A/N: Thank you BrokenKestral, beeblegirl, pallysAramisRios, and LadyWallace for reviewing!

No 17. Wrongfully Accused — Aramis

Aramis stepped out onto the front stoop and tipped his head back to look at the night sky.

"Why do you never tempt me with your wiles, Aramis?" Charlotte asked, holding the door behind him. "I am aware of your reputation."

He smiled as he set his hat upon his head. "Because your virtue is strong enough to resist, so why waste my efforts?"

She huffed. "I suspect no woman's virtue can withstand your charms when used to their fullest."

He flashed her his typical dashing grin, even though his heart wasn't fully in it. "It would hardly be appropriate to take such a detour from our theological discussions."

"True," she conceded. "I do appreciate you indulging my indecisive ramblings."

This time Aramis's smile was more genuine. "It's a weighty decision, whether to join the convent, and not something to come to lightly."

Charlotte nodded. "I just wish I knew whether my hesitation was divine prompting or my own doubts. I know, I should pray on it more."

His lips twitched. "And I shall pray you receive guidance. Call on me next week if you need a listening ear again."

Charlotte smiled and leaned out to give him a peck on the cheek.

Aramis bade her goodnight and stepped out into the street to make his way back to the garrison. He had only gone a few blocks when something slammed into the back of his head, driving him to his knees. Black spots burst across his vision, and before he could regain his senses, someone was hauling him up by the back of his coat and throwing him against the wall.

"You filthy swine," someone spat.

A punch to Aramis's stomach drove the wind from his lungs, and he doubled over with a dry heave. His assailant didn't let him catch his breath before a knee was slammed up into his face. Then he was seized and swung around again, his head smashing into the wall. Aramis dropped to the ground, struggling to breathe. A kick to his ribs put an end to that, and he blacked out even as the blows continued to descend with relentless ferocity.

.o.0.o.

Porthos was woken by sounds of a commotion in the garrison yard. It was late, probably not even past midnight, so he quickly shucked on his boots and hurried outside to see what was happening. His heart nearly stopped at the sight of Aramis being carried in on a litter. His face was bruised, swollen, and bloody and hardly recognizable, but Porthos knew that blue sash.

"What happened?" he exclaimed as he followed them into the infirmary.

"He's been badly beaten," Alain said as he and another musketeer set the litter on the nearest bed.

As the lanterns were lit, Aramis's state was cast in full light, and it stole Porthos's breath. Beaten within an inch of his life was more like it.

"Did you get the captain?" Porthos asked.

Alain nodded. "He's gone for Doctor Lemay."

Good, that was good.

"You should get Athos," Porthos said next.

The doors burst open, but it wasn't the physician.

"What's going on?" d'Artagnan asked, but then his gaze landed on Aramis. His eyes blew wide and he threw a hand up to cover his mouth. "What happened?"

"We don't know," Alain answered. "Someone came to the garrison to report he was lying in the street like that. They thought he was dead."

Porthos moved closer, heart clenching at the hideous swelling and bruising mottling his best friend's face. There had to be more than just that…

"Help me get him undressed for the doctor," he said, waving d'Artagnan over.

The young Gascon scrambled toward the bed and started unfastening the clasps of Aramis's coat.

"I'll get Athos," Alain said and left.

Porthos and d'Artagnan had just gotten Aramis's shirt off—revealing a host of bruises on his torso as well—when Treville hurried in with Lemay.

"Good Lord," the physician gasped. "Alright, stand aside and let me see what we're dealing with."

Porthos and d'Artagnan reluctantly backed away to let the doctor do his work. None of them spoke as they watched tensely, not until Athos came bursting in, expression taut with worry. He took one look at Aramis and turned to the others.

"Who did this?"

"We don't know," Treville replied. "But it doesn't appear to have been a robbery, as his possessions were still on him."

Athos took a few steps toward the bed. "How is he?"

Lemay shook his head. "Multiple contusions, I don't think any are bleeding internally. But what has me concerned is this gash above his eye." He indicated the jagged wound he was currently dabbing at with a wet cloth.

"Why?" Porthos asked, straightening sharply.

Lemay sighed. "He may be blind when he wakes. If he wakes at all."

They all exchanged horrified looks at that.

Treville nodded to Athos. "Wake the rest of the garrison. I want whoever did this found."

Athos gave a clipped nod in return and headed out. D'Artagnan cast a hesitant look at Aramis before hurrying after him.

Porthos wanted to go with them, wanted to hunt down the bastards that did this, but at the same time he couldn't bring himself to leave Aramis's side, not when his life was hanging so delicately in the balance.

The captain gave him an understanding nod and stepped out, leaving Porthos to keep vigil as Lemay worked to clean and bandage what he could. After the doctor had exhausted his skills, he left instructions for what they should do when Aramis woke—depending on his condition when he did.

And then Porthos was alone. He sat at Aramis's bedside, silently pleading for him to wake up. But as the night wore on, Aramis didn't wake. And Porthos didn't sleep.

