Note: Quote is from Simon and Garfunkel's "Bright Eyes", it was coming sooner or later :)
Chapter Thirteen
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Aramis was placed in the back of a cart with blankets thrown over him. He was going home, but when he thought of home Aramis could only see a scaffold and a length of rope. He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, each breath came harder with every passing second. Perhaps his body was just forgetting how to breathe. A rough hand atop Aramis' chest would give him a firm shake whenever he took too long to inhale.
Occasionally they would stop and try him with food and drink. He refused to eat and water ran between his lips and back out again with a sputter. The motion of the cart along the rough road jarred Aramis' aching bones. It was a relief every time they came to a stop, but why did they insist on bothering him? He didn't want anything, he just wanted to fade away quietly. Every harsh cough and stuttered breath threatened to be his last.
And then something changed with their next stop. The hands upon him became more gentle. Their insistence he drink became a little more desperate. Somebody came to lie next to him under the blanket, lending their body heat to his own. Aramis started to shiver as he warmed, flashes of pain shot through his body. Those gentle hands held on to him, and a comforting tone met his ear, though the words couldn't be made out. As time passed Aramis began to feel too warm, he tried to push the blankets away as rivulets of sweat ran down his face. But those hands restrained him. Aramis tried to open his eyes, they just rolled and closed. His blurred vision had made nothing out.
Time passed in darkness with no sound but the trundling cart and snorting horses. It all faded in and out as consciousness waxed and waned around him. Though the warmth of the body next to Aramis was constant. And then after another stop somebody else pressed a cup to his lips.
"Please… just a little sip."
"Aramis, I need you to drink."
Words… they merged around him like the indistinct voices of angels. Their owners were nameless and faceless, but he heard them.
"You have to drink."
A trickle of water passed his lips, and then a wet cloth wiped at his brow.
"There we go."
He moaned and the darkness took him again.
When Aramis drifted back those voices circled around him again. Their words didn't hold much meaning, they seemed to exist just out of reach. The world out there was passing him by. He hadn't the strength to join it.
"... come on Aramis…"
"...open your eyes…"
"... just a bite…"
"I don't think he knows we're here…"
Words washed over him, around him, through him. Somehow Aramis managed to blink his eyes open, they flicked around, the world had been reduced to blurry shapes of light and dark.
"Aramis, thank God."
"Aramis? Can you hear me?"
"Squeeze my hand if you can hear me."
He closed his eyes again.
For the longest time there was nothing. Silence, punctuated by whispering and rasping. Even the movement of the cart seemed to fade away and jar him no longer. There was no day or night, no warmth or cold. Eternity passed away in oblivion. Was this what it was like to die? A sudden tolling church bell pierced the veil. Was he being put to rest?
Aramis cracked his eyes open to see a church spire wheel overhead. A stray tear leaked from the corner of his eye. He recognised it. Home… he was home. The Sainte Chapelle stood above him. Its pale stone seemed washed red in the sunset, and to Aramis' mind it turned to blood. The chapel was covered in blood! Paris meant death. But as familiar buildings passed by above, he felt no fear or sorrow. There was just a far off ache in his heart that eased. If he was to die, he would have it be here. Aramis passed through the streets, a soldier brought home to rest. He was glad he got to see Paris before the end. On his back, with his eyes fixed on the reddening sky, tips of buildings and spires reached up and stood either side to loom over Aramis. They almost seemed to be part of a procession, with two lines standing by, paying homage to the dead.
A distant hammering sound filtered through the heavy silence, and as the buildings fell away the wooden arms atop a scaffold reached out to take their place.
~oOo~
Athos had been dismayed on finding himself led to a cart containing Aramis. So he had been caught then. Although he supposed Treville had been right, it was only a matter of time. The snare had enclosed impossibly about them. Running and struggling was not going to help.
