Note: Quotes and title from Amanda Palmer's "Point Of It All". I need to stop listening to music. It makes me write things.
Point Of It All
Chapter One
Oh, what a noble, distinguished collection
Of fine little friends you have made
Hitting the tables without you again
No we'll wait, no we promise, we'll wait
"Perhaps it's for the best. You didn't love her, did you?" Athos gave Aramis a questioning look over the rim of his glass.
Marguerite had chosen to end their little affair. If he was being truthful, Aramis would miss the opportunity to see his son more than the woman he professed to care so much for. But it cut him up to admit the fact. He gave so much of himself to the women he loved, he never treated them as notches on his bedpost. Yet here he was seducing an innocent party to get at his son. It cheapened everything.
Aramis looked away, pointedly not answering Athos' question.
"Come now, Aramis. You and I both know why you chose her out of all the women in Paris. What happened to keeping your distance?"
"Would you be able to? Knowing he was right there…"
"Yes, because I've got a modicum of self control. Unlike you." Athos leaned forwards to pour them both another glass of wine. "But this is not the place for such talk."
"No…" Aramis took the glass up and knocked back a mouthful.
"There'll be somebody else. There always is."
But there was only one woman he wanted to be with, and he might as well have fallen for a unicorn. Their love was impossible, it was forbidden. Aramis had dalliances with other men's wives, but when the man in question was the king it made everything a lot more lethal. Still, he couldn't help loving who he loved. Every other woman Aramis took to bed felt like a deception. Instead of affection, he gave lies. Each kiss and caress would be the most wonderful fiction…
A roar from Porthos' table broke Aramis from his thoughts. The man himself came over shortly afterwards, grinning broadly and followed behind by a rather more subdued d'Artagnan.
"Another bottle of wine my friends?"
"I take it you won then?" Athos said with a half smile.
"He cleaned us all out." d'Artagnan muttered sullenly.
"Well, at least he's being generous with his winnings, hm?"
As Porthos called out for more wine one of the men he had been playing with passed by and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Porthos! I demand a rematch tomorrow night." The action was friendly enough. It was one of their musketeer compatriots, an amiable man named Duval.
"Of course, I will happily lighten your purse a little more!" Porthos picked up the wine bottle in a salute to the gracious loser.
~oOo~
It was a few days later when Aramis made his way to the tavern in a terribly sullen mood. He had tried to speak to Marguerite to clear the air between them, but she wouldn't even see him. As he stood at the door to her chambers, one of the ladies in waiting blocked the way and insisted he leave. In the end Aramis gave up and turned away. The door slammed at his back, and the wail of an unsettled babe broke the air a moment later. It tore his heart to pieces.
Aramis really didn't feel like merry making at the tavern. All the raucous bellowing and laughter made for an atmosphere he would endure rather than enjoy. On his arrival Porthos tried to put an arm around his shoulders, but it was brushed off with a muttered excuse. The man already had a few drinks down him and he was grinning like an idiot. Instead Aramis slipped into a seat by Athos, while Porthos went to join a game of cards with d'Artagnan, Duval and a few others. Athos was partially slumped across the table. If he seemed a little more drunk than usual Aramis wasn't going to mention it. In fact, he wasn't going to mention anything. Athos was a man of few words and he looked quite beyond conversation anyway. Aramis simply pulled the bottle of wine from Athos' lax grip and poured himself a glass, content to join his friend in drowning their sorrows away.
By the time Porthos and d'Artagnan joined their table again Aramis was finding it a little hard to focus. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realise Duval had joined them, and it was a few moments more before he recalled the man's name.
Porthos was saying something to him. He supposed he should try to listen.
"Remember Lucie De Foix?"
"Hm?" Aramis tried to push himself up a little straighter and look somewhat attentive.
"I'm thinking of tracking her down. I'd like to ask her a few questions."
At that Duval gave Porthos a dig in the ribs with his elbow. "I bet you would, you old dog!"
