Aramis
"Ah, you're finally awake, sir," Aramis murmured, leaning towards Treville.
The Captain seized his arm, and tried to lift himself up.
"Do you understand what Milady's information means?!" he rasped.
"That the country is in serious danger," the medic replied calmly. "But that's not a good enough reason to ruin my needle work. Please, lie down, sir."
"Aramis, you must go!"
"With all due respect, Captain, where would you have me go?"
"To Le Havre."
"And leave you here alone to be finished off by our enemy?" Aramis shook his head, his voice firm. "I'm sorry, Captain. That will not happen."
"And if I order you?" Treville challenged.
Aramis took in a deep breath. "Then I'll face a court martial, secure in the knowledge that I did the right thing."
I thought I would do anything to save her, but I cannot leave you here alone... to face death from infection or bandits. I will not allow that to happen!
Treville bit his lip. Aramis was not sure whether his commander was angry or in pain.
"There was a strange… incident a few weeks ago," the Captain muttered.
Aramis leaned forward, relieved that Treville had changed the topic.
"There was an attack on the Red Guards… Rochefort did not share the details, but it was said that his regiment suffered great losses. He needed a large number of recruits to replace the fallen men. It appears that he took on a large number of mercenaries…as well as some teenage boys. When … when the True Musketeers attacked us, the young ones remained loyal…"
Treville's voice trailed off as he struggled to catch his breath.
"The whole thing must have been carefully planned," Aramis said thoughtfully. "Is it possible the King has been poisoned-or drugged-in order to make him more malleable?"
"I don't know. He is distant lately… always angry with me." His leader's voice was tinged with pain. His emotions had to be strong, as it was rare for the Captain to display them openly.
Exhausted by the events, Treville began to nod off.
Aramis tried to focus on tending to the injured man. However, there really was not much more to be done at this point. The Captain obviously needed someone nearby to tend to him if needed, but he mostly just needed rest. Aramis checked on the weapons and on his supply of herbs. He replenished the supply of food in the room, then tried to concentrate on the book he had been reading earlier. It was a translation of a Greek treatise on the medicinal uses of herbs. Although it had seemed fascinating a few hours ago, Aramis now found it difficult to focus on the text.
Finally, he began to feel drowsy. He once again placed his fingers on the Captain's wrist, and allowed himself to fall into a light sleep.
The whinnying of a horse woke him abruptly.
Not again…
Just at the moment he took up his pistol, he heard a muffled voice cry out, "Aramis! Don't shoot!"
A female voice. It was Constance.
Aramis sighed in relief, and opened the window a crack. "You're catching on quickly, Constance," he called down. "It took d'Artagnan a few times to realize that it is always wise to announce yourself in the presence of a sharpshooter on edge-at least one who is on the same side."
She flashed him a warm smile in response, and gave him a little wave.
I thought they would never get here! Now I can finally rush off to join the rescue mission.
He felt a deep sense of pride when he saw the musketeers starting to dismount. He was one of them.
Am I really?
A traitorous thought appeared in his mind. Before it could take root, he heard a gasp of pain. He glanced back to see the Captain reaching for a pistol. The medic rushed to his patient's side, and eased him back onto the pillows.
"It's fine, Captain," he said gently. "They are our men."
Constance entered a moment later, having given the door a cursory knock. She gave Aramis a quick hug, then saw that the Captain was conscious.
"I see that the Captain is feeling better," she murmured, her eyes warming.
"Yes, thank God. But there is no time to waste! We need to ride out immediately."
Constance looked uneasy. "Aramis, even if we are ready to go on, our horses are not. They must have a few hours of rest."
"Constance, give me a report," Treville ordered. His voice, although weak, still carried an unmistakable air of authority..
"Sir, I reached the Garrison without any problem, and spoke with Etienne. I told him that the Queen had been taken, and that you were here - wounded. He immediately summoned fifteen musketeers, as well as a physician named Vimaire. We came as quickly as possible."
