Chapter Fifteen

The next day they rode into Limoges. Aramis had wanted to sit his own horse for the last leg of the journey, and though he ached and twinged with pain he had managed it without falling.

There were more people here, and a military presence added to the usual hustle and bustle. Aramis had grown used to the quiet roads and trails, he felt his heart clench and his breath quicken on returning to a populated area again. Porthos seemed to sense he was feeling unsettled and drew a little closer. As they rode through the streets Aramis felt that people were watching him, their eyes were accusing, did they know what he had done?

Athos flagged down a soldier and asked for Minister Treville. They were pointed to a rather impressive chateau. On arriving a boy came to take their horses while a guard showed them to Treville's office. They were hardly through the door before the man himself came sweeping towards them.

"It is good to see you again!"

He gave the three a warm greeting and an embrace each, though Aramis quietly bore it in a stiff manner.

Treville swept his arm out to three chairs. "Please, sit, we have much to talk about."

It felt good to get the weight off his feet. Aramis' aches and pains began to settle a little finally being out of the saddle. While the others made their pleasantries Aramis' eyes roved the room, taking in the bookcases and the table strewn with parchment. He tried to pay attention when the conversation turned more serious.

"You should perhaps be made aware of the manner of our departure from Foix…" Athos started diplomatically.

"I've already been made aware." Treville spoke with a hint of humour. "I have here a letter from a rather irate Captain Lecocq." He rifled through the papers on his desk before handing it to Athos. "It claims you have absconded with a prisoner and it demands your immediate arrest and return to Foix."

Aramis cleared his throat. "He let me go."

"He says he released you to the custody of a monk. The monk is now missing and you were seen riding away."

"Brother Lussier is missing?" Aramis asked, somewhat shocked. What could have happened to him? Maybe Lecocq did something…

Treville nodded. "And he thinks that you two murdered him in order to rescue Aramis."

"We did no such thing." Came Porthos' stony reply.

"Of course you didn't. Do you really think I'd believe a word of it?"

Athos looked up from his perusal of the letter. "Fact is Aramis was released, he was no longer a prisoner when we rode away with him. As to the monk's murder, there isn't even a body, he is simply missing at present. There is nothing to arrest us for."

"Oh, Lecocq has come up with a few things…"

"I need to go back." All eyes turned to Aramis.

"Why?" Treville asked in confusion.

"Brother Lussier was good to me. He saved my life, more than once. I owe it to him."

Athos' look was full of warning. Aramis didn't need to read minds in order to know the words he was thinking… Liar. Romero.

Of course he wanted to seek out Romero, but it wasn't a lie. He did want to find Brother Lussier, the monk had done so much for him.

"I don't think that's a very good idea, Aramis. We need to keep you as far away from Foix and Lecocq as possible."

"You're not going to arrest us and send us back then?" Porthos asked, perhaps not entirely seriously.

"I think this is one letter that might have been misplaced. Maybe it accidentally slipped from my desk into the fireplace, or the messenger boy may have been careless with it and it blew away in the wind. Such a tragic turn of events. The perpetrators will never be brought to justice now."

Athos gave what passed for a wry smile. "My thanks, Minister. Now, I must speak with you about my return to the front."

"Ah, before you get any further, I have decided to withdraw the regiment to Paris. The King and Queen are in need of your protection, as well as the city. Things have changed while you've been away. The streets are more violent, the people more desperate, refugees are pouring in…" Treville brushed a tired hand down his face. "The situation there is not good."

"It grieves me to hear it." Athos spoke with an air of solemnity. "It seems we have been miles away fighting for a home that has ended up just as war torn and ravaged."

"It can be put right. I'm hoping the regiment will be able to restore law and order and make Paris as good as she ever was. As to the particulars..." Treville's eyes flicked to Aramis for a moment. "Aramis, forgive me, I have been remiss. The journey must have been hard on you. Why don't you clean up from the road and rest? I have a physician on hand if you need him, and I will have food and fresh clothes brought up to you."

Aramis hesitated and considered. It all stank of trying to get him out of the way while they talked business. Although he supposed he was no longer a musketeer and had no business hearing it. "Very well."

"Battier!" At Treville's shout a guard opened the door and stepped in. "Please show Aramis to a room, and send Madame Sylvestre to attend his needs."

Aramis noted Porthos hiding a smile at those words. But Aramis simply got to his feet and gave a slight bow. "My thanks for your hospitality, Minister."

"I will be up to see you later. Rest well."

