Note: Quotes are from Thrice's "The Lion and the Wolf".
Chapter Twelve
The lion's outside of your door
The wolf's in your bed
The lion's claws are sharpened for war
The wolf's teeth are red
"We need to go. Where's your saddle?" A note of panic took hold of Aramis.
"We're going to steal Treville's horse?!" Athos, usually so unflappable, had succombed to the same terror. Treville was here, and judging by the full stables he had a few more men with him.
"You're going to steal Treville's horse! Now find the saddle!"
"Stop where you are." A hard voice came from the doorway.
Slowly they both turned around.
There stood Treville, his sword out at the ready.
"Put your weapons on the ground." Treville spoke as if he were addressing common criminals, not men he had fought and bled beside for years.
"I don't have any." Aramis' mind was a flurry, so many thoughts were flying around incoherently, it left his mouth to state the obvious.
"Athos does."
Aramis could feel Athos bristle at his side. Slowly he drew his sword from it's sheath.
"No…" Aramis whispered under his breath.
Challenging Treville here and now was madness. They were in no condition to fight, and more musketeers were in the inn. It would not take much to summon them.
"I am going to die with a sword in my hand, not a noose around my neck." Athos hissed.
"We need not die at all! Treville, for pity's sake, look at us… You were our Captain, our friend, can you not let us go?" Aramis held his hands out, trying to appeal to the man they knew.
"I have to take you in." There was just a slight waver in Treville's voice.
"Why? Because duty dictates that you should?" Slowly anger began to creep through Aramis' veins. "Just like Savoy. You saw twenty men dead, but it matters not as long as Treville has done his duty. Isn't that right? If you are determined to see the twenty second in his grave - I am waiting!"
"You are charged with treason! I cannot ignore that."
"You could. All you need to do is go back inside..." Aramis silently begged him to turn his back and walk away.
"And what about tomorrow? What about the day after that? We will keep coming, and you will be caught, whether the cardinal takes you or I do. One way or another, this must end."
So it was a choice between the lion and the wolf. There was no escape.
Treville went on. "Let me take you in. You know you will be treated more kindly as my prisoners. If the Cardinal gets to you first his men will see you suffer."
A dark look took Athos' eyes, he clenched his sword a little more tightly in his fist. "And you will both see us safely to the noose."
"I have no wish to see you suffer, or hang."
"If you take us in, that is where this all ends."
"You were my best men, you were my…" Treville's words seemed to catch in his throat. He started again. "You cannot believe I want that for you. I will speak to the king and plead for a lesser sentence. You both served him loyally for many years before this transgression."
Aramis' voice was small when he spoke. "I don't think he will be able to see past this transgression."
Suddenly he felt the weight of what he had done fall on his shoulders. They were all here because of him. Treville was standing against his friends as enemies because of him, and they had suffered so much because of him. All this time he had been digging his own grave. Anne should have given him a shovel with that first kiss. But he didn't want to give in. He didn't want to go.
"Enough. Treville, will you stand aside?" Athos stepped forwards and brandished his sword.
"I can't." Treville stood firm.
The tension between them felt as tight as a wound violin string, and with Athos' next words it broke.
"Then I am for you Sir. Aramis, run!"
Athos lunged forwards and Treville raised his blade. The two clashed while Aramis stood rooted to the spot. He couldn't run. He couldn't leave Athos!
The exchange went back and forth, Athos was being pressed hotly. He was one of the best with a sword, but he was in no condition to fight. Treville was well fed and well rested. There seemed only one way this could end.
"Aramis! Get on that horse and go, or so help me I'll strike at you next!" Athos managed to yell.
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You have to! I'm doing this for you!" Athos turned aside a thrust from Treville and pushed the man back. He grabbed Aramis' arm and near enough threw him towards the horse. "Aramis, let me do this for you. RUN!"
Treville recovered, and Athos just managed to meet his next blow.
