Weighted Scales

Chapter 2

Aramis' temper cooled as he walked from the garrison down the darkened avenues to the rue St. Germain; the coolness of the night helped to calm him.

There was no man he respected more than Captain Treville; their relationship was a long one and because of that, the Captain knew exactly what to say to make the biggest impact on him – to really get under his skin.

As the streets passed under his feet and his frustration and anger melted away, Aramis reflected on what the Captain had been trying to say beneath the gruff and frustrated tone. He knew it was a warning, born out of concern – concern for his brothers, concern for him, and concern for his beautiful wife.

Having served as a musketeer for as long as he had, Aramis was very familiar with the workings of the court. Before Christine though, he was content to stay on the outskirts, a spectator in his duties as a musketeer – though maybe with an occasional dalliance with a beautiful noble woman here or there. Once he had wed Christine however, he became the Comte des Etoiles and with that came new responsibilities and duties at court.

He had thought the transition had been fairly easy and his attendance had so far only been minimal, but he couldn't help but notice – when he was in attendance or on guard duty – that the sharp tongues of some of the courtiers were well-honed. He didn't mind it for himself – he had been called worse before – but Christine had already been made a target once for loving him, a common man, and some of that discrimination still resided at court. On top of that, Christine was a member of one of the oldest families in France. Though their estate outside of the city was not overly large, they were wealthy and it was prized, and her favoured position at court was coveted.

Aramis quietly climbed the stairs up to his and Christine's library that adjoined their bedroom, mulling over Treville's words. He removed his sash and weapons belt and gasped slightly as he removed his long doublet, hanging it on the back of a chair. He pulled the braces from his shoulders so they hung at his hips and carefully tried rolling his shoulders, but stopped quickly, his back roaring its protest.

She floated to him from their bedroom, a vision draped in the soft folds of her nightgown. She kissed him and he responded in kind, wincing as he brought his arms up to encircle her.

Her grey eyes clouded over. "Are you alright? You're late returning from your mission," she said as she ran her fingers through his hair and kissed him softly.

"I'm fine. We had some trouble on our return journey…Athos was stabbed and D'Artagnan had a bad fall from his horse, but they are both in the infirmary recovering," he said, allowing her to lead him to the couch.

"I'm surprised that you're here then," she said. She frowned as she saw him tense and began to gently massaging the sore muscles of his shoulders.. "I'm grateful that you are, but usually if one of the others is hurt –"

"Treville dismissed me or rather he dismissed the Comte. I killed the Viscomte that stabbed Athos, and Treville scolded me and sent me home, saying he'd summon me if I was needed," Aramis said bitterly.

Christine stilled at these words.

"Treville doesn't think I understand the position I'm in now that I'm a Comte, but what was I to do? Let the man stab Athos again? I had no choice and I don't regret my actions. I acted in defence of my brothers, as I would have before. I did what any of them would have done in my place," he said, his temper beginning to rise once more.

"Do you regret marrying me?" Christine asked quietly, halting his rant.

"What? No! Never!" he said taking her face in his hands. He gazed into her troubled eyes and kissed her. "What would ever make you think that?" he said gently, the anger gone from him in an instant. "Marrying you was the best thing to have ever happened to me."

She smiled softly as he kissed her again. "You seem to be more upset about being a Comte than anything…" she said. He sighed deeply, and she began to work his sore shoulders again.

"No, my love. I resent the politics of the court. I resent that something I am proud of and I treasure, being the Comte and your husband, is used as a weapon by some people for political gain. I resent that my role as a musketeer has somehow made you a target once again."

"And you're concerned about Athos and D'Artagnan," she said softly.

"Yes," he said. "I know they will both be fine and that Etienne and Porthos are with them, but I regret I wasn't able to stop them from being injured in the first place."

"I'm sure you did all that you could," she whispered and she settled into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and she kissed him. His shoulders had begun to feel better, or maybe it was only her love that banished the hurts from his body and any other cares from his mind.

"Te amo, mi tesora. Being able to call myself your husband is the title I truly value. Far above Comte or Musketeer," he said. She kissed him passionately and his other pains were temporarily forgotten as she led him into their bedroom.

oOo

The Comte and Comtesse arrived promptly for duty at the garrison the next morning, she in one of the simple dresses she wore in the infirmary and he in his sash, doublet and pauldron. They greeted Athos and D'Artagnan in the infirmary and joined them and Porthos for breakfast. D'Artagnan was still queasy, but managed a few small spoonfuls of porridge. Christine fussed a little over all of them.

"Where is Treville?" Aramis asked cautiously.

Porthos and Athos shared a quick glance that was not missed by the others who knew them best.

"He posted the duties this mornin' without callin' muster and returned to his quarters. Whatever the King has planned has kept him busy," said Porthos.

