As a child growing up, Aramis had always heard it said that every man had his own cross to bear. He'd never understood it. He'd seen so many things that made him question his faith in the time since he'd become a soldier. There was a time when he'd felt that the Church would be his home. He had few other options. Even with his father recognizing him, he was still viewed as a bastard. It was a sin he'd prayed would be forgotten, one that had been heaped on him without his consent.
So he'd done what he could. Prayer and study and hours spent among text after text; learning as much as possible so he could show he was worth something. He drank it in like a sponge. The Church had been his escape, the only way he had ever found a sense of peace. Torn between the way of the Cross and the way of the sword, Rene had never quite found his true purpose. It had taken years for him to fully outrun his past and the lessons from his mother, who found comfort in the arms of a different man every night. Somehow, she'd still managed to find the time to drag her son to church and beg the Magdalena for protection. She could pretend she was repentant all she wanted, but Rene always knew better. She was what she would always be, and in choosing that lifestyle she had condemned him to be minimized by her profession for the rest of his days.
Somehow, the words he had heard at mass stuck with him. Rene was determined that he would find a cause to which he could devote his life. The Catholic church was a welcome haven for a boy whose mother worked in the world's oldest profession, and he had devoured the time he got to spend with the priest when he did make it to church.
That view of religion had changed him. It had given him a guide that had tempered the morals (or perhaps, he realized now, lack thereof) which his mother had instilled in him. He often felt so far beyond God's reach that even prayer was a difficult task.
His faith told him to forsake the world for the cross, but for most of his life, Aramis had done the opposite, teetering on the line between sin and salvation, and praying desperately that he wasn't beyond hope. Still, there were moments when he wanted to see it all end; the pain, the devastation, war and famine. This was not how he had expected his existence to be. He had made a vow that if God saved his life, he would spend the rest of it in service. He could have run from that promise, but where would it have led him? Back to a lifestyle built on sin and loneliness that would leave him empty. No, he could not survive such things. So he prayed; imploring God to hear him from on high and to remove the vanity from his heart. He hoped that it would happen and yet, he saw no change.
God, in His infinite wisdom, had been the one who forced Aramis to take up the gun and sword again in defense of France. For a while, Rene questioned if it was a form of penance that he had to pay for all of the sins he had committed and wounds he had given others, both physical and emotional. He had let his religion blind him to the fact that he was part of a team, a family that needed him desperately and could never be whole without him. The tightrope he had once been on between who he wished to be and who he truly was had snapped when Louis confronted him in Saint Denis.
That was the day Rene had learned that for all his devotion, he did not trust God enough to be merciful and spare him the pain of a death marred by dishonor. Louis could easily have killed him for sleeping with the Queen, though it had been some time since their indiscretions had taken place. He had bowed his head in prayer more than once, begging for forgiveness in prayer; questioning why the Almighty would bother to concern himself with the pleas of a lust-filled, lonely soldier who had been running from Him for years.
On that particular day, however, Aramis did not just pray for himself. He prayed for Ana, for his comrades, for his son. He prayed that his friends would survive if something or someone came after them. They should not have to pay for the sins of others; hadn't the blood of Christ done that sufficiently enough? Then, a conversation with his superior had flipped the entire situation on its head.
". . . Do I really. . . Am I truly. . . Oh.", he sighed, shaking his head in an attempt to compose himself. For all the devotion he had claimed to have, his faith had failed him again. It would be up to him to accept whatever destiny God had for him, but after talking to the abbot, he knew that it was not and had never been here. He had wanted so desperately to belong somewhere, that he had forced himself into the chains of routine to make it all make sense. That night, for the first time since coming to contemplate his future, Rene could release the weight that had been on his heart since he had arrived.
That was when the realization crashed over him. He had spent so long nailing himself to a cross that was never his to bear. All of the questions, the doubt, the weight. . . All he had ever needed to do was to let it go. He did not need to be here to serve God; only to trust that God was there, and would see him through.
"Forgive me, Father. For being in such a rush to be where I thought I needed to be. For abandoning the people who needed me most." When he made it off his knees, Aramis knew exactly what he needed to do. He had always thought God was calling him to service, but this was not his home. God was sending him home now. Back with his brothers, who needed him more than any monastery ever could. He was a man of faith, but that faith did not tie him here. He resolved that in the morning, he would tell the abbot that he could not take his orders, and then, once more, the prodigal would return home.
(A/N: This story was based on a prompt fill for the prompts, "Prayer/Religion" found on tumblr on the privateerstudies account.)