Fortuitous Tragedies

Chapter 2

Silence had returned to their journey, but it was an amicable one, both men comfortable with the other, neither wanting to upset the new balance they'd seemed to find. Aramis sat straighter in the saddle, his shoulders lighter, for the moment unburdened of the darkness that had been weighing him down since his return to duty. He knew he'd been isolating himself from the rest of the regiment, but he couldn't seem to help it. His sorrow at losing so many brothers – and being unable to help them - was daunting, and he knew not how to quell the feelings of anger and guilt that swirled within his mind at his survival.

He tried not to think about it, but the harder he tried to forget, the more the memories pressed on his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he saw his comrades' dead bodies strewn upon the field, preserved by the cold, dusted with a blanket of snow. The crows had come later, looking to dine upon the carrion, and Aramis had done his best to keep them away. But their numbers were many and he was but one man, alone and wounded, unable to protect the brothers whose lives had been given under such heinous circumstances.

The task had been daunting and even Captain Treville had not faulted him for his failure. By the time the rest of the regiment had ridden to secure the sight, the bodies had been picked over and the blood had turned black, no longer discernable from the mud with which it merged. It was a scene that would forever play in his mind's eye, a reminder of his inadequacy, a specter of his failure.

He glanced at his companion, his thoughts brightening as he studied the other man. Porthos had been diligent in his attempts to bring Aramis from his melancholy. Despite receiving no encouragement in return, the big man had never let Aramis' complete disregard of his presence stop him from returning each and every day to fill the empty space near him. At first, he'd barely registered the company, but soon he'd begun to notice the familiar presence and a warmth had begun to settle in his gut whenever the other man drew near. Porthos had never asked after him or tried to force him into conversation, merely sitting quietly, letting Aramis know he wasn't alone.

And maybe it had been enough to keep him from losing himself entirely; enough to keep him grounded until his mind could find purchase and begin to sort through the turmoil, finding a hold back in the reality of the world. Aramis didn't know how to repay this man – this virtual stranger – for such a noble act of kindness. He wasn't entirely sure it hadn't all been in vain, but he was humbled by the attempt all the same.

"What's that?"

Aramis looked up, following Porthos' outstretched arm to a point on the horizon. Smoke billowed in the distance, black and thick, on the far side of the field they were passing. It was probably less than a lieu away and Aramis could make out the bright flicker of orange flames under the rolling plumes.

"A fire," Aramis responded. "From the smoke, I would say it's from a structure. Perhaps a barn."

"Should we investigate?"

Aramis looked at his companion, seeing the hope and uncertainty in his expressive face. He was aware this was Porthos' first mission as a Musketeer and understood the man's hesitation to deviate from his orders, but his desire to help was obvious and Aramis could not find it in himself to dissuade him.

"Our mission takes precedence, but I doubt the papers we have been entrusted are so important the Cardinal would not understand a slight delay. We are, above all, protectors of France," Aramis shrugged. "It is our duty to lend aid wherever we see injustice." His words were met with a smile of relief, and Aramis was glad to be able to consent to his new friend's unspoken plea.

"Then I say we see if there is anything we can do."

Aramis grinned. "Spoken like a true Musketeer." He reined his horse from the road and led Porthos across the field.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The fire raged, billowing smoke high into the sky when they arrived at the small farmstead across the field. As the two Musketeers approached, Aramis leapt off his horse before the animal had even stopped, running toward a small house, engulfed in flames, Porthos on his heels.

A man was at the open door of the structure, fighting against the fire, struggling to breathe through the smoke rolling from inside. Aramis grabbed the man by the shoulders and turned him, tossing him back into Porthos' grasp.

"My wife!" the man screamed as he struggled in the larger man's grip. "She's still inside!"

Exchanging a look with Porthos, Aramis dove through the doorway, disappearing through the wall of flames.

"Aramis!" Porthos shouted even as he dragged the farmer back from the searing heat of the fire. His eyes scanned the inferno, searching for any sign of his friend. The farmer dropped to his knees, his blackened face a picture of misery as he slumped, defeated in the dirt. Porthos moved forward, holding an arm up against the intensity of the heat, swallowing his coughs as the smoke filled his lungs. "Aramis!"

He noticed a bucket near a rain barrel and rushed across the distance, grabbing the bucket from the ground and dropping it into the half-filled barrel. He hurried back to the house, throwing the water against open doorway, trying to douse the flames. The wood hissed and the fire sputtered but did not relent its consummation of the house. He repeated the action, only vaguely aware of the farmer grabbing a second bucket and following suit.