Aramis hesitated a moment, torn between helping Athos and doing as he said. Athos was sacrificing himself to give Aramis a chance at freedom. How could he do this? They were supposed to stay together!
"Aramis!" Athos managed to shout before Treville pushed him back. With the swipe of a sword blood flecked the air.
And then he realised he had to let Athos do this. He would die a thousand times over to save his brothers. He couldn't let this sacrifice be in vain. Aramis shot towards the grey horse and mounted. Moments later he was riding off into the night with a cry of pain echoing after him. Athos…
And what a monstrous sight he makes
Mocking man's best friend
When both the wolf and lion crave
The same thing in the end
~oOo~
Aramis had turned his horse into the snow covered fields. It was hard going, but he didn't want to risk being found on the roads. He tried not to think of Athos. If he thought of Athos he feared he would break. He would simply stop and fall to pieces. Athos had given in so Aramis could go on. He had to keep going.
Morning came and the snow touched scenery continued passing by. Aramis couldn't stop. They might be following, he had to keep going.
Aramis had fled without their bag. He had no provisions, nothing. He stopped briefly to drink of the snow, but he had to keep going.
So Aramis kept going.
Darkness came and went again. He began to feel strangely warm, and his chest hurt. Coughing brought no relief, but at least he didn't have to hide it now. Hours passed, days perhaps, he wasn't aware of them. He clutched at the horse's mane, too weak to ride properly. Aramis just kept urging it onward.
Where was he going? South… they were going south weren't they? But which way was south? Aramis lifted his eyes to the sky, but the sun was concealed by heavy clouds. Snow was imminent. He should find shelter… but he was hot, he was sweating, the snow would bring relief.
Aramis was not used to feeling so alone. There was no time to be alone when you were a soldier. He had occasional solace at church, but even in confession he was with a priest. The silence was suffocating. There was no sound but his horse's gentle steps through the snow. Aramis wasn't even sure his voice worked any more. He was suddenly seized with a need to break the quiet, to see if he could still speak.
"De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine…" He started reciting De Profundis, over and over, louder with each word. It seemed appropriate to cry out to God for mercy at such a time.
After everything, would God show him mercy? After all the death that lay in his wake, would God forgive him? If Aramis could have fought a war without killing a single man he would have. And he would not have been ashamed. He was such a contradiction, a soldier more for love than war. But there was never any glory in death. Whether at the end of a sword, or slipping away in bed, however it came death was ugly.
Aramis' trembling fingers reached for the cross around his neck. The prayer kept tumbling from his lips, it was more stilted with each repetition. He felt as if he were losing things as he went along. His brothers were gone. Now he had only memories, and they were leaving bit by bit, as his mind became more fractured.
The cross meant Anne. Anne meant… what did Anne mean? She was something special, they had shared something special. But it was all slipping away through his fingers, the harder Aramis tried to grab at the memories the faster they flew away. The touch of her skin… the feel of her lips… There were gentle moments between each breath where they had taken each other in so intimately. They had felt so fleetingly fragile. Each had shown the other something they trusted only to the darkest depths of their own souls, and in the reveal there was solace. But Aramis couldn't remember. He was left with nothing in his hands but the sharp corners of a little cross.
"Athos, I don't feel well…" Aramis pushed himself up and looked for Athos. He was sure he had to tell Athos he wasn't alright. Where was Athos?
Aramis looked down at the snow and jumped at seeing his brother's cold body lying there. As he rode along there were Porthos and d'Artagnan too. Treville lay further out, the victims of Savoy were beyond him… one, two, three, four… He was counting bodies like sheep. He just wanted to sleep. He was so tired.
… nineteen, twenty, Marsac...
Could he rest now? There was a place for him there, he was twenty two.
Aramis coughed harshly and his grip loosened on his horse's mane. His head swam and he keeled to one side, falling gracelessly to the ground. The snow didn't even shock him now. He was in his place.
An interminable moment passed before delicate fingers brushed at Aramis' cheek.
