"Well?"
Aramis shook off the water from his hat before casting it upon the table. A light rain had been falling since before dawn, casting a miserable atmosphere about the unusually quiet barracks.
They were in Athos' room, Athos and Porthos waiting for their brother to bring back news of their youngest. D'Artagnan had been held in the barrack's small prison since his return – an unnecessary act designed to elicit shame. Visitors had not been allowed.
"Full Penance," Aramis said bitterly, folding his arms across his chest, his hands gripping his upper arms tightly. "In the courtyard at noon."
"He's gonna put him on show?" Porthos snarled incredulously. When Aramis did not speak, clearly too overcome with anger to do so, Porthos instead turned and punched the wall hard.
"Bastard."
"Seventy-two lashes," Athos murmured, staring at nothing, his eyes deadened by the despair of resignation. "Has he designated a second?"
Aramis remained quiet, glaring into the unlit fireplace, his lips pinched tightly closed.
"Aramis," Athos gently prompted in a cautioning growl.
"You," Aramis said, his voice barely audible.
Athos nodded. He had guessed as much. "At least the lad will not be alone."
"It's a bloody disgrace," Porthos hissed.
"We shall endure it," Athos said firmly. He stood and stalked out of the room, the door slamming closed behind him.