Aramis

He lay on the bed in the dilapidated room, staring into the darkness as he listened intently to Milady. She went through all the information that she thought he needed to accomplish his mission. It felt good to focus on a mission, especially because the drought she had given him had had an extraordinary effect - it had made him more lucid. In addition, it had significantly soothed the pain and his cough, which had finally ceased to torment him. He even felt a bit stronger, although he knew that he would pay for this impression when the effect eventually wore off.

When she had finished, she asked, "How do you feel?" She sounded worried-most likely about his ability to play his part in her ingenious plan. She was truly a talented spy. It would best to stay on her good side. He prayed that she never became his enemy.

"I won't fail," he said quietly, and he vowed not to. Too much was at stake. It should frighten him, but somehow, he felt beyond fear. He knew that this should worry him.

Have I succeeded in walling off my emotions? Or I can I no long feel any emotion? I feel so empty.

Focus! Don't think about it.

"Do you think you can keep down some food?" Milady asked.

Aramis thought for a moment. He knew that he needed some sustenance, but he also knew that vomiting might completely drain his waning strength.

He really didn't care if he ate or not.

"I'll try," he replied halfheartedly. She handed him some bread and cheese. He took a few bites before his body protested.

Milady watched him like a hawk. She was probably wondering if he would lose his consciousness. Her body was tense, and her nervousness was clear despite her attempt to preserve her usual composure.

I just feel numb.

"You should try to sleep," she said.

"I don't think I'll be able to after drinking the draught you gave me. Can you get me some paper and something I can use to write?"

She sighed, and gave him a pen and a dirty piece of paper.

"Are you planning to write your will?" she asked calmly. "That might be a good idea."

He could not find the strength to answer her. He tried to write without changing his position. Every time he moved, he hurt. He was tired of hurting.

It would hurt much more without the drug she gave me.

"Porthos,

If you're reading this, I'm beyond any pain now. Take care of Athos and d'Artagnan. The Gascon may decide that he is now free to die, and our leader may opt to drown his imagined guilt in wine. Know that everything that I did was my choice. I am the only one to blame. Milady had nothing to do with it.

May God be with you.

Aramis."

The marksman was dissatisfied with his letter, but he was too tired and emotionally empty to find better words. He folded the letter, and handed it to Milady.

"If I don't make it…"

"I hope that you'll retrieve the order before you think about dying. However, I'd prefer that you present it to the King, not me."

"Treville can present it."

It will be a miracle if I am able to remain conscious long enough to give it to anyone.

He was lay motionless until he heard Milady's voice telling him that it was time to get up. She brought him fresh clothes, and he was mildly surprised to realize that he was not ashamed that he needed her help to dress.

"Lean on me. You need to conserve your strength, as you'll need it later. You'll be on your own for your negotiations," she said. Her voice was matter of fact. She showed no emotion.

I prefer that kind of detachment. It doesn't require anything from me. The last thing I want to do right now is to face my brothers and their care.

I hope Athos is safe by now.

Do I really hope?

Do I really care about him?

No… I just want him to be safe in the garrison.

Do I?

What's wrong with me?

Nothing. I'm just a damaged weapon which needs to be replaced.

After performing its last task.

He allowed to Milady support his weight as they headed for the horses. Normally, he would have been mortified to have to use a stool to get into the saddle. Now, he just felt indifferent.

Just like I feel about everything. Focus! Don't forget that you have a mission to complete before you can let go… Rochefort is too dangerous to be allowed to live...and to continue to manipulate the king. You have to save the woman you loved, as well as your brothers. Then you will be free to let go.

It was a dark, rainy night. They hardly saw anyone on the streets. The poor weather had caused the inhabitants of the city to seek refuge in their homes or taverns. The marksman's face was hidden under a mask. Milady had given him a black cloak, and its large hood gave him an additional measure of anonymity.

Aramis licked drops of water from his lips. Somehow, the action was soothing. He was not truly thirsty, but he felt impossibly dehydrated. Like an old parchment.

And as easily torn as an old piece of paper.

They reached the Seine, and passed through the port. He recognized the small house that Milady had mentioned. It must have been abandoned some time ago. Aramis recalled that an old retired watchman had once lived there. The man must have died, and the building had fallen into ruins. It never had been properly maintained.

Milady was still in men's clothes, and was wrapped up in a long cloak. She stayed with the horses. He approached the house, stumbling a bit along the way. As the windows were boarded up, there was no way of seeing if anyone was already inside.

Aramis was preparing to knock when the door opened.

"It is an awful night, my friend. Come in." A tall man stood just inside the door. He wore a mask, and his French had a heavy Spanish accent.

"Indeed. I miss nights in the Patio de los leones," the marksman replied in French, playing along with the game of passwords.

"You miss Dolores."

"Who could truly miss Alhambra?"

The other man nodded, satisfied.

"So, you asked for this meeting. What happened?" This time, the stranger spoke in Spanish. "Are you wounded?"

