Chapter 4

Aramis slumped against the rough wood of the table, the familiar hum of the tavern washing over him, giving him a sense of comfort. The evening had gone better than expected, but he still felt frustrated and on edge.

When he'd arrived, he'd been surprised to find Athos and Erias conversing amiably. Expecting to be interrupting an interrogation, his look of inquiry had been met with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, the Captain not deigning to expand on whatever had been discussed before his arrival.

He'd been even more surprised when Porthos and d'Artagnan had joined them only moments after Aramis had settled into his chair with a fresh bottle of wine. A thin smile had accompanied Porthos' greeting and they'd had a friendly – though stilted – evening of conversation. If Erias had noticed the friction between them, he'd refrained from mentioning it, content with asking about their adventures and regaling them with memories of his infant brother when prompted. Both Porthos and Athos had been subdued, but D'Artagnan had attempted to keep things cheerful and Aramis would be forever grateful to the younger man for his efforts.

The other Musketeers had left some time ago, Porthos' grunted goodbye the most he had said directly to Aramis throughout the evening. D'Artagnan had smiled, conciliatory, patting him on the shoulder in silent support. Athos, as Captain, felt compelled to caution him against staying too late, reminding him of duty in the morning. He'd noticed the silent exchange between Athos and Erias but since neither man showed any sign of anger or resentment, Aramis was willing to allow them their secrets, hoping that whatever agreement they had come to was enough to ease both their minds.

If only it was enough to ease his own.

As he watched the barkeep idle about the room, retrieving cups and empty bottles from tables long empty, Aramis rubbed a hand across his eyes, stifling a yawn as the stress of the day took its toll. He knew he should retire to his own bed, but sleep had become a rare commodity, the discord between him and Porthos a constant presence in his dreams.

He'd felt it today as well, the looks of censure not going unnoticed. He truly did understand his old friend's concern, but he was at a loss to explain how just being near his son made the chance of discovery pale in comparison. It wasn't that he was looking to court the King's ire, but after listening to Louis' threats at the crypt, he had come to the conclusion he would be unwelcome at the palace at some point, so why not take what little he could while he was still able? If it meant the King's wrath, then so be it. The King knew; there was no more need to pretend.

Despite his newfound realizations, his brothers still expected him to act as if the child meant nothing. He had no idea how to do that, and suspected, in his shoes, they would not be so inclined either – whether they could see to admit it or not.

He wished he knew how to make things better between them. He still believed Porthos would come to terms and forgive him for secluding himself – if he lived that long – but it was becoming more and more difficult to deal with the fallout of his four-year absence, let alone the struggle to remain a mere observer in his son's life.

"Why did you become a Musketeer?"

Startled from his thoughts, Aramis looked up, meeting Erias' inquisitive eyes. In his melancholy, he'd almost forgotten the man had remained, quietly drinking beside him. Erias was studying him, his curiosity written on his face.

The marksman shrugged. "It was the only thing I was truly good at."

Erias shook his head, one arm stretched out on the table, the other hooked over the top of the chair beside him. "I've heard enough tonight to know you could've been anything you chose to be." He dipped his head toward the simple silver cross hanging from around Aramis' neck. "It just seems strange for a man with your religious proclivities to choose soldiering as a profession. Apparently the life of a monk didn't suit you?"

Aramis' brows rose. He hadn't expected his brother to know of his time in Duoai.

"Athos may have mentioned your stay at the monastery," Erias confessed. He shrugged. "I asked how you fared in the fighting and he told me you had resigned your commission before they left for the front. Although he did make a point of mentioning that you were one of the finest soldiers he'd ever had the honor of serving with, not to mention the best marksman in France."

Aramis chuckled, dropping his eyes to the cup in his hands. "Athos is a good friend."