Porthos laughed at the insinuation. "Not like that! I'm hoping she might know something about her brother, and whatever secret Treville is sitting on."
Before Aramis could get his sluggish tongue to answer, Duval chipped in.
"I might be of some assistance there. The other week I was on guard duty at the palace when the beautiful Lucie De Foix walked in to court."
"Steady on there. d'Artagnan, didn't you say she kissed you?" Something mischievous twinkled in Porthos' eye.
An indignant sound came from the lad. "I said she kissed me in front of Constance, and nothing good came of it!"
Duval clapped the lad on his shoulder. "Well if there's nothing going on between you two, I shall continue to call her beautiful, and anything else I fancy!"
Something in Aramis bristled at that, but the others laughed.
"Well go on man! What is it? You're as bad as Aramis, getting distracted by beautiful women." Porthos shot him a grin, but it died on seeing Aramis' frown.
"As I was saying, the radiant Lucie was seen by the king and queen. With her brother's death she was made a ward of the Comte de la Capelle, an old family friend from what I heard. I don't know if she intends to stay in Paris or return to his lands, but I'll help you make enquiries if you wish?"
"Oh I can see through you like a pane of glass Duval. You really are as bad as Aramis!" Porthos laughed loudly.
"Only trying to help a friend in need!"
Aramis' frown deepened. He felt like the conversation was going on all around him and there were jokes at his expense.
And then there was a thud as Athos' head finally hit the table.
d'Artagnan was straight on his feet and at Athos' side a moment later. "I think I'd better take him home…"
Aramis watched the two of them weave their way to the door, and then his attention was back on Porthos and Duval. They spoke between themselves in lower voices now, Aramis couldn't keep track of what they were saying. Eventually he tired of it and longed for bed, he stumbled to his feet and leaned heavily against the table.
"I'm off…"
Porthos just looked up at him. "Night Aramis."
Duval gave a tip of his non-existant hat, and then they were back to their conversation.
Aramis wavered a moment before making his way home alone.
~oOo~
It was a week or so later when Aramis sat watching the others sparring. He was cleaning his guns meticulously while Athos crossed swords with d'Artagnan and Porthos traded blows with Duval. Eventually the latter broke apart and Porthos came to sit with Aramis, he was panting hard and sweating with the exertion.
"Did you win?" Aramis asked flatly, more taken with the cloth and pistol beneath his hands.
"No… but once he comes back for some more action I'll challenge him to hand to hand - and then I'll win."
Aramis exhaled an amused huff of breath.
Porthos suddenly turned serious, though there was an excited undercurrent to his words. "You know, I managed to find Lucie, well Duval did really, but I spoke with her."
"And?"
"She's not sure of anything herself, but the General used to write letters to an old friend he served with."
"Not Treville?"
"No, not him, though I'm sure Treville must have known him - A man named Vidal. If Treville won't talk, maybe he will."
Aramis' hands stilled on the pistol, he looked up at Porthos. "What will you do?"
"Go to see him. He lives somewhere near Amiens."
"You'll need to get leave…" Aramis pointed out warily.
"I know, and I won't be able to tell Treville why I'm going or who I'm going to see." Porthos sighed. "I'll think of something. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you would come with me?"
Porthos looked at him so hopefully. There was no question of him refusing.
"Of course, well… if you can manage to wangle leave for both of us that is."
As it happened Porthos managed to secure leave for a few weeks later. He told Treville he had to run an errand for Madame Clerbeaux regarding a personal matter. The Captain hadn't asked too many questions. He considered it impolite to pry into the affairs of a lady.
~oOo~
"Careful Athos…" Aramis hissed in pain.
"Do you want me to fetch a physician?"
No, he most certainly did not…
They had been pursuing a thief through the marketplace when Aramis turned too sharply and went over on his ankle. Athos had brought him back to a sick room in the garrison while Porthos and d'Artagnan carried on the chase. He considered it downright embarrassing. Injuries in this line of work were fairly common, but they were usually caused by something a little more heroic than falling over your own feet.