He wheezed out a breath with the ghost of a name on his lips. "Anne…"
The hand abruptly withdrew.
"Papa! There is a man here! He's asleep in the snow."
~oOo~
"My friend, don't worry, I've got you. Alice, open the door. Quickly now."
The world blurred as Aramis was half carried and half dragged along. His limbs seized and trembled, nothing seemed to work. But then warm air welcomed him like some sweet embrace and an orange glow replaced the whitewashed scene outside. Aramis hit something soft and he moaned at the sudden relief.
"That's it, rest now. I'll get you something to drink."
There was an inhaled gasp from somewhere far away…
A woman's voice rang out. "Nicholas, who on earth is that?"
Aramis tried to open his eyes, they just rolled beneath his eyelids.
"He was collapsed in the snow, I couldn't leave him out there. Alice, be a good girl and fetch more blankets."
The voices drifted away and descended into bickering that Aramis couldn't keep track of. A soft weight settled over him and a little girl's voice filtered through the darkness.
"Why were you asleep in the snow Monsieur? Are you sick?"
"Perhaps… a little…" Aramis managed to whisper. His eyelids cracked open a fraction to find a young girl of about seven or eight staring at him with concern. Her blonde curls seemed to shine and reflect the firelight.
"Don't worry, my mama makes me soup when I'm sick. It makes me feel better, I'm sure she'll make you some too."
The warmth of the room seemed to seep into Aramis' bones beneath the blanket and his shuddering frame relaxed at last. His fractured mind finally caught up with the situation - somebody had taken him in. The kindness of strangers had saved him again.
Aramis gave the girl a weak smile. "You are good people..."
The door to the kitchen opened and the man returned with a cup. He knelt to press it to Aramis' lips, helping to lift the young musketeer's head. As he looked up he caught sight of the woman standing in the doorway, she stared at him with a frown and a note of fear, perhaps even contempt.
Aramis choked a little as he gulped at the water. The man, Nicholas, pulled it away before trying again. "Easy, take small sips."
Just drinking seemed to sap what little energy Aramis had. He lay back down, gasping for breath. Though he managed to fix a watery eye on Nicholas' face and whisper a sincere but hoarse "thank you".
"Rest now, you'll be alright." The man put a hand to Aramis' arm before getting to his feet.
"His breathing's so noisy papa, will he get better?"
Was it? Aramis supposed he had just gotten used to the rasp of each inhalation.
"Hush, let him sleep… Come away Alice."
As the kindly man pushed the door open the harsh voice of his wife filtered through before it closed and cut her off.
"It's him Nicholas! The one they're looking for! I'll not ha-"
Perhaps this wasn't to be a sanctuary after all, but Aramis was too tired to be concerned. He slipped away into darkness once again.
When he next opened his eyes night had passed and morning had come, though Aramis felt he had only slept an hour. His eyes flicked to the window and he watched a few lazy snowflakes drift down from a grey sky. The fire had gone out, and there was a chill to the air, though it was nothing compared to being outside. Through the closed door Aramis heard man and wife arguing again. No doubt he was the cause, and then he drifted into sleep without quite realising it, his body seemed to shut down of its own accord. But Aramis did not sleep long. His eyes snapped open at hearing the door, it was ajar just a crack. The little girl peered through, only half her face was visible in the weak light from the window. Her mother and father were still arguing, but with the door open Aramis could now hear their words.
"... yes you had better get out there since you brought a wanted criminal back instead of firewood!"
"And he will stay until he is fit to leave. We are not judge, jury and executioner. I don't know what he has done, I don't know what sort of a man he is - save that he wears a cross the same as I do. All I know is the sort of man I am, and I will not leave anyone to die alone in the cold. My word on this is final. See that he gets some gruel from the stove."
"Very well. I'll see him fed. Take Alice with you… Alice? Alice, come away from there!"
There was a small gasp and the door shut.