"Aramis, tell Constance what we know. This information is for your ears only. The others should only be told what they need to know to help in the search." Treville sank back on the pillow, his voice trailing off.
Aramis told her of his conversation with Milady. Constance listened closely.
"She may be right about his obsession," she muttered.
Treville spoke up again. "Aramis, until you meet up with Athos, you are in charge. Constance, bring Etienne to me."
A startled Aramis stared at his commander. He usually had no qualms about leading his brothers in arms. However, while Anne was still in danger, he doubted his ability to focus on his men.
Before he could say anything, Constance had returned with Etienne. The musketeer approached his Captain, and stood at attention as he waited to receive his orders.
"Etienne, take five men and follow Athos and the others. Then go to Le Havre."
"Yes, sir."
Treville turned to Aramis. "I want you to take the other men and ride straight for Le Havre. It is possible that they plan to spirit the Queen away by ship. We cannot afford to arrest anyone who knows whom they've taken. When you have found her, meet us back here. Once you join up with Athos, he will resume command."
Treville closed his eyes, and appeared to be fighting a wave of pain and fatigue. Aramis offered him a cup of draught, and the Captain accepted it gratefully.
"Constance," the injured man whispered. "I must ask you to go with Aramis." There was guilt and sadness in his voice.
"There's no need, Captain," she replied briskly. "You'd have to tie me down to keep me here."
Her eyes met Aramis'. She obviously understood what might have happened to Anne. Her place was beside her friend-her Queen.
It was decided that three men, as well as the physician, would stay behind with their commander. .
They rode out before dawn. Aramis prayed that they would soon engage their enemy. He desperately wanted to save Anne as soon as possible. For the time being, they all rode together towards Chartres.
Aramis could not banish from his mind the image of Rochefort's hands roaming over Anne's delicate skin...touching her in a way that should never be allowed. He envisioned an unconscious Anne, her small body limp in her captor's repulsive embrace…
Stop! You have to focus!
They arrived at the site of the fight. Only a carving on a tree gave them any indication that something had happened there. Aramis guessed that Athos had paid to send the bodies back to Paris-no doubt in order to allow for a proper burial for their comrades, as well as a chance at identifying their dead enemies. Aramis was relieved that no corpses had been left for wild animals to feast upon.
Below a carving of crossed swords was a barely visible mark indicating in which direction the musketeers had headed. Aramis smiled, and informed the others. Before they departed, he called Constance over, and explained to her the meaning behind the signs. Her eyes shone with gratitude as she listened to him. Once again, he had made sure to demonstrate that she was truly one of them.
They came upon an inn after riding for an hour or so. When Aramis signaled for them to halt, Tannard was astonished. "You want to stop already?"
"Not really, but I'm hoping that Athos has left a message for me. Wait here while I go check."
He went to the door and tried the handle, only to find it locked. He banged on the door.
"Who's there?!" growled a sleepy voice.
"Aramis, of the King's Musketeers," he replied, taking a step to the side in case his reception came in the form of a bullet.
The door opened. A thin man, his eyes dull with fatigue, regarded him suspiciously.
"Aramis, you say?"
"Yes."
"Come in." As the musketeer entered, the man shut the door behind him. "I have two messages for you. A letter and…" he hesitated, and looked uneasy. "Some bad news. The injured boy whom the other musketeers brought here...well, he has died."
Aramis felt lightheaded.
"Is it….D'Artagnan?" he murmured.
"I'm sorry," the innkeeper said softly.
"May I see him?"
"Yes. We left him in the room at the end of the hall."
Aramis merely nodded. He suddenly felt terribly cold-and the knowledge that Constance was waiting outside only intensified his shock and grief.
What happened? Why did our little brother have to die alone?!
He stood in front of the door to the room. For a long time, he could not bring himself to enter the chamber-to make the awful news a reality. Finally, he closed his eyes and slowly opened the door. He took a step inside, his heart pounding as if it was trying to escape his chest.
Escape the pain.
