Aramis
Shame.
Hope.
Despair.
Duty.
Humiliation.
Love.
Pain.
His emotions were suffocating him, but at the same time he felt so distant-so detached. He could not quite understand exactly what he was feeling.
He knew he had played along with his tormentors. As memories flashed through his mind, he felt both shame and relief.
He was not blind.
He was not useless, although Athos obviously wanted to leave him here.
He was not good enough to be allowed to search for their little brother.
He had failed.
He could not stand being left here! He so desperately needed his brothers.
His breathing must have changed, because Porthos murmured softly, "You're safe, Mis. Sleep. I am here."
There was only one way he could think of to make things right. Aramis made his decision, then allowed himself to fall asleep.
When he awoke, Porthos was still sleeping, curled up next to him. The Spaniard had tears in his eyes as he left his brother behind. He felt dizzy. He looked around for Athos, but his leader was nowhere to be seen.
Aramis reached for his doublet and weapons. He was shaking badly, and he did not even want to attempt to determine if it was because of his physical condition or his emotional state. He felt incredibly ill. Every move hurt.
He was broken. The only thing which allowed him to stand the pain was his sheer determination to find d'Artagnan.
Louise's house. He was here once more. And just like last time, he was sneaking out.
He knew where the stable was.
He would steal someone's horse.
He had no honor left.
He could do something so low. It would be easy for him now.
He entered the stable and saw Orage. He realized that it was now easier to breathe. He caressed his horse's silky mane, then took hold of the saddle. It was all suddenly too much for him, and he let the tears roll down his face.
"Aramis? What are you doing?!" Athos' panicked voice reached him.
The injured man bowed his head, burying his face in Orage's neck.
Then he somehow found enough the strength to haul himself onto her back. He glanced at Athos.
"Leaving," he replied curtly. As he heard himself speak, he realized that his voice sounded distant. Unreal.
"Aramis!" Porthos cried, standing at the door to the stable.
This would be harder. His heart screamed for him to stay with his brother.
He needed him so badly.
He could not be alone. Not now.
"Better to leave than be left behind," he whispered, too drained to say anything more.
Suddenly, he felt dead inside. He had nothing left. He welcomed the sensation.
He knew he would soon share Marcel's fate. The only thing he wanted to do before he left this earth was to save his little brother.
"May I join you?" Porthos inquired.
Aramis watched him in silent awe, then nodded. The relief he felt nearly made him faint, and he gripped Orage's mane tightly.
"What about me?" Athos asked. Aramis closed his eyes. He could not deny Athos. And yet he knew that Athos saw him as a liability-and he was damn right! He nodded once more.
Tired.
Broken.
Guilty.
Ashamed.
Pitiful.
Unworthy.
Hurting.
"I strongly recommend that you gentlemen eat something before you leave." Louise stood near Porthos, scowling at them.
"We should wait for Etienne and his men here," replied Athos. "After all, we need to search a vast area. It would be better to do it in an organized fashion. Aramis, would you recognize the place if you saw it?"
Aramis shook his head. He dismounted Orage, and Porthos took her saddle off.
Aramis knew that he had to tell his brothers everything in order to help figure out exactly where he had been held. He went with them back to the house, and Louise brought them breakfast. Aramis stared at his bowl of thick broth, lacking any enthusiasm for food. In fact, he felt slightly nauseous. But under Porthos' watchful gaze, he took a tentative sip, then another.
"It was a cellar. Quite a big one. There was a cage in it, and no windows. The room had been carefully prepared..." His voice broke, betraying him. He was grateful for Porthos' steady hand on his arm.
It was very strange. He had been sure he would not be able to tolerate anyone's touch. But instead, he longed for Porthos' warmth. He was not afraid of his brother. He was only afraid of being rejected.
"Their clothes were dry, so they did not enter the room from the outside." He gave all the details he could remember, then his voice trailed off.
Athos was intently studying the map of the region that he had brought with him from the garrison. "Aramis... did they treat d'Artagnan the same way?"
Aramis knew exactly why he had been asked that question.
He nodded, then watched as Athos slumped in his chair.
"There's more... they.. made him feel guilty for... my eyes... and then... they tried to convince him that his actions had directly caused my death..."
"Jesus!" whispered Porthos.
"Why?!" asked Athos.
"To break us... to break you..." Aramis recounted to them the words he had heard.
Athos' blade was slicing into his skin. Porthos had abandoned him. D'Artagnan was dead by his hand.
"Aramis!"
An order.
The soldier in him answered.
He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?). He looked into Athos' blue eyes.
Before he could even think about what he was saying, he asked, "Do you hate me?"
Athos looked as though he had been shot in the heart.
"What?! Aramis! I could never hate you!" he whispered, shaken to his core.
"Thank you," replied Aramis simply. "That is what I needed to hear."
Thank you, Riversidewren.
Dear Guest, thank you for your review. Porthos desperately did not want to leave Aramis. It might have not been the case of leaving to heal. He knew they need to find d'Art… As you can see Aramis decided for them what to do.