CHAPTER 10

Aramis sighted down the barrel of his musket at the three men fighting a lone man who he thought was Athos. A few years hence, there would be no doubt it in his mind; he would recognize Athos anywhere, anytime and that didn't even take into account the legendary bond that would form between the Inseparables. But at this time, Athos was a man he had only known for a few weeks so Aramis wasn't sure if he was the lone fighter. Besides, why would Athos be involved in a sword fight against four men in the garrison's courtyard? But, if this was Athos, Aramis thought, he had a talent for the sword.

However, as impressive as Athos' swordsmanship was, he was injured and fighting against four, no three, Aramis corrected himself as Athos disabled one of his attackers, armed men. Two weeks ago, Athos barely had the strength to walk across a room. There was no way he had recovered enough by today to survive extended swordplay. The fact that Athos was still standing and fighting was a testament to the man's willpower and determination. Aramis didn't know this about Athos yet, but he would learn over the years that when Athos set out to do something, nothing would thwart him, not even the specter of death. It was a blessing and a curse as Aramis, Porthos, and eventually d'Artagnan would come to learn, and they did their best to protect Athos from his worst enemy, himself.

Blowing gently on the fuse, his target choice was quickly made as Athos was being beaten down by two men as the third was lining up the killing blow. It was awkward trying to shoot through a hole, across the courtyard, at a moving target. But Aramis was known as the best marksman in the regiment for a reason; he was that good. His shot rang true, felling the man before his sword could harm Athos.

Athos heard the gunshot, but he didn't process it at first as he waited for the fatal blow of the sword coming his way. When the seconds ticked by and he didn't feel the pain of his flesh being slashed open, he grew more confused. His confusion seemed to be catching as the two swordsmen across from him backed up a few steps. They were staring at something on the ground and Athos followed their gazes to find their third companion, the one about to slice him open, lying on the ground with a bullet hole in his forehead.

The fighting ceased for a moment and his two opponents looked from the dead body on the ground to Athos to see how he had acquired a gun and had used it to kill their friend. Since Athos knew he hadn't shot the man, he used the temporary lull in the battle to scan about the courtyard for the responsible party. He hoped whoever it was was on his side. and that they had been aiming for his opponent and not him and simply missed. The odds were already way too heavily stacked against him. Before he could find any clue as to what was going on, the two remaining thieves attacked him again, and Athos forced his weary body to meet the challenge.

Aramis saw his intended target drop and the fighting cease for a moment. Quickly, moving backwards away from the gate, he shouted, "We have to get in there now or he'll be killed"

The other four men had no idea who 'he' was, but the urgency in Aramis' voice made it apparent that it was crucial to get through this door. Porthos, Maurice, and Mellin tightly gripped their battering ram and, with a war cry, ran at the door. The force of the hit was brutal; it nearly tore the doors off their hinges. The second the doors flew apart, Captain Treville and Aramis barreled through the opening.

Over by the stairs that lead up to the captain's office, the fighting had resumed. When the captain drew close enough to identify the lone fighter, he cried. "Athos?"

Even if Athos had heard the captain call his name over the clanging of the swords, he couldn't divert an ounce of concentration, as he was being pressed back towards the staircase. They were backing him into the proverbial corner and he knew he didn't have the strength to climb the stairs to escape their blades.

Using his hand to wipe the sweat out of his eyes, Athos suddenly realized there were two more blades in the fight, but they were on his side, with their lethal tips facing the enemy. Was he so far gone he was now hallucinating?

"Drop your swords!" the strident voice of Captain Treville rang forth. Two more clicks of pistols being cocked added weight to his declaration as Maurice and Mellin stood behind them, pistols squarely aimed at the villain's heads.

Not wanting to die for their cause, the thieves lowered their swords and handed their weapons meekly to Porthos. Athos continued to hold his blade in the on guard position, as if his brain hadn't bothered to inform his body the battle was over. His arm shook with fatigue, as he tried to hold the sword straight and true.

