Chapter Six
They set out at first light, and true to his word Romero rode hard. They needed to reach Foix with all haste. Aside from Aramis' wound, they had no food or water, save for what little they could drink from passing streams. But Aramis was beyond knowing thirst or hunger. Pain narrowed his world and robbed his thoughts of coherence. The punishing pace set a fire in his side that had him curled up against Romero's back with a hand tightly fisted in the other man's shirt. The wound stopped bleeding, only to tear open again and seep sluggishly with the relentless motion of the horse.
Only when Hawthorn began to struggle did Romero consider stopping for any length of time. He settled them beside a stream at the edge of a wooded area and set to binding a new piece of shirt around Aramis' wound. Aramis tried to focus his lazy eyes on the sky and fathom what time of day it was. All he could register was that the sun was still up. He couldn't help but let a moan escape when Romero pulled him forwards to wrap the material around his back.
While Romero continued tending to him, Aramis settled his eyes on the road above. There was an incline from the stream that led to a hill, it gave them a clear view of anybody coming down. For a moment Aramis wondered if it were his hazy mind imagining things, but he was sure he saw a distant figure at the top.
"Rider…" He mumbled.
"What?"
"Rider coming."
Romero shot around to see for himself and swore. Suddenly Aramis found himself being pulled into the undergrowth and laid down beneath some bushes. "Be quiet."
There were no worries on that front, Aramis hardly had the energy to make a sound.
Moments later he heard Hawthorn trotting up nearby. The muffled sound of hooves on the grass went past as Romero took him deeper into the trees, and then all was silent. Aramis felt his heart racing as he waited. Time crept by. The surrounding leaves brushed against his skin and his mind seemed to blur a little more. Aramis felt he was falling into himself. He detached from the moment and set adrift through his mind, straying with the wild and the silent.
It was quiet. There was something he was meant to be doing. Aramis felt like he was caught in that strange place you go to when you wake but are still half asleep. The cares of the day have yet to burden your shoulders, while the troubles of night meekly slip away. It is a peaceful place to visit, but that fragile solace is ripped away from between your needy fingers too soon. The world wants you to wake up.
What was he meant to be doing? Had Porthos not woken him for his watch?
Wake up.
Rustling, crunching.
"They've gone."
"Porthos?"
"Come on, we need to get moving." Hands pulled at him. He didn't want to move. "Aramis? Wake up."
A strike to the face.
"Are you with me?"
His head lolled.
"Aramis, don't let me down. Not now."
At that he snapped awake. "I'm all right. Get me up."
Romero helped him to his feet, though he remained unsteady. They stumbled back to the stream and Aramis lay back in the grass as soon as he was set down. Romero went to retrieve the horse while Aramis watched the clouds pass by overhead through half open eyes. His breath came slow, the sun warmed his skin. It would be the easiest thing in the world just to close his eyes and drift away. Just for a moment. A single solitary moment. But how long do moments last? Too long and too short all at the same time. They go on when you want them to end, and they linger when you need them to finish. Imperfect moments. Every one of them. Imperfect.
But when had this life ever offered up anything perfect? It was full of lovers you could not love, sons you could not call your son, and brothers who hid behind masks...
Suddenly a hand touched his face. Aramis' eyes flew open. He hadn't realised they were closed.
"We must move on." Romero took Aramis' hand and pulled him up. His side flared with pain at the movement, but Aramis swallowed down a whimper.
Getting back on the horse was agony. This time Aramis sat in front of Romero, letting his head loll back when his strength began to fail.
"Warm… too warm."
It was a hot day. Wasn't it? The snow melted away off all the bodies.
No… no… there were no bodies, no snow. It was a hot day. His skin was prickling. Standing on duty at the palace would be none too pleasant.
"You're not with them. You're with me, Romero. Do you remember?"
Reality snapped back for a moment.
"Foix."
"Yes, that's where we're going. To see our mission through."
"I remember." When had talking taken this much effort? "Take me… take me to the abbey. They won't ask questions."
They would heal the sick and wounded because it was the right thing to do, because God would have wanted them to. God, who had set him on this path. God, who was surely guiding him, even now.
But perhaps he was facing God and walking backwards into hell.
He was getting warmer. It was more than the heat of the day. It came from within him, like the burning of sin at his heart. Was the hand at his back that of the devil? No… it was Romero. And he was no devil. He was a saviour of sorts, bringing sight to those that could not see, revealing the truth hidden behind a veil of lies.
Romero was taking him somewhere… somewhere safe… somewhere they were going to do something important together.