"That and perhaps some other things," said Athos pointedly.

Christine frowned at Athos, but Aramis only sighed. "I shall speak to him later."

"Good," said Athos. "You and Porthos have been assigned to assist the cadets with their sparring. I should like to watch to see how much work I will have to correct later."

Aramis smirked. "Three days. Without infection."

"Two, and today counts as the first," said Athos rising gingerly. Aramis shook his head and led Athos outside to the practice ring. Christine, Porthos and D'Artagnan followed.

They whiled away the morning watching Porthos and Aramis instruct the cadets in ways to improve their swordplay.

They had just dismissed the cadets, many of whom continued to loiter around the water pitchers or go a few more rounds in practise. It was hot and the water was much appreciated.

As a sweating Porthos and Aramis turned to join the others in the shade at their familiar table, a ruckus was heard at the garrison's gates. At least a dozen Red Guards entered looking violent. Aramis and Porthos detoured from their path and went to meet the intruders. Athos rose from his seat at the table to join them; Christine kept D'Artagnan seated.

"You, gentlemen, seem t'have lost your way," Porthos said menacingly.

"Quiet dog," spat the Captain of the Red Guards.

Aramis and Athos both drew their blades at this comment, despite Athos' bandages.

"I suggest you deliver your message quickly to buy yourself as much time to run as possible," Athos snapped.

The Captain grinned vilely as he looked at Aramis.

"Very well," he sneered, "Aramis, Comte des Etoiles and musketeer pig, you, are hereby under arrest. Resisting arrest will be seen as culpability of your guilt, a violation of duty and considered treason to the crown," he said and gestured his men forward. Three men seized Aramis and pushed him to the ground, some of the others drew their pistols and aimed them at Athos and Porthos.

At the Red Guard Captain's words, Christine leapt to her feet, D'Artagnan on her heels.

"What is the meaning of this? Unhand my husband!" she demanded.

"Your husband is a murderer, my lady," the man sneered, leering at her plain gown – a far cry from the rich garments she wore while at court. "How far your family name has fallen…"

"This is ridiculous," said Athos. "How dare you make such false accusations!"

One of the men holding Aramis began trying to tie his hands, but Aramis struggled against it.

"You should at least tell me who I'm being accused of murdering!" he shouted. Another guard punched him suddenly in the stomach so he pitched forward and stopped resisting the bindings. They pulled him roughly to his feet as he struggled to regain the breath stolen from him.

Outrage arose from the musketeers and the others who had gathered to witness the commotion. A gag was forced into Aramis' mouth roughly. More men stepped forward to sedate a livid Porthos, Athos and D'Artagnan.

The Red Guard Captain fired a pistol into the air and quickly pointed his other at Christine.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!" came Treville's shout across the courtyard.

"The Comte is under arrest for the murder of the Viscomte de Gaulle," sneered the Captain, passing Treville the warrant. "He is to be held as a prisoner to await his trial."

Aramis' eyes widened at the announcement, but bound and gagged he could do nothing but stare into the eyes of Christine where she was still held at gunpoint. She stared back at him bravely.

"Lower your weapons," Treville demanded. "These accusations are preposterous!"

"Preposterous or not, no man is above the law no matter whose bed he has climbed into," spat the Captain. All the musketeers reacted to the slur; Aramis was struck once again by his captors as he fought to get at the crude captain. Treville stepped between the Captain and Christine and grabbed the man by the collar.

"This is the King's Garrison and you will lower your weapon and apologize immediately to the Comtesse," Treville roared quelling the brawl that seemed certain to erupt.

"Of course," sneered the man, holstering his pistol. "The prisoner will be held captive in the Bastille until trial."

"We are owed a full list of the evidence and the charges laid against him, and I should be allowed to accompany him to ensure he is treated in accordance to his position," Christine demanded.

"Of course, my lady, whatever you desire," he said.

"Athos, go with them. I must go to the King," said Treville. "The rest of you," he said looking back at the gawking cadets, "Back to your duties! Porthos, D'Artagnan, with me!"

With that, the Red Guards turned and marched Aramis from the garrison, Christine and Athos with them. Athos took Christine's arm securely in his to hide her trembling.

Treville watched them leave. His premonition and great fear looked as though they were coming true. Turning to face Porthos and D'Artagnan he asked, "Are you fit to ride?"

With affirmative nods from both men, he continued. "I need you to ride back out to where you were attacked. I need you to find us any evidence possible to help clear Aramis' name – witnesses, the blade the Viscomte used to stab Athos, anything."

Porthos nodded. "What are you gonna do?"

"I am going to the King to beg for a fair trial. Let's pray he is in a reasonable mood," he said and with that he stormed off to the stables where his horse was waiting.

oOo