Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.
Lance Armstrong
July 1630
A gunshot.
Screams. A grunt of pain and a dull thud.
D'Artagnan stumbled mid run and spun, wide eyes searching for the brother who had been only a step behind him. Aramis had stumbled into the wall and curled in on himself, but he was still standing.
"Aramis?" d'Artagnan gasped as his lungs strove to draw in extra air.
"I'm fine, go! Don't let him get away!" Aramis ordered even as he braced a hand on the wall and pushed off of it. D'Artagnan watched him sway and then have to lean back against the wall a moment later.
"You're injured!" D'Artagnan took a step back towards him.
"Nothing but an annoyance," Aramis assured as he straightened again. This time he didn't falter. "Now go! I'll be right behind you."
D'Artagnan hesitated a moment longer and then turned, sprinting after their target once again. He ran him down in relatively short order and tackled him. Aramis appeared over them and held out a rope to bind the mans' hands. That done, d'Artagnan pulled their prisoner to his feet and grinned at Aramis.
"Told you we'd find him."
Aramis flashed a breathless grin in response, but didn't say anything.
D'Artagnan frowned, taking in the shallow, breathy quality of Aramis' breathing, the sheen of sweat on his face. He knew Aramis could run just as fast and as long as any of them could, usually faster and longer than anybody but d'Artagnan himself.
He shouldn't be so out of breath.
"Are you alright?" d'Artagnan asked warily.
Aramis huffed a faint laugh and reached to grip d'Artagnan's shoulder.
And then just melted where he stood, muscles going lax and joints loose. D'Artagnan struggled to catch him before he crumpled to the cobblestone, cursing colorfully under his breath. Their prisoner tried to make a run for it and d'Artagnan kicked out, catching the man hard in the ankle and taking his feet right out from under him. The man landed in a groaning heap and didn't try to move again.
That dealt with, d'Artagnan carefully lowered Aramis to the ground. He shifted Aramis' doublet, trying to figure out what exactly was wrong when his hands came away wet with blood.
"What…?"
He found the ragged bullet hole low on Aramis' right side. He fixed Aramis' lax face with a confused look as his mouth gaped open in shock.
Athos and Porthos were going to kill him.
Athos watched d'Artagnan pace. Ten steps towards the infirmary door, ten steps away. Ten steps toward, ten away… Porthos was in with Aramis and while Athos would like nothing more than to be at his wounded brother's side as well, one look at d'Artagnan's agitated countenance and he knew he was needed here.
"He'll be alright, d'Artagnan," Athos pointed out. "Aramis always is."
"He was shot. He was shot and he still… He didn't… He kept on…" d'Artagnan shook his head in disbelief and resumed pacing.
Athos sighed.
"Yes," he agreed. "He does that."
D'Artagnan stopped, whirling to face him.
"Why? Why does he do this?"
Athos slowly swirled his wine cup and glanced at the infirmary door. When his silent, mental demands for an update on Aramis' condition yielded no results, he returned his attention to their youngest.
"Aramis and injury have a… unique relationship," Athos started vaguely. He wasn't sure how much he should say. Aramis wasn't exactly secretive about his father, not with him and Porthos at least. But d'Artagnan had been adopted into their brotherhood. He didn't think Aramis would mind Athos sharing a bit of the sordid story.
"What does that mean?" d'Artagnan asked, drifting over to sit next to him. Together they stared at the infirmary door.
"Aramis' father believed pain to be a weakness and succumbing to injury a sign of the same."
D'Artagnan frowned deeply.
"Aramis was conditioned to think that way as well, no matter how many times we tell him otherwise," Athos went on. "His father made sure of it."
"His father?"
Athos clenched his jaw, anger bubbling just thinking about the man.
"Julien d'Herblay," Athos revealed. "Porthos and I met him once. It was enough."
"What was he like?"
"Cold. Uncompromising. Hard."
"So nothing like Aramis, then?" d'Artagnan guessed.
Athos shook his head slowly, thinking of everything he'd come to associate with Aramis over the years: Bravery. Recklessness. Fortitude. Intelligence. Julien d'Herblay would likely wish to take credit for most of what made Aramis an exemplary soldier. But there was so much more that made him the man Athos proudly called brother. Warmth. Wit. Kindness. Forgiveness. Mercy.
"No," he told d'Artagnan softly, "nothing like Aramis."
End of Chapter 4
Are you curious about Aramis' father in my 'verse yet? ;)
See you tomorrow with the final two chapters! Hope to hear from you down below!
