Thank you for being this patient with me. I know it's been a long time. But rest assured, I've already finished the story. I just need to write out everything. But I couldn't make you wait any longer so I decided to at least post a new chapter. It ends a bit abruptly, since I wanted to make the chapter longer. But like I said, I couldn't make you wait longer. So, Enjoy!
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Chapter 2

As he sits on the edge of his bed he places his hand carefully on one of the wounds on his stomach, a reminder of what happened just hours ago.

A couple of quick bandages were spun around some of the wounds he had received as soon as they had all entered the garrison. But Aramis had insisted on being alone for a moment, and his brothers had reluctantly left his room. Leaving the marksman to his own thoughts.

In a moment he decisively stands up from his bed and starts pacing up and down the room. There is no way for him to stay in Paris. The way he sees it; he only has two options: either run away, or face his enemy. But as long as he stays here, he will be bringing everyone in danger. That much could be told from the events that had taken place earlier today.

He will never forget the expressions on the faces of his brothers when he first saw them in captivity. The shock that went through his body when he initially thought they might be dead and the relief he felt as soon as they woke up. The mixture of emotions he felt at that moment made him sick to think about them, especially when reminding himself of how pathetic, fragile and helpless he must have looked.

And that is exactly the moment Aramis decides to pack his bags. He quickly opens his drawers and closet and empties them. His eyes hover over his desk and cling to his pauldron. No, there was no turning back now.

The commotion from his room had stirred Athos and Porthos downstairs. Worried about their friend they quickly leaped upstairs and knocked on his door.

'Not now!' Aramis grunts, as he puts on his cloak. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. The knocks continue impatiently. He sees no other way out of this than to be confronted by his brothers. He sighs and drops his head.

Before even stepping towards the door, Porthos had already swung the door open and stepped into the room. Athos right behind him. They look at Aramis, at the stack of bags on his bed and then back at Aramis again.

'What d'you think you're doing?' Porthos protests as he picks up one of the bags on the bed.

'Aramis, you can't run away from this.' Athos says, as he steps in front of Aramis and takes off the others' cloak.

'Please, don't.' Aramis rejects, as he grabs Athos' hands. 'I'm going to finish this once and for all, but I have to do this alone. Please understand.'

Athos rests his eyes on Aramis', a weak smile on his face. He knows exactly how Aramis feels, but can't let him go like this.

'You don't have to do this alone.' Athos continues. 'Aramis, we are your brothers, let us in. I know you don't want to tell us about your past, but please, we need to understand, so we can help you.'

Aramis stays silent, and lets Athos fold up his cloak. This was not a story he wanted to share with them. He has never even told Treville about this.

Athos slowly leads him back to the bed and sits him down. He and Porthos both grab a chair after closing the door.

Aramis looks up at them in discomfort. How could he tell them… Would they even understand, or forgive him? There is just too much from his past he would rather forget about. Let alone tell it to someone else.

Seeing the conflict in Aramis' eyes, Athos places his hand on Aramis' knee. Hoping to comfort him as he speaks in a quiet voice.

'Please, we won't judge you. Trust us. Trust us like you do when we're out there fighting for our lives.'

Aramis suddenly shudders. Athos was right. How can he not trust them with his own past when he can trust his brothers with his life in moments of battle. He sighs, and inhales deeply to start his story.

'Alright…' He begins.

'Like my father said; I was born in a whorehouse in Paris. My mother was a worker there, and my father a frequent client of hers. She took care of me in her room in the brothel. I grew up there. The other women were always very kind to me, they kept me from harm and cared for me when my mother couldn't. To the point that they would give me the only food they had left. But I made it, it was a home. I know it sounds weird…' He stares at the floor, flushed cheeks from embarrassment, feeling the eyes of his brothers piercing at him.

'Don't look at me like that! I don't want your pity.'

Porthos shakes his head at the thought that he might be giving Aramis a wrong look. He doubts if he should apologize, but before he tries to talk Aramis had already continued his story.