"No… no, I don't think it's broken."
"You don't think?" Athos raised an eyebrow while he continued tugging at Aramis' boot. The joint was swelling and it did not want to come off.
Aramis swore and writhed on the bed at Athos' persistent pulling. Eventually it came off and the air turned blue with colourful language. They both looked down at the injured limb. It was nicely swollen and already starting to bruise.
"I'd better tell Treville you're going to be off duty for some time."
Aramis made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat before throwing himself back on the bed.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
Aramis sighed before answering. "Something to read if I'm to be stuck here… and I don't need to see a physician, but if you would ask one for a salve made up of wolfsbane I would appreciate it."
It was some time later when Athos returned with the salve and a couple of books. He placed them on the bedside table and handed the salve to Aramis.
"Did they catch the thief?" Aramis asked, while delicately rubbing the wolfsbane into his injured limb.
"I don't know, I haven't seen them to ask." Athos settled down into a chair beside the bed. He'd brought a bottle of wine for himself.
Aramis hoped Porthos and d'Artagnan hadn't come to harm. But he needn't have worried, Porthos slipped into the room shortly after.
"Did you get him?" Aramis asked the instant he appeared.
"Yeah, 'course we did. d'Artagnan's just finishing up with him at the prison. Thought I'd get away and see how you are." Porthos wandered to the end of the bed and hissed in sympathy at Aramis' swollen ankle. "Looks painful."
"It is." Aramis managed a wan smile.
"Watch where you put your feet next time, won't you?"
"I think I'll leave the chasing to you entirely."
After a while they rose to leave - Porthos had arranged to meet with Lucie, and Athos most likely had an appointment with a few more bottles of wine. Aramis asked him to leave the remains of the one he'd brought. Aramis would be needing it.
~oOo~
Aramis passed the days varying between frustration and depression. He wasn't one to enjoy inactivity at the best of times, and the pain of his ankle was a constant throb. When Aramis tired of reading he was left with his thoughts, and they inevitably turned to Anne and his child. The love he could never have and the child he would never know. There was nothing but pain to be had there.
The only bright points to his day were the visits of his friends. But there was still something amiss… Whenever one of them was injured the other three all gathered at their bedside, drinking, laughing, playing cards. It was as if the tavern had moved to the sick room. Now they came one at a time, never stopping for long. Athos often visited with bottles of wine and a new book. When Aramis asked after the other two he was told Porthos was visiting Lucie or with Duval, and d'Artagnan was taken with Constance. When d'Artagnan came by he said Athos had crawled inside a bottle and insinuated Milady being back was weighing on him. Of course, Athos being Athos he hadn't said a word about it to Aramis.
Taking a leaf out of his friend's book Aramis just drank to numb the pain. He couldn't wait to be back on his feet again.
Eventually the time came when the frustration became too much. Aramis had been limping around the room and had made it down to the garrison courtyard a couple of times. It hurt like hell, but the tavern wasn't much further really. He was convinced he could make it.
Step by painful step Aramis haltingly walked his way to the tavern. Once or twice he had to stop to lean against the wall of a building and get the weight off his injured limb. But he was determined to get there. When Aramis finally reached the door of the tavern he was sweating buckets. He felt like he'd run a mile. But he couldn't help but smile as he pushed it open. The oh so familiar scent of alcohol and smoke hit Aramis as he stepped inside, but his eyes searched for their usual table to find the corner empty.
Taken aback for a moment, Aramis looked about the tavern. He found his friends across the room, seated around a table laughing and playing cards. Even Athos had been lured from his corner and wore a half smile - that was practically giddy by Athos' standard. Aramis wasn't surprised to see Duval with them. An unpleasant feeling unfurled in his chest. It was something like hatred… but Aramis reasoned he couldn't hate Duval, he barely knew the man.
