Chapter XLV
Aramis had retreated to the outskirts of the forest after his fight with Porthos. He had no intention to join the others again as he was too angry at himself. It was bad enough that he might have lost his best friend's trust, but he did not want to lie to d'Artagnan today. The young man could still be kept in the dark. It would be less difficult to hide the secret from him.
The Musketeer was sitting on the ground, his back against a tree, and one of the many reasons why he was not moving was that he was too much aware of the pain it would trigger. There had been nothing graceful in the manner he had sat down, all but collapsing on the dirt. His head was pounding, both from the beating he had received, and from his thoughts. Despite wanting to apologise again, he held on to the idea that he had been helping Porthos by hiding the truth. Aramis would not ask forgiveness for this. He was willing to ask it for his behaviour with the Queen, something that he had done repeatedly in the past, because he deserved it. He deserved all the insults and the curses since it could destroy so many lives.
Perhaps if he gave Porthos some space, the other would come to understand his attitude. His friend was quick-tempered, which also explained why he had hit Aramis so much: Porthos reacted with violence to unexpected situations.
It was all Aramis' fault in the end. It should have been obvious that the other Musketeer would uncover the truth. After all, his parents both knew that the Dauphin looked too much like his father for their own good. Did it mean Aramis would have to avoid him completely? Did it mean he would have to stop going on missions with the royal family? Did it mean he would have to stop working at the Palace? Did it mean he would have to leave the Musketeers?
The mere idea made him groan with disgust, a sound which increased when he heard footsteps coming towards him.
"Captain Tréville is looking for you. The King needs to go back to Paris as soon as possible and you and I will be leaving with him."
Aramis grunted to signify he had heard the order, the brim of his hat hiding his face from Athos. It was the only good news that had come out of today, apart from Elise's letter. It would be a relief to be back at his wife's side, to hold his son in his arms, and to distance himself from the royal family, at least more than he could do it in Fontainebleau.
"Aren't you coming?" Another grunt was all the answer Athos received. His friend had no intention to stand up or approach their quarters any tine soon. He continued to sharpen the wood stick with his knife. "It was not a request, Aramis. The Captain needs us now."
He eventually knelt by his side when it became obvious that nothing he could say would make his friend move.
"You should be excited to see Elise again instead of being all moody out there...Ah." Athos stopped speaking once Aramis had turned his head, glaring, and he saw how dark and blue his face was slowly becoming. "I take it Porthos did not engage in a fight with 'an arrogant Red Guard', then."
"He knows."
"And I suppose he wasn't happy about it."
"Obviously. He hates me."
"Looking at your face I would say he must be angry, but isn't hate too strong a word?"
"He does, though."
"Give him time and he'll come around. I have, so he will. Now, come on or we'll be assigned the basest duties."
Athos stood up, holding out his hand for the other to grab. Aramis winced as his groggy muscles stretched. He was limping on the way to the Palace.
"He hates me for not telling him, Athos," the Musketeer eventually confessed. He was in so much pain that he could barely keep his eyes open. It was a good thing he knew his way around the grounds. Porthos had to be suffering as well, wherever he was. He was not looking forward to waking up in the morning. It would be torture.
Athos glanced at him. It was a reaction he had expected from the third soldier if he should one day learn what had happened with the Queen. Despite how much he used to resent Aramis for his actions, the past few months had seen a drastic change in his attitude. The older Musketeer felt like he would soon no longer have to warn him about dreadful consequences, which was a welcomed improvement. He could almost feel the pain irradiating from his friend's body.
"You're his best friend and you know how heartily Porthos takes matters. Let him be for a couple of days and it will pass."
"I hope so," Aramis muttered, although he strongly doubted it.
The King headed back to Paris two days later with his escort. These two days stretched forever for Aramis. Porthos avoided him at all costs, not even looking at him when they would meet by chance or in the evening as they still had to share the same sleeping quarters. It was a small comfort to realize his friend was not seriously injured from their fall in the fountain. Yet, it was the only comfort Aramis could hold on to. He knew he deserved the dark looks and the ignorant attitude adopted by Porthos.
D'Artagnan had inquired about the problem his friends seemed to be having, considering the pitiful state of their bodies; he was quickly rebuked by both of them for even asking, Athos thankfully covering then with a made-up excuse about Red Guards. They doubted it was believed, but the youngest man eventually gave up trying to figure out what was wrong. His thoughts were easily distracted by the prospect of being reunited with Constance.
Porthos was the only one of them staying behind in Fontainebleau. The Queen enjoyed the countryside so she wished to remain a little bit longer with her sons. The Dauphin had grown fond of the Musketeer and his mother wanted the soldier to continue his instruction for a while. Aramis had noticed how his body stiffened when the Captain informed them of this decision. On the one hand, he was glad for the respite it would both give them. Time apart may ease the tension between them. On the other hand, he could not help but worry that now that he knew, Porthos might change his attitude towards the heir and the Queen. He chastised himself at once for having this thought. His friend would never betray him, even if he resented him with all his heart.
It was raining lightly when they entered the Louvres. His Majesty had been displeased to have to shorten his hunting trip but matters of state had to be dealt with. They could always go back to the countryside in a few weeks, perhaps even try to visit Versailles to see how the hunting lodge now looked since the renovation was almost over. The Musketeers all hoped this project would not be scheduled any time too soon. They enjoyed the busy life of Paris, the taverns and the excitement too much.
After the King was safely inside the Palace, the soldiers went back to the Garrison, scattering around. Some tended to their horses, others retreated to their rooms for some well-deserved rest.