He slowly opened his eyes, and stared at the body lying on the bed. He recognized the dead musketeer at once. Immense relief was followed by a feeling of shame. He mourned the loss of a good man, but it was not d'Artagnan. It was Henri de Trouille.
Aramis exhaled slowly. He had liked the man. It hurt to see him dead, but it did not shatter his soul-as d'Artagnan's death surely would have.
Aramis turned around when the innkeeper entered.
"You will send his body to Paris," he ordered. He gave the man some money, and took the sealed letter that had been left for him.
Then he said a short prayer for the deceased, and left the room. He read the message from Athos, and sighed in frustration. It did not contain much information. He had really hoped for more.
He returned to his companions, and they set out.
The day slowly gave way to evening. Grey clouds covered the sky. A rider appeared, and rapidly approached them. Aramis signaled for them to halt.
The rider appeared to have caught sight of them, and he urged his mount to pick up the pace. The horse's feet flew over the ground as the distance between them rapidly closed. Aramis caught a glimpse of blue on the dirty cloak. Despite the dimming light, he recognized a familiar face, and rushed forward.
"D'Artagnan!"
The two men simultaneously reined in their mares. The horses tossed their heads, dancing impatiently under their riders.
"Aramis, thank God you've come!" d'Artagnan gasped. We have found the place where she is being kept. There are about fifty men guarding her." He stopped to catch his breath, then asked, "How is the Captain?"
"Better. He should recover."
The Gascon grinned. "Well, there is no other option, is there?" But Aramis' mind had already leaped ahead to the logistics of a rescue.
Fifty men. More than three for each of us. We can handle it.
"Take us there," he said, trying to keep his nerves in check.
But as they rode on, his mind was flooded with images of a tortured, abused Anne.
Will we be able to save her? What if it is already too late?!
"Aramis." D'Artagnan maneuvered his horse closer to his friend. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he muttered.
The Gascon gave him a searching look. "Are you sure? You're as white as a ghost!"
The marksman tried to control his emotions, but he was all too aware of the fear and despair that were pulsing through his body. The boy must have understood. He placed his hand on Aramis' shoulder for a moment, then gave him a nod.
The marksman responded with a strained smile, grateful for the comfort of his friend's touch.
They stopped in the middle of night in order to rest the horses. As they stretched their cramped limbs, D'Artagnan explained what he had learned about their enemies' camp.
"Athos will have come up with a plan by the time we return." D'Artagnan spoke with a convinction that Aramis envied.
It took them another few hours to reach the small path leading into the forest. Finally, Aramis and d'Artagnan met up with their comrades.
Athos, hearing someone approach, greeted them with the muzzle of his pistol. Recognizing his fellow musketeers, he slowly lowered the weapon. Aramis was shocked by how haggard the lieutenant looked. His face was pale, and his eyes were full of quiet despair.
"Anne?" Aramis asked.
"You mean Her Majesty," Athos replied, giving him a warning look. 'Yes, she's being held in a nearby camp."
Aramis felt a rush of panic. "Is she alive?"
"I believe so." He lowered his voice. "Aramis, I won't allow you to go in after her. She may be in shock."
She may be severely injured-or wounded. Were you to find her, your words and actions-as well as hers-might compromise both of you.
That was what Athos had really meant.
"You can't keep me out of this mission!" Aramis protested.
"No, I can't," the swordsman agreed calmly. "I need your marksmanship. Choose one man to load your pistols. It can't be Porthos, because I will need him to help lead the rescue."
The snap of a dry stick caught Aramis' attention, and he drew his dagger. He only relaxed when he saw Porthos approaching. The big man enveloped him in a hug. There was joy and relief in his embrace. Aramis buried his face in the crook of Porthos' neck, ignoring the hobnails of his leather collar.
When he finally released his brother, Porthos asked, "How's the Captain?"
"Give him a little time, and he'll be as good as new." A thought crossed his mind, and for an instant, he thought of asking Athos about the blinded musketeer. However, he knew there was no time.