In any case, Aramis' good mood had suddenly died. The others seemed to be enjoying themselves without him, and so Aramis secured a bottle of wine and limped painfully towards Athos' old seat. Ensconced in the corner he set about drinking and tried to ignore the frequent bursts of laughter from the other table. Idly, he wondered how long it might take them to notice him. After another bottle, he didn't particularly care.
"Aramis?"
A hand shook him gently. Aramis picked his head up from the table and tried to blink the world back into focus.
"How did you get here?"
Ah, so they had noticed him then… Well, d'Artagnan had at least.
"Where are…" Aramis didn't manage to ask the rest of his question, but d'Artagnan seemed to get the gist.
"They've gone home, it's getting late. You didn't walk all the way here did you?"
Aramis gave a nod.
"I didn't think you were supposed to be putting weight on that leg yet." The lad had a way to go before he could sound as authoritative as Athos.
"m'fine… can walk."
"You didn't look like it last time I saw you try."
"I can walk." Aramis did his best to glare at d'Artagnan. "... can walk better than you can walk."
d'Artagnan held up his hands. "If you insist. But I don't think that's true tonight, let's get you back, hm?"
Aramis stared at d'Artagnan fuzzily for a moment before holding out an arm for him to grab. The two of them lurched out of the tavern and back towards the garrison. Their journey back was anything but graceful. At least the alcohol had gone a long way to numbing the pain of Aramis' ankle. He was stumbling along on it without much of a care. The bigger problem was the ground - it had become most uneven, pitching this way and that, determined to trip him up. Thankfully d'Artagnan was a steady presence at his side. The lad got him back in bed in one piece. Just before Aramis drifted off he heard d'Artagnan mention they would be back at the tavern tomorrow night. He would have to go again. The wine had been most pleasant.
However, it wasn't all that pleasant the morning after. Aramis woke, as he always did, to the feeling that he was being repeatedly stabbed in the joint of his ankle. But he also had a fierce headache and his mouth felt like something had died in it. Still, he wasn't deterred. That night he hobbled along to the tavern again. For a moment hope flickered in his heart. They knew he would be there, surely d'Artagnan…
The hope in his heart quickly died. The table was empty, and they were nowhere to be seen.
Aramis asked a few familiar faces if they knew where Porthos and the others had gone. That ugly hateful feeling reared its head again at the answer… They had retired early to Duval's lodgings. Aramis clenched his fists. He had half a mind to turn up there, but he didn't know where the man lived. Instead he turned around and went back the way he had come. Each step hurt, but the pain merely fueled his anger.
~oOo~
It was another week before Aramis could walk well enough to conceal his limp. The swelling had gone down some, though his ankle and foot were still bruised, and it stiffened terribly overnight. His boot lent the limb some stability, and getting a handle on the pain let him walk along fairly well without faltering. In any case, he just needed to get to Treville's office and solicit a mission from the Captain. He couldn't stand being cooped up any longer, and the sporadic visits of his friends brought bitterness rather than joy.
Treville turned a skeptical eye on Aramis, but he insisted he was fit enough for a mission. In the end he was given something easy to do - deliver a package to a contact in Rouen. It was the sort of task a raw recruit would be entrusted to do alone. Even so, Treville told Aramis he was to take Porthos with him. When he started to protest the Captain made it clear in no uncertain terms that it was a choice between taking Porthos or going back to bed. That gained Aramis' begrudging assent.
He very carefully made his way down the stairs to find Athos and d'Artagnan sparring in the courtyard. Athos caught sight of Aramis and merely raised an eyebrow at seeing him up and about.
d'Artagnan threw one last thrust before pausing and turning to Aramis. "Where are you off to?"
Aramis sat down at the bench, trying not to make his relief too obvious. "I'm taking a package to Rouen. Have you seen Porthos?"
"Are you sure you're up to it?" Athos nodded down at his leg.
"I'll manage. Now have you seen him or not? He's supposed to go with me." The pain was perhaps making him sound a little more short than he meant to.