As he pulled himself up into the back to take care of his friend, Athos winced. Treville had inflicted a couple of wounds that needed stitching, and they pulled quite painfully. But they were instantly forgotten at seeing the state Aramis was in. Pale and barely breathing, he looked half dead already. Athos did what he could, he feared it wasn't enough. But then, what was he saving Aramis for anyway? The noose? Athos' thoughts darkened and for a moment he considered that it would be merciful to just put a tight hand over the young musketeer's mouth. His stuttering breath would cease and he would slip away. Aramis was beyond struggling. It would be peaceful. There would be no peace before the noose in Paris.
Athos shook the thoughts from his head and looked around at the men who were forming up preparing to leave. This wasn't the end. They were not in Paris yet. An opportunity to escape may yet present itself. Athos pulled the fractured pieces of himself together and set to work tending his stricken brother.
The road was rough and pulled strained moans from between Aramis' lips. As awful as it was to hear at least it reassured Athos that his brother still lived and maintained a degree of awareness. When the contingent of musketeers returned to their base camp the two of them were left where they were while the soldiers bustled about packing everything away. A single guard stood by the cart, and Athos' mind set to work - Could he dispatch the man and get Aramis out of there without drawing any attention? Perhaps he would have enough time to get to the reins and drive the cart back to the road, but riders would follow, they would not get far. Along the journey Athos' hands had been bound to boot, he had nothing with which to cut himself free.
In any case, Athos' thoughts were stalled by a slight cough. A familiar cough. Athos looked up and stood in mute shock. He felt he was seeing a ghost.
Porthos.
The man was pushed towards the back of the cart. Athos made no move to help, stunned as he was, but he lay his hands on his friend the instant he was aboard. The solid flesh beneath his fingers said this wasn't a dream. A wan smile passed over Porthos' face and wordlessly the two men embraced as best they could with bound hands.
"I thought you were dead!" Finally Athos found his voice, though it was hoarse with the threat of tears.
Porthos tried to inject a bit of his old bravado into his tone. "It'll take more than that to kill me. A shot caught my arm and I fell, though I took a fair few of them down with me." His eyes caught Aramis and something in the musketeer's manner seemed to crumple. "What happened to him?"
"I don't know… I lost him." No. Athos told himself. You left him. And for a moment he fell apart. "Oh God… Porthos, I left him. I left him, along with everything else. We kept running, but everything was torn away from us, piece by piece, until we had nothing. And then we were trapped… and I left him. I told him to go. They brought him back like this."
"Hey… you did what you had to, I'm sure." Porthos' voice was soft, a soothing balm to the hurt running rampant. "He'll understand. He'll forgive you."
If he wakes up. Athos' said to himself. If we're not all put to death first...
As glad as he was that the Inseparables were together again, there was a bittersweet note to their reunion. The noose waited at the end of their journey.
At least they would die as they had lived... Together.
Despite this shadow looming at their backs, the two men turned their attention to tending Aramis and looking for any opportunity to flee. It would not be easy. They were watched closely by two men riding to the rear. On one occasion Treville came back to relieve them, seemingly wanting a word alone. He assured Athos and Porthos he would do all he could to sway the king to mercy. After all the only crime they had committed was running away with a friend. Treville's eyes passed darkly over Aramis' still form. He said nothing about the young musketeer's fate, but that look said he didn't expect Aramis to survive for the king's mercy to make any difference. Not that he was likely to receive any.
Athos kept an eye on Treville. Now and then he looked back at them with an expression that was hard to place… Guilt? Remorse? Whatever it was, it was filled with pain. Athos supposed this had all taken a toll on Treville as well, it couldn't have been easy hunting down your own men. Still, they would be the ones facing the noose at the end of all this, not Treville. Athos frowned at seeing a piece of rolled parchment pass between hands and a rider setting off at speed. Was Treville up to something? But it didn't do to depend on the words or deeds of others. So Athos kept one eye on Treville and one eye on escape.
In a lull between caring for their friend Athos' curiosity sought answers from Porthos. "Once you were taken, what happened? I thought you would have been transported to Paris long ago."