"And loyal. As is d'Artagnan." Erias paused. "But Porthos…"

Aramis sighed. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, hoping to alleviate some of the ache that had been building since his return from the palace earlier that evening. "D'Artagnan and Athos seem to understand why I had to keep the vow I'd made, but Porthos…" He shook his head, remorse and frustration once again rising up inside. "Porthos has taken my absence as a personal affront, I'm afraid. He believes I abandoned them when they needed me the most." He shrugged, weary. "Perhaps he's right." Though he still prayed his friend would come to terms with why they had parted, days like this one only accentuated how far they still had to go.

"A blind man could see the tension between the two of you," Erias admitted. "But it is also apparent how fond he is of you. I hope for your sake that is stronger than his resentment."

"As do I."

"But back to my original question. Why a Musketeer?"

Aramis had no idea if it was the wine, the fatigue, or the need to just let down his guard for a while that loosened his tongue, but he found himself explaining about Isabelle and their lost child. He somehow wanted his brother to know him – the real him – and understand how he became the flawed, confused man he was today.

"When my search proved fruitless, I ended up in Paris, alone and penniless. I either had to find some means of support or return home a failure. I'd always been good at fighting." He smiled, his gaze focused on memories long forgotten. "The priests at the seminary school had long despaired over what to do with me and my penchant for mischief." He took a sip of wine, his eyes sharpening as he glanced at the older man. "So I joined the army. Minister Treville was my Lieutenant then, and when he was commissioned to form the Musketeer regiment, he brought me along. The garrison has been my home ever since."

"Until you decided to become a monk."

It was more of a question than a statement, but Aramis was not ready to share the facts behind his decision. Not now. Not ever.

"That, mon frere, is a much longer story than we have time for tonight."

Erias poured the rest of the wine into their cups, settling the empty bottle back onto the table with a soft thud. "One I hope to someday hear."

Unlikely, Aramis mused.

He abruptly changed the subject. "Now that you know so much about me, what about you? How did the path of a innkeeper from Evroux lead to Paris?"

Erias licked his lips, leaning forward onto the table. He stared into his cup as if contemplating how to answer the question. Finally, he smiled and glanced up at Aramis. "There were many reasons," he shrugged. "I thought it time to find you. If I put it off again, I probably would never have tried."

Aramis nodded, returning the smile with a contented one of his own. "I'm glad you did."

"As am I."

"And the others?" At his brother's look of confusion, he clarified. "The other reasons? You said there were many."

Erias nodded, hesitant. He opened his mouth to respond but closed it immediately, the look of contemplation returning to his countenance. He shrugged, his mouth curling in a sad smile. The tavern was now completely empty, the barkeep leaning against the bar, nearly asleep on his feet. "It looks as if we've overstayed our welcome."

Aramis chuckled, accepting the statement for the diversion it was. "It isn't the first time, and I doubt it will be the last." He drained the last of his wine and pushed the cup to the center of the table.

"You look as if you could use a week's worth of sleep," the older man observed. "Perhaps we should pick this up tomorrow? I have much to tell you, but I believe we should have clearer heads for such a conversation."

"You make it sound quite serious," Aramis frowned.

Before Erias could respond, the door to the tavern burst open and three men entered. They were all well dressed and heavily armed, swords, pistols and daggers strapped to their belts.

Aramis was instantly on alert, the earlier melancholy from the lack of sleep and indulgence in wine completely eclipsed by the prospective threat and potential for action.

"I'm sorry, Messieurs, but I'm afraid I am about to close," the tavern keeper rounded the bar, holding up a hand cordially toward the new arrivals. "Perhaps you can return tomorrow -"

The men ignored him, one roughly shoving him back as they moved further into the room.

Aramis could feel Erias tense beside him and calmly laid a hand on his brother's arm. He leaned forward casually, his smile cordial.

"I believe the man said the tavern is closed."

"Yet you are still here," the leader, a man with shoulder length blond hair waved a hand between them. He eyed the Musketeer before shifting his gaze to Erias.