Athos seemed to hesitate before answering. "I believe he and Duval went to visit Lucie de Foix."
Aramis pursed his lips. Of course that's where Porthos would be…
"I don't know when he'll be back. I'm sorry." Athos looked at him with something approaching sympathy.
"Well, I'm not going to wait. I'll see you later gentlemen." Aramis got to his feet and tried to stride across to the stables without letting his steps falter.
"I can come in his stead, if you give me a moment-"
Aramis cut Athos off abruptly. "No, I don't need you. I'll manage."
And so Aramis undertook the journey alone. At first it was a relief to be on a horse and off his feet, but keeping his ankle immobile in the stirrup for so long made it stiff. The feeling of being stabbed repeatedly returned fourfold. Aramis had intended to stay on the road and make camp when darkness fell, but as he passed an inn the thought of a chair and a good meal was too tempting. Dismounting was a nightmare though. Aramis tried to slither off the back of his horse as carefully as he could, but he still hit the ground with some impact. It brought tears to his eyes and he had to hold on to the saddle for a moment, trusting his horse to keep him upright.
On setting out again the sky clouded over and a fine drizzle settled in for the duration. Aramis pulled his cloak a little tighter about his shoulders. It was the sort of rain that didn't look too bad, but wet you through entirely. The weather suited his mood. With nobody to talk to the darkest of Aramis' thoughts came to the forefront of his mind. He dwelt on the pain of his son… the son he could never acknowledge as his own. The son he would watch grow from afar. Aramis would be nothing more to the boy than a subject, a soldier, a common man. He wanted to be so much more. He wanted to put his arms around Anne again too. All he had were memories of their night together, and though he held onto them dearly he knew the touch of her lips and each gentle caress would fade eventually. Every other woman was a poor substitute. Following that thought inevitably led to Marguerite. Aramis cursed himself for what he had done. She wasn't Anne, but she deserved to love somebody who loved her in return. Marguerite knew he didn't feel that way about her. She thought he was with her simply for one thing. It was true in a way... It just wasn't the one thing Marguerite expected.
Aramis cursed as the rain came down a little harder. He tried to drag his thoughts away from matters of the heart. For one last moment he wondered if Anne thought as about him as much as he thought about her, and then he let it go… But his thoughts didn't settle on anything happier. They came to circle around the situation with his friends. He felt he was drifting apart from them, and it pained him just as much. d'Artagnan seemed occupied with Constance, or Athos, who was falling into his bottle a little too much of late. He seemed to have been confiding in the lad a little anyway, even if it hurt to think he wouldn't speak to Aramis. As for Porthos, he was chasing Lucie de Foix, or spending time with his new friend, Duval. Sometimes both at the same time by the sounds of it. Aramis' fists tightened on the reins thinking of Duval. He couldn't shake the feeling he was being replaced. Hatred blossomed in his heart, even as he tried to reject it the barbs took root. Aramis couldn't make sense of it all. It would be easier if there was something to hate about Duval, but there wasn't. He was a perfectly amiable and honourable gentleman, as quick to laugh and love as Aramis. For a moment Aramis mused on the fact he might hate the man because he saw a reflection of himself…
Aramis' horse gave a fierce shake, sending up a spray of raindrops and startling the man from his thoughts. He gave the horse a pat on the withers, neither one of them was enjoying this weather. They had slowed down some as the road deteriorated beneath their feet. The ground here was higher and rocky protrusions littered the grass either side of the road.
Suddenly a shout came from behind.
"Aramis!"
He twisted around to see a figure riding up fast. Aramis had half a mind to ride off, but he didn't want to risk the horse's legs going at speed on rutted ground.
The figure drew up alongside him and he turned to see Porthos peering out from under the wide brim of his hat.
"What are you doing here?"
"I was supposed to come with you. That's what Athos said anyway."
Aramis bristled. "I don't need you, I don't need a keeper."
"I'm not here to keep you." Porthos sounded dejected.
