Chapter Seventeen

"Rendición!"

He held his pistol out and yelled at the man to surrender.

It was his fault. They were all dead and it was his fault.

The intruder held his hands aloft.

"Aramis, it's me. Put the gun down."

"You killed them!"

"Put. It. Down."

Suddenly reality snapped back. He was lying in bed, surrounded by damp sheets, not bodies. The man at the end of his pistol was no murderer, it was Athos. He stood at the threshold, hands raised. He looked torn between running to Aramis and running away.

Aramis let the breath rush out of him all at once and the gun dropped to his lap. He seemed to fold in on himself. The pistol was being gently removed from his hand a moment later. Aramis used his free hand to wipe his face clean of tears.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's my fault, I shouldn't have disturbed you." Athos placed the pistol on a table across the room, then he turned back to Aramis. "I just… I heard, and… I couldn't leave you."

"You should have left me. This is the least I deserve."

Aramis detected a note of irritation before Athos smoothed over it and came to sit by the bed.

"But that wasn't anything recent. That was familiar. I've woken you from enough Savoy nightmares to know the difference." Athos leaned over to kindle a candle at the bedside table before settling his piercing gaze back on Aramis. "You didn't deserve Savoy."

"I deserve whatever nightmares my mind chooses to torture me with. And that is a tried and tested one." Aramis paused and Athos looked away. "It's always here. Always. I'll never be rid of it."

The walls of a distant prison cell seemed to close in about them at those words.

"Sometimes they're not dead. Sometimes... I… I save them." Aramis held himself tightly against an imagined cold. "And I don't know which is worse. To have them all back, to feel the joy, the relief. It is so real, Athos. I can touch them and they feel as solid as you do now."

Aramis reached out a hand and gripped it tight about Athos' arm. Athos put his own hand over Aramis' and met his eyes with grief.

"I have them back. We talk, we laugh. There is no other world but that in which they are alive. I forget this place. I grow accustomed to their presence. And then I wake, and it is all snatched away from me in an instant." Aramis paused a moment as he recalled the crushing weight of reality. "At least when I see their frozen bodies in the snow waking is a sweet relief."

He had no need to speak of the cold world he woke to when he left them alive. It was like mourning them all over again. Aramis was sure Athos was intimately acquainted with the feeling - When dreams are a warm deluded comfort and reality is a hole in the chest that can't be filled. Alcohol was an escape. Sometimes the people you lost returned to you through a drunken haze. Yes, Athos knew what it was to wake, only to wish you could crawl back to sleep in the earth, never to wake again.

The quiet stretched between them.

Athos soft voice broke it. "You don't deserve this, Aramis. I wish you could see... you don't deserve any of this."

Aramis didn't answer. The quiet returned, at least for a moment.

"I wish you would rejoin the regiment as well. It will help you, give you direction, a purpose-"

"I will not return. Do not ask me to." Aramis interrupted with a shuddered voice, as if hindered by threatened tears.

"Very well. I will let you get back to sleep." Athos quietly got to his feet, snuffed out the candle and returned to his own room.

Aramis watched the door long after it had closed. Sleep would not visit him again that night.

~oOo~

Something approaching normality returned in the days and weeks that followed. The three of them even started going back to the inn they used to frequent in days gone by. Although getting back to normality was not so easy. Aramis suspected it was all an effort to slip him back into his old life. Indeed, Athos and Porthos continued to propose a commission to Aramis and he continued to rebuff it. The cloud over his head darkened in those moments. There seemed to be nothing that would bring him back to the fold.

News came that the regiment would return within the week, and preparations ramped up. Athos and Porthos were busy, particularly the former. The pressure was starting to build, and it made Athos a little bad tempered. In contrast, not being a musketeer Aramis seemed a step apart from it all. He stayed at the garrison and watched the training, but refused to take any part in it.

It all came to a head one day when the recruits were sparring. Aramis watched from his usual spot at the table. Athos came marching down the stairs and threw Aramis' old pauldron down at his feet.

"Put the damn thing on."

Momentarily shocked at seeing his once treasured pauldron, Aramis recovered and got to his feet. "No."

Athos retrieved the pauldron and pushed it into Aramis' chest, though he refused to take it.

"I said - put it on."

"I can't."

"You can! There is nothing stopping you, only you yourself!"

"That's because I know what I've done." Aramis growled. "As do you."

"And I don't care what you've done! I need you!"

Silence reigned as the sparring stopped and everyone watched the confrontation.

