"I always knew you'd be Captain of the Musketeers one day," Aramis said, several hours later as they all sat around a fire.
The afternoon sun cast warm shadows on the ground. They were already hours late for the rendezvous point, but for the first time in five years, Athos couldn't care less about his command. The other Musketeers would probably come searching by daybreak. He didn't know, and he didn't care.
He could not recall ever being so content.
The four Musketeers had pulled the barrels from the cellar, breaking them open for a feast of wine and the little cheese they had. Porthos had found some pews still intact, and they sat in a semi-straight square, getting to know one another again cautiously, with relish and shyness.
"I said so all those years ago. Didn't I, Porthos?" Aramis inquired, rolling his head to face Porthos, who sat so close to him their shoulders touched. Porthos hadn't stopped grinning in several hours.
He reached over, squeezed Aramis's shoulders and sent an affectionate glance Athos's way. He resisted the urge to blush beneath the silent admiration. "We knew it all along," Porthos agreed.
Athos ducked his head, bashfully. "Yes, well," he mumbled. "No one can replace Treveille…"
"Athos has just managed to completely out-do him," D'Artagnan finished at his side. Athos looked up, horrified by the thought, but Aramis just chuckled.
"I never doubted," he assured them. He rubbed his palms together eagerly. "Speaking of doubts, how was the wedding D'Artagnan? Everything you'd ever hoped?"
"And better," D'Artagnan corrected, with a conspiratorial wink. Aramis guffawed, slapping his knees delightedly.
"Oh, ho ho! I hope you gave him the talk Porthos," he teased.
D'Artagnan blushed as if he were the young recruit he had been when they had first met him, naïve to the ways of the world and easily embarrassed. "I never needed the talk!" He defended.
"I gave it to im," Porthos assured Aramis. "His eyes went round as a fox. You shoulda seen it 'Mis! He looked stupefied," Athos chuckled softly as D'Artagnan just pouted, sipping at his wine while glaring at them. Aramis and Porthos snickered like two schoolboys, having fallen back into their habitual team teasing within moments. Athos leaned back in his seat, studied their absent friend curiously.
He looked years older. Suddenly, he caught movement from the corner of his eyes and jumped as Sombra reappeared from the side of the church. Her dark eyes twinkled with pleasure when she saw the make shift fire they had arranged. "Good!" She chirped. "Whose ready to eat?" She held up a twine which held two dead rabbits. Athos arched his brows. There was nothing timid or defenseless about her now. She had scrapped the original small dress.
Now she wore an emerald dress which fluttered prettily around her ankles. It split at two sides though, revealing a set of leather pants. Around her waist, a purple sash had been tied beneath her weapons belt which held a sword scabbard and two pistol holsters. D'Artagnan's body relaxed from next to him. Athos hadn't been the only one she'd startled, then. "Where did you come from!?" Porthos demanded, having drawn his own pistol in fright. She gave them a charming smile.
"Do you know what sombra means in Spanish?" She inquired, then went on before anyone could answer. "It means shadow. I live up to the name, even if it's not my given one," she said. Then, to Aramis, "The surrounding forest is all clear, but I doubt we've seen the last of those louts. We're sleeping with our pistols tonight, Rene," then she knelt to skin her catch, as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
Athos looked at Aramis. "I see you know each other," he observed, dryly. Aramis nodded.
"Are you two…." D'Artagnan hesitated. "Lovers?"
Aramis laughed aloud while Sombra gave them a look of pure disgust. "Lovers?" She squawked.
"She's a little young for me, don't you think D'Artagnan?" Aramis mocked, good naturedly. D'Artagnan flushed. Porthos's eyes stormed.
"Well, we wouldn't know, now would we?" He harrumphed. "Being as how we don't know where you've been these past five years," Aramis's smile dropped, chastised. Sombra finished skinning the first rabbit, laying the body over the fire to burn.
"We're hermano and hermanita," she explained, calmly. "Brother and sister. Family."
"In everything but blood," Aramis agreed, staring at her warmly. He reached out a hand, inviting her to his side. Sombra smiled, covered the last rabbit and bounded over to squeeze into the pew at Aramis's side. He draped an arm around her shoulders. She slipped slim arms around his waist, snuggling beneath his chin.
