Note: Here we are at the final chapter :) Quote is from The Cinematic Orchestra's "To Build A Home".
Chapter Fourteen
And now it's time to leave and turn to dust
Suddenly a fist shot out and enclosed about Athos' wrist tightly. His hand was wrenched away from Aramis and pulled to the hard iron bars with a growl.
"What are you doing?!"
"I'm sorry…" Athos gasped out.
Porthos reached through to shake at Aramis, but he was deathly still on Athos' lap.
"Aramis!"
"Porthos…" Athos came back to himself, realising the weight of what he had done, and realising that nothing could be done. "We have to let him go."
"You didn't let him go, you took him!" Porthos bit back, still trying to rouse Aramis.
"He was gone, Porthos… He is gone… He's not coming back. It was mercy. I showed him mercy." Athos nearly felt sick at hearing him justify his actions so.
Porthos fixed him with a fierce eye. "It was murder."
But surely Porthos knew why, he knew what was coming… the screaming… the choking… This was better.
Athos gathered Aramis up in his arms and made to pull him away from Porthos. The man was near frantic in trying to rouse their brother. Pulling at him, patting his face, near enough trying to drag a breath out of him. But he was gone. And now was the time to let him rest.
But just as Athos made to move he felt a frail breath against his neck. He froze. It came again… a weak breeze against his cold skin. Relief and disappointment warred in Athos' heart.
"He lives…" He lay Aramis back down, and Porthos took hold of his arm in a grip so tight no man nor beast could part them.
"There is time, Athos." Porthos looked at him not with anger, as Athos expected, but with gentleness. He understood that something had broken in Athos for him to do what he had done.
"No, there isn't. This is selfishness, Porthos. That we are keeping him here for another day at death's door, just because we cannot bear to be without him." Athos swiped a hand across his damp eyes. "We are all going the same way… We would only have been following him down."
Porthos simply gave him a stare instead of an answer. A torn look filled with more than words could say… regret and resentment, loathing and love.
Shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, and silence fell on them like a shroud. Until the door scraped open. Athos braced himself, the guard was probably going to tell them their execution had been brought forwards. Or that Treville had failed at the very least. He held his breath when two masked men came into view. One stayed back to watch the door while the other rushed forwards to work on the lock with a set of keys.
Stunned, Athos just managed to find his voice. "Who are you?"
The cell door swung open.
The mask was pulled down to reveal a grin. "Well, are you just going to sit there?"
d'Artagnan!
"Thank God… Thank God…" Athos near enough collapsed under the wave of relief that hit him.
d'Artagnan went to work on Porthos' door before coming back to kneel beside them. His worried hands ghosted over Aramis.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes… yes, I'm fine."
But he couldn't seem to let go of Aramis. He wanted to hold on to his brother, there was hope again, and he couldn't bear to risk letting Aramis slip away. He wasn't going to leave, not again.
And then Porthos was there, hand on his shoulder, pulling Aramis away. "It's all right, I've got him… I'll look after him. You can let go now."
His grip turned lax and Aramis was lifted from his arms. And then everything suddenly still was set in motion. d'Artagnan helped Athos to his feet and they left the cells for a passageway. Further down they passed a room with a table and overturned drinks. The floor was littered with unconscious guards and scattered cards - a game in progress brought to a halt. Athos recognised the young guard amongst them. Something within him hoped the boy was merely unconscious and not dead. He hurried along. More masked men joined them, they rushed him along the maze of passages, going down. Athos' legs felt weak, his lungs snatched at the fetid air, but his will was renewed in face of this rescue. It drove him on. His eyes latched onto Porthos ahead, with Aramis carried carefully in his arms.
Down and down they went, Athos followed blindly, keeping his eyes on Porthos' back like it was a candle leading the way in the dark. Somewhere along the line the prison passageways turned into underground tunnels, and Athos realised they were navigating their way around the buried catacombs of Paris. The thought of the surrounding walls of bones sent a chill up his spine. But there was no time to dwell on it, whenever his pace slowed one of the masked men hurried him along. Still, the bleached bones caught Athos' sight in the brief, harried glow of the passing torches. They came to momentary standstill as the passageway split in several places.
"Why have we stopped?"
"Just wait." Someone hissed harshly from behind a mask.
d'Artagnan went to stand forwards on guard with a raised pistol.