He had something important to do. He was sure of that much.
Had Porthos forgotten to wake him for watch? No… it was duty at the palace. Being on parade in this heat would be none too pleasant. He must remember to get d'Artagnan a hat.
~oOo~
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
A breath.
Nothing.
Torture.
Nothing.
The world can lose meaning, just like a word if you say it enough.
Nothing.
The world was nothing.
Nothing.
Have you detached yet?
Nothing means nothing.
Lost in a sea of meaningless mist.
Drowning on half formed thoughts that choke you before you know them.
You only know nothing.
And nothing becomes familiar.
Until the thing that scares you is.
Something.
~oOo~
Something reached out of the mist.
Aramis shot back at the intrusion. He didn't want to know what it was. He was peaceful here, with only the occasional flares of fire to pain him. But again it reached. Again and again. Until Aramis was curled, fair screaming against the something that pulled at him from every direction. Hands and claws hooked in. He had no choice but to give in.
He felt like he was torn apart and then put back together again somewhere else. His side hurt. Aramis looked down to see Athos was stitching him up. Needle through flesh… pulling… pulling… Porthos and d'Artagnan were sitting in front of him.
Porthos lounged on a chair the wrong way round. His arms sat atop the back, folded, while his dark eyes examined Aramis. There was something wrong…
"Where have you been?"
Aramis didn't know. Where had he been?
"We came for you, and you turned us away." That was an accusation full of hurt.
Aramis opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn't speak.
"Did we mean so little to you? We were brothers. I would have died for you."
He wanted to reply, to rail against it, to say they meant the world to him.
d'Artagnan's voice cut in next. "You can only speak the truth Aramis. Don't fight it."
He couldn't speak. He couldn't tell them what they meant to him.
But then, perhaps that wasn't entirely true… The words slipped out. "You mean nothing to me."
"And there we have it. The truth." d'Artagnan held a demonstrative arm out.
And once those words were out, he couldn't stem the flood. "The unbreakable bond I thought we had was an illusion. We didn't fit. We were trying to cobble together something out of nothing and we did a damn fine job of fooling ourselves. I walked away, in search of something better. I've been to places I would never have known had I stayed with you. I've done good in this world, I've healed and helped others. What did I ever do with you? Fight, kill, fuck… meaningless, endless, sins. You dragged me down, I could never be anything more than a vile, base creature with you."
"And what are you now?" Porthos raised an eyebrow.
"Something more." And he couldn't say that he didn't mean to hurt them. Did he mean to hurt them?
Athos looked up at him, with half a smirk on his lips. "Don't feel too bad, you never meant anything to us either. Needs must, and now I'm back where I belong. You can be discarded."
Aramis looked down to his side and found that Athos was no longer stitching him, but holding the hilt of a dagger that was buried in his flesh.
"What good would you ever have been in a war anyway? Cutting men down and then saying prayers over them with your next breath. You don't belong with us, you've never belonged with us, and I was glad the day you turned away."
It was true. Athos had never said a word against him going. But then Athos was one of them, those that cared only for themselves. He was everything that Aramis fought against.
"Give my regards to God."
The dagger twisted.
~oOo~
Aramis.
Aramis.
You have to wake up.
He was shaken. But when he opened his eyes there was nobody there. He was in a room in the garrison. Strange dreams… such strange dreams he had been having. Aramis wearily got to his feet and made for the door. He didn't want to be late. Treville would have his hide.
Aramis stepped out and his foot landed on the soft fabric of a dress. He jumped backwards with a cry. Marguerite lay there. Her face was grey, eyes open and unseeing… Beyond her in the courtyard was Adele. The trail of bodies continued with Isabelle, and standing over her with a bloodied sword was Athos.
"See what you've done."
He could see. Oh, how he could see…
"Clean up your mess, Aramis."
He shook his head and took a step back. At that Athos rushed forwards and levelled his rapier tip at Aramis' throat. Between them Marguerite's still form lay sprawled in the dirt.
"You do not refuse me, you dog." It was then Aramis noticed Athos was dressed in finery after the Cardinal's fashion. "You kneel to your betters."
Aramis stood defiant, and the rapier pressed in.
"Kneel."
A bead of blood welled and ran down Aramis' exposed throat.
"I said kneel."
"Not to you."
"You will kneel or I will make you."
"Never to you."
