Monsieur? I'm just a monk. And as a monk, I'm telling you to rest now."
Finally. To see his friends again after all this time was like the answer to all his prayers in the past couple of months. To say Luc had been excited to learn that Aramis used to be a musketeer was an understatement. The boy now looked at the monk with so much admiration that Aramis actually did feel proud to return to his brothers.
He never felt so close to God than he did while being out in the danger with Porthos. He knew Porthos was mad at him, and the words We learned to live without you did hurt, though he knew that Porthos just needed some time. He couldn't blame him, but he certainly wasn't going to feel bad for what he did in the last years. Perhaps it had been necessary. But if he hadn't been, who knew who would've guided those children and protected them. Still, in some way, he felt he was born to be a musketeer, and now he stood here in the chapel, making his final decision to rejoin his brothers.
God works in mysterious ways, does he not? Milady's voice echoed in his head. Indeed he does.
"That's what you made me…," Aramis whispered into the room. "A musketeer."
He noticed Athos walking up to him from behind.
"You are many things, Aramis," the captain said. "But a monk is not one of them."
God, how he had missed these conversations. Aramis put an arm around Athos and walked him out of the chapel.
"You can't argue with God."
Athos chuckled, but a thought crossed Aramis mind and he came to a halt in the hallway in front of the chapel. Athos stopped too and raised a questioning eyebrow.
"What is it?"
"The children. The children, I cannot let them…" He swallowed hard as he fought against the desire to run outside, mount a horse and join the musketeer regiment back in Paris. "I can't leave them. They have no one, Athos. No one, but…"
"You," Athos interrupted with a soft voice.
"They had everything taken away from them, Athos," Aramis continued, his hands unknowingly clawed into the captain's sleeve. "All these years, all I ever wished for was to stand by your side again. To fight France's battles, to resume my duty. But who is going to take care of the ones everyone seems to forget?"
Athos knew that Aramis wasn't referring to him specifically, or trying to insult him. He was stating facts Athos knew were true.
"Your departure left a gap between us that couldn't be filled in all these years," Athos stated with a steady voice. "I would lie if I'd say that I don't wish for you to rejoin us. But I understand that you feel responsible for these children."
Aramis' hand found grip on Athos' shoulder.
"Someone has to protect them."
Athos nodded his head, but didn't manage to hide his disappointment.
"Aramis," another voice stated from the entrance and Aramis whirled around to meet the eyes of Luc.
"Luc. Aren't you supposed to wait outside with the others?"
Luc shook his head and made a slow step towards the two men.
"I heard what you talked about. You are not letting us down."
Aramis folded his arms in front of his chest.
"I do, if I leave now."
Luc shook his head again, more vigorously this time.
"No. When we came here, all we knew was fear and mistrust. That's all the kids, and myself, knew from this world the past years. But look what you've made out of us." The boy gestured outside, where the other children were gathered around Porthos and d'Artagnan. "They had so much joy under your care, Aramis. They had no hopes, but you showed them what each and every one of them is capable of. Yes, you had a strict regiment at times, but we needed that sometimes I guess."
Athos next to him huffed a surprised chuckle.
"Aramis? Strict?"
But Luc continued with a deadpan expression.
"You showed us that there is so much more to this world than just the war raging outside of these gates." He made a pause and smiled. "Marie is going to be an excellent healer one day because of the things you taught her. You are like a father to us. You guided us towards a better future, and you didn't even realize that."
Aramis smiled at him with a certain sadness.
"Who is going to look out for you?"
Luc's facial expression turned soft and he merely shrugged.
"I'm sure the monks will protect us the best they can. And if anyone else tries to bother us…" He pulled his wooden sword from his belt. "I'll protect the children."
Aramis grinned in upright honesty.
"I am sure you will."
Aramis made a step closer to Luc, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed Athos giving them some space.
"You, Luc, are one of the most courageous men I've met in my entire life. Take care of the children for me. And if you need help, don't hesitate to contact the musketeer garrison. We'll always be there."
Luc nodded.
"Oh and…," Aramis added before he straightened up again. "Behave."
The boy rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Aramis."
Aramis hesitated for another second, but Luc interfered before he could say anything.
"Go and protect this country and its people," the boy spoke and suddenly his face beamed with adoration as he added another word.
"Musketeer."
He sounded so proud it warmed Aramis' heart.
Aramis then walked out of the building, accompanied by Luc and Athos. He bid farewell to the monks and the other children. Marie jumped into his arms as she had done so often, and afterwards, she put some flowers in his hand.
"What for?" he asked her in a friendly-mocking voice.
"To help the people," she said. "At the time, you said you'll try to help people. Will you use this to help people where you are going?"
The musketeer smiled broadly at her and took her face between his hands, gently stroking her hair.
"I promise."
Finally, he mounted his horse and reunited with his brothers, he left the monastery. While Porthos and d'Artagnan took the lead, Athos and Aramis followed behind them, keeping some distance. Aramis looked at Athos, who nervously played with the reins of his horse. Aramis had never seen Athos look nervous, but he also hadn't seen him in a few years.
"Do they talk about it at all in Paris?" The question escaped his lips before he could actually think about it and he knew that was exactly the thought that had crossed Athos' mind as well.
"You mean the children."
Aramis said nothing and Athos sighed.
"Yes, they did at the court. At least what I heard. Nobody likes it, I mean how could a man approve of these things? But strategists and war enthusiasts call it the hazards of war one has to expect."
Hazards of War, Aramis thought bitterly. A smile wiped off a child's face, but it was just another hazard of war.
"It feels good to be back, Athos," Aramis said to take some of the tension out of the air.
Athos grinned.
"You were deeply missed, Aramis."
The honesty in his voice raised a smile out of Aramis.
And together, they headed off towards Paris. He sighed. From what he heard, Paris was in a bad place as well. D'Artagnan told him that last they heard, the King seemed to be far more distanced these days, occupying himself with the Dauphin the whole time, not showing great interest in what was going on in his city. The Queen was helpless, and the royal business was in the hands of Governor Feron, while Minister Tréville was occupied with the war.
But Aramis still thought he was going to help to make it alright. He could be in service of the crown back in Paris, and maybe he could help to put this war to an end. He would do everything within his power, and he somehow knew that it was going to work out.
The sooner the war ended, the better the chances were to preserve an innocent child's future.
All glory and praise were nothing, compared to a child's smile.