They listened intently to the silence, fearing hearing the raised voices of guards. Athos' breath caught in his throat as his gaze wandered to the walls. Rows of bones were stacked haphazardly. At first glance they might have been mistaken for stones, but there was no mistaking the skulls stacked atop one another, forming a morbid pattern through the rest. The black orbits stood out, black against white, staring without eyes to stare with.
The thought struck Athos then - These had been people once. They lived and breathed, and now their forgotten remains watched the darkness. Who had they been? What lives did they live? Whoever they were didn't matter now. They were nameless and faceless. One skull was indistinguishable from the next. Whether you were a Comte or a Court dweller in life, all of humanity stood the same in death.
Athos began to wonder how many there were. The ceiling of the tunnel was low, and on his tiptoes Athos could just see above the stacked bones. They extended far back beyond the touch of the torchlight. There must have been thousands of people laid to rest in the ossuary.
"Athos?" Porthos turned to whisper. "Are you alright?"
"Yes… just…" He looked around at the bones.
"I know. Come here, help me with Aramis." Trust Porthos to know he needed a distraction.
Porthos laid their friend down gently and the two of them checked him over. Despite the commotion of their rescue Aramis hadn't roused.
Athos looked back up at the surrounding cage of bones. "We were nearly… we might still… I can't believe it, this doesn't seem real."
Moments ago he was facing death, and now freedom was tantalisingly close.
"Look at me." Porthos drew his gaze. "This is real. We're going to get out, and we're not going to die. You have to believe it."
Athos swallowed heavily and gave a nod.
The light of a torch approached from one of the passageways, and a lowered voice reached them. "It's clear! Come on!"
Porthos hefted Aramis back into his arms, and between one breath and the next they were being hurried through the catacombs once again.
Eventually they emerged into the fresh night air on one of the back streets of Paris. A cloak was thrown around Athos' shoulders and a large hat was placed on his head. He approached d'Artagnan, half wanting to embrace him, half wanting answers, but the young lad held up a hand.
"Not now, we're not clear yet…"
They were tentatively led along the streets, checking behind every corner before advancing, until a cart came into view. In the back were a few barrels covered by sheets. Porthos and Aramis were helped up and concealed, but before Athos joined them he turned to d'Artagnan.
"What are you waiting for?" The lad hissed and gestured at the back of the cart.
"I'm sorry, this can't wait…" Athos threw his arms around a very surprised d'Artagnan.
They held onto each other tightly for a long moment before breaking apart.
Athos looked at his friend with shining eyes. "d'Artagnan, I am so very glad to see you."
d'Artagnan offered a warm smile. "And I you... Now get in the back, we've a long ride ahead."
He climbed up and hid beneath the sheets, lying alongside Porthos and Aramis. Some part of Athos was in shock. He was out… he was free… and they lived. A few short hours ago he was resigned to his fate, he was ready to die. Was he going to wake up? This couldn't be real. But as he reached out a hand to rest on Aramis' chest, he felt the ragged breath of his brother and knew that this was real. Porthos' arm came to circle them both, it was a solid presence at Athos' back. And for the first time in a long time Athos felt that he could finally rest.
~oOo~
For a while Athos slept, he was beyond weary and the trundling of the cart and rhythmical steps of the horse lulled him away. But when he woke he was eager for answers. A few times he had looked out from beneath their covers only to be hissed at by d'Artagnan to get back down. Eventually the young lad said it was safe to sit alongside him if he wanted to for a while.
Athos put a hand to d'Artagnan's shoulder, as if needing confirmation that the lad was real. The early morning light lent a dreamlike quality to the world, and he had to be sure.
"How… What did…" Athos scarcely knew where to start. But he supposed the best place to begin was the start. "The night we left. Did they catch you?"
"They did, but the guards quickly realised I wasn't their man. They wanted Aramis. Still, I was taken in, and questioned. Treville got me released. He insisted they had no reason to hold me, and eventually they gave in."
"I'm sorry… I hope they did not hurt you?"
"Nothing but a few scrapes and bruises. I've had worse sparring with you. And you have no reason to be sorry. I would gladly do it all again."
"Still, I would not see you suffer at their hands."
"I did not suffer for long. The Cardinal's men kept showing an interest in me, believing I knew more than I did. So Treville gave me a mission that would get me out of Paris for some time. I did not hear from him again, not until a messenger arrived with a note asking me to return discreetly. He told me of your capture and imprisonment, and together we came up with a rescue plan. So here I am." d'Artagnan looked up from the road to smile at Athos.
He couldn't help but smile in return.