~oOo~

Aramis was taken to a small room with a bed and a few bare bits of furniture. The guard left and some time later another returned along with an older woman he assumed to be Madame Sylvestre. True to Treville's word she brought him some clothes and a bowl of warm water to wash with. Once that was done with she fetched him some food. He ate it eagerly, having survived on nothing but road rations for a few days. After clearing his bowl away Madame Sylvestre offered to call for the physician, but Aramis refused. There was nothing to be done for his injuries, only time would heal him now, and the tincture kept the worst of the pain at bay. She left him to rest, but Aramis noticed the guard still stood outside his door.

After showing Madame Sylvestre out Aramis looked him up and down. "You can go."

"I am to stay with you, Monsieur."

"But I have need of nothing else. You are dismissed."

"My orders are to stay with you. I will stand quietly and be of no disturbance."

"Well… we wouldn't want you disobeying orders." Aramis retreated and closed the door.

He had been trapped in rooms with guards outside too often of late. This felt like another kind of imprisonment. He was half tempted to go for a walk and see how closely the guard would stick with him. But he was tired, and the bed did look comfortable.

Aramis sat down and shrugged out of his shirt. He unwrapped the bandages around his body for a cursory look over his wounds. Bruises still mottled his skin, but they were not so deep and dark now. The cuts were closing well, though he could not see those upon his back. Aramis was quite confident he could dispense with the bandages now. There was no spotting of blood on the cloth, and his wounds did not seep. But Porthos insisted on wrapping him up still, perhaps for his own peace of mind more than anything else.

And then there was his arm. It was tightly splinted and he still resorted to resting it in a sling now and then, but Aramis was keen to be rid of it. He held his hand up before his face and twitched his fingers. A flare of pain came in answer. Aramis scowled. Still, at least he could move his fingers. It could have been much worse.

Aramis gingerly curled up on his side. He was beginning to ache, but the tincture was buried somewhere in Porthos' saddlebags. Instead of going to the effort of retrieving it, Aramis tried to sleep through the pain.

He couldn't tell how much time had passed when he was woken by a knock on the door. He pushed himself up groggily and winced when he turned to face the intruder.

It was Treville.

"Apologies, I didn't mean to wake you."

"And I didn't mean to sleep so long." Not that it was a very restful sleep. It never was these days.

Aramis slowly slid his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. He had never been one for modesty, but he didn't like the way Treville was eyeing his bruised body.

"Did the physician see you?"

"No. There's no need. I've been patched up, I just have to wait for these to fade now." Aramis waved a nonchalant hand at his marked torso, and tried to pull his shirt on. He didn't make it look easy, he moved laboriously and tried to stifle a slight groan.

"Still, you seem to be in pain." Treville raised an eyebrow, as if daring Aramis to deny it.

"It's nothing, I've had worse. You know I have."

Treville looked momentarily regretful before he seemed to concede that battle and went to pull a chair up to the bed.

"Anyway, it is good to see you in possession of your senses again. How much do you remember of our last meeting in Foix?"

Aramis cast his mind back to his captivity… There was pain, fear, and darkness. Endless darkness. That's where the whispers came from. But there was shouting too, screams, and Spanish. Pain. The Comte. Pain. Torture. Darkness.

"Aramis?"

Had Treville been there?

He couldn't be sure… but there was the distant rattle of chains wrapped around something he just couldn't discern.

"Aramis?"

He shook his head and came back to himself. "I… I don't remember much."

Treville looked at him for a long moment and absently put a hand to his own throat. "It's probably for the best… They tell me you've been having trouble sleeping?"

Aramis huffed a bitter laugh. "Trouble isn't the word."

"It will fade, as it did before."

And this was just like before. The way he lay injured in bed, with Treville regretful at his side. Back then Treville carried the guilt, but it was his to own now. Aramis had been the one responsible for murder this time. It was necessary though. It was necessary. Just as Treville thought the slaughter of twenty of his own men was necessary. Twenty lives to save the skin of a royal, to continue trading secrets behind closed doors. In contrast the massacre Aramis caused had struck a blow against their sort. An eye for an eye. Were they even now?

After Savoy Aramis was half out of his mind with grief and pain. Treville sat by him, joined in his loss, fishing for futile words of comfort. Aramis had been ignorant to the part Treville played in the massacre. He knew now. He knew how the snake could wear a mask of concern. Romero would have wanted Treville dead. If all had gone to plan he would have been dead. It seemed strange now Aramis thought about it. How had Treville survived? He was supposed to be in that room with all of the others condemned to death. So was Athos. How had they escaped?