"Well, I was busy having the hole in my arm stitched up, but from what I gather there was some wrangling over who would take me back." Porthos let his eyes drift to Aramis' pale face. "Our regiment didn't have enough men to continue the search and return me to Paris, so I was given over to the Red Guard. They were not kind."
Athos shifted uncomfortably until Porthos looked back up.
"I would have been able to beat the brutes with both hands tied behind my back, but they bound my legs together too. I don't remember much of my rescue, I was in and out for most of it. It seemed Treville sent men out to recover me, I've been hauled around chasing after you lot ever since."
"Not much of a rescue was it?" Athos pointed out grimly.
"No… but at least I'll stand before the noose with a pretty face."
Neither of them smiled at Porthos' attempt at levity.
A low moan from Aramis drew their attention. "Pass me the skin, let's try him with some water again…"
~oOo~
The opportunity for escape never came, and in time they reached Paris. Athos felt sick at seeing the place he once called home. The people lining the streets looked at them with accusing eyes and whispers hidden behind hands. He was used to hearing cheering as they escorted the king and queen about the streets. Now he felt a common criminal. It wasn't long before the cart stopped and Treville came to take Athos and Porthos away. He told them Aramis would be taken back to the garrison where a physician would see him. And so the two men were led into the palace, Athos felt ashamed to be entering so dishevelled and bound to boot.
It turned out Treville's promises were all for naught. The king wouldn't even see him. Instead the Cardinal came to stalk up and down before them with a barely concealed glee. It felt like they had just walked into the lion's den. He looked them over like a predator examining prey. His cruel eyes wandered their frames... Should he take them by the throat? The quickest and surest way to death. He sunk his teeth in. There was no mercy to be had here.
The Cardinal flicked a finger to his men. "Take them to the Chatelet."
Treville indicated the musketeers who brought them in should stand their ground. "What of their trial?"
"There won't be one. Can you really tell me there is any question over the guilt of these men?" The Cardinal faced Athos and Porthos. "If you hold honour so dear you will be truthful. Are you guilty?"
The two of them stood tall, and Porthos gave an answer. "Just guilty of helping a friend in need."
"There you go, by their own admission they are condemned men. And speaking of that friend… Where is the other miscreant?"
"Aramis is not fit enough to stand before you. He was taken to the garrison." Treville near enough growled. "They should be before a judge for sentencing at least!"
"Have him taken to the Chatelet too. Even if he's not fit enough to stand he will be fit enough to sit in chains like the dog he is. As for a sentence, I will speak with the king on that matter. But you know what it is likely to be." The Cardinal turned and swept away as his men moved in.
"I demand to speak to him!" Treville yelled.
Richelieu didn't even turn around to reply, he just raised his voice. "As I already told you, he is indisposed to visitors."
"Blasted snake has turned the king in my absence!" Treville roared once the snake in question was out of earshot.
"Captain… you did what you could." Athos managed before he was led away.
An emptiness took his heart. This was the end. He hadn't anything left to fight back with.
"This isn't over!" Were the last words they heard from Treville before the door swept shut behind them.
~oOo~
Athos and Porthos found themselves shoved into a dank cell within the Chatelet. Their wrists were bound with chains and only a few sputtering candles staved off the darkness. The look on Porthos' face told Athos he felt the same void take his heart.
They sat on the cold, hard ground and faced each other. For once Athos was moved to break the awful silence.
"We tried…"
"And we almost made it." Porthos gave a half smile that never reached his eyes.
"It has been an honour to know you, my friend."
"Don't, Athos… Don't start talking like that. We're not dead yet." Porthos brought a hand to his shoulder with the detestable clank of chains.
"It won't be long." Athos cast his eyes to the small barred window above their heads. The sun was going down, and on this side of the building there were nothing but shadows.
What could you say? What did condemned men speak of to one another? Athos drew his eyes away from the window at feeling Porthos take his hand between his own.