"My friends, this is Adelina. I met her four years ago in an orphanage just like this one, and she's been my trusted friend ever since. She's the one who convinced me to stay and seek you out in the monastery," he kissed her forehead. "It seems I owe you my life once again, senorita," he murmured into her hair.
Sombra- Adelina- shrugged. "I'll add it to your tab," she promised.
"So you weren't lying about being an orphan, at least," Porthos observed, squinting at the actress suspiciously. Adelina smiled.
"The best lies always have bits of truth floating in them, my friend. I also wasn't lying about not being a lady, though you were sweet enough to call me one anyway," she reached up to pinch Porthos's cheek. He grumbled and swatted her away, but he looked comforted.
"Yeah, well, guess I owe you my life too," he acquiesced. Aramis's eyebrows shot up, he peered at her curiously as Porthos offered his hand. "Thank you."
Adelina met it in a warrior's strong grip, smiling. "My pleasure," she chirped.
D'Artagnan chuckled. "How did you two meet?"
"I met Rene four years ago in Marseille. I had been an orphan in a monastery there since my parents died when I was seven, preparing for life as a nun. Once the war started, soldiers came to the town to conscript all boys ten and older for the army. Including boys from the orphanage. They tried forcing some of the girls and nuns to come too, to warm their beds," her eyes hardened. Aramis's eyes twinkled with pride as he rubbed a hand up her arms, comfortingly.
"Instead of sitting by, Adelina started an uprising," Aramis explained. "Of children and nuns. They fought with little but old muskets and pitch forks. Unimpressive, but brave. They managed to dislodge the soldiers and hold down the orphanage for weeks, eventually freeing the entire town from occupation. I arrived just as artillery was brought in," D'Artagnan's eyebrows shot up.
"To destroy a town of civilians?"
Adelina's chin jutted out. "To break our spirits. We had defied them, and defiance is rarely tolerated in war. The town was starving, losing hope. I was just about to call surrender when this lone idiot came waltzing through. He and I contrived a plan to sneak past the soldier's lines and take out their commander. They scattered after that…"
"And Adelina hasn't stopped following me since!"
"Following you? You basically begged me to come along when you saw my skill with a pistol! I learned how to shoot before I learned how to use a spoon. I'm the best markswoman in France and Spain," she told the brothers proudly. Aramis rolled his eyes.
"She's overconfident, as you can see, but fearless," Athos exchanged a look with D'Artagnan and Porthos. They had indeed witnessed her fearlessness a few hours before, in front of an entire gang of armed men. Athos recalled the earlier discussion with clarity.
"How do you know that?"
"Experience."
"I keep Rene in line," Adelina told them, turning the spit with her booted foot lazily. Aramis snorted and said something in Spanish, pushing her upright. Adelina gave him a dirty look but crouched near the food, turning it slowly with her hands instead.
Athos leaned forward, locked eyes on his friend. "Rene?" He inquired softly. It was time. Aramis's smile vanished as he met his gaze, something dark dropping into place of his cheerfulness.
"My Christian name," he answered the unspoken question. "Given to me when I went to live with my father at the age of twelve. Me and my father never saw… Eye to eye, so to say. The moment I left his patronage, I reclaimed the name Aramis. It's what my mother called me. But," he shrugged. "New life, new identity, new name. I go by Rene now," Athos and Porthos exchanged a startled glance. Both of them knew how much Aramis had despised his father. To take the name he had given him was either a capitulation of defeat, or an uncharacteristic plea for help.
"So those men came here lookin for you. Why?" Porthos asked.
Aramis sighed. "They were agents of the Spanish King. Their objective is to find, retrieve or kill any French spy or assassin," his smile looked like it pained him. "So, yours truly." Athos felt a shiver wrack his spine as he stared at this brother he barely knew, a shadow standing in the shoes of his best friend.
"What are you talking about?" D'Artagnan blurted, shocked. "You're a Musketeer!" For one so jaded, he was still very young.
Athos leaned back in his seat, eyeing Aramis warily. "Rochefort said you've done horrible things," he whispered. Adelina stiffened, quickly standing to her feet. Athos saw her fist clench around her sword, eyes flashing dangerously. Aramis put his elbows on his knees, digging fingers into the ponytail behind his head.
There was a long moment of silence. Porthos broke it by settling a worried hand on his friend's knee. "Aramis," he breathed. "Where've you been?"
