Weighted Scales

Chapter 5

"You must let me see him," Christine demanded of the guard outside of Aramis' locked door.

"Only official visitors permitted," sneered the man tauntingly.

"I am the captain of the King's Musketeers, and this is my lieutenant. One of my men held prisoner IS my official business," snarled Treville, causing the man to shrink slightly.

"Alright," he said, "But she'll wait outside," said the guard.

"She is my official garrison medic. Her duty requires her to tend injured musketeers," said Treville sharply, "And if this prisoner shows up at court tomorrow with any further injuries to the ones we leave him with tonight, I will see to it that you personally have an 'official' introduction to the gallows."

The man quailed under the intense gaze of the Captain and the cold silent fury emanating from Athos. He shuffled backwards and opened the door.

When they entered the cell Aramis was seated on his pallet with his head between his knees. He was pale and drawn and breathing deeply. Clearly his time on the stand had taxed him as he hid whatever unseen ailment had been inflicted upon him by his guards. He shifted to sit upright as Treville, Christine and Athos entered, but he couldn't stop the soft and low moan that slipped from his lips. in this vulnerable state he looked worse than when he had appeared before the King.

"Aramis, let me help you," Christine breathed as she flew to his side followed by Athos. Together they helped to lift him to the chair and his breathing eased slightly. Carefully, she pulled the shirt over his head and gasped at the dark purple bruise at his side. The skin was torn, but had stopped bleeding some time ago. From where he stood, Treville could also see the dark bruising that ran across his back – the result of the previous skirmish with the Viscomte and his men.

Christine examined the damage to her husband, and fighting the urge to cry, she quickly cupped his face and kissed him.

"Don't worry. I'm going to take care of you. Is there anything here to tend to your wounds with?" she whispered to him.

"No," said Aramis, "But don't worry –"

"Aramis, if you say you're fine, I'll beat you with my bare hands," threatened Athos.

Aramis smirked, "That will just further injure your shoulder and delay your return to duty."

"I'll risk it," deadpanned Athos, passing Aramis his cup of water.

Treville turned suddenly and stormed from the room, startling all of them.

Aramis frowned as the door clanged shut behind him.

"I need to try to clean this Aramis. You know that there's a chance of infection. Will you tell me where else they hurt you?" Christine asked gently, slipping into her medic mode.

"It's mostly just my side. It appears they may have bruised a rib, but I don't think it's broken. They cut isn't deep," he admitted.

Christine nodded and reached into the pocket of her skirt. "I brought some arnica for your back and some willow bark in the hopes that I would be permitted to see you. I'm glad that I did," she said. "I'll need to soak the scab on your side in order to clean it properly," she said.

"Here," said Athos, pulling his scarf from his neck. He poured some water from the pitcher over it and handed it to Christine who gently pressed it against the torn flesh of Aramis' side.

The trio was silent for a moment as they sat in the bleakness of the cell.

"So," said Aramis eventually, "Today was exciting…"

"The two testimonies were ridiculous. Christine brought up very good points before the chaos broke loose. The King cannot ignore them," said Athos sternly.

Aramis sighed. "I'm not sure. It's apparent that the King is conflicted. I don't believe he believes me guilty of murder, but he is nervous about further upsetting the Comte."

"That is not enough of a cause to execute you," Athos insisted.

"Isn't it? You know this world better than I do. Which is the easier route for his majesty? The Viscomte is dead. I killed him," said Aramis.

"Yes, but it was not murder!" Christine said fervently, locking Aramis with her eyes. He smiled softly at her and raised his hand to cradle her face.

"You will be allowed to defend yourself tomorrow. The King will be just Aramis," Athos insisted again.

Aramis said nothing, but groaned slightly as Christine removed the damp scarf to examine the wound.

The door opened again and Treville entered carrying a small basket.

"Here," he said placing the basket on the table.

"Captain, how?" Christine asked as she pulled clean bandages and a bottle of spirits from within.

"It wasn't me," said Treville, "I was on my way to demand these items when a member of the Queen's staff intercepted me."

"God bless her," gushed Christine as she carefully began to tend to the wound on Aramis' side. He hissed as the spirits were poured over the injury. Christine applied some of her arnica salve to Aramis' ribs before covering the wound and binding his side tightly. She then began to work some of the salve into the still bruised muscles of Aramis' back. He let out a slight sigh of relief while Treville and Athos watched as she worked.