The rapier slashed across his throat and Aramis dropped to his knees. He hung there for just a moment, staring at Athos with wide eyed horror, and then he collapsed to the ground. Aramis' hands grasped at the wound, but it was futile. Hot blood gushed between his fingers, and then all strength left his limbs and his hands fell away. Aramis watched as the world turned dark around the edges. Marguerite's glazed stare filled what was left of his vision, and then slowly her rigid arm reached forwards to brush his eyes closed.
A whisper reached his ears. "You will become what you deserve."
~oOo~
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Aramis flinched to wakefulness as he felt something hit his face.
It came again. A spray of dirt across his cheek. Small grains settled into the hollows of his eye, but when Aramis made to brush it away he found he couldn't raise his arm. Three shadowy figures stood high above, framed by a pale sky. Dark walls lead down to where Aramis lay. His limbs felt strange and heavy... he couldn't move.
Scrape.
Scrape.
Scrape.
They were digging. The two to each side. No… not digging. Filling in.
A cascade of dirt came down. Aramis shied away, trying to protect his eyes. Again he tried to raise his arm to clear them, but something weighed it down. It was the weight of the dirt falling in, burying him, bit by bit. Panic began to build in Aramis' chest as he realised he was six feet down. They were filling in his grave.
Aramis managed to raise his head and give it a slight shake. Dirt fell away from his ears and the muffled scraping sound was joined by a low voice intoning a prayer. The third man, the one who stood at the foot of his grave, he spoke the words. Aramis came to recognise the voice of Athos. He knew then that the men to each side, so eagerly burying him, were Porthos and d'Artagnan.
Aramis tried to shout. He had to let them know he wasn't dead. But no sound came out. His throat was clogged with dirt. His now frantic breaths were laboured, blocked, cut off. He choked. Gagged. The dirt kept falling, mounting up all around. It pressed in. He couldn't get out. Aramis tried to lurch up, but he was held down. Couldn't. Get. Out. It covered his face. His eyes rolled and scrunched as his sight failed, darkness and deafness took the world away. Aramis put everything he had into reaching up, reaching air. But there was more than dirt in the way. His fingers brushed cooled flesh. He was blocked in by dead bodies, thrown down with the dirt on top of him. He couldn't get out.
And though there was no sound. No air. He could still hear the scathing words from Athos' lips.
"Thought we'd never be rid of him. He crawled out of the snow in Savoy, lived through defenestration, and evaded the wheel. Now he's finally where he belongs."
They put him here.
They cast him away and left him to rot.
He couldn-
Wake up.
You have to wake up.
Suddenly Aramis gasped in a breath and lurched forwards. He retched and choked, startled at coming awake. It took a moment for his senses to right, but he realised that he was in a bed, in a small room. He was no longer in his grave. The lingering tendrils of his nightmare retreated in the face of light from a bedside candle. Aramis lay back down, heaving in each breath as the world came back, piece by piece. His addled mind tried to sort them all out, but he was so tired…
And he wasn't alone.
An elderly man in a cassock came forwards to wipe at his brow. Aramis watched him warily.
"It is good to see you awake finally."
The cautious expression on Aramis' face remained the same.
"Forgive me, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Brother Lussier, and this is Saint Volusien Abbey of Foix. You are quite safe here."
At that Aramis seemed to settle a little. But something in him still felt as if it had to be on guard…
"You have been very sick. Your friend was worried, he will be glad to see you're back with us."
"My friend?" Aramis asked with a frail voice.
"Yes, Renou. He brought you here. I gather you were travelling together?"
Aramis frowned… Renou? Ren… Rom… Romero. The mission. Of course. They would be using false names. "What happened?"
"You don't remember?"
"It is… unclear." He remembered now, it was all falling into place. But he needed to know what 'Renou' had told the monk.
"You were attacked on the road, so your friend says. Had everything stolen. Luckily you were not far from Foix and he sought aid for you here."
"Thank you. It seems you have done much for us."
"I am just doing what the good Lord bids us to, but you are most welcome all the same." He gave a warm smile and gently patted Aramis' arm. "Rest now. I will send word to Renou in the morning, no doubt he will come to visit you straight away."
"Where is he?"
"Once your life no longer hung in the balance he sought work and was taken on in the castle kitchens. Don't worry, you will see him soon."
The monk left and quietly closed the door behind him.
Silence took the room then. It gave Aramis a chance to take stock of his situation. His side hurt and the rest of him ached, he felt exhausted and his skin held a lingering clamminess. It all told of a passing fever. But he was alive, and they were in Foix. Romero had been busy by the sounds of it. He had already wound his way into the castle. Aramis longed to be back on his feet and lending a hand. Despite the fact he had only just woken, he was already feeling useless. There was work to be done, and he didn't want to let Romero down.