'When I was about 6 years old, this man came to us. I only remember him and my mother arguing about something, and the next thing I know I arrive at a huge mansion, complete with servants, in the countryside. A boy a few years older than me welcomes me. He called himself Jean, and the man who took me told me he was my brother. I didn't really understand what was happening. I was scared and wanted to go back to my mother.'

'The first couple of months I ran away a lot. My father and brother always found me though. My father was upset with me every time and punished me for it. To the point that I just didn't try to run away anymore. I gave up, and stayed.'

'I remember some years later, I saw my father teaching my brother to shoot, and fight with swords. Jean was sent away a lot of times, I never knew where he had gone. No one ever told me either. It all seemed very secretive to me. But I grew curious, and wanted to learn to shoot and fight like Jean too. And after a while my father agreed and started teaching me. I learned quickly and seemed to be rather good at it. To the point that my father invited other gentlemen to dinner and afterwards watched me do some tricks with pistols and muskets.'

'I think I enjoyed the attention…' He swallows, deep in thought.

'When I was about 10 years old my father began giving me errands to run. I had to pick up and drop off some packages and letters. I had no idea what was in them, but I didn't care. I felt special for once. Although my father was never really a nice man.'

'After doing that for a couple of years I was suddenly summoned inside my fathers office, which had always been off limits for me. There were some important looking men inside, next to my father. And that's when I received my very first mission. Apparently there was this spy in a village somewhere who needed taking care of. So, I went to the village, found the man and shot him. That was my first kill…'

Aramis pauses for a moment, the memory flashes in front of his eyes.

Porthos finds the courage to move during this emotional moment. Aramis looks up at him, he notices Porthos is holding his tongue. But it doesn't take long for him to finally ask.

'How many were there?' Porthos asks, concerned for whatever Aramis' father had done to him.

Aramis averts his eyes. What's the point in telling them? It will only upset them more.

'I don't remember.' He decides.

Athos knits his brows. It was very unlike Aramis to not know such a thing.

'Aramis…' He squeezes his brother's knee softly.

Aramis swallows away the feeling of nausea. '28…'

Porthos and Athos widen their eyes in shock. Athos silently covers his mouth with his hand while Porthos clenches his wrists in anger.

Aramis frowns as he gazes at his own hands. 'I still see their faces at night.' They stay silent for a while, not knowing what to say.

'It was around this time when I met Isabelle. I thought she was the love of my life. We were happy together and got engaged when she fell pregnant. My father seemed so proud of me. But, well, you know how that ended.' Aramis breaks the silence.

'Later I was sent on a new mission somewhere near the border of Spain. According to my father this couple had committed treason and needed to be "taken care off". When I arrived they were packing a carriage for a trip. People were running in and out of the house with bags. I placed myself on a well positioned point overviewing the courtyard and readied my weapons. The moment I got a clear line with the husband I aimed and shot. Straight in the heart. The woman screamed in terror. I took up my other weapon and aimed for her head. I…' Aramis stops for a moment. There is no way he can continue this story. He hangs his head in his hands as he leans on his knees.

'It's okay.' Athos tries, as he places his hand on Aramis' shoulder.

'No! No, it's not okay. None of it is okay!' Aramis shouts as he stands up in anger. The quick movement makes him cringe of pain from his wounds. He places his hand against a wall and leans on it heavily.

'I took the shot... But hadn't noticed the toddler running towards his parents.' Aramis clenches his hand in his hair as he stares vacantly at the wall. 'My hands were shaking… I couldn't finish my mission. I could not shoot her. So I ran away.'

Aramis turns his back towards the wall and rests against it, his eyes red and wet with tears. He can't bear to face his brothers so he stares down at his feet.

'I knew my father and brother would never forgive me for what I had neglected to do. I was afraid of them and so I ran to Paris. Hoping they would not be able to find me in the biggest city of France.'

Like I said, it ends a bit abruptly. Don't worry, I will update! Please don't give up on me or this story. I still have a lot to tell. :)