About two weeks later

Aramis, Part 1

"You'll practice shooting with Aramis!"

Athos and Porthos look at each other from the corner of their eyes and stifle a sigh. The other two getting the order, Maurice and Baptiste, aren't as clever.

"Any objections?" Treville bellows and all stare at the floor.

"What are you still standing here for, then?"

A little hesitantly the group starts to move.

"That's gonna be a fun morning," Porthos mumbles when they are a safe distance away from Treville.

"M hm."

"At least you're a good shot."

"Well, and he rather likes you," Athos replies and Porthos looks stunned.

"What makes you say that?"

"You don't get the look."

"What look?"

"The one that says that he believes you to be too incompetent to even tell the handle apart from the muzzle."

"You don't get that look either..."

Athos shrugs.

"No, but I'm quite a good shot."

They arrive at the shooting range and the talk ceases. Porthos isn't sure if it will go well for him. It is an unusually hot day for the end of May. Aramis is sitting on a seat in the shadow next to the shooting range, feet on a second seat, hat pulled down low in his face. He makes no sign that he is aware of them.

"Ahem... Aramis?" Athos asks.

"Pistols, armory, twenty shot. Be back in ten minutes. Don't forget the powder," comes the reply, a little muted by the hat.

Baptiste snorts audibly. "I can't believe it," he mutters.

Aramis moves his hand and pushes up his hat. He looks at them and Porthos sees the dark circles under his eyes. He has never seen Aramis without those dark shadows and asks himself if the other man ever sleeps. He knows about the rumors they tell about him, alleged womanizing, but he isn't sure how much of that is true. Aramis doesn't look like he is spending the nights with pleasures. Porthos rather thinks that there seems to be a darkness around the other man, that comes to life at night and that sometimes turns him into an obnoxious fellow during daytime.

"Bring one for me, too, Baptiste! Thank you," Aramis now says, then pulls the hat back down.

Baptiste's face turns red.

"He did say 'thank you'. So he is in a good mood," Athos murmurs so low that only Porthos can hear him.

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It has been two weeks since they are training. Porthos still can't believe it, and actually doesn't really want to, because there is still this voice in his head saying this can't be real. That he'll wake up and everything has been a dream. It is a trial period, Captain Treville has made sure that every recruit is aware of this. And then there's also the minor issue that – if he should pass the trial period – he needs to acquire his own gear. But he has decided to think about that when it becomes necessary. Right now he doesn't think that this will ever happen.

He is aware that he hasn't the same social status as the others, there is his upbringing, the color of his skin, but officially that doesn't matter. His handling of a rapier and guns improve fast and he is able to compete with the others. Obviously there is some kind of warrior gene in him, as soon as he has memorized the technique the implementation in combat comes almost of its own volition.

So officially he slowly turns into a Musketeer. But unofficially he nevertheless can read in most of the others' eyes that he doesn't belong here. Athos isn't one of them, but that just means that he is acting just as glum and reserved towards him as he is to anybody else.

And then there is Aramis.

Thanks to him he is here and he hasn't forgotten the other's words towards Bertrand.

But besides this Aramis treats him and the other recruits with indifference, as if none of them is good enough to belong here. But what would be the alternative? 'Steal and lie for the rest of his life?'

He has made it this far, has fought for this chance. He can't give up now, not like that, not without trying everything.

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When they return to the shooting range Aramis hasn't moved an inch, hat still in his face.

"What is the most important thing when using a firearm?" he asks.

"A solid stand," Maurice answers.

"Wrong."

"A free line of fire?"

"Is this a question or an answer, Baptiste? Anyhow, it's wrong."

"Quick reloading," Maurice tries again and this time Aramis pushes up his hat up and directly looks at Maurice. It is THE look. Porthos can feel how his fellow recruit holds his breath.

"Well, wonderful,"Aramis murmurs, "we have our first dead!" He pulls the hat back over his eyes. "Anybody else?"

"Care," Athos pipes up sounding a bit annoyed. "Has at least been the correct answer the last two times."

Again Aramis pushes up his hat, but this time he grins and nods approvingly at Athos.

"Somebody is listening to me!" he shouts and Baptiste snorts.

"Maybe you shouldn't always talk in your hat."

Aramis face darkens. "Actually it should go without saying. A weapon that is not cared for.."

"... is not reliable," Porthos ends the sentence. He isn't aware of having spoken out loud, not until everybody stares at him.

"Somebody else listening to me!" Aramis declares and gestures to Porthos with a smile. "Now that that's been settled, let's start." He puts on his hat, on his head where it belongs.