Aramis moved to stand, leaning closer to his brother, his voice low, hushed. "There is a door directly behind us." Without waiting for a response, he pushed the chair back, the legs screeching against the wooden floor. As he came to his full height, the interloper redirected his attention on the Musketeer. "We were just about to leave." Aramis kept his voice light, his smile genial. "Perhaps we could walk you out?"

The blond man returned the smile with a hint of malice. "I don't think so, Musketeer. I am here to take this man back to Evroux."

Aramis glanced toward his brother, his expression turning conciliatory. "It doesn't appear he wishes to go with you. Why don't you meet us at the garrison in the morning and we will discuss this like gentlemen?"

The blond's smile fell away and his hand moved to the sword at his side. "I think not. Step aside."

The two men flanking him took a few steps to either side, spreading out around the table. Like their leader, they rested their hands on the pommels of their swords, the intended threat obvious.

Aramis sighed and shook his head. "I suppose there is no way to avoid this?"

The man's smile returned, misreading Aramis' gesture as a sign of capitulation. "I'm sure you would agree it is in the best interest of everyone involved."

The Musketeer nodded once then exploded into movement. Grasping the edge of the table in both hands, he yanked it up, toppling it over toward the startled intruders. With a fluid moment born of practice, he drew his rapier with one hand and grabbed the front of Erias' doublet with the other, wrenching the older man from the chair and shoving him toward the back of the tavern.

"Go!" he ordered. "Get Athos!"

Without waiting to see if his brusque order was followed, Aramis lifted a foot and pushed against the upturned table, riding it down to the ground as it continued its descent. As the tabletop hit the floor, Aramis turned, now in the midst of the intruders, quickly parrying a rushed thrust from the man on his right. One kick at an upturned table leg severed it from the base. He grabbed the leg and twirled, slashing out with his arm, splintering the wood into the man's head. He went down like a rock.

Hoping his brother had made it out, his focus shifted to see two more men enter the tavern, no doubt alerted by the crash of the overturned table. They stopped just inside the door and Aramis was thrilled to see Leon, the tavern keep, rounding the bar, a heavy wooden club in hand.

Sensing someone behind him, he quickly turned, ducking under the hasty swipe of a sword. Reaching up he grabbed hold of the arm attached to it and pulled hard, forcing his opponent off his feet and tumbling over the other man he had just knocked to the ground.

Though Leon had good intentions, he was no match for the trained soldiers they found themselves facing. One of them quickly disarmed the barkeep, batting at him with the pommel of his sword, sending him to his knees, blood gushing from his nose. As the other moved forward, Aramis turned to the blond man, barely parrying the thrust of his sword.

With Leon down and Erias – hopefully – on his way to the garrison, Aramis found himself alone facing the remaining three men. Normally, it would be no more than a brusque workout, but these men were obviously well trained and he knew the wine and fatigue that had begun to set in would quickly be his undoing.

Why they had come for his brother was a question he would address as soon as possible but for now he forced himself to focus on the threat before him. He only had to hold them off until Athos and the others could get here, but since he had no idea if Erias could find his way back to the garrison in the dark, he knew he needed to dispatch them quickly before he was overwhelmed.

One of the men was working his way around behind as the blond and the other continued to strike from the front. Another thrust came close, causing him to shift to the side, his foot catching on an overturned chair. He stumbled back a step, catching his balance, too late realizing his mistake. The shift had brought him closer to the third man who had retrieved an empty bottle from the floor. Blondie and his friend attacked, forcing Aramis to respond, and before he could move, he felt a blinding pain on the back of his head and the familiar walls of the tavern faded to black.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm

Erias stumbled back, regaining his footing as he hit the back wall of the tavern. He turned to see Aramis ride the table to the ground like a raft on a wave, his sword flashing as he instinctively blocked a slash from one of the Comte's men.