"It's over, Athos," Aramis softly said, as if he were speaking to a nervous horse. "You can put up your sword."

However, Aramis' words didn't seem to have any effect on the man, so the captain reached over, placed his hand firmly, but gently, on Athos' wrist, and leveraged it downward. "Put the sword down, son," he gruffly commanded and between the pressure on his wrist and Treville's voice, they broke through Athos' trance and he lowered the blade.

Aramis draped his left arm around Athos' shoulder while he used his right to take the sword from the injured man's slack grip and hand it off to Treville. "Come. Let's sit over here at the table for a minute, while you gather your strength and tell us what happened here."

Obediently, Athos let his exhausted body be guided to the wooden table near the base of the stairs. A little firm pressure on his shoulders had Athos sitting on the bench. Aramis sat next to him and empathetically forced him to slide towards the middle of the bench. At a nod from Aramis, Porthos slid onto the bench from the other side, basically sandwiching Athos between them. The medic in him figured that if Athos fainted, either he or Porthos should be able to catch him.

Pouring a glass of water from the metal pitcher on the table, Aramis pushed the cup in front of Athos. Filling a second and third cup, he slid one in front of Porthos and took one in his own hand, raising it to his lips and drinking deeply. Porthos did the same, but Athos merely stared at the vessel. He knew what was being asked of him, but he was simply too tired to comply.

Meanwhile, the captain issued instructions to Maurice and Mellin to take the two standing captives to the garrison's jail to wait questioning. A few more musketeers returned, having decided not to go out and they looked quizzically at the gates hanging at a drunken angle. The captain spotted them and had them take the four injured thieves to the infirmary, instructing one of the garrison's other amateur medics to evaluate their wounds and then assigned a third group to haul the dead bodies off to the morgue.

When everything was under control to his satisfaction, Treville walked back to the wooden table and sat on the bench opposite the two musketeers and the man he had run over with his horse. How had they gotten from that point to this one, he was dying to know.

"Athos?" The captain tried to get the attention of the ragged man sitting across from him.

The captain gave a little head shake to Aramis, indicating he should momentarily stop trying to see what was staining the sleeve on Athos' shirt red. It wasn't life threatening and the captain didn't think Athos had the ability at present to fend of Aramis' administrations, which he was weakly trying to do, and focus enough to tell him what had happened here.

With a bit of a pout that brought a small smile to Treville's face, Aramis stopped trying to examine Athos' wounds and sat back to listen, though the captain felt if Athos should start to sag, Aramis would be there to support him. Letting his eyes roam over the three men sitting opposite him, he got a strange feeling, one which he couldn't describe, but somehow knew was important.

"Can you tell me what happened here, Athos?" The captain's voice was soft, but authoritative and Athos responded to it as he would so often in the future.

Pushing his body more upright, Athos told how he had walked over to the stable to visit Roger, but left out all the parts about thinking of riding off or sitting on the hay bale exhausted. He picked the narrative up again when he left the stable, discovered the gates closed, and saw what he assumed to be thieves sulking out of the captain's office.

"There were eight of them, Athos. Did it ever occur to you that you were greatly outnumbered, especially considering your current state of health?" Aramis butted in to ask the man.

In a trademark pattern that they simply weren't aware of yet, he answered, "No." His tone was flat yet managed to convey an air of not understanding why they even asked such a stupid question.

Again, a ghost of a smile flickered across Captain Treville at the interplay between the two men that they weren't even aware was happening. The idea of Athos becoming a musketeer and teaming up with the two men across from him ran through his mind again. That sixth sense he had about people that had served him so well in his career was niggling at the back of his mind. But this wasn't the time or place to be thinking of such things so he pushed it back down and refocused on the matter at hand.

Suddenly, it was like a light bulb went off in Athos' weary mind and he struggled to turn and get off the bench. He got one leg over the bench, but would have fallen flat on his face if Porthos hadn't furtively placed a hand under his elbow to keep him upright. After a moment Athos walked over to the stairs and, leaning heavily on the rail, he hauled his body to the first landing where he picked up a bag that had gone unnoticed up to this point. Descending in a rather precarious manner, he walked back over to the table, dropped the bag on it, and then stared pointedly at Aramis, who grumbled, but slid over so Athos could sit on the end of the bench.