"Load, shoot, try to hit. Any questions?"

"How about a little demonstration?" Maurice asks. "We are learning from the best shot of the regiment, after all!" Coming from Maurice 'best shot of the regiment' doesn't sound any better than 'cockroach'.

"Maurice!" Athos intervenes, but Aramis waves him aside.

"Sure, if you don't know what to do otherwise." He gets up and takes the pistol from Baptiste. Porthos observes fascinated how quick Aramis inserts powder and ball into the gun barrel. Every move is perfected as if trained a thousand times, what probably is true. When Aramis then turns towards the targets and raises his arm, it happens. At first Porthos doesn't realize it, just wonders why the man is hesitating. But then he notices the trembling. It gets worse and finally Aramis lets his arm sink. He bites his lip and a distorted grin flits over his face.

"Let's postpone this til later, gentlemen," he says softly.

Baptiste snorts. "Of course. Later! Did you also say this to the men in Savoy?"

The sudden silence in the garrison hits Porthos like a blow. It reminds him fatally of an evening a few weeks ago at a different place. It is not logical, because none of the other men in the yard or the buildings around it could have heard Baptiste's words, but to Porthos it still feels as if the whole garrison is holding its breath. Aramis' reaction comes almost faster as the silence and the next moment Baptiste is facing a loaded pistol just inches away from his head. And this time Aramis' hand isn't trembling in the least.

"Say this again!" Aramis whispers and then his voice gets louder, "SAY THIS AGAIN!"

"ARAMIS!" Captain Treville's voice booms through the yard, "ARAMIS, STOP THIS!"

But Porthos isn't sure if Aramis hears it, or wants to hear it. At any rate his hand isn't moving. But still Porthos doesn't believe that Aramis really wants to shoot an unarmed man. That doesn't sound like the man Porthos reckons him to be.

So he slowly takes a step towards the two men.

"Aramis, take the weapon down."

"No." That isn't the answer Porthos has hoped for but at least Aramis is still speaking to him, that's a success.

"Aramis, do what Porthos says," it's Athos, who is also coming a step closer. "You don't really want to shoot him."

"Yes, I do!" Aramis objects.

"No, you don't," Athos tries again.

"He isn't armed, Aramis," Porthos points out and Aramis actually lets his arm sink a few inches, without ever looking away from Baptiste. Now the bullet wouldn't hit the head, but still the larynx, not really better.

"Put the weapon down! NOW!" It's the captain, who has crossed the yard and now is standing next to them.

"Aramis, please," Porthos tries again and the man finally lets his arm sink down. He turns away from Baptiste and hands Treville the weapon. Then pushes past the stunned captain and leaves.

"Where are you going? Aramis, stay!" This time Aramis doesn't obey, he just moves on.

"ARAMIS!" But the so addressed doesn't stop but single-mindedly heads for the garrison's exit. Nobody halts him.

Porthos wants to follow him. Aramis doesn't seem to be fully in his right mind, so Porthos would prefer it if someone was with him. He's thinking about how to best ask Treville when somebody else beats him to it.

Athos clears his throat. "Captain, apologies, but I wouldn't be here without Aramis. I would like to..."

"What he said," Porthos interjects. Athos seems just as surprised as he by this wish, but there would be time to talk about it later.

Both earn an astounded look from their captain, but after hesitating shortly Treville nods.

"Take care of him!"

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They follow Aramis from a distance through the winding streets and alleys of Paris. Close enough to not loose him, but far enough away to not be spotted by him, which Porthos isn't entirely sure that they really manage. He had been convinced that he hadn't been seen in that house entrance during the failed raid attempt and at overhearing the dispute between Aramis and the other Musketeers. And both times he had been wrong.

"We should drop back a little more," he suggests but Athos shakes his head.

"Then we'll loose him in this chaos."

"If he spots us he'll shake us off," he warns, "and believe me he will spot us."

"I'm not sure that he hasn't already..."

"But..."

"Ever thought that he wants us to follow?"

Not really, if Porthos is perfectly honest.

"As long as we have an eye on him Treville isn't going to send a search party," Athos continues.

"I don't know what normally happens if you threaten a comrade with a weapon and then run from the garrison, but I don't think it's pleasant."

"Nah, me neither," Porthos admits.

Aramis leads them farther away from the garrison, towards one of the better neighborhoods of Paris, where he finally stops in front of one of the well-kept three-story buildings. He knocks and shortly after is allowed to enter.

