Authors note: This is the final part in the Shadows arc. I hope you enjoy it. The chapters will be posted over the next few days.

Chapter One

They turned into the garrison. Aramis felt oddly apprehensive. He had been away for many weeks, and he knew he was feared dead. His time held captive had taken its toll on him. He was sleeping reasonably well again and not suffering from any of the effects of the withdrawal from the drug he had been forced into taking. His issue was the weakness. Even the few days travelling had affected him. He knew he could not go straight back to active duty. He only hoped the Captain would allow him the time to rebuild his strength. Treville would be perfectly within his rights to strip him of his commission.

Athos glanced across as they brought the horses to a stop.

'The next couple of hours will probably be busy for you with all the inevitable welcoming from the garrison.'

Aramis smiled, 'sometimes my popularity is a curse,' he laughed.

Athos chuckled as he dismounted and reached out a hand to steady Aramis as he reached the ground. Aramis did not begrudge the help. The few hours in the saddle on their final day of travelling had been taxing. He was ready for a chance to rest.

'Aramis?'

He looked over to see Barbotin walking towards him. The Musketeer was smiling broadly, with a look of shock thrown in.

'Athos is the one you need to thank for my restoration to the garrison,' said Aramis as he greeted his friend. 'I will tell you about my adventures later. But right now, I am in need of sustenance if I can persuade Serge to put something together for me.'

Barbotin tilted his head, 'you are Serge's favourite. He will probably make something from scratch just for you.'

Aramis smiled; the old soldier that now commanded the garrison mess was known to have a soft spot for a few of the Musketeers. His favouritism was hard-earned, Aramis was sure he was only in the oddly privileged position due to the length of service he had.

Barbotin wandered off, Aramis watched him go, walking from the garrison and heading towards the city. He thought of the times he had complained about patrolling, and that he was missing the mundane nature of their day-to-day job.

They had managed to return at a relatively quiet time in the garrison. Most of the cadets were off duty, and the commissioned men were either on patrol or standing guard or had taken the chance to return to their rooms. A couple of stable boys appeared from the dim stables. The Musketeers horses needed no persuasion to follow the boys so that they could be rubbed down and fed. Aramis patted his faithful mare who he felt lucky to still have. When he had been captured, he was convinced he would not see her again.

He looked towards the table where they frequently sat to eat and discuss their days. No one was sitting there at that moment, but, mused Aramis, the weather was starting to turn cooler. He looked at the dark and shade of the shadows on the ground of the garrison yard. He remembered the shadows in his cell and watching the strip of light travelling across the grey bricks.

It was not until he felt a presence beside him that he realised he had been staring ahead for a few seconds.

'Sorry,' said Aramis, 'I was miles away.'

'Give it time,' replied Athos knowingly. 'Do not expect to recover from what you went through overnight.'

Aramis managed a smile; he was about to make a quip about his recovery already taking more than one night when he was interrupted by the welcome commanding tone of his Captain.

He looked up as Treville hurried to the top of the stairs and down. He grabbed Aramis in a brief embrace before pushing him to arm's length. Aramis could see his Captain scrutinising him for answers.

'I will be alright, Captain,' said Aramis. 'I am not fit at the moment, but I have every confidence that I will be.'

Treville nodded. Aramis was not sure if he was nodding to himself or his Musketeer.

'I'm afraid I don't remember all the intelligence,' admitted Aramis unable to hide the annoyance in his voice.

Treville shook his head, 'that doesn't matter,' he said. 'Whatever you can remember will still be useful, I'm sure. But I want to know what happened.'

'Perhaps we could retire to the mess. We have not eaten for several hours and Aramis needs to get his strength back,' suggested Athos.

Treville furrowed his brow, 'of course. The information will keep for another few hours.'

Athos led them to the mess which was empty apart from Porthos and d'Artagnan who were sitting with their backs to the door. Aramis could see an unusual slump in Porthos' shoulders, and d'Artagnan appeared to only be picking at the food that was in front of him.