Aramis raised his head; but did not take his eyes from the ground. "I cannot tell you everything," he said. "For your own safety as much as France's. But… Do you remember the last note I ever sent you, five years ago?"
Athos nodded, dug the letter from his jacket pocket. "I have it here." Now Aramis looked up, with eyes wider than a startled rabbit. His eyes scanned the paper, as if he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Adelina inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly.
"You kept it?" He gasped.
Porthos and D'Artagnan both whipped out their own copies, smiling sheepishly. Aramis's head snapped around to stare at each in turn, mouth opening and closing without sound. "We all kept one of your letters. They're… Almost like bibles to us now. Inspiration. Amusement," Athos lowered his voice. "Comfort."
"Along with these," Porthos slung the blue sash from his forehead, holding it up for Aramis to see. The other man stared at the object as each of them untied it from their respective places, bringing the sash into the light. "I'm sorry, Mis, but we had to cut it." Aramis blinked blankly, evidently not recognizing the soiled pieces of a once beloved item.
Athos shook his head, sighing. "It's your sash, Aramis. The one…"
"That used to belong to your mother," Porthos finished quickly.
Aramis's eyes widened. "You kept that?" He repeated, voice pitched high with astonishment.
"It was the last thing we had of you!" D'Artagnan cried, sounding horrified that Aramis should even ask. "Why wouldn't we? How did Rochefort get it anyway? He used it as…"
"Proof of my demise? I know," Aramis shivered and reached up, rubbing his wrists. Athos could see the faint outline of scars and felt his breath hitch. The sash had been covered in blood when Rochefort had been arrested. That blood hadn't been fake… He looked to Porthos, saw that he, too, had noticed the movement. His nostrils flared, fury kindling in his eyes.
Aramis let out a shuddering breath. Adelina and Porthos both reached out at once, laid soothing hands on his back. "I'm touched," Aramis sniffled. "You must recall that I promised to find you in my last one," Athos nodded. He had that letter, no matter how many times Treveille had begged him to burn it for his own sake.
"I was on my way to Paris, I swear it. First, I stopped off in Agen. Those few I'd seen who'd also been sent away, Musketeer and Red Guard alike, had all been forced to commit horrible crimes. Once they were done, we suspected Rochefort would try and have us all killed," Adelina settled back into her seat cautiously, gently snatching the band from Aramis's hair. His hair fell around his face immediately, all black curls and silky strands. She began carding her hair through the locks, combing them with sisterly love.
"In those days, there was no such thing as Musketeer and Red Guard. We were all scared men trying to follow orders. I made a pact with them. Should Rochefort send his agents to kill us, we'd meet in Agen. We knew that there was strength in numbers. The day I wrote you that letter, I had woken up to see a man standing over me with a knife. I knew it was time, for me and the others. I assume, from your expressions, that I am once again the sole survivor of a massacre?" Adelina paused.
Athos flinched. Damn it. He had hoped they may be able to keep that bit of information secret for the moment. He saw the same regret on Porthos's face. He nodded. "I'm sorry, Aramis."
The other man bowed his head, clasping his hands as if in instinctive prayer. "I thought so. I had hoped…." His clenched fists tensed, then relaxed. "It doesn't matter. Someone sold us out. I scribbled that note as quickly as I could; and sent the messenger off. I could have followed him back to Paris, but I didn't want to risk that you might not receive the letter if I was caught. Even more, I was afraid Rochefort would find out I had been in communication with you three and enact retribution. So I headed to Agen, and was met by Rochefort and his men. They overpowered me, took me prisoner, and Rochefort gave me this." He held up a crinkled, torn shredding of papers. Athos reached for it instinctively. Aramis pulled away.
"My last orders. I cannot tell you what they are, only that they took me to Spain."
Athos scowled. "Why did you follow them? Surely you must have known that Rochefort was a deserter by then. A criminal." The rabbits were burning. Adelina stood, grabbed it before it turned completely black.
She presented the spit to D'Artagnan silently. He took it from her, nodding his thanks. She began skinning the other as they passed around the food. Aramis waved it away when he was offered.
"Eat, Rene," Adelina ordered.