"So this was his plan all along…" Athos recalled seeing a rider set off on their journey back to Paris.
"Well, I think he was hoping his words might sway the king first. I was the last resort."
"Not in my mind. What you've done for us, d'Artagnan… words will never be enough to thank you."
"You don't need to, that's what brothers are for isn't it? All for one and one for all." d'Artagnan was quiet for a moment before asking his next question. "Aramis… he will be alright won't he? What happened to him?"
"I hope so, if we can get some food and water in to him. As for what happened, that's a long story."
"We'll be on the road a while yet, you have time to tell it."
"Well, after leaving you we stopped to rest in some woods. Porthos punched Aramis…"
And so Athos went on to tell their whole sorry tale.
~oOo~
Aramis weakly batted at the hands trying to clutch at him. He wished they would leave him alone, but then he hadn't been aware enough to wish for anything in a while, and the realisation he felt something of the outside world beyond pain and fire lent him strength.
"He's waking up… Come on Aramis, open your eyes."
"I don't think he is…"
"He must be, the way he's flailing around like that. Here, let me…"
Suddenly his hands were restrained and something pushed against his lips.
"Aramis, just drink a little… please. For me."
Water, wet and cold. He parted his lips and took a sip.
"That's it, a little more now, then you can rest…"
After another sip he descended into coughing. Those irritating hands held him up and clapped at his back, then when the choking ceased he drifted away again.
He circled around consciousness several more times, not quite getting all the way there. Voices drifted in and out, and there was the sound of a baby crying… Was he dreaming? Was he dead?
Eventually the moment came when Aramis gathered all his strength and put it into simply opening his eyes. He was in a bed, and Porthos was asleep in a chair by his side. Aramis looked down to see that Porthos gently held his hand beneath his own. He took a moment to watch Porthos' chest rise and fall regularly with the effortlessness of sleep. His own breath felt heavy in his chest, it was hard to drag in and he let go of it quickly. And then he let his fingers twitch. Porthos might have looked deep in sleep, but that small action had him shooting up and clutching Aramis' hand so fast it seemed he had been struck by lightning.
"You're awake!" The expression on his face was pure joy.
Aramis just gave a weak smile.
"He's awake!" Porthos yelled to the doorway.
Athos and d'Artagnan rushed in to join Porthos by his bedside.
"It is good to have you with us again." Athos rested a hand against his arm.
Aramis drew a breath to speak, but coughed it back out.
The hand on his arm tightened. "Easy… don't try too hard, just rest. There will be plenty of time for talking, and the first thing you have to do is tell Porthos to get some rest too. He has hardly left your side."
Aramis shot an admonishing glance Porthos' way before settling his eyes on d'Artagnan pointedly.
Athos seemed to get the gist. "Yes, we found d'Artagnan. Or rather, d'Artagnan found us. He has kindly brought us to his new home."
But keeping his eyes open was terribly draining. Aramis never remembered staying awake ever being this hard before.
"It's alright, sleep, we're not going anywhere."
And so his eyes fluttered closed again.
The next time Aramis came to awareness there were hushed voices at the door. He kept his eyes closed while he listened.
"... not now, let him get his strength up first."
"He should know. He'll…"
That was a woman's voice. Aramis took a moment to place it… Constance. And this was d'Artagnan's new home. Had she left her husband? Were they living together now? The thought lightened his heart. They were clearly meant for each other.
"All in good time, he doesn't need the excitement…"
They drifted away from the door and Aramis allowed his eyes to blink open. He was in a small cosy room, and though he couldn't see much through the window from his position, the sky was a clear blue and sunlight streamed in giving a sense of warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. Aramis watched clouds pass by the paned glass until Athos came in with a cup of water. He set it down on the bedside table before taking a seat, dropping down heavily next to Aramis.
"It is good to see you awake. Will you have a drink?"
Aramis nodded and made to sit up. Athos moved in to help as he struggled. Though he was eager to take the cup himself, his arms felt like lead weights. Athos' hands hovered nearby in case he faltered. Aramis watched them with a note of frustration.
"If you drop it, I won't be the one to change the bedclothes." Athos noted wryly, before his expression changed to something more sympathetic. "I know you hate it, but you won't be like this forever. I think there's a lingering weakness in your chest from the sickness, not to mention all the days without food or sleep, but with some rest and decent meals there's no reason you shouldn't recover."