"That is what they were stealing," Athos declared, as he slumped over the table.

Aramis, reached over to examine Athos again, but the swordsman must have regained some of his strength because he straightened and gave the marksman a scowl that suggested violence if his personal space was invaded.

Aramis backed off with a slight shrug, as Athos pushed the bag towards Treville, who opened it and examined the contents. After checking a few pieces, he hastily shoved everything back into the bag and drew it shut.

"What you have done here today is of great importance to your King and Country, Athos," Treville stated as he rose, hugging the satchel to his chest. "These documents, in the wrong hands, could be disastrous."

Athos looked up at the captain and Treville was again on the receiving end of what would be the bane of his existence for years to come, Athos' unfathomable mask. The soldier had no idea what was running through the mind of the man sitting in front of him. One would think Athos would be pleased at knowing his actions were important, but the man simply looked at him with a mask of neutrality. The only small giveaway in the stone mask was the hooded green eyes. There was something there. Disbelief? Pride?

Treville mentally chided himself. The man was injured and exhausted. What was he thinking? That Athos would prance around like a small boy who received a pat on the arm from his father and a sweet treat from his mother? Of course not.

The captain simply and honestly said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Athos replied, and for the first time since their paths had crossed Treville felt a sincerity in the man.

With a nod of his chin in Aramis' direction, Treville ordered, "Let Aramis help you to your room, get you cleaned up, and see to those injuries."

Athos eyes flicked to the sword he had laid on the table. "That belongs to one of the guards. At the gate. Are they alright?"

"They will be fine. Hell of a headache I imagine, but otherwise ok," Treville informed him.

Athos fell into the peculiar speech pattern that Treville had noticed during the first week, the one he had secretly been calling the 'Comte mode' since he had learned from Charles, Athos' probable heritage. "I am glad to hear that. I was... concerned."

"Your only concern should be getting to bed and resting. Fighting off eight men today. That's quite a feat." Captain Treville took his bag and headed up to his office.

By this time, Aramis and Porthos had risen too.

"Shall we go?" Aramis was smart and didn't offer to support Athos, but simply waved his hand towards where Athos' room was located.

Feeling like three was a crowd, Porthos declared he was going to go look for some food and he'd catch up with Aramis later. Porthos, who had such a generous nature, couldn't figure out this Athos person. Oh, he admired the fighting skills the man seemed to possess and was quite curious to see more. But the man's cold demeanor didn't make sense to him. Treville had just given him high praise and the man had accepted it as if he had been thanked for pouring a glass of wine. Strange. But Athos was Aramis' pet project, not his, so he felt no guilt leaving them.

Athos stumbled when he first started to walk, but quickly found his balance. Aramis hovered, but didn't assist, remembering Athos' warning on personal space violation.

"That was some remarkable swordsmanship you displayed," the marksman stated, as they made their way towards the room in which Athos was residing. Aramis got no reply, but at this point in their relationship he had learned not to expect one so he simply, continued on. "I thought you said you weren't left-handed."

"I'm not."

"Remarkable. So you are as good with your right hand?"

"Better." The one-word answer was said, not as a boast, but a straight fact and Aramis believed him.

They reached the staircase that led to Athos' room and Aramis thought he heard a soft sigh as Athos stood at the bottom stairs, looking upwards.

"It's no shame in asking for help when you need it," Aramis offered, which turned out to be the wrong thing to say as Athos ignored him, gritted his teeth and trudged up the steps. The marksman had the distinct impression that the stubborn man in front of him wouldn't ask for assistance even if it meant hauling his body up the stairs on his hands and knees.

After they got to the top, Athos staggered into the walls, as he made his way down the hallway towards his door. Opening it, he crossed the threshold and made a beeline for his bed upon which he sank with an audible sigh.