Aramis was checking his face in a small mirror in the armoury after they had stripped of their weapons. Four days had coloured his battered cheeks, eyes, and lips different shades of purple and yellow, which had been enough for the Captain to shout at him because was it really how a King's Musketeer should look like while escorting his Majesty back to Paris? At least he was not limping anymore.
"You look delightful. No doubt that Elise will appreciate the change!" d'Artagnan joked. His friend glared at him.
"Unless you want to resemble him, I suggest you refrain from this type of comments for some time," Athos warned the younger man. Aramis must have been thinking so loud that his feelings had managed to show on his face, among the many bruises. "I'm headed outside. Are you coming?"
"Is it how you rest from such a long and tiresome journey?"
"Since when are you tired from long journeys, d'Artagnan? And in case you have not noticed, it is not afternoon: it's early evening. A perfectly appropriate time to drink, according to your standards."
"You are absolutely right. It'd be a shame if I did not stand up to my honourable reputation!"
He clasped Athos' shoulder on their way out. The rain did not bother them as they walked in the street, looking for a tavern which would not be overly crowded.
"I'll see you tomorrow," Aramis decided when they were about to enter a shady building. Even though drinking with his friends sounded like a happy activity, his mind was not into it. There was somewhere else he would enjoy himself more completely.
"Won't you stay for one drink at least? To celebrate being back in such a lively city?"
"I can easily imagine other ways to celebrate tonight, if you must know."
d'Artagnan snorted, which made his friend grin. The young man was so oblivious and carefree. On his way home, Aramis wondered what would happen to the four of them if Porthos could not overcome his resentment. Would he have to lose his best friends for the sake of their protection? They had been a part of his life for so long that imagining what it would be like without them was impossible.
The front door creaked loudly when he opened it. The house was silent for a few seconds before he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Then, there was a blur of fabric until Elise was buried in his arms, her head on his chest, her arms on his back, her hair tickling his chin. It felt so good to have her close that he could not say anything. All he could do was hug her back, his hands rubbing her shoulders and her sides, as he inhaled her perfume. He was squeezing her with so much strength, it worried him that he could hurt her, but she was not complaining.
Elise raised her head after a while, her eyes growing wide when she saw how her husband looked. He silenced the upcoming questions with his lips, pushing against her mouth until she gave in. One hand in her hair, his hat falling to the floor, one hand on the back of his neck as she tiptoed to be on his level.
"What..."
"Not now."
"Were you..."
"I said not now, Elise," Aramis growled, his teeth grazing her lips. Elise stopped trying to ask, the questions put on the back of her mind until she found a better time to inquire. Somehow, she had walked backwards so she was stuck between a wall and the soldier. The hand which was not on her hair was busy unlacing her corset. She sighed as Aramis' mouth left hers to focus on her neck and the bare skin of her shoulders. She had missed how his beard felt against her body. It usually tickled her when he kissed her scar. Tonight, she was too excited to be in his arms after so long to feel anything else but pleasure.
"Where's Mathieu?"
"Sleeping. I've just fed him."
Elise was breathing fast once Aramis had finished kissing her one more time. Her corset had come loose and she ended what he had started, letting it fall to the floor. Her fingers trembled as she worked on his jacket until it was discarded to the side as well. They were usually more talkative when they saw each other after a mission had separated them. It was not hard to feel the desperation and need behind his actions, though. One month was a very long time for Elise as well, and she gladly welcomed the attention.
"He's in here," Elise said as Aramis was about to push their bedroom door open. Instead, she tugged on his hand to lead him to the second bedroom. He let her take off his braces and his shirt, too focused on gazing at her face and her smile. His eyes closed by themselves when she brushed her fingers on his chest. There were bruises there as well, albeit less visible than on his face, and less painful. His entire body shuddered when she leaned forward to kiss each of the sore spots.
"Someone's eager." Elise giggled after Aramis had secured her hands in his to push her down gently on the bed.
"I've missed you."
"I can see that."
She twined her hands behind his neck, bringing his face close to her own. It felt wonderful to have him so close to her again, however battered he was. It was not the worst state she had seen him in.
"I've missed you, too."
"I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
"Excellent." Her smile reminded him of the many reasons why he was fortunate to be part of her life. A year ago, when he had made the decision to marry her, Aramis had vowed to make her life the best one possible, and to ease the pain the loss of her parents had caused. Seeing her eyes twinkle as he bent down to kiss her, hearing her sighs as he moved his hands under her dress, he knew he could live with only these things to power him through the days.
"What is it?" she asked once he had pushed the garment up her chest and Elise had taken it off. She was blowing on a lock of hair which had fallen on her eyes when she noticed how he was staring at her.
"I've never seen a nursing woman naked in my life," the soldier answered, his voice full of wonder. Her skin tingled with goosebumps, his fingers grazing the side of her breasts almost religiously. The young woman laughed again.
"For all I know about your past, it is nice to know you can still be amazed."
He did not need more than his lips on her left breast to silence her. Elise moaned too loudly, forgetting for a second that she had to be quiet or the baby would wake up on the other side of the door. Aramis put both hands on her hips, her skin so soft and fitting so perfectly against his. It might have bothered others, but he welcomed the warmth feel of breast milk in his mouth, smiling contently as he looked up at his wife.
"You taste good. But you always have..."
He grinned at her flushed face and her half-closed eyelids, his lips kissing the hollow space between her two breasts before peppering kisses on her stomach. He was overwhelmed by need, want, and desire. All his troubles had fled his mind to be solely replaced by his beautiful wife. No decision should ever be made in times like these, but Aramis could clearly see what his future held for him in this moment, and as Elise's hands grabbed his hair, he knew he would be absolutely content with it.