Athos decided that he and Porthos would try to slip unnoticed into the camp. Their goal was to be as close to Anne as possible before the rest of the group attacked with a mighty charge of their horses. Aramis would cover them, with Morineau by his side to load his weapons.
Once the orders had been given, Athos and Porthos left them. Aramis took up his position. The usual adrenaline rush he felt at the onset of a battle was tempered by his fear for Anne.
The marksman held his breath as he watched as his brothers creep forward.
They managed to penetrate a good distance into the camp before they were spotted. Then all hell broke loose.
Aim.
Fire.
Take up another pistol.
Aim.
Fire.
Later, he would be amazed at how he had been able to focus. All extraneous thoughts disappeared from his brain. All his senses and thoughts were occupied with his task.
He was one with his weapon. He was the hand of the Angel of Death...or perhaps his bow and arrows.
Athos managed to get to Anne. She seemed barely conscious as the musketeer half dragged her from the ruins. In an instant, d'Artagnan came forward on Nuit, leading Nuage by the reins. Athos swung into the saddle, and Porthos lifted up the Queen to sit in front of him. She slumped against the swordsman, looking for all the world like a rag doll.
Aramis shot a bandit who took aim at his brother and the Queen. The musketeers began their retreat, and the marksman did his best to make it safe as possible.
Morineau gave him another primed pistol. The two men mounted their horses, ready to follow their comrades. Morineau gestured to his companion to ride first, so that he could have a clean shot.
A few minutes later, he got the chance. His eyes were scanning the forest for potential threats when his peripheral vision caught something move. He glanced in that direction, just in time to see Porthos fall.
He rushed forward, his brother's name on his lips. He shot the first man who tried to slash his beloved friend with a sword. Porthos lay motionless on the ground. His awful stillness terrified the marksman.
The moment he became entangled in the fight, he knew he would not prevail. For an instant, he felt Athos' gaze on him, but there was no way the swordsman could intervene to help him. Athos knew his duty, and his first priority was to get Anne to safety.
With the quickest of glances, Aramis acknowledged his brother's silent farewell. He could only hope that Athos would not feel guilty. After all, they were soldiers. They had sworn to lay down their lives for the Crown if necessary. However, he knew it was futile to believe that the swordsman would ever be free from the shadow of guilt.
With a feral growl, he once more met the bandits' swords with his rapier.
If I am to die, so be it...but I'll make them pay for what they did to Porthos.
Aramis fought like a man possessed. His opponents were no match for his daring slashes and thrusts. The Spaniard seemed to be too quick for their blades to ever taste his flesh. However, once he was surrounded, he knew he couldn't last much longer..
But I'll make damn sure to take as many men with me as I can.
He never saw the blow which propelled him into darkness.
When he started to regain consciousness, his head was pounding. He felt blood trickling down his cheek, and guessed that he had been felled by a blow to the head. Even before he opened his eyes, he felt the intense urge to curl up into a ball and retch. But when he attempted to move his limbs, his heart sank. His wrists and ankles were bound.
"So you finally decided to join us."
A familiar, mocking voice pierced the fog of nausea..
An instant later, a booted foot connected with Aramis' back. The pain was agonizing, and he bit back a moan. Blinking, he managed to open his eyes. His vision blurred, but he was able to make out a masked man.
The True Musketeers Captain.
"You'll pay for taking my Queen from me." The man's voice was cold, but matter-of-fact.
"And you'll hang for laying your hands on her!" Aramis snapped, his heart sinking.
"I daresay she liked my hands on her… in fact, she wanted much more than that, and I was happy to oblige her." He laughed. "She was quite...needy. Almost insatiable. Such a jewel is wasted on Louis."
"You liar!" Aramis' voice was low and deadly.
He is telling the truth. He took her.
The man shook his head, and smirked. "You can say what you like, but after a few months, her swelling belly will prove that my words are true. Obviously, Louis will think he has sired the child…..just as he did with the Dauphin. But the boy is your bastard, isn't he?"