"Yes, but that's not the reason I asked for a meeting-although it may be connected. The reason is called Rochefort."

"Vargas' best spy." The Spaniard spoke with more than a touch of irony.

"I would term him a madman."

"A madman? Whom did this idiot kill this time?" Irritation was clear in Estavez' voice. His eyes flashed angrily, and Aramis suddenly felt a bit uneasy. But he banished any fear for his own safety.

He's a dangerous man. I must be careful not to make him suspicious. I am not mentally sharp enough to easily fool an intelligent opponent.

"It's more a matter of whom he wanted to have," the musketeer replied swiftly. "I don't think our king would appreciate knowing that his little sister has been claimed by a commoner."

"Rochefort told Vargas that he could make the queen fall in love with him. Hmm..it would be excellent to be able to accuse her of betrayal."

"Do you not see there is more than a bit of difference between falling in love and being raped?! Apparently Rochefort doesn't-but Vargas needs to explain it to him before it's too late, as I'm pretty sure that we'll pay for his incompetence."

"I tried to set up a meeting with him, but he did not answer my summons. That is more than a little disturbing. As is the recent death of our ambassador…" Estavez sighed. "Well, what do you want from me?"

"An order with Vargas' seal on it. I know he's given you permission to issue decrees in his name. I need an order for our comte to immediately depart for Spain, in order to learn his rightful place in our intelligence network."

"Are you aware that he may kill you for presenting him such a thing?"

"I'll be careful. Besides, I have sworn to lay down my life for our country." Aramis forced himself to give his companion the briefest of smiles.

Estavez remained silent, and appeared to be hesitating. His eyes wandered over the marksman, then over the small room.

"Did a physician see to your injuries?" he asked, surprising Aramis with his question.

"Yes." he replied curtly. "I'll live." He was not sure where this conversation was going. Does Estavez suspect anything?

Does he have the seal with him?

If he does, I could kill him, and try to forge the order.

If not…all of this will have been for nothing.

Estavez took out a paper and writing utensils. He sat down on a chair at the little table, and started to write. Aramis glanced over his shoulder in order to be sure that Estavez was writing as per the instructions that he had been given. After a while, the Spaniard finished a short and explicit order for Rochefort to return to Madrid. He sealed it, and handed it to Aramis.

"Be careful," Estavez said quietly. He then departed.

Aramis leaned against the wall, and waited. Part of his brain told him that he was just being sensible. After all, Estavez might be watching the building. However, another part of his brain told him that he was waiting simply because he did not to have the strength to go anywhere.

He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to cough, and tried unsuccessfully to suppress it. When it came, the cough ripped through him with a vengeance, and he landed on his knees. He desperately struggled to catch his breath, to soothe the fire in his lungs, to lessen the agony of his ribs.

He tasted a metallic liquid in his mouth.

"Aramis!" someone hissed. His face was cupped in a pair of hands.

"Breathe!" a feminine voice ordered tensely.

Why is she so upset? I got the order.

He blinked, trying to banish the dark spots which were crowding into his vision.

"The order?"

He nodded, and gave Milady the parchment.

"You cannot stay here," she stated. "Estavez may come back."

What she said made sense, but it did nothing to change the fact that he was not able to move.

"Just throw me into Seine," he muttered, feeling completely exhausted.

"You're insane!" Suddenly, her eyes widened, and it seemed as if something had dawned on her. She cursed under her breath.

She touched some dry leaves to his lips, and ordered, "Chew these!"

He obeyed, although his mouth felt as dry as the leaves.

"Now take a few sips of this." She offered him a small bottle.

Wine.

He took a cautious sip. The liquid burned a bit, but the moisture was most welcome. He knew it would not be enough to quench his thirst.

Milady still knelt in front of him, supporting him with her arm. Her green eyes had a strange, thoughtful expression.

I don't need your compassion!

But he lacked the energy to say the words out aloud. He did not resist when she helped him to stand up. His grip tightened on her arm as the world whirled around him. She gave him a moment to reequilibrate, then firmly guided him towards the horse.

I can't ride. Leave me here. I did what you needed me to do. Now it's up to you.

But he remained silent. He obediently tried to mount the horse, but ended up on the ground.

She cursed.

"Take the document to Treville," he whispered.

She surveyed their surroundings quickly, then once again hauled him to his feet and directed him towards a warehouse. He never thought it would seem so far away. Finally she allowed him to lie down, and covered him with some rags.

"I'll send someone to get you. Just hold on!" She squeezed his hand tightly.

"Save those…" deserving to be saved. No, I should use different words with Milady, as Athos might not fit her description of 'worth saving'...

"Save the others," he murmured. He could barely hear his own voice.

"You did well, you fool," she said softly. "You did well. Just don't die…"

If he had not known better, he would have thought that it sounded like a plea…

A/N I've managed a bit earlier update. I hope you'll enjoy it!