"What now?" Porthos asks.

The street is busy. Merchants are transporting their goods to the market close-by, housemaids haul crammed baskets back home. Athos stops one of the maids and points to the house Aramis has disappeared into.

The girl is doubtful at first but obviously they seem trustworthy enough. "It's the family Bouloir. Monsieur Bouloir is a notary."

They thank her and let her go.

"What now?" Porthos asks again.

"How likely is it that Aramis wants to see Monsieur Bouloir?" Athos queries and Porthos shrugs his shoulders.

"If he wants to make his last will... Does he?"

Athos shakes his head. "You don't survive a massacre to make your will afterward."

"Savoy..." Porthos states. He has heard about it, not much. It is more like a shadow going through the garrison. A word that is seldom spoken and if, then only in hushed tones, as if the word by itself meant death. He knows that it has cost the lives of many men, it was one of the reasons he could partake in the selection procedure for new recruits in the first place. He also knows that Aramis has been in Savoy, but he never really thought about what that actually means. Just today, when Baptiste has used it to spite Aramis, has he realized that the other man must have been in the middle of it and is the only one that returned alive.

"Wait a moment," Athos disrupts his musing and approaches the house. He knocks and Porthos can see that the door is opened and Athos shortly talks to a small, pudgy man. Then the door closes again and Athos returns.

"We should go to the back door," he says.

"And that's so because?"

"Because Monsieur Bouloir has an appointment out of office right now and when he comes back, I suppose someone we know will need to leave through this back door."

His face stays totally neutral at his words, only in the very end he slightly rolls his eyes.

Porthos nods in approval and they circle the block until they reach a narrow alley adjoining the backyard. The alley gives of the typical smell, confirming that its only use is for the refuse no to land in front of the houses. Porthos holds his breath for some seconds and glances at Athos, whom he assumes hasn't had a lot of experiences with such back alleys, but surprisingly the other man keeps a straight face.

"Do we really have to...," Porthos starts but Athos anticipates his thought.

"I think it is enough for us to wait at the alley entrance. From here we'll see him leave the house."

Porthos gratefully agrees. They position themselves at the entrance to the alley. Porthos is leaning against a wall, that gives of heat at his back. Since it already is warm that isn't really pleasant.

"We could play some cards..." he proposes.

Athos draws up an eyebrow, but doesn't say anything.

"Or we could just stand here," Porthos mumbles softly and this coaxes a grin from his companion. Even if it is just a slight grin.

"You said you wouldn't be a Musketeer without Aramis?" Athos asks after some time.

"Well, actually you said that," Porthos corrects him, "but yeah, it's true... He... well... he has... it's complicated."

"You're not nobility." It's a statement not a question, but it doesn't sound at all like judgment.

"True."

"You didn't know each other before." It also is no question and Porthos is asking himself where Athos is going with this.

"Nah." He'd almost said 'not directly', but it wouldn't be a good idea to warm up that story about a raid on a food delivery again or to generally say anything about his past in the Court of Miracles.

"He can't have helped you to join the regiment," Athos finishes, "so what exactly did he do?"

"He..." - 'covered up for me' would be correct, but Porthos can't say that without putting Aramis on the spot - "He believed in me," he finally says and Athos nods.

"It was similar for me."

Porthos looks at his counterpart. He knows Athos is nobility, but even if he didn't know it is still obvious; the straight posture, the aristocratic features, his determined demeanor, that's instilled in him since his youth. He can't imagine that this man of all man ever needed approval in his life. But that's probably unfair. There seems to be a shadow following Athos similar to Aramis. And being highborn doesn't necessarily save you from harm, but it often lessens the consequences.

"He maybe has an eye for the lost," Porthos says eventually.

"I could think of a reason why," Athos adds with a knowing look. Savoy.

"What' ya know about that?" Porthos asks, but the other man shakes his head.

"Probably not more than you."

"His hand...?"

Athos nods. "He told me it's because of a head wound. I assume it is a souvenir from Savoy."

"Makes sense... What exactly we gonna do when he comes out of that door?"

Athos shrugs. "We'll bring him back to the garrison."

"And then what? What' ll happen?"

Athos doesn't answer. After a while he sighs. "Let's wait in what condition he is in when he appears."

It takes longer than Porthos likes. The hours drag on. It is hot and stuffy between the houses. He walks up and down the narrow entrance of the alley. He admires Athos, who is leaning against the wall stoically, his gaze only leaving the door to chase off a nosy passerby with a glare.