The following morning, the tranquility was once again disturbed by a commotion. Porthos rose from his place of vigil and went to the door to peek out. Athos, d'Artagnan, and a couple other musketeers were dragging a bound man into the garrison. Porthos stormed out to meet them; they wouldn't have brought this fellow unless he had something to do with what happened to Aramis.

Treville came out as well. "Who is this?"

"Monsieur Bouchard," Athos said. "We found a broken pocket watch at the scene of the attack with his name etched on the back. And when we went to return it, we found his pocket chain not only broken, but there was blood on it."

Porthos's ire was fizzling beneath the surface, and he wanted nothing more than to pummel this bastard into the ground like he'd done to Aramis.

Treville nodded, maintaining a calm exterior. "You are hereby charged with assaulting a King's Musketeer."

"I was within my right!" the man snarled. "That bastard defiled my marriage bed!"

Porthos closed his eyes for a brief moment. Of course it had to be a cuckold husband.

"He runs around defiling practically every woman in the city!" Bouchard continued to rage.

Treville's jaw looked tight with exasperation as well. "Take him to the Chatelet until he can be brought before a judge."

Athos passed the man off to the other musketeers, who hauled him away while he continued to rant against that "Lothario bastard."

Treville exhaled heavily. "Aramis never learns his lesson," he groused.

D'Artagnan looked affronted. "Surely you're not saying he deserved this, Captain."

"Of course not," Treville snapped. "But I can hardly defend my musketeer in court if he keeps having affairs with married women."

"Having an affair is not against the law," Athos pointed out.

"No, but it doesn't help his cause either."

"Any improvement?" d'Artagnan asked Porthos.

He regretfully shook his head. "Hasn't even woken yet."

He was ready to go back into the infirmary when a woman came hurrying into the garrison.

"Excuse me," she said. "My husband was arrested this morning and I was told he was brought here. Where is he?" She swept her gaze around, but before any of them could explain the situation to her, someone called out,

"Marie!"

Another musketeer, Joubert, came hurrying over and the two embraced in such a familiar manner that the rest of them were gaping dumbly in response.

"Oh, thank goodness you're okay," she gushed. "When they took my husband away, they said he attacked a musketeer, and I was so worried…"

"Hang on," Porthos interrupted. "You were sleeping with Bouchard's wife too?"

Joubert ducked his gaze and tugged self consciously at his hat.

"I know it's wrong," the woman answered first. "But Joubert and I fell in love. I didn't think my husband had found out about it, and I never expected him to do something like this."

Joubert frowned. "Something like what?"

"Are you telling me, soldier," Treville said sharply, skewing Joubert with a severe glare, "that you're unaware Aramis was nearly beaten to death last night?"

The young man's eyes widened. "What? No." He glanced at Marie. "Your husband did it? Why?"

"And you, Madame," Athos put in, "are unfamiliar with the musketeer Aramis?"

Marie shook her head. "I've never met him."

Porthos couldn't believe it, and they all shared equally incredulous looks at the revelation, especially because they'd all just accepted that Aramis was guilty. It wouldn't have been out of character for him.

Treville dismissed Joubert, who went off with Marie to speak privately.

"Well," Porthos snorted. "I didn't see that coming."

"Me neither," d'Artagnan commented.

"At least in court there is no defense for attacking the wrong man," Athos said.

Treville nodded. "But because another musketeer was having an affair with the man's wife?" He shook his head and headed up to his office.

The rest of them made their way back into the infirmary to check on Aramis, who of course had to be just waking up when no one was around.

Porthos hurried to his side and clasped one hand, resting his other on Aramis's head to prevent him from moving about too much. "Aramis? Can you hear me?"

"Mm, Porthos?"

"Yeah, right here. Can you look at me?" He held his breath as Aramis's eyelids fluttered sluggishly, his eyes looking straight up at nothing. Then they shifted a fraction, meeting Porthos's.

"What happened?" Aramis whispered.

Porthos squeezed his hand fervently. He could see, thank God.

"What do you remember?" Athos asked gently, coming to stand at his head.

Aramis squinted, but that seemed to cause pain and he moaned and closed his eyes. "I don't know. Was attacked, I think. Didn't see his face."

Porthos patted his arm. "We caught the bastard."

Aramis's brow pinched as he tried to open his eyes again. "Why?" he croaked.

"The man thought you were having an affair with his wife," d'Artagnan answered. He grimaced. "Turns out it was another musketeer."

Porthos flashed Aramis a cheeky grin. "Easy mistake to make," he joked.

Aramis just stared at him with this strange, distressed look. "I haven't… Not since…" He broke off and turned his face into the pillow.

Porthos frowned. Not since what?

"Just rest," Athos said gently before Porthos could probe that further, and there was an odd look in his eye as he said it, like he knew what Aramis meant and was trying to deflect.

Porthos filed that away under something to follow up on later. After his brother was recovered enough to endure some questioning. Right now all that mattered was that he would recover.