Erias knew that was who they were. He recognized Cardonne from the few times the man had come into his tavern, acting like the Lord of the land himself. The Musketeer Captain had warned him, but neither of them had thought he would be found so easily. How they had discovered his whereabouts in a city this large was a mystery but found him they had, and now Aramis would pay the price.

He wanted to help, but Aramis' words rang in his ears.

"Go! Get Athos!"

Two more men rushed in from the open front door and joined the fight. Erias watched as the barkeep waded into the fray, armed with a solid looking club. If he was taken, Cardonne and his men would make sure neither Aramis nor Leon remained alive. He could not be responsible for the death of two good men – especially now that his brother was a real man instead of a ghost of memory.

Realizing they would only be able to hold off the attackers for so long, Erias turned and found himself directly in front of a narrow door hidden in the shadows of the wall. One good yank on the handle opened it to a dark alley and Erias stepped out, the cool night air tingling against his skin. He turned back, watching in awe as his little brother parried and slashed, dropping two of his opponents onto the floor before fixing his attention on Cardonne. He knew Cardonne was a gifted swordsman, but from what he had seen and heard, Aramis was one of the best. He prayed the accolades were more than simple words.

With a final look back, he dashed out into the night, sprinting from the alley toward the garrison.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmm

Out of breath, Erias stumbled toward the archway, almost falling into the guard posted at the gate.

"Need…. Athos…." He managed between gasps, leaning forward and placing his hands on his knees to keep himself upright. "Trouble… Aramis…"

The young recruit quickly called behind him and the guard who had met him when he had first tried to gain entrance to the garrison appeared. Brujon instantly recognized him, motioning for the recruit to allow him to pass. Once inside the gate, the young man made haste to the central staircase, rushing up and pounding against the Captain's door.

A disheveled Athos appeared only moments later. A hurried conversation between the two had Athos dashing back into the room, returning instantly with his weapons belt and doublet in his hands. As he stepped out onto the landing, Brujon moved further down the walkway, pounding on another door while the Captain swiftly made his way down the stairs.

By the time the Captain stood before Erias, his breath came easier, though his chest still burned from the effort.

"Aramis?"

Erias swallowed, shrinking back from the cold anger in the Musketeer's eyes.

"Cardonne and his men," he explained. "I don't know how, but they must've been waiting outside the tavern. After the rest of you left, they came in and ordered Aramis to let them to take me."

Athos glanced at the empty gate behind him. "I take it Aramis refused."

Erias nodded. "Cardonne didn't like that much. Aramis tried to talk his way out but…"

"Cardonne is not the type of man to take no for an answer," Athos finished for him.

Porthos and d'Artagnan rushed over to join them. The Musketeers were fully clothed, buckling their weapons belts around their waists. They looked to Athos expectantly.

"Brujon said Aramis was in trouble?" d'Artagnan inquired.

Athos glanced at Erias who nodded, giving the Captain permission to tell the others about why Cardonne and his men were in Paris.

"It appears our new acquaintance has angered a certain Comte back in Evroux. They are here to take him back so that the Comte can deliver punishment."

"What did you do?"

If Erias thought Athos' anger was cold, Porthos' hostility was downright frigid.

"Nothing any of us would not have done had we been in his place," Athos assured the bigger man before Erias could stammer out an answer. "But that is not what is important now. Apparently, the Comte's men tracked LaMonte to the Wren."

"And you left Aramis there to fight alone?"

Erias stepped back in the face of d'Artagnan's ire. The younger Musketeer, as it turned out, was just as intimidating as the others.

"He told me to run," he insisted. The excuse was thin even to himself, but they could debate blame and responsibility later. Right now Aramis needed their help. "He told me to get you."

"Aramis can take care of himself," Athos placed a hand on d'Artagnan's chest as the younger man took a step forward. "And LaMonte is right. Aramis' first priority would've been making sure his brother was safe. Sending him to the garrison was the best strategy."

"Then what are we waitin' for?" Porthos grunted as he pushed past them and headed for the archway. "Let's go an' get 'im."

TBC