'You two were becoming despondent too soon,' said Treville with a smile. 'Our missing friend has been restored to us.'

Both Musketeers twisted in their seats. A look of shock crossed their faces quickly replaced by broad smiles. Porthos got to his feet, his chair scraping noisily across the flagstones. He grabbed Aramis in a firmer embrace than the one the Captain had given him. Aramis wondered if his friend would let him go, before he ran out of air. Once he was released by Porthos he was grabbed by d'Artagnan, whose hug was just as enthusiastic.

'Perhaps you could refrain from hurting him,' suggested Athos wryly. 'It was quite the effort to get him back here in one piece.'

'So it seems,' said d'Artagnan with a nod towards the fading mark on Athos' head where he had knocked himself out.

'Aramis.'

Serge appeared from the back of the mess. The old soldier was carrying a tray of plates and cups. He put them down on a sideboard and rubbed his hands with a cloth he had flung over his shoulder. For the fourth time in as many minutes, Aramis found himself being hugged. Serge's bony arms were not as strong as Porthos, but the sentiment was the same.

'You sit there, and I will bring you some stew. Made it today, still fresh it is.'

He hurried off, mumbling to himself. Aramis smiled before finding himself being guided to the table and pushed into a chair by Porthos who pulled out the chair next to him and settled a little closer than necessary. His friend's protectiveness was something Aramis had missed.

Serge returned with the stew which was piping hot; swirls of steam rose from the bowl. Aramis picked up the hunk of bread next to the bowl and paused. The bread was warm, like the bread he had been given whilst being held captive.

'Athos, perhaps you could tell us how you found our wayward Musketeer,' asked Treville. 'Let Aramis eat.'

Aramis was grateful, he tucked into the food as Athos explained how he had traced the captured Musketeer. It was not lost on Aramis that his friend neglected to explain the state Aramis was in when he had been liberated. That part of the story was for Aramis to tell. As he finished the last of the bread, using it to wipe away the final drops of the stew from the bowl, Athos finished explaining his part of the mission.

Treville turned to Aramis and waited patiently for a few seconds as he finished his food and took a swig of wine.

'The reason I am not at full strength,' Aramis said after a deep breath, 'is because they were drugging me.'

He watched his Captain's reaction. Treville tried to keep his expression neutral, but Aramis could see the shock in his eyes.

'They forced me to drink from vials of drugged water for several days. They made me addicted to the drug. I don't know what it was… Then they stopped giving it to me for a few days, and then they started again.'

Aramis could see the looks of shock on his friend's faces. He wondered what they thought of him. He wondered what they would think of him when he told them what had happened next.

'They… broke me. They got me to a point where I was going to talk in return for more of the drug. If Athos had not arrived when he did, I would have told them the intelligence… I'm sorry Captain.'

Treville reached out and squeezed Aramis' shoulder, 'you were tortured, Aramis. We all have a limit. Even if that torture was unusual. I think no less of you.'

'Neither do we,' said Porthos with seriousness to his tone. 'I know I would not have withstood that.'

Aramis nodded his thanks as Athos filled in a few of the details he had omitted. He told their friends how they had holed up in the shepherd's hut so that Aramis could recover from his addiction to the drug. Athos paused a couple of times, but Aramis encouraged him to explain all that had happened. He did not want to keep anything back from his friends or his Captain.

Treville listened intently, and without interruption, his eyes darting towards Aramis every so often. Aramis could not read the Captain's reaction. After a pause, Treville leaned forward a little.

'You've said yourself that you are not fit for duty and I appreciate your honesty regarding what happened to you. I also have no issue with how you and Athos dealt with the immediate aftermath,' Treville glared at Athos and nodded his thanks. 'Aramis, I am not going to take your commission over this.'

'Thank you, Captain.'

'But you are not fit for duty and won't be for a while. I will have to come up with something you can do for the next few weeks.'

The Captain paused for a few moments. Aramis thought he saw a smile play across his lips, but he did not say what he had thought.