An ominous groan from the structure preceded part of the roof caving in, sending the flames higher into the sky and forcing Porthos back, away from the intense heat of the flames. Just as Porthos was gathering breath to scream his friend's name once more, a figure rushed from the doorway, just as the rest of the structure disintegrated leaving nothing but a frame of stone and mason.

Aramis staggered blindly out into the fresh air, coughing, a woman wrapped in his cloak draped over his shoulder.

"Laure!" The man rushed forward, taking the burden from the Musketeer, hugging his wife as she choked and coughed, gasping in the fresh air. Aramis staggered back and dropped to a knee, hacking as he tried to draw breath into his lungs. Porthos knelt next to his friend, his eyes scanning him quickly for any signs of injury. Finding nothing but a few small burns across his hands and neck – his heavy leathers no doubt saving him from the worst of the heat - Porthos sighed in relief and leaned back, slapping a hand on the man's back.

"Breathe, Aramis, just breathe."

"What… do you think… I'm… trying… to do?" Aramis asked between gasps of air and violent coughs. Porthos settled for rubbing a hand in circles on his back as he fought to gain control of his breathing.

"Sounds like you're trying to hack up a lung," he responded with a grin. At Aramis' glare he sobered. "Just what the hell did you think you were doin'?" He lowered his voice, mindful of the happy reunion going on a short distance from them. "You could've been killed runnin' in there like that!"

"You're the one… who wanted to help," Aramis responded around another cough, and Porthos winced at the rawness of his voice.

"I didn't mean rushing into a flamin' building."

Aramis shrugged. "Then next time… perhaps you could be… a bit more specific."

Porthos shook his head, a rumbling laugh bubbling from deep in his chest. He was beginning to suspect this man may be even crazier than him. "Next time I will."

Porthos held out a hand and dragged him to his feet, keeping a supporting arm around him as he swayed.

"Thank you, messieurs."

Porthos turned to find the farmer standing, his arms around his wife, supporting her as she sagged into his comfort. She was still coughing, tears streaming down her soot stained face, but she was alive, her husband's relief palpable. "I don't know how to repay you for what you have done."

Aramis waved a hand, shaking his head as he coughed. "No need. We were glad to help."

Porthos nodded his agreement. He looked at the house, which was nothing more than a pile of smoldering stone and ash. "I'm afraid there is little to be done about your home."

The man laughed, the sound slightly manic. "A house can be replaced. My wife's life cannot." He took Aramis' hand in both of his. "Thank you. I am in your debt. My name is Arnault. If ever I can be of service to you, please do not hesitate to ask."

"I am Porthos and this is Aramis of the King's Musketeers." Porthos responded in kind. "Just take care of your family, Arnault. That is all the thanks we require."

As the couple moved off to the barn, Porthos turned to his friend and looked him over. Aramis' hair had been scorched a bit by the flames, but it had been long to begin with so the damage was hardly noticeable. Despite his soot-stained face and watery, red eyes, he looked no worse for wear outside of the way his breath wheezed in and out of his lungs.

"You all right?"

Aramis nodded, his answer taken over by another hacking cough.

"You're mad, ya know that?" Porthos couldn't help the note of fondness in his voice as he watched the smaller man straighten, running a hand through his unruly curls, grimacing at the feel of ash and soot that fell from the locks.

"It's been said."

"Well I'm saying it again." Porthos sighed. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Aramis shrugged and Porthos didn't miss the fact that he failed to respond. As Aramis turned toward the rain barrel, cupping his hands into the water and splashing it across his face, Porthos frowned, his feeling of relief replaced by concern.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The rest of the mission went without a hitch. The Cardinal looked with distaste upon them when they arrived with the requested response in their disheveled and soot encrusted state, but Aramis simply gave him a cordial bow as if nothing was amiss and the Cardinal dismissed them without comment. Porthos barely contained his chuckle at his companion's cheeky audacity.

Treville's was no more responsive to their appearance, looking them over once to be sure they were relatively unharmed, then ordering them to clean up and report back to him in the morning for new orders. Aramis nodded in response and took his leave, Treville placing a hand on Porthos' arm to stop him from immediately following.

"I take it things didn't go as smoothly as he would like me to believe?"

Porthos shifted nervously, not wanting to betray Aramis' confidence, but seeing no reason not to inform the Captain of the rescue mission that delayed them.