He did hate this. Being weak… being fawned over like some child. He couldn't wait for the tightness in his chest to ease and his strength to return. Aramis just wanted to feel like himself again. It was so easy to take feeling normal for granted, but after suffering sickness or pain 'normal' suddenly becomes the most wonderful feeling on earth. The miracle of being alive.
And he was so grateful to be alive. Just to be breathing the air through strained lungs, it was more than he had ever hoped for of late. To have them all here, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan, it was beyond his greatest hopes and dreams. Some part of Aramis feared he was still going to wake up. His hand crept towards Athos' resting on the sheets and their eyes met. Something passed between them, something words couldn't convey. It was beyond relief, beyond gratefulness. It was the pieces that had broken off and scattered their path being slowly collected and fixed back in place. Aramis had thought them all lost and turned to dust. They were blown away on the wind as he walked towards a shallow grave. And now Aramis and Athos were both here.
They were alive.
There were no words... nothing that could be said to paint a picture of the horror left behind and the sweet solace of this moment. But Athos was not a creature of words, and he said enough with his smile. They did not need to speak of it, they had lived it. This was enough... silence and a smile.
Eventually Aramis cleared his throat and spoke with a hoarse voice. "What happened?"
He looked around the sunlit room as if to ask how he came to be there when they were last languishing behind bars.
"I'll tell you what happened if you eat something."
Aramis smiled faintly. "Deal."
~oOo~
Aramis slept the hours away, hoping that each time on waking a little more weakness would have left his bones. He was most surprised to open his eyes one morning and find Constance sitting by the bed rocking a baby. Had they been gone so long that Constance and d'Artagnan had set up a home together and had a child as well? Aramis smiled at the thought, he had missed much.
It took a moment for Constance to realise he was awake. When she did a bright smile lit up her face. "Hello you."
Aramis cleared his throat and spoke with a frail voice. "You have been busy in my absence… Girl or boy?"
Judging by her expression she seemed to find something funny in his words. "A boy."
"Heaven help us if he takes after d'Artagnan."
"I'm sure he will be just like his father, brave, strong, and just a little bit reckless."
"Very much reckless I think you'll find…" Aramis took as deep a breath as he could manage and pushed himself up with a groan.
Constance leaned forwards to give him a better look at the babe. He was wrapped up in a white shawl, dark hair and eyes peeped out from between the folds, and then a hand reached out to grab at thin air.
"Would you like a hold?"
Aramis nodded eagerly and reached out his arms. She placed the child down carefully.
"He is quite handsome. All the ladies will be after him when he's older." Aramis said with a smile, rocking him gently.
"And in that he certainly does take after his father."
"Oh I think d'Artagnan still has a lot to learn yet…"
"In fact, he is named after his father."
Aramis looked up at Constance with something approaching horror. "Please tell me you haven't called him 'Charlie'?"
That gained a laugh. "No… He is called René."
At that Aramis looked stricken with shock.
It couldn't be...
As if reading his thoughts Constance reached out a hand to his arm. "He is yours, Aramis."
His child.
It was his child.
The stricken look remained, but he was stricken with happiness so complete it brought tears. They ran silently and fell to the shawl as Aramis looked down at his son.
His throat seemed to close up, but he managed to whisper. "My son… I have a son."
He couldn't believe it. The child was thought dead.
"Indeed, you do."
Athos' voice came from the doorway and Aramis realised his three friends stood there watching him. They came in and a multitude of hands gripped his shoulder, ruffled his hair and clapped him on the back. It was a stark contrast to the moment he had been told his child was dead. Back then hands had restrained him and held him back. Aramis recalled it like the distant claw of a terrible nightmare, one that had now passed.
His child was alive.
His child was alive and in his arms.
Aramis looked down at this small fragile life he held, and he recalled every word of his promise… I will watch over your son and guard him with all my strength and heart. I will lay my life down for him if necessary. He will have no more devoted servant… And he knew that he would keep it. Aramis would love this child with all his heart, he already did.
"How…?" The young musketeer looked to d'Artagnan and Constance, seeking an explanation. As far as everyone was concerned the babe was dead, how had he come to be here?
Constance shot a look to d'Artagnan before beginning. "Well, we knew the Cardinal did not intend on letting your child take the throne of France, and we knew he was not above having babies killed, so we got there before him. As soon as René was born we took him away and told them he was dead, we..."
