Two days went by in which Aramis got better. The fever was gone by now, leaving him strong enough to endure the memories following him with every step. Sometimes Athos had forced him to go outside, but after Aramis got a flashback as he watched the Musketeers practice, Athos decided to only go out with him when the courtyard was empty. He noticed how the marksman always avoided to look at the weapons stored at the left wall, how he never looked at the gate leading to the graveyard. He tried to pretend like nothing ever happened, tried to forget. Athos knew all too well that this always seemed easier then to think or speak about a trauma, but it was the wrong way though. Aramis could not act like Savoy never happened forever. Some day he will have to face the truth, he will have to cope with the aftermath and the memroeis, as well as the loss of twenty-one brothers.

They sat a the same bench as every evening, watching how the blue sky is turning into a fusion of orange and violet. Aramis hasn't talked to Athos for quite a while, acutally he hasn't talked to anyone. He kept to himself, always something on his mind. Sometimes he thought how all of this could have happened, what they did wrong, if a guard wasn't alert enough. Sometimes he thinks about the battle, what he could have done to save at least a few of his brothers. Maybe he should have moved faster then, maybe he should have stabbed a man instead of shooting him so he could shoot another one, maybe he... Maybe he just didn't fight hard enough, not good enoug. Maybe he wassn't even worse being a musketeer. Then in other moments he remembers the lifeless eyes following him with every move, condemn him. Sometimes he wonders if god hated him or if he did something to anger him. Or maybe he just left? Maybe he never was there? How could there be a god if something like that happened? All the thinking made his head hurt more, the throbbing increasing again. But there was always one thing he never thought about, he tried to avoid. Marsac and the betrayal of his once truest of friends. He couldn't stand to think about the man and how he just left him behind to die.

Sometimes all these memories felt wrong, as they didn't belong to himself - as if they arised through a story which was once told him. Other times it seems as he is right back there, living through this nightmare another time. Athos is always there with him. Sometimes he comforts him or talks endleslly about something quite uninteresting to distract Aramis from his original thought. And sometimes he says nothing and jsut sits there by the marksmans side, showing him that he isn't alone.

So after all these days without Aramis speaking a single world, Athos was starled as he heard the musketeers voice again - not in a pained sscrem as in his nightmares, or a helpless whimper. No, he sounded neutral, detached as if he was talking about a recipe for broth and not about Savoy.

"I'm not sure that I will ever be able to cope with this, Athos. I - I'm not able to forget and neither I'm able to think about it. I'm stuck in this endless loop, repeating itself ever again. How am i supposed to live like this? With these memories spooking in my mind, with the fear clinging to my heart? Gosh, I can't even look at weapons anymore, let alone hold them. How am I supposed to be a Musketeer if I'm actling like a small child?" Athos didn't dare to interrupt the marksman as he suddenly started to speak, doing exactly what Treville and Athos always had hoped for. He started to actually cope with the incident. And as he had thought, Aramis didn't want answers - not yet. He just wanted to let it all out. All these things ran through his head already a thousand times and they needed to get out - they finally did.

"But what else am I supposed to be? I mean, I went to priest school, yes, but I had my reasons to leave. It wasn't a life ade for me - the life of a soldier is what I always needed and wanted, but now... it's just taken away from me. I have nothing left. I have no family, no real friends, no home, no other job I could take. The musketeers used to be my family, my friends and my home, but now -" he shuddered at the thought, stumbling about his own words as he spoke them. "But they're all dead. Everyone I dared to call a friend or a brother - they're gone because I wasn't good enough. Left are men I barely know, new recruits. I feel like a stranger. And the garrison... it was always my home. I felt comforted and save as soon as I entered these gates but now it is nothing more like hell for me. Everything reminds me of them and what happened. The graveyard right around the corner, the other Musketeers mourning for them... I used to love every sound in here. The clash of metal, the shouting, the guns, the laughter and the horses but now I can't stop to remember how swords stabbed my brothers in their sleep, how these bandits shouted orders, how guns blew out the brains of sleeping men and how their leader laughed as they rode away. Oh god -" Aramis tried to hold back a sob but failed miserably. His whole body shook at the memories. However a strong arm around his shoulder gave him some much needed comfort and strength.

"I wish I just could leave all of this behind, start a new life somewhere in the Gascony and forget everything. I could be so easy... just running away. But I can't." A bitter laugh left his skinny body. Athos frowned and for the first time he dared to speak. Eventhough he didn't like the idea of Aramis just leaving, the arksman was right - it would be easier, maybe even better for him. Maybe he could get happy again. Running away had been the right decision for Athos, so why not for anyone other? "Why don't you do it? I mean, I don't wish for you to leave, but you are right - it would be so simple to just leave."

For a few moments silence hang over the courtyard as Aramis stared at the ground beneath his leather boots. "I hate him for doing so and I just can't do the same as he did. I'm no coward, do you hear? I'm not gutless!" Aramis voice raised rapidly as he felt the need to explain himself. "I - I maybe act like one now, but I am not. No I have at least some honor left! I won't be a coward like he, I won't just leave you all behind and run like Marsac did. I -" He stopped as some sparks of realization lightened in his mind. "I'm stronger than him."