~oOo~
The next morning Brother Lussier came by again. He checked Aramis' wound and assured him that a message had been sent to Renou. Aramis managed to eat a little and then another two monks helped him to wash. He felt much better once his skin was free of sweat and sickness. Though he was still so tired. Aramis returned to his bed and slept half the day away.
He woke when the door opened, and a smile lit his face on seeing who it was.
"Romero!"
"Hush! Do not call me that. Here I am Renou." Romero took a look outside to make sure they were alone before closing the door. "I've also told them your name is Ancel."
"I am sorry, I…"
"No harm done, this time. But we cannot afford such mistakes." Romero took a seat and drew closer to the bed. "We have come so far We cannot fail now. You wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
Aramis slowly shook his head.
"I have been busy while you've been recovering. They had need of another kitchen worker at the castle, and so I took the position. When you are back on your feet there will be a place for you there too."
Aramis wasn't going to ask how he knew there would be a position opening… "What have you in mind?"
"They have an extensive armoury, and as a former musketeer I am sure you know how to care for weapons. Perhaps we can find a place for you there." Romero lowered his voice. "Then we are both in place to take advantage of opportunities. You care for the weapons, I care for the food. It would be most unfortunate if anything were to happen to either."
"Most unfortunate indeed." Aramis offered a faint smile.
"Speaking of getting you back on your feet, how are you feeling?"
"The monk is pleased, he says my wound is healing well now. But I am still very tired, and he will not let me out of bed for long."
"Still beholden to the word of men of God I see." There was a slight hint of humour to Romero's voice. "If you are ready to get out of bed, then get out of bed. Do not let them hold you back."
Aramis gave a nod.
"I need you by my side. You won't let me down, will you?" The words somehow seemed oppressive.
"I won't."
A slight knock at the door heralded the arrival of Brother Lussier, who had brought a bowl of stew for Aramis.
Romero's demeanour changed in an instant. A broad smile split his face and he got to his feet, ready to give the monk a warm welcome. "Brother Lussier! So good to see you again!"
"And you my friend."
Aramis shuffled himself upright to take the bowl.
"Ancel has been telling me you've taken such good care of him. Oh, please sit down" Romero relinquished his chair to Brother Lussier with a flourish.
"Truthfully, he has not been much trouble to take care of. The pigs and the goats are worse by far."
At that Romero gave a raucous laugh. "But which of them smells worse eh?"
"Until we washed him Ancel here would have bested the pigs on that front." A wry smile creased the monk's features.
Aramis summoned up a hurt look. "It is not polite to speak of a man so when he is not well."
"You're looking well enough to me now!" Romero teased.
"Well, I don't feel it."
"Then perhaps we should leave you to rest a little while, hm?" Brother Lussier raised an eyebrow.
"No… no, I have slept for so long, I am quite enjoying being awake."
The monk's expression suddenly turned to one of concern. "Your sleep did not always seem restful. I think the fever gave you some terrible nightmares. I hope you did not suffer too much?"
"I am no stranger to nightmares." Aramis gave a sad smile.
"You called out. Often for a man named Athos. Does he mean anything to you?"
Romero's hands tightened on the back of the chair.
"Nothing. He means nothing."
Aramis felt Romero's eye boring into him.
"Well, if you ever need to speak of these things, or pray, I will be here." Brother Lussier slowly got to his feet and took his leave.
Romero moved forwards to take his place, looming over the bed. Aramis sank back into the bedclothes and turned away.
"Look at me."
He did as he was told.
"So Athos is still in your thoughts."
"I meant what I said. He means nothing." Aramis scowled.
"Then why are you dreaming about him?"
"Do you want to know what I was dreaming?" Aramis' voice seemed to crack a little. "I was dreaming about Athos stabbing me, cutting my throat… burying me. He means nothing. I hate him. He is nothing to me."
"Good. Because you mean nothing to him. You never have done. If you ever see him again I want you to be the one stabbing him. It what he deserves after all he's done. Worming his way into your lives… usurping your position… leaving you in the dirt as he climbs the ladder. He needs to be cut down."
"One day he will be. He was a pampered Comte, what does he know of war? He might have been the best swordsman in the regiment, but back alley skirmishes are a world away from the battlefield. He is bound to make a mistake. I just mourn the lives he'll take with him…"
"We'll do what we can to stop his ilk. The time is nearing. Soon we will strike. Are you ready, Aramis?"
"I am."