"We knew…" Porthos licked his dry lips and tried again. "We knew it might come to this. We knew the whole world would be our enemy… we knew if we were caught we would be killed. But still we fought and we ran."
"Are we brave or simply foolish?"
"I like to think we are loyal." Porthos gave a sad smile. "Aramis would have done the same for us."
As if on cue a door out of sight creaked open and two men entered, dragging a third between them. Aramis. His head lolled lifelessly and his legs made no move to take his weight. Despite being unconscious and in no state to fight back, his wrists were chained, just like theirs.
The men dropped Aramis in the cell beside theirs none too gently. He lay curled on one side, with his back facing Athos and Porthos. The sound of his ragged breath soon filled their prison.
"Aramis? Aramis, can you hear me?" There was no reaction.
Athos and Porthos pressed themselves to the bars. They tried to reach through to their friend. Aramis was just inches away from Porthos' fingertips. He growled in frustration.
"Aramis! Wake up! Speak to me!"
Nothing.
They sat back, defeated.
Emptiness took Athos once again, and then he looked back at Aramis. He had heard something. A sound like the low sad moan of prey.
"Aramis?"
The quiet moan came again, and a rattle, as if he'd attempted to move his chained arms.
Porthos moved back to the bars. "Aramis, can you roll over? Can you let me see your face?"
A shaky word followed then. "Porthos?"
"Yes, it's me, Athos is here too. We're worried about you, will you turn to face us?"
"No… Porthossdead." Aramis' tired words ran together.
"I'm not, I survived, and I'm right here." He strained his arm through the bars to no avail.
"Not real…"
"I am very real, if only you would turn to face me!"
Gradually Aramis gave in and rolled over slowly, bringing the chains over his body with a clink. He blinked at them slowly through half lidded eyes. It seemed to take a moment for realisation to sink in, but when it did Aramis managed a small smile and he slid his bound arms out in front of him, trying to bridge the distance.
Porthos reached out again and was rewarded by their fingers just touching. "See? I'm real."
"Real…" Aramis whispered reverently with shining eyes.
Even Athos managed a half smile. They were together.
They were going to die together.
~oOo~
Porthos managed to keep up a quiet litany of words, occasionally prompting Aramis to answer, just to make sure he was still with them. The young musketeer's eyes had slid closed, and his breath rattled in his chest dangerously. Occasionally he lapsed into a rasping coughing fit. The last time Aramis tried to roll onto his front and push himself up, but his weak arms wouldn't hold him. He collapsed back, choking, with his cheek pressed to the filthy ground. Porthos tried to reach out to him, but he was just out of reach again. They frantically called his name.
When the coughing died away Aramis wiped a clumsy hand across his mouth. "m'fine…"
They sat back in relief, and Porthos resumed his stream of idle words, while Aramis watched with a watery gaze. When Porthos succombed to sleep Athos took over. He had never been one for small talk, but he managed to keep up a stream of mostly one sided conversation. Aramis' input was usually a quiet "mmm" when pressed.
"... I always enjoyed my time with Helene, she wasn't like the other girls they brought to play with me. The others acted like proper little ladies, but Helene would fight with me and my brother and play in the fountain. Until her mother caught us of course… Did you have any childhood sweethearts, Aramis?"
He took a moment to answer, but that wasn't unusual.
"Aramis, were there any girls you liked as a young lad? Oh, I've forgotten who I'm talking to, I'm sure there were hundreds. Aramis?"
Silence.
"Aramis?" Athos went to the bars adjoining their cells. "Aramis! ARAMIS!" Each time he called his friend's name a little louder until he was yelling frantically.
Porthos shot up from the floor. "What's wrong?!"
"He's not answering!"
Immediately Porthos joined him at the bars, reaching through, straining to get at his friend. "Aramis! You wake up right now!"