'Get some rest and report to me in the morning before muster. I still need the intelligence you have.'

Aramis nodded.

'I'll leave you for now. It's good to have you back.'

The Captain bid them goodnight and left them alone.

Aramis let out a shaky sigh.

'It'll be paperwork,' said Porthos with a cheeky grin. 'Lots and lots of paperwork.'

MMMM

The following morning Aramis settled in the offered seat in the Captain's office. He had slept well and felt refreshed. There had been something comforting about the soft snores from Porthos on the other side of the room. The sounds of the garrison were welcome. Even the quiet talking of the men returning in the early hours from another mission had not bothered him.

He watched the Captain clear the papers that were in front of him and settle himself. Treville wanted to give Aramis all his attention as he related what he could remember of the intelligence.

'I've tried to order it in my mind,' said Aramis.

'Just give me what you can. If you remember anything else I am sure it will still be useful.'

Aramis nodded and began to relate what he could remember of the intelligence. He had no idea how much he had forgotten or even if what he did remember was correct. He hoped it was, he hoped his whole ordeal was not for nothing.

Treville nodded a couple of times and prompted him once or twice when he thought he knew what Aramis was trying to remember. As Aramis' fractured memories were exhausted, he sat back in his chair and watched Treville nodding to himself.

'Some of that will still be useful,' he said. 'I need to set in motion enquiries into how the contact was found in the first place. I am sure you were not followed, and no one else here knew what your mission was.'

'He was a careful man,' remembered Aramis, 'but he had been passing intelligence for a long time.'

'One time too many,' agreed Treville grimly.

They both paused lost in thought about the difficult work the spies and intelligence gatherers did.

'Now,' said Treville. 'I have a proposal for you. I think it will help you on your way to recovery, and it does not involve piles of paperwork or inventory-taking.'

Aramis tried not to show the relief he felt. He had not been looking forward to weeks of work within the garrison. He knew the mundane work needed to be done, and in small doses, it made a change to the usual duties of the Musketeers.

'You will have noticed the new cadets arriving this morning,' continued Treville. 'I do not expect you to be fit enough to train the transferees or the lads who already have some combat training.'

Aramis furrowed his brow, trying to work out where the Captain was going with his proposition.

'There are,' he paused and looked at one of the papers he had previously pushed aside, 'eight younger lads who all have good letters of introduction from their fathers or local landowners. But none of them has formal training. I think a couple have some sparring experience but not enough to match the other cadets. They are,' the Captain paused again and sighed, 'boys. The youngest of the cadets and the least experienced. To be honest, I don't really expect much from them… but that is not a slight on you, Aramis.'

'You want me to train them?'

Treville nodded, 'I think a small group with an experienced tutor will get better results than if we integrate them with the others. You've trained cadets before. And this will give you a chance to set your own pace and hours. Build your lost strength and stamina up at the same time that you build their strength, stamina and confidence up.'

Aramis nodded as he saw the sense in what Treville was asking of him. If he was given free rein with the young cadets, he could set the tasks and focus on any issues as needed.

'And I do not expect all eight of them to make it as commissioned Musketeers. We always lose a percentage. Do what you can for them whilst you finish your recovery. I will leave it up to you if you tell them what happened to you.'

Aramis rose from his chair. He was about to leave when he paused. He turned back the Captain.

'Whilst I have every confidence I will fully recover,' he said. 'And I believe you have that confidence as well-'

Treville nodded his agreement.

'-I am not a fit man. I am not a Musketeer at the moment.'

He reached up to his pauldron and unbuckled it. He pulled it off and handed it to the Captain who smiled sadly and nodded.

'I will see this is returned to you when you are ready for it,' he said. 'As far as I am concerned, you are still a commissioned Musketeer. You have my trust.'

'I won't let you down, Captain.'

The Captain nodded; he lay Aramis' pauldron on his desk and looked at it for a few seconds.

'Now, off you go and train those cadets.'

MMMM