"Yes, Savoy left it's mark on me for some time, but time is also a great healer." Aramis eyed Treville pointedly. "How lucky we are, both to survive massacres."

"I'm not sure lucky is the right word. Unfortunate to be caught up in them I would say."

"At least you had the good fortune not to lie for days amongst your dead brothers."

Aramis felt like there was a conversation going on between them on another level. He blamed Treville for one massacre. Would Treville blame him for the other?

"At least you are now out of the clutches of Romero."

He couldn't help but stiffen at hearing that name. Perhaps Treville was playing on another level entirely.

The Minister continued. "It was him who forced your hand?"

"In a manner of speaking." Aramis made an unsubtle attempt to change the topic. "Tell me, how goes the war?"

"As well as can be expected." Treville was not deterred. "I cannot imagine you would take the innocent lives of your own countrymen without considerable coercion. What did he do? Threaten you? Beat you?"

Aramis hung his head and looked to the floor. "Only what was deserved…"

He knew Treville was playing on his guilt, and it was working. Although those deaths were necessary, he still regret the loss of the innocent.

"Surely you did nothing to warrant violence?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"Then tell me."

"I can't."

Treville leaned forwards. "Try me."

He was tempted. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to shout and rail against all of the doubters. Their words made him seethe… Romero is not your friend… Romero did something to you... Romero has twisted your mind… Romero had opened his eyes and brought him the truth. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make them see.

But Treville was blind. He wouldn't understand. He was as good as one of them now. Romero would want him dead.

Aramis locked his eyes onto Treville's. "All men are given what they deserve. It might be violence, it might be death. Even you will become what you deserve."

Treville sat up a little straighter and stared at him stonily. It was the sort of look that sought to strip Aramis down to his very soul. A lesser man might have looked away, but Aramis maintained eye contact.

Eventually Treville took in a deep breath and broke the uncomfortable moment. "You must be tired, I will leave you to rest."

He got to his feet and made for the door.

"Minister, your man outside, you can dismiss him."

Treville paused with his hand on the door. He seemed to consider Aramis' request before giving two abrupt words over his shoulder. "He stays."

As soon as Treville was out of the door Aramis let out a growl. He was as good as a prisoner. Treville had come to him once again with the fatherly facade masking a snake. The Minister wound words around and around trying to trip him, trap him. Aramis wouldn't have it.

He set to pacing up and down the room, trying to think. What to do, what to do… If only Romero had been there, he would know. Eventually Aramis set on first getting out and losing the guard. He threw the door open and marched down the corridor. The sound of the guard's footsteps following him stoked Aramis' fury. He was about to turn and confront the man when he walked straight into Porthos coming around the corner.

"Sorry, didn't see you there… Are you all right?" Porthos must have picked up on his distressed state.

"Treville has me under guard!" Aramis motioned at the sheepish looking fellow behind. "Does he not trust me? You said he was going to help!"

"Calm down, why don't we go back to your room and talk?"

"Not if he's outside of it!"

Porthos stepped around Aramis to have a quiet word with the guard. "I'm going to be with him, you can leave."

"But my orders…"

"If you get any trouble, send it my way - I'm Porthos - I'll sort it. I give you my word."

The guard looked between them before giving his begrudging assent. "Very well."

With that Porthos herded Aramis back to his room.

The door had barely shut before Aramis turned to shout. "Treville doesn't trust me! He got me out of the way, and then set a guard at my door! I'm no fool, Porthos. Don't think that I don't see!"

"Come and sit down. Let me get you a drink, I was bringing this up to you." Porthos took out the pain draught and went to one of the cups Madame Sylvestre had left behind.

"I don't want any."

"It's been hours since your last dose, and I can see you're in pain. Probably why you're being so bad tempered…"

"I'm bad tempered because I'm being treated like a prisoner! And it dulls my mind, I need to think." A dreadful suspicion took Aramis then. "Unless that's what you want? Are you intentionally drugging me to keep me compliant?"

"Now who has trust issues, hm? I'm giving you this because I don't want to see you hurting. But if it'll make you happy I'll water it down a little more. Please just take it... look, you're all hunched up around your arm."

And he was. Aramis had curled up as if he could somehow ward off the pain. His arm was aching terribly and tension ran through him. He downed the drink when Porthos offered it to him. After a few minutes his harsh breathing began to even out and his seized muscles relaxed.