Aramis' face was deathly pale, his features were lax and his half lidded eyes held a glassy stare that chilled the two of them to the bone. The only sign Aramis was still alive was the rasping inhalation of each breath.
Athos stood at the door of their cage and yelled for the guards until his voice was hoarse.
Eventually a young lad came in with a tray of food for them. "What's all this noise about?"
"Please! He's dying! You have to let me help him!" Athos pointed at Aramis.
The lad shoved their plates through the gap at the bottom of the cell door and went to do the same for Aramis. While he was there he scrutinised the prone musketeer before going to leave.
"Will you let me go to him?" Athos asked desperately.
"No, I can't let prisoners out. Not without the Captain's say so."
"For pity's sake! Look at him! He's not going anywhere! And I give you my word as a gentleman - I will not try to escape."
The young guard fixed him with a pointed look. "But you're not a gentleman any more are you? You're a prisoner."
The door slammed shut behind him.
Athos cursed and kicked the bars. They both went back to Aramis, trying to rouse him to no avail. Eventually Porthos went to pick at the food they'd been given, encouraging Athos to do the same. Athos didn't feel like eating a thing, but Porthos was right, they would be no good to Aramis if they did not keep their strength up.
The lad came back to retrieve their plates and Athos went to remonstrate with him once again. His eyes flicked between Athos and Aramis. He seemed to note the latter's food was untouched and he hadn't moved an inch.
Athos lowered his voice, trying the one last weapon in his arsenal. "Look… we're all for the noose, but he's going to die before he gets there. The Cardinal wants him swinging from a rope for all to see, not slipping away in the dirt of a prison floor. Do you want to suffer the wrath of the Cardinal? Let me go to him."
The guard left, and Athos swore again, but he returned moments later with a set of keys and two friends.
"If you try anything…"
"I gave you my word." Athos replied impatiently.
The cell door swung open and Athos was guided out. Porthos tried to follow, but a strong arm stopped him.
"Not you." One of the older guards growled.
Athos dropped to his knees beside Aramis, not even noticing the cell door being locked behind him. He pulled Aramis on to his knee, the young musketeer was like a rag doll, save for the chains that weighed his arms down. Athos put a hand to his face, begging him to wake up. The void at his his heart seemed to deepen with every minute that went by without response. Reaching for the water that had been brought in with Aramis' food, Athos tried to pour a little into his mouth. It just ran between his lips and dribbled to the ground. Athos gave up and drew Aramis into a tight embrace, he tried to hold in a desperate sob that threatened to burst from his chest. All the while he kept quietly whispering, telling Aramis to wake up. A time or two the name 'Thomas' might have slipped between his lips. The present blurred with the past, and Athos couldn't help but relive the awful moment he held another brother's lifeless body in his arms.
When Athos looked up with shining eyes he caught sight of Porthos. He was pressed up against the bars, a picture of misery. So Athos pulled himself over to the edge of the cell and dragged Aramis with him. Now within reach, Porthos' hand slipped through the bars to take hold of Aramis'. His voice joined in with Athos and the two men quietly begged their friend to come back to them.
That desperate, dark corner of Athos' mind rose again and considered that it might be better for his friend to slip away now, while he rested peacefully in the arms of his brothers. Some part of Athos never wanted Aramis to wake up.
They sat entwined with one another for endless hours taking in the fetid prison air. Eventually the door scraped open and the young guard stepped in. He approached the cells warily, almost seeming tentative. Athos supposed he had not been at this job long enough for a hardness to set in. The older guards were rough with them. They spared no thought or feeling, and treated the musketeers like dogs. But there was something almost sympathetic in this boy's eyes. He stepped towards the bars of their cage.
"There is news." He started, meeting their eyes carefully. "You are to be hung at dawn the day after tomorrow."
Athos let out a harsh breath and clutched a little more tightly at Aramis. Leaning against the bars he felt Porthos bristle by his side.
"I feel I should tell you... your Captain is trying to stall this. But I don't want to give you false hope."