There is no way he can possibly know that!
But he may suspect it, and hopes to goad me into confessing.
He has no proof. He cannot have any proof!
If he had, he would have used it against Anne.
"I don't know what are you talking about!" The marksman channelled his anger into his words, hoping that to mask the other motions that were roiling inside him.
"So why did the bitch cry out your name...in the the midst of the ecstasy that I was giving her?"
You're a dead man. I swear it.
"Because you drugged her!" Aramis retorted. "She was crying out for help!" At that moment, he knew with certainty that if he had not been restrained, he would have torn the man's heart out with his bare hands.
He touched her. He raped her. Even worse, he forced her to bend to his will. He has damaged her in the worst possible way...
"You'll pay for this... " Aramis whispered, shaken to his very core.
The man shrugged. "Perhaps."
The voice of the bandit had subtly changed. Something in his tone reminded the marksman of a voice he had heard at court.
Rochefort.
"You'll die here, Aramis..and I will make your dark skinned animal watch while you burn. Then, after you have been reduced to a neat pile of ashes, my men will have some fun with him."
Porthos is alive?!
No, no, no!
Leave him alone!
Rochefort's eyes widened in mock astonishment. "Oh, you're jealous!"
Aramis glared at him, which only made Rochefort chuckle.
"So, the Dauphin is the son of a sodomite! But no need to worry-he won't have to live with the shame, because he is going to die in the very near future. As for Anne, once she gives birth to my son, I will decide how to best use-or dispose-of her. Sweet last thoughts, musketeer!"
Rochefort delivered a vicious kick to his ribs. Aramis attempted in vain to curl into a defensive ball. No matter how he twisted his body, he could not avoid the blows that were raining upon him. When something hard connected with his head wound, he slipped into darkness.
Even before his body registered the pain, the sickening smell made him nauseous. His stomach heaved, but he was only able to bring up some blood-streaked bile. He fought the urge to vomit again.
Pain.
He concentrated on it, focusing on the sensation in order to block out the smell.
His limbs were impossibiy cramped. Spasms tore through his legs. He sensed that he was upright, his arms and legs lashed tightly to something behind him. He slowly opened his swollen eyelids, and realized with horror that he was standing on the ruined altar.
Probably bound to a cross…
Small bundles of sticks were scattered around him.
They're going to burn me at the stake.
So this is how it ends. If only I could have saved Anne…
Aramis' gaze was drawn to a broken window. He gasped when he saw Porthos bound to a tree. His face was covered with dried blood, but he was conscious.
He's alive…
And in Rochefort's hands…
Aramis wanted to shout to catch his friend's attention but…to what purpose?
A man carrying a torch approached the altar. The musketeer recognized him as a former Red Guard. He recalled thrashing him more than once for insulting Porthos.
The man caught his eye as he touched the torch to the first bundle of kindling. Grinning evilly, he snarled, "Sweet agony, musketeer."
Aramis feel a sting of fear as the first stIcks caught fire.
The pain will be unbearable….
He lifted his head, and felt Porthos' eyes on him. He met his brother's gaze, and saw the utter despair in his brother's dark eyes. The big man tried frantically to free himself. The rope was doubtless rubbing his skin raw. Porthos' roar of pain and frustration was muffled by his gag.
He's suffering…. God, please spare him… give him solace…
Aramis was finding it hard to breathe. The small space was already filled with smoke from the wet wood.
Thank God for small mercies - to suffocate will be a far easier death than to burn.
But it will not be painless.
The heat was now blistering, and the air dense with smoke. Each breath was a painful struggle..
Aramis could not restrain a cough, and pain shot through his bruised body. He searched for Porthos' eyes, wanting one last chance to anchor himself to the brother he loved. To say his final, silent farewell.
They kept their eyes locked on each other until the moment when the thick cloud of smoke finally separated them.
Until we meet again.
A/N
All thanks to my awesome Beta - Riversidewren! This story would not exist without her support.