"There was a fire at a small farm we passed. Aramis saved the farmer's wife, but the house itself was a loss."

Treville nodded thoughtfully. "It was Aramis' idea to lend aid?"

Porthos shook his head. "No, sir. It was mine. Aramis just reacted a bit faster when we arrived."

"How did he seem to you?"

Porthos frowned. "Sir?"

Treville leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms against his chest, regarding Porthos with a level gaze. "You know what he's been through." At Porthos nod, he continued. "You've also seen how he's withdrawn from the rest of the regiment. I've watched you with him – it's why I sent you on this mission together. I want to know your impressions of his state of mind, Porthos. I can't have anyone under my command who I cannot trust to act in the best interest of the Crown."

Porthos bristled at the Captain's words. He knew the man was only doing what he considered his job – looking out for the regiment and the King's safety – but hearing his doubts aimed at Aramis left Porthos cold. He couldn't explain his sudden need to defend his new friend; after all, he barely knew the man and Treville had been his commanding officer for some time. This feeling of protectiveness took him by surprise. While Aramis' actions could be considered a bit… reckless… he would not allow anyone to question his courage – not even the Captain.

"He acted like a true Musketeer," Porthos assured him, a slight edge to his voice that caused Treville's brow to rise. "If you're worried about him returning to duty, I can assure you there is nothing to be concerned about."

That wasn't entirely true, Porthos reminded himself. The sight of Aramis rushing into the fire flashed through his mind and it took every ounce of control he had to contain the shudder of fear that went through him at the memory. He didn't deny his friend's rash actions could be cause for concern, but he vowed to keep a close eye on Aramis, negating the Captain's need for worry. Nothing more would happen to the marksman while he navigated his way back to himself, at least not if Porthos had anything to say about it.

Treville studied the larger man, assessing the truthfulness of his statement. Seemingly satisfied with his report, the Captain dismissed him and he left the office, letting out a breath of relief as he stepped out onto the landing. Aramis was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

"I assume the Captain had a few questions about your first mission?" The Spaniard's voice remained level, but his eyes were narrowed, and Porthos knew he suspected of the subject of Treville's inquiries.

Porthos shrugged. "He was more interested in what I thought about you." He wouldn't lie to Aramis. He knew if they had any chance of building on their fledging friendship, trust would be an important facet. Porthos suddenly realized Aramis' trust was something he very much wanted.

Aramis' brows rose at the blatant honesty. "And?"

"I told him you were professional and responsible."

"And he believed you?"

"Nah." Porthos grinned. "Probably not."

Aramis' smile beamed, the light in his eyes warming Porthos deep inside. He raised a hand and slapped Porthos on the back, letting his arm drape across the taller man's shoulders as he steered him toward the barracks. "Perhaps we should clean up a bit before we head out for a few drinks, my friend. I know a wonderful place where we can find just enough trouble to keep us entertained for the evening."

Porthos returned the smile and allowed himself to be led. "Sounds like my kind of place."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Treville watched from the window as the two men moved across the courtyard toward the barracks. He'd recognized the concern in Porthos' eyes when he'd asked about Aramis, but he'd also seen the loyalty and desire to protect his new comrade – something that had made Treville quite pleased. Seeing the spring in Aramis' step as he steered Porthos to their quarters made a small part of the concern he'd harbored for the man since his return settle. He had been right to assign them this mission together. It seems as if Porthos had been able to bring out a glimpse of the old Aramis that had been locked away these past two months, and, in return, the marksman had shown Porthos he had a place here in the Musketeers.

It was a bond that Treville hoped would flourish and set both men on the path to fulfilling their potential.

As they disappeared from view, he caught sight of his newest recruit entering the courtyard from the archway. The man stood rigidly, his face betraying no trace of emotion as he slowly looked around the garrison. He was dressed in an elegant doublet, no doubt expensive, his hat perched on his head, the shadow of the brim hiding his eyes. He looked steady, though Treville had seen the man take down three men after two bottles of wine, so could make no determination to his sobriety at the moment. He would admit to being a bit surprised this man had remembered his offer, let alone decided to pursue it. Despite the new man's penchant for wine, Treville recognized quality when he saw it. Not only was this man a remarkable swordsman, he was obviously of noble birth, though he didn't seem eager to use it to his advantage. When asked his name, the man had hesitated before divulging one word: Athos. The man's eyes finally came to rest on the Captain's, and he nodded in greeting. Treville returned the gesture and waved him up, taking a deep breath as he garnered himself for his next encounter.

TBC