Her voice petered out. It didn't take too much imagination to realise what they had done. A replacement body would have to have been found, perhaps a poor child from the Court.
d'Artagnan put a hand to her shoulder and continued. "That's when I was tasked with my mission away from Paris. I escorted Constance and René out here, and have protected him ever since. It is quite isolated, but as far as the few locals are concerned we're a couple who have come to raise their son in the peace of the countryside. Back in Paris they believe Constance is helping a distant brother with his baby after the death of his wife, and I am simply away on a long term mission."
"What of Anne? Does she ever get to see him?"
d'Artagnan gave him an apologetic look and shook his head. "It is too dangerous." But on seeing Aramis' crestfallen face he spoke again. "Maybe in time something could be arranged. Perhaps if she was to take a visit somewhere, our paths might happen to cross…"
That was the only sadness from this situation. His son was alive, but Anne was denied him. At least she knew her child lived, even if she would not see him grow. She would miss everything. His first words, his first steps. The boy would be a stranger to her. But Aramis would tell him all about his mother. He would speak of her beauty and grace, her great wisdom and judgment. Even if she could not know her child, he would know her.
"How does she fare? Do you know?"
"Well, as I mentioned, I have been away from Paris for some time. As far as I know Anne is well. When everything came out, she was disgraced. Treville feared we would have to get her away from Paris too, but she earned the king's forgiveness. I'm sure Cardinal Richelieu had something to do with it. He might not want an illegitimate heir to the throne, but the king executing the queen would do no good for France."
That was something at least. Anne was safe and well. Aramis felt tiredness drag at his body again, he tried to fight it off. He held his son in his arms for the first time, and he never wanted this moment to end. But Constance could see him nodding and gently came to take the babe from his arms.
"It's alright, he's not going anywhere. You'll see him again when you wake."
Aramis' eyes followed his son and Constance as they made for the door. And then suddenly he recalled something…
"Wait!" He searched his pocket with a frown.
"What is it?" Porthos asked, concerned.
"It's gone…" Aramis sighed.
He supposed after everything it would be a miracle for the little black horse to still be in his pocket. Back in Tilda's warm cottage Aramis had imagined himself sitting beneath a tree, whittling a toy horse for his son. The little wooden figure had not been made by his hand, but it had still been fashioned by a caring father. Aramis was suddenly seized with the need to give it to his own son. The toy horse must have fallen from his pocket, it was something else lost along the way.
"What's gone?" Porthos frowned.
"Tilda gifted a little wooden horse to me… I've lost it." Aramis answered morosely.
"Oh!" Athos suddenly sat up and started fishing around in his jacket pocket.
He pulled out the little horse figure and brandished it with a flourish.
A smile lit up Aramis' face as it took it. He turned the toy over with delicate fingers, feeling the smoothness of the wood.
"I found it in the snow back when you were shedding all of your clothes. You seemed anxious to hold on to it before, so I picked the toy up along with everything else. I'm afraid it quite slipped my mind."
"Well, you have had more to concern yourself with than a toy horse." Aramis said with hint of amusement.
Constance had come to sit back down by the bed. She leaned forwards and Aramis reached out to offer the horse to René. One of his little hands wrapped tightly around the figure's leg and it was drawn straight to his mouth.
"I think he likes it." She said with a smile.
Aramis lay back with a happy sigh, relaxing into the bed. He finally felt at home again, something he hadn't felt since Athos came barrelling into his room with two terrible words on his lips. That home had disappeared from them all, but there was always time to build another.
Still, the thought passed Aramis' mind that it wouldn't be that easy.
"What's wrong?" Porthos interrupted his thoughts, seemingly catching the troubled frown on his face.
"We're back at square one. Escaped men on the run. Will we ever be safe?"
d'Artagnan cleared his throat. "Actually, Treville might have mentioned something about pulling some bodies out of the Seine…"
"How convenient." Athos spoke wryly.
"It seems we have much to thank him for." A weight lifted from Aramis' shoulders.
So this was it. They were finally free. Free to build a home. They could go anywhere and be anybody. They had only to shed their old selves, cast their lives away, and begin again.
"What do we do now?" Porthos asked.
Athos gave a half smile and met Aramis' eyes.
"We leave, and turn to dust."
Note: A heartfelt thank you to everybody who has reviewed, favourited and followed this story. Your support is appreciated more than you can imagine :) I know there are a few of you who didn't trust me with the ending, but look! I made it happy! :D Well, I hope you've enjoyed the ride, thanks for coming along with me (and apologies for any lasting emotional trauma!). Until next time!