Author's Notes: Many thanks to those who reviewed the previous chapters. Hopefully, you'll like the conclusion of this story.
Aramis had just finished speaking and the Swiss followed close with a compliant ‚Amen' when the captain returned. What he had been talking about was neither Aramis' business nor did he care to know it. Furthermore, he was not curious what would happen to his penitent. He would die within the next minutes, the priest knew. There was nothing else to be done here and Aramis was a very busy man with little time on his hands.
For a moment though, the former musketeer hesitated and thought of his friend d'Artagnan. He was glad the dying man was somebody else.
Admittedly, he had neither seen nor heard anything from his friend from Gascony for many years but it would have pained him greatly to have the younger man lying on that or any similar bench next to him.
While Aramis performed the Extreme Unction and quietly quoted the proper verse, he found his mind wandering again and contemplate his former comrade's fate.
So many time had passed, so many things had happened ever since. Perhaps the captain knew of d'Artagnan's fate. Mayhap he even knew the Gascon himself? But Aramis did not dare inquire.
The capitaine stepped forward, briefly brushing over Charles' brow when the wounded's eyes rose to meet his. But they didn't, instead the Swiss stared right through him and then went on looking for someone else. The lieutenant took a step towards Charles hesitantely and the captain ushered him forward. He took the priest's arm who had remained oblivious to the exchange and led him away. A quiet smile appeared on his face when the lieutenant sat down heavily next to his wounded friend and bent forward as if to talk to him.
When the captain turned towards the priest, the man inquired coldly:
"Is there anything else?"
"Are you in a hurry?"
"I am."
"Whatever it is, it will have to wait."
Aramis thought back to the days of his youth when such a statement would have been met with more than just a glare.
"I have doen every thing I can for him", he explained, „there is nothing else that I can do. It will not take much longer now."
"Good. You can stay then."
Aramis frowned at the stubborness of his vis-à-vis.
"Charles would have wanted it", the captain offered quietly, an excuse and an explanation for his insistence maybe? But the former musketeer would have none of it. "M Lehmann is not the only one who is dying tonight and not the only person to require my services."
"No other soldiers have taken shelter here for tonight", the captain objected yet again but less firmly this time. Aramis would have answered him were not for the lieutenant whose choked cry alerted them.
"Charles!"
The two men turned to look at the bed, both dreading the sight that would greet them. But Charles was not yet dead. Presently, he coughed and gripped the lieutenant's hand tightly. "Adrien..", he whispered, the lieutenant's name Aramis presumed, and smiled. As though this had been the moment he had been waiting for, he tightened his grip on his friend's hand briefly before slumping back on the bed, and sighing closed his eyes forever.
It happened too fast, his friends would later say. After all the time they had waited and spent dreading that final moment, only Adrien had had the time to say ‚Good bye' and let the Swiss know he was there. Although, they understood that Charles had to have known who had been there with him.
During all this, the men forgot about the priest and when finally, he came to their minds again, he was long gone. The door was open but neither man had any inclination to call the father back. After all, his work among the group was now truly finished and nothing remaint to be done.
Deep down in his soul, Aramis felt guilty.
Surely had someone else been in his stead, Michel perhaps, he would with disgust have announced that it did not become a priest to flee in such a fashion. But it had not been anybody else and now, that he had put that room and those men behind him, he felt relieved. Much more so than guilty, he realized.
The men, apart from the dying Swiss, had troubled him greatly. They had reminded him of his past and while the days had been good then, very good indeed, it was something he had kept buried for years. Maybe, why seeing the soldiers had suddenly affected him had had to do with d'Artagnan. Tonight, he had thought of the other man more often than in the last ten years.
A door sprang open, barely missing Aramis who had jumped back at the last second. A man wearing a bloodied uniform entered, an épée in his right hand which he pointed at Aramis almost immediately.
"Where are they?" he inquired harshly in a voice hoarse from running.
"Are you talking about the soldiers, my son?" For a fleeting moment, he wished he had his own weapon ready.
"Of course I am talking about the soldiers!" the man, a musketeer, spat angrily and gripped his thrusting tighter.
"At the end of the corridor-" replied Aramis, stepping out of the way just in time. The man brushed past him and disappeared a few moments later.
Aramis stayed where he was, uncertain as to what he should do. Perhaps he should go back and make sure the man was who he believed him to be but then, he was no longer welcome among the men in the back room. Besides, he was almost sure that the newcomer had been d'Artagnan. Him the priest would have wanted to aid in times of need, especially such a time where nothing could be said or done to help and the only thing to do was stay at the mourning's side and be there for him.
The Gascogn though wouldn't have wanted that. After all, he didn't even know his own friend anymore. While Aramis had recognized the former comrade at first sight, d'Artagnan's eyes had not held any recognition. The padre didn't begrudge him this. He wasn't even sure anymore that he wanted to be recognized. Perhaps it was better to remain anonymous.
Michel was busily rearranging his things when the father returned to the room he shared with the novice. His mood did not seem to have improved greatly although instead of angry he now seemed thoughtful and melancholic.
"Is everything alright, Father?" Michel inquired hesitantely.
" ‚Is everything alright?' ", he repeated dully, "Of course, it is."
The novice looked at him, doubt in his eyes, and while Aramis wouldn't have cared any other day, today he replied: "I only met an old ..." He stumbled. An old ... acquaintance? A friend? A former comrade?
But nothing had changed between them. Not really, they trod different paths now but they were still...
"An old friend" Aramis smiled gently and felt oddly comforted when Michel mirrored his smile shyly. Perhaps it was time to tell this young man about the past and a certain friend ...
The End
