Wow, what a welcome back. Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback!
Aramis stood alone in the refectory. Every day for the past four months, he had found himself in this room, contemplating his decision, trying to understand if his choices had been his or God's. Aramis wasn't a fool, but nor did he consider himself a wise man. He struggled to clear his mind, to devote his time to his studies, to devote his life to the order. Instead, he longed for what he had lost.
He longed for his brothers, his family, his friends.
He longed to see the queen in all her glory.
He longed to see his son. The son he could never claim as his own.
Aramis ran a hand over his face, rubbed his eyes, and then pulled at the corners of his mustache. This was a monastery filled with men who had devoted their lives to the service of God. Some had taken vows of silence, while others expertly copied the texts and perfected their script as pages were written and rewritten. Time was nonexistent. It was no longer relevant. Aramis was slowly feeling the weight of it.
The room was simple, but the stained glass window reflected the book of Job and Aramis silently wondered how a man of such simplicity could endure so much. A man who had everything taken from him… Aramis rubbed his brow and suddenly found his knees weak, his lungs starved for air, and his eyes stung as tears flooded. The devil had tried to take everything from Job… but he failed, and he failed because God was everything to Job.
Aramis suddenly found himself inadequate. What he wanted to do differed from what he believed he should do, and for a moment in time, he allowed himself a moment to grieve. To grieve the loss of his old life; his brothers; his position as a Musketeer. Aramis found himself surrounded by honorable men, men who had given their lives in service — not to the king — but to God. Despite that, Aramis had never in his life felt more alone. He looked at the window, the colors of the stained glass, the way the blues transitioned as the light of the sun and the clouds moved across the sky. The way the greens grew dark and light. The way Job looked, so alone within the setting the artist had created for him. Aramis rubbed his hand along the length of his robe and then caught sight of the blue cloak that reminded him of the sash he once wore. He had never considered himself melancholy, but as he sat, collected his breath, and thought about everything he had given up and everything he now faced, he understood how the weight of it had burdened Athos so. The grief that consumed him, the feelings of remorse he could not let go, and the thoughts of a life he once had. Aramis leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and bowed his head. He wished in that very moment he had been a better friend to Athos.
Aramis never wanted to fail God, never wanted to break a promise to Him, but as he sat there, lost in his past and thinking about his future, he found himself overcome with his own desires.
He thought himself selfish for it.
Aramis looked up and watched a mouse scurry along the wall. It stopped, rose to its back legs, and sniffed the air. Its whiskers twitched, and then suddenly it resumed its journey. There was no fear in its actions, just caution as it tested the air and followed the path it was familiar with, a path the mouse had used repeatedly. Despite its size amongst the massive furnishings, there was an air about the rodent that Aramis envied. An air of assertion, bravery, and hope. Whether it was looking for food, bedding, or a mate, its instinct was to evaluate its position in relation to its surroundings. A simple, but often overlooked move that Aramis was familiar with.
Aramis ran his fingers through his hair, took a deep breath, and then glanced from the stained glass image of Job to the mouse that continued its journey. At the moment, Aramis felt as small as that mouse, but not nearly as brave.
The echo of the creak of the door as it opened reverberated throughout the room and Aramis turned on his seat and watched the old friar walk toward him. Dressed in simple white robes that gathered and dusted the floor as he moved. Gray hair peeked from beneath his hood, but bright brown eyes caught Aramis' own. The abbot's face was weathered and wrinkled, and laugh lines surrounded his mouth and the corners of his eyes. He had spent the last 30 years in this monastery, and every one of them had brought him joy, grief, and peace.
"Still contemplating your place amongst us?" The abbot said as he gathered his robes and took a seat next to Aramis. He shifted to his left and rested his arm on the back edge of the pew.
"I know my place is here," Aramis said, and folded his fingers together as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I do."
"If you're trying to convince me…" the abbott paused with a chuckle, "you've failed."
"I made a commitment… I must honor it."
The abbot looked at Aramis with a critical eye and then frowned. "Honoring a commitment is just as important as understanding when that commitment has been honored."
Aramis took a deep breath and then groaned. "You are complicating an already complicated situation, Abbot."
The old monk chuckled and slapped Aramis' shoulder. "Since the day you arrived here, Aramis," the abbot said, "I could see the conflict within you." He leaned back and then looked at the stained glass that had been placed high on the wall to capture the early morning light. "The first few weeks I believed you hoped to keep your promise…" he turned and looked at Aramis, "but what I have seen is a young man conflicted with the promises he made and the life he has led."
There was an air of wisdom about the abbot that Aramis admired. A sense of calm, but most of all, a sense of his love of the Lord. Aramis envied it, and he silently wondered if he would ever achieve that love, the desire to follow, and the desire to put aside himself.
"The Bible is filled with men… some weak, some strong. It's filled with kings, shepherds, and it's filled with men like Job… all of those men shared a message." The abbot looked at Aramis. "All of them served in one capacity or another, and none of them are the same."
"What are you trying to tell me?" Aramis exhaled slowly and bit his bottom lip.
"I'm telling you to take the time you need, but do not place the pride that is bound up in the promise you made, over God's desire for you."
Aramis frowned and squinted when he looked at the abbot. "You think my decision is based on my pride?"
The old monk took a deep breath and looked at Aramis with the loving eyes of a father. "I think you believe your choices are the right ones… when all along they may be the wrong ones."
Aramis rested his elbows on his knees again and hung his head. "My greatest fear is to fail in God's desire for me." He inhaled when he felt the abbot's hand on his shoulder.
"That is a fear we all share, but we are not ruled by our fears, but our love of God."
Aramis smiled and nodded. He turned suddenly when the door to the refectory squeaked open.
"What is it, Brother Samuel?" The abbot said as he shifted his position.
"There are riders coming," the young monk said.
The abbot stood and dusted his robe. "Join us in greeting our guests, Aramis."
Aramis frowned and looked at him. "Are these riders expected?" He placed his hand on his waist and ran his fingers over the belt of his robe.
"Stop reaching for your weapons every time you hear a bump, my son." The abbot shook his head and chuckled. He ambled toward the door, and said over his shoulder, "Please, join us."