Athos could have laughed at the boy, speaking of hope in a place like this. There was no hope, false or otherwise. Treville's words would fall on deaf ears and they would be hung at dawn, the day after tomorrow.
He managed to summon a weak nod and the boy took his leave.
"So this is it…" Porthos' voice filled the silence.
Athos didn't have it in him to reply. A darkness creeping through his mind felt relief at the fact this would be over. The running and the hiding had come to an end, and his pitiful life of drinking to numb the pain would be over. A part of Athos asked why he would regret dying when he had resented living for so long. The stuttered breath beneath his hand gave an answer. His brothers. They had given him life and they would accompany him in death. That was his only regret, that they would suffer and pass alongside him.
But Aramis looked beyond suffering at this point. Athos rubbed vigorously at his chest until he drew breath again. The young musketeer was pale, save for the dark shadows beneath his eyes. Would he even survive until the day after tomorrow? Again that darkness at the corner of Athos' mind spoke, telling him things he would not even consider, whispering thoughts he could not bear to contemplate. They tried to persuade him to let Aramis go.
"Do you think…" Suddenly Athos found those thoughts slipping between his lips. His voice faded, he coughed slightly and tried again. "Do you think we should just let him slip away?"
Porthos looked up with a fleeting fire in his eyes. As if his first instinct was to rebel against the thought of letting his brother die. It sputtered out when the realisation of reality hit… that he was going to die anyway, and it was better to fade away in your sleep than to die dancing on the end of a rope.
Still, unlike Athos, Porthos would never let such thoughts pass his lips.
"No. You heard the guard. Treville is still fighting for us, we have to keep fighting. There is time." Porthos made a good attempt at sounding strong, but he couldn't hide the sorrow tainting his voice.
"There is no time, Porthos. We know the Cardinal will not let the king be moved. This is the end."
"We can't…" The rest of Porthos' sentence was choked off by an awful sound, like that of a wounded animal.
"I know, I wish it had never come to this. I thought as soldiers we would meet our ends in a blaze of glory on the battlefield, not here... Never here." He ran his hands through Aramis' straggled locks, hoping to provide some small sense of comfort.
~oOo~
Hours passed and shadows crept to the barred window once again. As night wore on the candles sputtered and died, Athos watched the trails of faint smoke with a sigh. It was exactly how he felt, burnt out and spent. There was nothing left of him. He was dead inside already. Porthos slept fitfully on the other side of the bars, but Athos was too occupied with their waking nightmare to succomb to sleep.
As the moon lit a slither of the distant wall, he could see it all… Porthos shouting and screaming, fighting every step of the way, while Aramis was quiet, too quiet. He had no voice, no tongue to speak. All of the people will gather to watch them choke. The women and the children, given to morbid curiosity, with the men who shout and roar. They will watch, just as intensely as Athos looked away. You looked away from her. And she'll be there to watch, in body or spirit, she'll know… she'll wait for that matching scar… You looked away, you coward. You deserve this, it's been a long time coming… And they'll read from the Holy Bible as you inwardly curse at God. You'll curse until the rope is placed, and you step forwards… Porthos looks across and speaks for the last time, but his words are smothered, blue flowers mar your sight, and you fall under the weight of what you've done.
Through that detached state of being Athos felt his hand still on Aramis' chest. Silent tears tracked his cheeks as Aramis stopped breathing. He did not try to encourage another breath. Instead Athos' hand drifted to the young musketeer's mouth, almost without his knowing it. He was gentle, he bent to lay a kiss to the top of Aramis' head.
Aramis didn't struggle.
He didn't even try.
~oOo~
Somewhere far away there was a fire in his lungs and raven wings across his chest. He would hold it close if he had any power in his arms. There was something comforting in the spread of feathers across his skin. A cold beak rested at his collarbone. Before it had been cruel and vicious, but now it was strangely peaceful… A small body as fragile as his own lay across him. The fire didn't seem to matter any more.