"Better?" Porthos asked.

Despite Aramis' protests, he gave a nod.

"Now, tell me what happened."

"Treville came here, questioned me… He wouldn't dismiss his guard!"

"Look at it from his perspective for just a moment. You were responsible for an explosion that killed a lot of people, and he would have been one of them. He has to make sure you're safe." Porthos paused as if hesitant to go on. "You did do it, didn't you? Athos said you admitted it to him, but you were imprisoned and not yourself at the time. So I'll ask you myself - Did you do it?"

Aramis glared up at Porthos.

It had been a simple act of putting a flame to a fuse. Such a little thing.

But no, it had been a great deal more. There were the lies, the murders… Those caught up in the explosion weren't the only victims.

"I… I did it. I killed those people."

And to take ownership of it all with those very words felt like a claw scoring his heart. He regretted the deaths of the innocent, but they were necessary. Suddenly he felt like he was teetering on the edge, the guilt nearly outweighed the need.

Aramis bowed his head and put it into his hand, his fingers clutched wretchedly at his hair.

He killed those people.

The commanders who deserved it, but also the guards and the servants who did not.

He killed them.

Aramis grit his teeth against the threat of tears. Then the bed dipped as Porthos came to sit by him.

"I think it's time we had a proper talk." He pulled Aramis' hand down and held it.

Aramis looked at their hands with a sense of curiosity. Something deep within him wanted to recoil from Porthos' touch, but he kept his hand where it was.

"You might have killed those people, but you didn't do it alone."

"I lit the fuse, the blame is mine."

"You're telling me that without Romero you would have done it all by yourself?"

"No…" Without Romero he would have continued his travels and gone to rebuild the abbey at Foix. "... but I wanted it."

"Meaning you don't now?"

"I regret the loss of the innocent, but the commanders, the nobility, they needed to die. We had to strike a blow against them." Aramis clutched at Porthos' hand and fervently met his eyes. "You understand, you of all people have to understand. They don't care about us. They build their empires off of our backs, caring only for their own advancement. Look at what we're doing - sending scores of men out to die while the commanders safely push figures around a map and the King remains oblivious in his palace. It is wrong, Porthos!"

"You realise you talk treason?"

"I am a traitor, if wishing to spare the lives of ordinary Frenchmen makes me so."

"I believe it's taking up with a Spaniard and killing your own countrymen that does that."

"You know it's wrong, Porthos. How can you come from the Court and then stride through the palace, how can you see all of that and not get angry?"

"Because I am a musketeer and I do my duty."

"Your duty is your shackles… Oh, Porthos, I might have been chained to the wall, but you've been far more trammelled than I."

"And what of the Queen? The dauphin? Does your hatred extend to them?"

Aramis looked momentarily stunned. "Not them. Never them."

"Why? Because you love them?" Porthos hissed under his breath. "Does that make them immune?"

"They are as much victims as we are. See how the King so easily took up with Milady, while the Queen and I were made to suffer for our love?"

"But she still wears all the finery and sleeps on a bed worth more money than a gutter rat will ever see in a lifetime."

"She was born into it. She-"

"So were the others. So was Athos - and he threw it all away."

"And yet the Captain still climbs faster than you or I. It is in his nature to do so. What is more he abandoned his people. He could have made provision for them, he could have used what he had to help them and improve their lot. But Athos cared nothing for them, he left them to rot and pursued advancement with the regiment instead."

"He made mistakes. I am sure he'll be the first to admit it. But deep down you know Athos is an honourable man."

"Only so far as honour suits his purpose. He is not like us. Why can't you see that?"

"I'll tell you what I see. I see a dear friend who became mixed up with our enemies and committed murder. I see another dear friend who dropped everything to help him. You don't realise how much Athos has done for you."

"I see precious little from here."

"That's because you can't stand to be near him, and he knows that, so he's keeping his distance. But he fought for you every moment you were in that prison. Even now as soon as you left the room he spoke for you when Treville voiced his doubts. The only reason you're not in chains is because he has convinced Treville you were entirely under Romero's influence - Everything you did was because Romero made you do it. But Treville had to be sure, I suppose that's why he came to talk to you. Just know this: Athos is on your side. Romero is not."

Somewhat deflated, Aramis instinctively fell on an old line. "Romero is my friend…"

"He used you. If you were thinking clearly you might see it. Why don't you tell me about him?"