Athos couldn't hold back a small smile as he gently nudged the marksmans shoulder. "You are, Aramis. You're stronger than the most of us are. And you're no coward, never was. And you are a great soldier and I'm sure you fought good. I'm sure you gave everything and risked your own life to protect your brothers. But sometimes even the best are helpless. But it's not your fault, nothing of it was. You are a victim of these bandits just as much as the others. And yes, maybe you were just luckier or maybe you fought better, maybe it was god who saved you - we may never know - but what's important is that you live, that you survived. And don't ever think you weren't worth it, `cause you are."

"Than you, mon ami. For listening, and all of this. But by now I am sure god has left us, so maybe it was just... luck." He sighed. And eventhough he was on a better way of thinking, there was still a long way to go left. The light in his eyes was still dull and the fold on his brow present.

And maybe he hadn't reached his destiny yet, but he at least started to walk. Soon he could try running, Athos thought hopeful.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

It was like watching a flower grow, as Aramis seemed to flourish more with every day. It was slowly, still.

And soon Athos thought he saw a sparkle in the marksman at least twice, a smile that wasn't faked every now and then and after a while, it had been weeks since their coversation in the courtyard, he heard the man laugh. It was short and quite and the marksman seemed to feel bad afterwards, the dull look came back to his eyes immedatly - but it was there. It was this new recruit, who tried to shoot. Oh god, he was bad in it. Didn't even know how to reload a weapon. Athos wondered why Treville recruted him, but then he saw him a fist fight and Athos knew why. This man was a colossus. And most importantly: he was clueless or at least he acted like it. He never talked about Savoy, about the reason why so many new recruits are hired. He never askes Aramis about the scar on his forehead or why he was almost never to be seen in the courtyard. He never wanted to know why the marksman didn't dare to touch a gun, or maybe he already knew - Athos wasn't sure. But he didn't care. What he cared about was that this man, Porthos, was like a fresh breeze on a hot summer evening for him and Aramis. He lightened the mood when Athos didn't know how, he never was good at things like this. He talked to Aramis like nothing ever happened, because maybe he didn't know or didn't care. This was apperently the best thing for the marksman, eventhough it was hard sometimes too. He didn't feel like a cripple or a ghost, because Porthos didn't treat him like this. He felt... normal. But other times he flinched when Porthos walked towards him, his sword carelessly in his hands.

"Oh god stop, you're going to shoot yourself!" It was Aramis voice, which echoed through the courtyard like the one of an angel. The whole regiment stopped for a second, surprised to see the marksman leaving his chambers in daylight, while they practiced and talking. Aramis didn't want to. He felt how his breath fastened and his heart raced in his chest as he hurried down the stairs, Porthos staring at him like a lost puppy.

Aramis gulped as he looked at the pistol in the mans hand and didn't come closer than a few meters. It was quite odd as he tried to explain Porthos how to hold the weapon correctly from this distance, but it was more than Athos could have wished for. He noticed how Aramis tensed up as the shot rang through the courtyard and how he clenched his eyes shut. But the moment the sound had vanished and Porthos turned around smiling - happy to have hit the target - Aramis tried to relax again. You could still see that his skin was paler than normal and his breath fast, but he seemed okay.

Okay, was what described Aramis the best for the upcoming days and weeks.

He had his nightmares and restless nights. He had his headaches and break downs. Sometimes you heard the man scream into his pillow, hear things scatter on the floor. In some night Athos watched how Aramis visited the graveyard, then you were able to hear quite whimpers and sobs. He had days were he didn't leave his room once and didn't spoke a word. He still didn't eat much, but he looked healthier. But then, there were days were he seemed to remember how it was to be Aramis, to be himself. He tried to laugh, tried to hide the discomfort when swords clashed on each other. He sometimes even tried to joke. It wasn't like before, it wasn't that easy, it wasn't always real - but he tried.

Athos knew that it would take a lot time, but the worst was over. Aramis didn't ask for the milk-of-the-poppy anymore. Still, the swordsman was determind to not let the medic near it for some more time. He wondereed what would happen if Aramis would really need it after being injured or sick, if he would get addicted to it again. He probably would, but Athos didn't want to think about it now - this was a problem for the future.

A year later, Aramis was mostly back to himself again - or at least pretended to be - and it was more Athos had ever hoped for. There are still moments he watches Aamis intensive and where he isn't sure if it was the same smile and the same sparkle as before Savoy happened. Sometimes, he thought to still see the dullness in his eyes and the force he needed to smile. But he didn't complained. Aramis was stronger than he had ever thought.

And it was four years later as a young Gascon came to their group of three. And Athos still had his eyes on his friend, was still worried for him. But then he realized - he didn't need to. Because Aramis was okay. No one can ever really be fine, so 'okay' needed to be enough and it was. And he was okay because now he had everything back he had lost. He had a family again, he had his friends, he no longer felt like a strange in his own home. He had the love for fighting back, the addiction for adrenaline and danger. He had his faith back.

He may never get back his lost brothers and he may never forget and never stop to mourn, but he accepted all of this as a part of him.

And most importantly of all: He got himself back. He survived, eventhough a part of him had died.