"Some years ago, I was at a tavern drinking," Athos began. "I had been there a while, and amused myself by watching others during the evening. One young man..." hesitating now.

"Yes?" d'Artagnan quietly prompted.

He was, perhaps, nineteen or twenty. He was confident, to the point of being cocky in his attentions to the young barmaid who was serving him. He was obviously used to being seen as handsome and desirable.

He was pressuring the barmaid to give her attentions to him, but she was not interested. This seemed to, at first, frustrate him, but gradually made him angry. He obviously was not used to hearing the word no from young women.

Giving in to his temper, he forced her against the wall behind his table. His hands held the now-frightened young woman, keeping her from getting away as she plainly wished to do.

Then, he kissed her, even though she tried to turn her head. She must have said something he did not like, because suddenly, he hit her-hard.

Others in the tavern saw this happening, but did nothing. I could not stay back and allow her to be attacked.

I walked over to the table, and asked him to unhand her. He turned and looked at me with a scowl, saying, "Mind your own business."

"I am making this my business. Let her go."

The man did not release her, but turned his back again to me and continued his unwanted attentions, more forcefully this time.

"I reached out and grabbed his elbow, pulling him away from the woman, who looked very shaken and frightened.

But that moment of diversion as I looked at the woman gave him time to draw his sword. I had not thought the incident would escalate, but when he thrust it at me suddenly, I backed away and drew my own weapon.

I had intended to use my sword defensively. I ended up running him through when he came full-force at me, or I could have been run through.

I had a word with the tavern owner, who was very grateful for my intervention. It seems the young barmaid was his daughter. He said he would see to the disposal of the body, and let the authorities know that it had been Musketeer business.. He knew I was a Musketeer, and that I never had come in seeking trouble.

The man who held us nearly killed Aramis was the dead man's brother. He wanted to kill someone close to me..." breaking off as his eyes held steadily now on his unconscious brother..."in return for my having killed someone he loved."

"I had not seen the young man with anyone else other than the barmaid, but I did remember a large, silent man in the corner as I made my way out of the tavern. The man's single-minded glare as he left stayed with him for several days, wondering if he had been the dead man's friend or relative.

Towards the end, Athos' voice grew quieter, his emotions about what had happened to Aramis because of him getting the better of him over his usually reticent and non-emotional side.

As he stood up, he laid a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder, as he said softly, "If...if Aramis does not make it...because of me...I will never forgive myself."

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos sat silently at his brother's side, holding his limp, almost lifeless hand within his large one.

"Come on, 'Mis," he whispered. "You're usually the one who is so talkative, always has something to say," hoping his teasing banter might penetrate the utter lack of movement/sound/anything that had been Aramis since they had brought him back.

But the words fell on deaf ears.

Porthos didn't blame Athos for a moment. The men who had done this were utterly evil, he thought. And he was sure, knowing Aramis as he did, that the marksman didn't blame his brother either.

Glancing over at Athos, however, the guilt was still written all over his face, as it had been since they had found he and Aramis.

Despite Athos' quiet recitation while answering d'Artagnan, he had heard almost all of what he had said. Not one of them would have done anything different than Athos had to defend a young woman's honor and virtue. He had nothing to be guilty about.

He would have to sit down and have a long talk with the swordsman after Aramis was recovering.

If he reco...he stopped himself. Of course, he would recover. They wouldn't let him do anything else, he told himself fiercely.

Deciding he would see if he was once more successful at dribbling a little water into Aramis, he reluctantly let go of his hand and stood, moving quickly and silently over to the small table holding an earthen water pitcher and several tin cups.

Pouring some water into one of the cups, he suddenly heard a choked gasp and then a thud.

Turning swiftly, his heart dropped as he saw Aramis thrashing on the floor.

Athos and d'Artagnan had heard the noise, as well, all of them converging on Aramis at once.

Athos got there first and lifted Aramis' upper body into his arms as he knelt on the floor next to him.

Aramis continued to struggle, not being conscious of where he was, until Athos began to soothe him, his hand cupping his brother's neck as he said over and over, "It is all right, Aramis. You are safe, brother," until his body stilled again.

Athos thought Aramis had passed out, but as he continued to hold him, he heard a faint whisper of a voice, saying, "N...not your...f...fault."

Staring at his brother, who, other than those whispered words, looked still and unconscious, he then looked up at his brothers in a circle above him, tears streaming down now.

He was stunned at Aramis' words, obviously spoken without being conscious.

Remaining as he was, his mind still full and of guilt, he thought, 'you are the most gracious and forgiving man I have ever known, mon ami, but I caused this.'

Then aloud, 'Please come back to us, brother.'