"Then why are you here? This is a simple errand to run. Wouldn't your time be better spent with Lucie, or your new friend, Duval?" Aramis couldn't keep the bitterness from his voice.
"What do you mean by that?" A note of irritation had crept in.
"I mean, you seem to be enjoying your time with them of late. Have you forgotten your old friends?" Aramis bit back.
"I've forgotten nobody!"
"Well you sure as hell fooled me!" The spark of anger had lit in his heart. "Where have you been? Where were you when I needed you?"
"I was right here! But you weren't." Porthos growled. "I don't know what's going on with you, but you're not the Aramis I know. You've pushed me away and you brood in the corner as bad as Athos, if not worse! You won't talk to me, but at least I cared... You don't, do you? Have you even asked once? You don't give a damn what I'm going through!"
"You cared? What a strange way of showing it!"
"And here we go again! You only care about yourself, not a thought for anybody else!"
"I thi-" For one fleeting moment Aramis almost spoke of the others he had been thinking about… his son, Anne, Marguerite. But he couldn't. "I don't need you any more Porthos. Go home."
With that Aramis turned his horse off the road to ride across the grass. He gave little thought to the safety of himself or his horse. He just wanted to get away from Porthos. He was in danger of saying something he couldn't take back.
"Aramis! Slow down!" Porthos yelled behind him.
Aramis shot a quick look over his shoulder to see Porthos had given chase and was gaining ground rapidly. They didn't manage to get much further before there was a shout. Aramis pulled his horse up and turned about to find Porthos lying on the ground out cold. Porthos' mount looked as if it had tripped or slipped, now having gained its footing he wandered to look down at his rider. Aramis swore and made his way over. He near threw himself off his own horse, swearing a little more as it jarred his ankle. A quick examination revealed an abrasion to Porthos' temple, winding around the outside of his eye, leading to a gash running down his cheek. It seeped blood. Aramis dug through his pockets and pulled out a handkerchief to press against the wound. Just to his side lay a prominent rock - so that had been the cause.
"Porthos?" Aramis shook the man forcefully. "Porthos, wake up."
There was no response.
"Porthos, I need to get you up. Let's get out of this rain…"
Still nothing.
Aramis looked around at the various rocky protrusions. There was one not far away with enough of an overhang to shelter under.
"Please Porthos, wake up…"
Aramis tried one last time before pulling the man's arm over his shoulder and struggling to his feet. He grit his teeth against the pain in his ankle. Aramis found it hard enough bearing his own weight, let alone that of Porthos as well. He stumbled slowly, dragging Porthos over to the rock inch by inch. When finally Aramis collapsed beneath the overhang he found his eyes had been streaming with tears, though it was hard to tell them apart from the rain on his cheeks.
He wasn't done. He still had to fetch the horses.
Now it felt like a fiery poker was being thrust into his ankle. Aramis bit his lip and whined with every step. Whatever progress he had made seemed to have come undone. He grabbed the reins of their horses and leaned heavily against one as he led them over to their shelter. There wasn't much to secure the horses to, apart from a bit of brush. Aramis hoped it would be enough, musketeer horses were usually well trained enough not to go wandering.
Aramis retrieved his sewing kit from one of the saddlebags before limping back to Porthos' side. He took a moment to gather himself and breathe through the agony of his aching limb, and then he pulled the kit onto his lap. Carefully he unfolded it and leaned back against the hard rock. It dug into him uncomfortably, but what was one more discomfort? Aramis looked down at Porthos and felt sick at the harsh words that had passed between them. Then he looked out at the grey land and the relentless rain, feeling his heart fall into his feet. Slowly Aramis pulled out a needle and tried to steady his hands to thread it.
Was Porthos right? Was this his fault?
The thread slipped through the eye of the needle, and Aramis held it up between his hands, letting it dangle before his face. He looked past it, absorbed by the hiss of the rain.
And then he set to sewing Porthos together again, like he always did.
But you've got the needle
I guess that's the point of it all