"You should eat something," Athos said, and passed Aramis the fresh bread and cheese the Queen also provided.

Dutifully, Aramis ate a small portion, but it was clear he was fading.

Christine frowned. "There is no fire for me to heat this water for tea, but if you chew on some of this willow bark, it may help relieve you of some pain in order to let you rest," she said, her eyes round and soft as she gently brushed his hair from his face again.

He nodded and allowed himself to be led back to his pallet where he lay down gingerly. Christine covered his bare chest with the thin blanket – luckily it was quite warm out, so the threadbare sheet was enough to bring some comfort. A sudden pounding on the door indicated that their time was up. Christine lifted the soiled shirt as if to fold it.

"Leave it," said Treville, pulling a fresh shirt from the Queen's basket. "It's clear that her Majesty, at any rate, knows you to be innocent."

"God bless her," Christine repeated. "I have no doubt that Anne will help to convince Louis that you should be exonerated."

"But the Queen is not the King," Aramis said sadly.

The door was wrenched open and the guard stormed into the room and demanded they leave.

Aramis kissed Christine deeply, his fingers curling through their hair. Was it possible that this would be the last time that they would embrace, the last time that their lips might meet?

"I love you," said Christine fervently. "I will always love you. We will get through this," she said, and she kissed him fiercely once more as the guard shouted his outrage.

"I love you," she repeated as she rose to exit.

"And I will love you forever," he said and he kissed the inside of her wrist as she was forced to exit with Athos.

"One minute," insisted Treville as the jailer glared at him.

"You're pushing your luck and my patience Treville. The King will be told," he said.

"So be it," said Treville, as the jailer stood just on the outside of the cell door.

Treville looked sadly at Aramis on his pallet, his blue eyes taking in the pained and exhausted expression of the marksman. Aramis' dark eyes burned brightly back at him.

"You should have told me you were also injured in the battle with the Viscomte," Treville said awkwardly.

"It doesn't matter now," said Aramis. "Captain, I –"

"Aramis, I –"

The two men looked at each other.

"Captain, I'm sorry. You were right. If this doesn't go well…If tomorrow goes against me, promise me Captain. Promise me that you will look after them…and yourself," Aramis said softly.

Treville shook his head. "No, you were right. Your actions were true and honourable. I will not allow you to be punished for following orders and completing your duty. You acted as I would have expected from any of my musketeers. I am proud of you, son. I swear to you Aramis, we will get you through this." His blue eyes were on fire as they pinned Aramis where he lay and filled the marksman with a confidence and hope that had been dwindling.

He locked eyes with his Captain.

"All for one, and one for all, Aramis," said Treville.

Aramis nodded. His brown eyes were relit with their usual gleam as though eager to defy the odds.

Treville turned from the marksman and left the cell. He would keep his promise. He would defend his man until the end. The King would see reason. He would find a way to get Aramis out of this…

oOo

Aramis slept horribly.

He dreamt that he was in the courtroom, sitting atop a set of scales. As he sat there, bodies began to appear on the scale opposite him – countless villains and soldiers of war, but friends and family as well – his mother, Adam, twenty dead musketeers, Marsac…and eventually Athos, Porthos, D'Artagnan and the Captain.

As the bodies began to accumulate, sudden bindings lashed him to the scales. He tried to fight and he begged, trying to explain himself to a pair of dark eyes that watched in judgement, but it was no use. The eyes only sadly stared at him before shifting into the blue-grey eyes he adored the most, as the bindings grew tighter.

He awoke suddenly with a gasp as his bruised back and side flared with pain. He fought to draw in air and breathe through his panic and pain.

The breaking of the dawn had started to filter in through the window and he was drenched in a cold sweat. Shakily he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned over his knees as his breathing regulated. He ran a hand across his brow and through his hair.

He could not shake the feeling of his nightmare where the lives he had taken were added to the lives he had loved and lost and he was left staring into those fearful, sorrowful eyes – Christine's eyes, full of pain and misery and terrified.

He drank a cup of water, his hand shaking slightly as he lowered it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her handkerchief and inhaled the scent of her once more.

This couldn't be it. He could not bear to see those eyes filled with that fear or hurt. He couldn't give up and abandon his wife and their family – his brothers and the captain.

Then, as the dawn light filled his cell, he knelt on the floor next to his pallet and pulled his rosary beads from his pocket. Clasping them in his hand that still held the handkerchief, he began to pray.

oOo