Aramis closed the door behind him, put his hands on his hips, and stared at the man sitting on the edge of the bed. "Have you ever been told you are stubborn, Athos?"

"Yes." There was a slight pause before he added, "Quite often actually."

Aramis swore he saw a small smirk lurk at the corner of Athos' mouth. He had a feeling that was one of the first honest things the man had said about himself. "Well they were right." Moving towards the bed, he gestured towards Athos' shirt. "That needs to go so I can look at your arm."

Athos didn't fight him when Aramis assisted in getting the shirt over his head when it got stuck. Sitting on the bed next to him, Aramis examined the bullet graze first. "Not bad. No need for stitches. Just needs to be cleaned out. They had guns?" he said conversationally, as he rose to get the medical supplies he kept in the room.

"One. The leader. He wasn't a very good shot. They didn't seem like...professionals."

Aramis thought he heard Athos add, 'thank God' under his breath, but when he turned around the stone mask was in place.

They worked in silence for a while as Aramis cleaned and bandaged the gunshot wound, before moving on to wipe down the slice on his chest along with a few of the shallower nicks and cuts Athos had received. The wound on the forearm from the horse's hooves seemed no worse for wear, neither did the ribs. Athos was sagging from shear exhaustion and was happy, finally, to be able to lie back on his bed and rest, when Aramis was done.

As Aramis was getting ready to leave, promising to bring food later, Athos pushed his tired body up on his good elbow and stopped the man with question. "Aramis. My arm. Will I regain full use of it?" Athos wouldn't admit it out loud, but the fact he couldn't hold a sword in it today had disturbed him.

Aramis stopped, looked at Athos earnestly, and then sighed. "I don't know."

Athos bit down on his lower lip then nodded as if agreeing with something, perhaps his own intuition. "Thank you."

"For what?" Aramis asked out of curiosity.

Those green eyes that Aramis was learning could say so much, focused on him. "Being honest."

From the look and those few words, Aramis knew he had suddenly found a small clue to the real man behind the mask. "I always strive to be honest." The mood in the room was growing a bit intense and he didn't want to make Athos uncomfortable, so he added, "Well except perhaps in the area of women. They actually like to be lied to about certain things, such as their looks and I am more than happy to oblige," he said with a lecherous wink.

His comment had the exact opposite effect than intended, as those green eyes grew dark and hooded. Athos abruptly turned his back on Aramis and softly muttered, "Women are liars and cheats."

Aramis didn't know what had just happened and he knew asking wouldn't bring any explanation so he quietly closed the door and prayed the man would rest peacefully. Later that day, when he had brought the promised food, Athos treated him politely, but coldly. No amount of cajoling would get him to engage in conversation.

That night, Athos' nightmares began in earnest once more, horrible dreams of his wife and his brother, which bolted him awake with their terror. His body was sweaty, hair plastered to his head and his heart racing like the receding tide. Getting out of bed, he stumbled across the darkened room to the window. Wanting the cool night breezes to wash over his tortured soul, he tried to open the window, only to discover it wouldn't budge. Frustrated, he laid his forehead against the cool glass pane. He wanted a drink, badly.

Straightening and turning, his eyes wandered towards the door. It would be so easy to walk out, leave the garrison, and find a tavern in which to drown his sorrow. Yet, he had felt...his mind searched for the right word...proud when the captain had said he had done a great service to King and Country. Today he had felt...worthwhile... something that he hadn't felt in a very long time. And truthfully, he rather liked the feeling.

With a groan, he slid down the wall to the floor, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them before laying his muddled head upon them. Confusion swirled in his thoughts. Leave. Stay. Run. Stay. Hide. Stay. Was there any hope that the tiny idea that had dare lodged itself in his mind could actually be brought to fruition? Could his remaining days in this infernal world have meaning again? Too tired to get back into bed, he simply curled up on the floor where he was and drifted back to sleep but this time with a ray of hope in his tortured heart.