Aramis ignored her. "I did know. I taunted him with the knowledge, and that… That's when he told me Constance had been imprisoned. That the King knew about me and the Queen," Athos glanced at Adelina warily. Aramis noticed his unease and smiled reassuringly.
"Don't fret, mon ami. Adelina is my family. She knows the true parentage of The Dauphin," Athos nodded, even as his heart panged. He was sure that had he not caught Aramis with the Queen that night, the marksman never would have confided in any of them. Yet it seemed this girl warranted complete honesty.
"I was undaunted. I had been careful to ensure there was no proof of me and Anne, that any accusation would be based on falsehoods. I knew Constance, and you three, would never betray me. But…. Then he told me we were at war," Aramis shuddered. "I knew then not to underestimate him when he threatened to send his assassins after you three." D'Artagnan jolted as if struck. Athos felt his stomach plummet in pity.
"Us?" Aramis nodded.
"Please understand… I was terrified. My friends, I have seen more of this world than I ever wanted. I have seen depths of men's hearts I never thought… And Rochefort was one of the vilest. He had endless connections, a miasma of men who could snap your neck in minutes. I've met some of them. When he said he'd… Kill you, I caved instantly. How could I not?" he looked up, desperately seeking understanding.
Athos granted it reluctantly. He doubted he would not have done the same in that situation. "That's why…"
"That was why Adelina asked you if he was dead before I could approach you," Aramis finished his unspoken thought. Porthos growled in his throat, but Athos was not sure if it was from protectiveness or anger at Aramis for his blind recklessness.
"He believed that Treveille would only stop looking for him if he stopped looking for me, and so everyone had to believe that Aramis the Musketeer was dead. In order to end this war, I had to believe it too. I took a new name, abandoned my Pauldron somewhere in Southern France and left to try and end this war I helped start."
"Rene," Adelina admonished. "You didn't…" He hushed her.
"I've accepted my role in the world, Adelina. Brothers, I swear I didn't know Rochefort was dead. I didn't even know he'd been captured. I would have at least sent word to you that I was alive as soon as I knew you were safe from him," Aramis rubbed the back of his neck. "If only you were safe from me," he lamented.
"Hey!" Porthos protested, his eyes softening a bit with sympathy. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Aramis took great pains to study his palms. "Among the spies and assassins of Spain, I am known as Rene, el francotirador," he admitted quietly.
"The sniper," Adelina translated when she saw their confused expressions. "They say that Rene could stand at the edge of the world, shoot backward and hit his target. Some believe him to be a folk legend. Others know he's real. The latter are the ones we are trying to escape. The Spanish assassins were ordered to round up or kill the French ones after the war."
"I'm here to bring about My Lord's justice, girl."
It seemed justice and revenge were the same thing these days.
"So, they're hunting you?" D'Artagnan rubbed his chin, considering options. "How do they know who you are?"
Aramis and Adelina exchanged a look of soundless communication. When Aramis spoke next, his words were careful, measured. Athos had seen the same wariness in French spies he had met, their words always carefully weighted in their mouth before coming forth. I remember an Aramis who couldn't help but speak his heart, damn the consequences, he thought sadly. It seemed that Aramis was gone.
"The same way I know who they are. You tend to learn faces and names when you travel in the same they catch me, I could be dragged back to Madrid and hung. I doubt they'll want me alive. They just plan to kill me, and Adelina here," he hugged her to his side protectively.
"Who is known as Sombra, the shadow. Whoever my bullet misses in the day, she stabs or shoots from the darkness of night. Anyone who travels with me- who is seen speaking to me- is subject to be killed. Even being here now has put you all in terrible peril. I am sorry."
Porthos snorted. "Don't be. Seein you is worth all the danger."
Aramis's smile was tired but full of gratitude. "Thank you, mon frère. I don't deserve your friendship," he spread his palms helplessly. "I'm ashamed to admit that what Rochefort told you was true. I have done terrible things… Monstrous things."
"I did you a favor! I did the entire kingdom a favor! He was a MONSTER!"
Athos's breath hitched. Surely, that couldn't be true. The Aramis he had known would never do anything which defied his strict code of honor. He had enough problems following orders as it was. Adelina smacked Aramis's chest with the back of her hand angrily. He jumped, surprised by the sudden pain. "You're a hero!" Adelina argued. "You killed Alvaro and ended this war!" Aramis paled. Porthos gasped.