All the fire had gone out of Aramis now, he was left feeling hollow. "What would you like to know?"

"Start at the beginning, tell me everything."

"Well…" He shifted uncomfortably, not having the energy for any verbal or mental games. It was probably best just to give a straightforward account of events. "We crossed paths after I left Narbonne. His men were trying to steal my horse."

"By 'crossed paths' do you mean he captured you?"

"Yes." The answer was reluctant. "He treated me more as a friend than a prisoner as we went along. I just made sure not to let him down."

"What did I say, priest?"

A hand tight and painful at his jaw.

"Answer me!"

He swallowed hard and tried to speak. "You would shoot me… if I ran."

"And what did you just do?"

Shame. Such shame. "I ran."

"So you see, I must shoot you, how else are you going to learn?"

"Go on." Porthos prompted.

Aramis hadn't realised he had drifted away.

"The journey didn't go well, Romero lost men. We stopped at an inn… there was trouble."

"You have blood on your hands now, priest."

"We took refuge at an abandoned house. That's where..."

Where he was locked away in the darkness. Where the truth came out from all sides.

"What happened? You can tell me, you're safe here."

Aramis' breath came harshly and he clutched at the side of the bed as if it were the only thing tethering him to earth. The part of him loyal to Romero didn't want to say anything. The rest of Aramis felt like speaking of it would be a weight off his chest.

He gave in.

"There was a cellar. No windows, no light. I was kept there for some time… I don't know how long, day and night had no meaning. Romero came down, he beat me."

"Aramis…" Porthos' voice was full of remorse.

"You do not raise your hand to me. Not ever. Do you understand?"

"It was deserved."

"What did you do?"

"I… I hit him, it was an accident, but I hit him. I let him down. I broke his trust. It was deserved."

"You must know, somewhere in there you must know that you didn't deserve what he did to you."

"But he brought me a candle. When I was good he brought me two."

Porthos growled. "He was the one keeping you in the cellar. He didn't have to do that."

"I deserved it."

"No you didn't! He wanted to break you, and it worked."

Aramis looked up at him with lost eyes. "I'm broken?"

"No, don't think that. He just wanted to use you, and so he found a way to break you down and make you into something of his own. We can undo that, if you let us."

He felt such an attachment to Romero. This was betrayal. This was letting his friend down. But everything was wrong, everything had been wrong for such a long time. He was tired, he just wanted it all to go away.

"Why don't you carry on? What happened at the house?"

"The locals realised we were there. It was my fault… I refused to kill a boy who saw me. They attacked, Romero and I survived, though I was wounded. He got me to Foix and left me in the care of Brother Lussier at the abbey. I do hope he is all right, he was good to me."

"What then?"

"Romero found work at the castle, he got me a position…"

… He plunged the dagger down into that soft hollow of flesh behind the collarbone. It sunk in deep with little resistance, doing irreparable damage...

"I started work in the armoury, and eventually rose to take charge of it."

"I will bring you a bottle of wine, make sure he gets it, and do not drink any."

"It was a matter of moving the powder then. You know the rest."

Porthos was quiet for a moment, and then he squeezed Aramis' hand. "You don't see what he's done to you, but I do. Maybe in time you will as well. We'll get you better again."

Aramis' voice was little more than a whisper. "I'm not ill…"

"But you're not right, you know you're not."

At that Aramis just sadly nodded his head. Inside he felt a mess. Romero was his friend, but Romero had done something to him. It was deserved… it was deserved, but maybe it wasn't. Athos was the enemy, but his touch gave comfort. Innocents were dead. It was his fault. Some part of him even recoiled from Porthos. And then there were the nightmares, the way that crowds stole his breath, and the things just out of sight. He had seen this happen to others before.

"Maybe I'm losing my mind. Like soldiers who have seen too much of war."

"No, you've been through this before. After Savoy. You might not remember what you were like, but I do. You came through the other side, and you will do so again."

Savoy… the nightmares he recalled well enough. But there was so much he was unaware of when in the clutches of fear, and there was even more he had tried to forget. It came to him sometimes, in the depths of sleep. In the darkness.

Porthos squeezed his hand again. "Just trust me, that's all I ask. I meant what I said before - I will be with you whatever comes. Now get some rest. We've got a long journey to Paris coming up, enjoy the bed while you can."

When Porthos made to leave some part of Aramis gave a sigh of relief. It was the part of him loyal to Romero. The rest of him fought against it to utter one word…

"Stay."

At that Porthos smiled.