"Athos! Athos!" Aramis called out trying to break the musketeer out of the trance he was in.
Athos continued to stare at the blade, his mind lost in the past, when he was twelve years old and he had first seen a wound cauterized.
"Athos!" Aramis tried once more. "I need that blade now. I have to stop the bleeding or Porthos might die."
Woodenly, Athos removed the blade from the fire, the heat from the blazing metal licking at his face.
The thought of his brother dying, like those corpses he had seen so many years ago, finally shook him from his reverie and he wordless handed the glowing blade to Aramis, before moving to pin Porthos' shoulders so he wouldn't move. D'Artagnan already had secured the injured man's legs.
Aramis glanced around at his brothers for comfort and support before he pressed the burning blade onto Porthos' torn flesh. Mercifully, the street fighter had passed out, so he wasn't conscious for the tortuous procedure. But judging by the way his body shook, he still felt some amount of pain, even in his unconscious state.
Athos' nose wrinkled and he shut his eyes when the sickly smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils, taking him right back to the medical tent and a battlefield of the past. When the procedure on Porthos was finished, Athos bolted from the tent and vomited, just as he had so many years ago. This was the first time he had been forced to watch one of his brothers submit to this procedure. The heat of the blade and the smell of the singed flesh brought back horrible memories.
Later that evening, after Porthos was resting comfortably with d'Artagnan by his side keeping watch, Aramis had sought out his fourth brother, whom he found sitting alone, leaning against a tree.
Aramis dropped tiredly on the ground next to the swordsman who was staring into space. "Porthos is doing fine. I see no sign of infection."
Athos gave a quick nod to indicate he had heard, though he didn't remove his gaze from the horizon.
"There's dinner. You should go eat. It has been a long day," Aramis suggested in a mild tone of voice.
"Not hungry," Athos replied, as Aramis had known he would.
"Hmmm, I would think you would be since you lost your entire breakfast."
When Athos didn't offer up a comment Aramis pressed onwards, determined to break through his friend's self-imposed barriers.
"Athos, you have seen us hurt much worse than Porthos was today. Yet you ran from the tent like a boy witnessing his first battle wound. That is not you."
Athos couldn't stop himself from flinching at the marksman's words which hit too close to the center of the target.
"Mon ami. Tell me. What dark memory has today dredged up? Tell me so I can help ease you through your darkness."
Running a distressed hand through his hair, Athos broke and poured out his tale to a sympathetic Aramis, who laid a comforting hand on the troubled man's arm.
When he was finished, Athos turned his intense green eyes on Aramis and asked, "Are we fighting for the right reasons? Is there honor in any of this?"
Aramis removed his hand from Athos' arm and began to stroke his beard absentmindedly. Athos confirmed what Aramis had suspected; this war was wearing on his friend, but in his usual stoic manner he refused to acknowledge that his brothers could help if he would only let them.
"I know you cling to a strong sense of honor and justice in your views of the world, Athos. And I'm sorry my brother that you can't always find them in this war. I don't know if what we are doing is right or wrong. But I know we have sworn an oath to King and Country. Our King has asked this of us, and we must obey."
Athos listened to Aramis' words and thought back to those of Hubert, so many years ago. "You are correct. If there is to be honor in this war, we must find it within ourselves. I guess the best we can hope for is that King Louis has us fighting for the right reasons."
Aramis tried to lighten the moment by dredging up another memory from the past. "So what do we have in the end?" No glory. No money. No love."
A small smile tugged at the corner of Athos' lips as he recalled the scene. "We have honor."
Aramis tilted his head in acknowledgement as he reached over and clapped Athos on the shoulder. "For honor then."
THE END.