"Adelina!" Aramis snapped.
"You're the one who killed Alvaro, the Spanish minister?" D'Artagnan demanded. Aramis stared at them for a moment, defiantly, his lips pinched together. Athos wanted to shake him. Aramis had done it, he had ended the war?
"'Mis?" Porthos pressed.
Aramis exhaled a slow breath. "It was my last order from Rochefort," he answered.
"You've been trying to kill Alvaro for five years?" Athos asked, astonished. Adelina laid her head on Aramis's shoulder, whispered something softly into his ear and walked away. Aramis looked smaller without her by his side.
"I killed a few Cabinet members in the Spanish court as well," he reported, in a small voice. "The Spanish won't be able to regroup for awhile, so hopefully diplomacy can begin. I trust you all to help make it so…" at those words, Athos felt a jolt of alarm.
"What do you mean?" Silence. Porthos had heard the slight catch in Aramis's voice as well. He straightened, glaring at his friend with narrowed eyes.
"Aramis… Aren't you comin?" Aramis didn't move; or look any of them in the eye.
"You're not," Athos realized. "You aren't coming back to Paris with us."
At the accusing tone, Aramis shook his head. "Nothing would make me happier, mes amis, nothing! But I am being hunted as we speak by several assassins. I don't dare bring that into Paris, into the Musketeer Garrison or the Louvre! It could turn into a slaughter if anyone gets in their way!"
D'Artagnan lunged from his seat, taking Aramis's hands into his own. "We can protect you!" Aramis squeezed the hands in his grip, his eyes sincere and unchanging.
"No, you can't! D'Artagnan, these people are ruthless and cowardly. They are not like you… They do not have any concept of decency or honor. They have killed hundreds of people without fanfare. They could slip a dagger between your ribs without you ever being aware. It's their job. I don't want them near Paris, or the Garrison…"
Athos refused to let his heartbreak show outwardly. He was sure he would go to his knees if that happened, and judging from the beat of his heart, he might faint as well. "Where will you go?"
"Adelina and I are heading North. The Spanish don't like to travel too far from their homeland. We'll make a life in a secluded city, in England or Wales."
Porthos took his hand from Aramis's knee, slapping it down on their bench angrily. His nostrils flared. "So, that's it? We get you back for a night and then you leave again?"
Aramis looked increasingly uncomfortable. "This is just as painful for me, Porthos. I'd do anything…!"
"Then do anything!" D'Artagnan interrupted, tugging at Aramis's hands persistently. "Come home! We've fought five years without you. We don't want to go another day."
"I don't have a choice."
"No, you do. You can choose us over your fear."
Aramis stood, waving his hat as if beleaguered by bees. "I will stay with you tonight, and in the morning Adelina and I must go." The finality of his words struck Athos's heart like a clap of thunder. He closed his eyes, absorbing the impact. When he opened them again, Aramis was staring at him like a man resigned to his death.
"Why wait?" Porthos snapped. "Go then! Abandon us, if that's what you want. Guess all for one doesn't mean a thing to you, eh? Guess the only one allowed to protect 'is brothers is you!" And then he was stomping away. Aramis watched him forlornly.
"I assume you both feel the same?" He asked, quietly. D'Artagnan let out a sound of disgust, standing to follow Porthos into the darkness.
"Goodbye Aramis," He snarled as he marched past. "Porthos, wait!" Athos watched as Aramis stood in his spot, swaying dizzily. After a second, he collected himself, his spine going erect as he brushed of his hat. His expression clouded over from resignation to easy acceptance. He tipped his hat in Athos's direction and started to walk past.
Athos grabbed his arm before he could, staring into his expressionless face. Once, Aramis would have crumpled if he knew he had caused Porthos so much distress, but now… Now he looked as hollow as a gourd. "Don't leave. Not until you've made peace with them," Athos pleaded.
Aramis did not meet his eyes. "I don't think that's possible, Athos."
"Then make it so, damn it! Aramis… You can't just run away again. It's cowardly!"
His smile was small. "Any bravery in me died the same day I took a new identity, Athos," Aramis smirked bitterly. "I am indeed a coward, a murderer, a fool. And my name isn't Aramis. Aramis is dead," he snatched his arm away. "My name is Rene."
Then he, too, was walking away.