Aramis took in a shallow strained breath and settled his eyes on the window. They glazed over and his mind slipped away for a while. A clipped cough brought him back.
The door was wide open, and Nicholas' wife stood there.
"Can you walk?"
Aramis gave a slight nod.
"I want you out of my house." She stepped aside from the door as if making room for him to leave.
He pushed himself up with a slight groan.
"Please understand. I don't mean to be cruel, but to have you under this roof puts us all at risk. If the cardinal's men found out we were harbouring you…"
Aramis gained his feet and stood still a moment, waiting for the lurching world to right itself. Nicholas' wife stood at such a distance he wondered if she was scared of him. But he was no threat, she feared for her family more. Perhaps she didn't want to come near, she didn't want to reach out and risk touching him. It would make him and his suffering real, it would be something she couldn't ignore or turn away from.
"There is nothing I would not do to keep my child safe. I would walk through fire for her. I am sorry."
And her eyes were full of apology. Even as she led him to the door, maintaining that strained distance between them. She threw it open and stepped away as he shuffled forwards. Aramis choked as the cold air hit the back of his throat. He blinked tears from his watery eyes and went back out into the cold once again.
There was a small voice at his back. "Please say you understand."
Should he turn around and nod to make her feel less guilty? Should he free her from the burden of her own conscience? He had not said a word in his own defence, he was going out there to die, meek as a lamb to the slaughter. And he just felt numb. Death waited for him, whether by the cold and the hunger or the men in pursuit. She must know that. But she was just protecting her family. Aramis knew that strength of feeling, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to hate her - this woman whose name he didn't even know.
"I understand." Aramis whispered faintly.
A weight seemed to lift from her shoulders as she stood framed in the doorway. Aramis just turned his back on her and set to shuffling away.
"I will pray for you Monsieur!"
Prayers would not keep him warm nor feed him and see him safe. They might ease her conscience somewhat. And as that thought crept through his mind a stab of shock assailed Aramis' heart. He had lost everything, was his faith finally slipping away too?
Why would God take everyone away? Why would he claim the innocent? Maybe there was no God, maybe life was random chance, filled with senseless pain, misfortune and occasional bliss. That would mean no heaven or hell. Aramis began to wonder what he was heading for. When his eyes closed for the last time, what would he find? Nothing? Oblivion? At least his unbaptised child would not be damned to the fires of hell if there was no hell. For himself, his own fate, Aramis was beyond caring. He was numb and tired, his ailing body felt a burden he wanted to leave behind. Like a wild animal feeling it has no reason to live he seemed to direct his remaining energy towards dying. Should he find a small hollow to hole up in and watch his last moments pass by quietly?
There was nobody left to mourn him, there was nothing left to hold on to. Aramis shuffled along, homesteads passing by here and there, but he didn't care who saw him. He didn't care that his sodden feet were leaving tracks in the snow. The cold seemed all the harsher for having known the warmth of Nicholas' home. You could get used to the relentless cold, and the gnawing hunger, so that you almost start feeling warm and full, but then the fire upsets this new equilibrium. Pain was nothing without the relief, however brief, of pleasure.
Yet Aramis still kept stumbling onward. There was nothing propelling him forwards but a vague memory of Athos telling him to go. Aramis' legs suddenly gave up and he found himself on hands and knees in the snow, with only his shaking arms holding him up. Were they to give in too he could just lay down and wait for his laboured breath to cease.
Still, there was the memory of Athos giving himself up so Aramis could go on. A harsh cough wracked Aramis' frame. His head hung as a stream of spittle ran to the snow touched ground. He heaved in another painful breath and sat back to wipe a stained sleeve across his mouth. He had to keep going. Athos had told him to go. He had to keep going.
So Aramis drew together what little strength he had and pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled on, falling and crawling, then gaining his feet again. Though something in his will kept him going, Aramis' body seemed to be giving up bit by bit. The snow started falling a little more heavily, he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going. And then through hazy vision, the young musketeer spotted something ahead… a building. As he drew closer he saw that it was a small stable. Aramis fell again before the door, he just managed to crawl inside, like an animal looking for a quiet place to die. The ground was clear from straw, and the stables stood unoccupied. He was entirely alone now. The young musketeer's strength left him and he collapsed with his face pressed against the cold floor and his breath huffing out with difficulty.
He passed the moments just breathing. The noose was tightening about his neck. Aramis slid a frail hand to his throat, trying to pull it away, only to find nothing there. There was a horrible rasping noise, it took Aramis a moment to realise it was coming from him. He closed his eyes, fighting to bring a breath in, and letting it go reluctantly. Would there come a moment where he would choose to let go? Each breath was a choice... a battle... he could simply choose not to fight. Everybody faced that choice in the end. Some had it taken away, but for those on the cusp of life and death with it still in their hands - what was the value of one more breath? One more moment to look in a loved one's eyes? One last clasp of a dear friend's hand? One final chance to see a perfect blue sky?
Aramis cracked his eyes open and reached towards the door that stood ajar. There was nobody here, there was nobody left, but he would like to see the sky. The sun was coming up, had night come and gone so quickly? His eyes had only been closed for a moment. Or maybe his vision had just been fading... but it was back now, and he wanted to see the sky. Yet his fingers would not reach the door. Aramis held them up. They were suspended in sunlight, just inches away from the door. It stood ajar, and let in a thin strip of light that turned his fingers pink while the rest of him lay in shadow. Dust motes danced lazily around his hand in the air. Slowly he flexed his fingers, setting them whirling about, glinting in the pale light from the doorway. Aramis couldn't grab them. They didn't seem to exist in the shade. Just in that slit of sunlight. Aramis dragged in another breath, and lost the strength to hold up his arm. It fell to the ground with the rest of him, flung out at an angle.
There was nothing left now. No Athos, no Porthos, no d'Artagnan or Anne. He was alone, and he was nothing. He felt nothing. His own name seemed to slip away with everything else, and yet he kept on breathing. He had to keep on going, he knew that much. Aramis' eyes began to water, and as he blinked away the tears he saw that he wasn't entirely alone. A rat scuttled along the floor, sticking to the edge of the wall. It cautiously came closer, and sensing Aramis was no threat it went about it's business. The rat scampered around the room and ran over Aramis' outstretched arm, he didn't even flinch. He just kept breathing. It was all he had left.
Aramis had enough about him to wonder if this is how he thought it would all end. When he was young, could he imagine slipping away in the dirt, a wanted man with nothing but rats for company? Everything was leaving him, the memory of playing in his father's shoes… walking about in boots far too big for him… Playing with wooden weapons, and being granted his first steel rapier… That first taste of love. A chaste kiss with Madeline beside the well… It was all deserting him.
Aramis blinked slowly. There was a raven at the door. Had it finally ran out of patience? The door creaked open and the rat fled. A pair of feet filled his vision amidst the sudden blinding flood of sunlight.
"Here you are, alone in the dark…"
Aramis kept staring straight ahead, blinking away tears. He couldn't even look up to meet the intruder's gaze.
"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're wondering." The stranger crouched down and blocked a little more of the sunlight. "It breaks my heart to see you like this, but this is what comes of running. True, you got quite far, but in the end it doesn't really matter how far you got does it? You've still been caught."
He paused, and Aramis could feel his eyes taking every inch of the young musketeer in.
"But that's you all over isn't it? Acting before thinking." He reached over to sweep a lock of Aramis' hair away from his face. "Oh Aramis… look what you've done to yourself. I didn't want this. You should have come to me, we would have found another way. I know you think me beholden to duty, but there are ways and means, lad. I know I failed once, and if I could turn back time to spare you and the rest from Savoy I would. But if you had come to me I would have done everything I could for you."
Aramis closed his eyes and huffed a weak cough. Words had long ago deserted him.
"Come on. Let's get you home lad."