Aramis stood with his mouth open, not knowing what to say.

"I need you, Aramis. Please... take it."

That's when Porthos emerged. "All right everybody, get back to it! Or we'll be doing hand to hand and I won't be so gentle."

Noise erupted around them again as Aramis' hand slowly creeped up to the pauldron being pressed into his chest. When his fingers wrapped around it Athos let go and stepped away, breathing heavily.

Aramis looked down at the scored piece of leather bearing the fleur de lis. It had meant so much to him all those years ago, and now holding it again he realised it still did.

"You kept it… After all this time."

"I think some part of me always hoped you would come back." Athos' wistful voice turned serious. "Aramis, you can redeem yourself. The dead can't be returned to life, but you can turn your hands to doing good again." Athos took his shoulder and shook it. "Protect the innocent. Redeem yourself."

Aramis looked up from his pauldron to find Porthos and Athos staring at him so hopefully.

"Will you take the commission?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I will."

~oOo~

With the pauldron back on his arm Aramis threw himself into training the recruits. The regiment returned a few days later and there were emotional reunions all around. Most notably between d'Artagnan and Constance. However there wasn't much time to celebrate with so much work to be done in the city. Patrols were drawn up and guard duty at the palace had to be rostered. With the musketeers out on the streets again all were hopeful things might start to turn around.

Aramis spent most of his time between patrolling and drilling recruits. He noticed he was kept away from the palace. It was probably for the best. Seeing the Queen and the Dauphin again would be more than his heart could take. Still, what kind of a musketeer was he if he couldn't stand by the royalty he was sworn to protect? In any case, he was just finding his feet again. He didn't want to be knocked off them quite so soon. That was an issue for another day.

Aramis settled into something of a routine, training and doing his duty, then visiting church and finally retiring to the inn with his brothers. And he had started thinking of them as brothers again. d'Artagnan's return brought some much needed levity to the group. Though war had burdened him as it did so many others, he retained some of that youthful joy. Being reunited with Constance no doubt helped. Everything was going so well now, Romero almost seemed a distant memory.

They were going to the inn one night when Aramis spotted the stable boy with a familiar looking horse. It was black with a distinctive flash of white… The name came to him. Hawthorn. He followed the others inside and sat while they ordered drinks. All the while his mind turned over where he had last seen the horse. And then it hit him. He had last seen it with Romero. A sick feeling took Aramis then. Romero couldn't be here. Perhaps he was seeing things, perhaps he had imagined it. His mind no longer played such tricks on him, but maybe this was one last breath of insanity. Or perhaps it simply wasn't Hawthorn. It was entirely possible that there was another horse just like him.

Aramis held on, desperately trying to resist the impulse to rush outside and check. He couldn't let this take over again. He couldn't let the dark corners of his mind take control. But he was seized with such a need to know. He didn't pay any attention to the conversation going on around him, all thought was on his old horse. Aramis got halfway through his drink before making his excuses and dashing out to the stables. Breathing heavily he came to a halt. There was a black horse in the end stall. He still checked the others as he went along, just in case, and then he arrived at the end.

"Hawthorn?"

The horse was eating at a bale of hay and paid no attention to him at all. Aramis crept closer and leaned over the door. He stretched a hand out to pat the horse as he looked it over. His breath left him all at once. It wasn't Hawthorn. There was no flash of white.

But he had been so sure he had seen it. Maybe it was a trick of the light, the flickering torches… Maybe he was seeing things. Or maybe the horse had been here and it had left.

Aramis waved over at the stable boy. "Was there another black horse here?"

"Yes Monsieur, they left just before you got here."

His heart stalled.

"The man who rode it, what did he look like?"

"Not a man, Monsieur. It was a woman."

Relief flooded through him. Not Romero then. It couldn't have been Hawthorn, he must have been mistaken.

Aramis returned to the inn and his brothers, and tried to forget about the Spaniard once again.

~oOo~

"Aramis, I need you on guard duty at the palace. Accambray has fallen ill."

"Can't you send somebody else?" Aramis was in the middle of eating, but more importantly he wasn't sure he was ready for this.

"There is nobody else." There almost seemed to be an apology in Athos' eyes.

"Are you sure?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't sure."

Or if he had another choice. Athos had always done his utmost to keep Aramis away from the Queen and Dauphin, he supposed this wasn't a sudden change of heart.

And that was how Aramis came to be striding towards the palace gardens, his heart in his mouth. He spotted d'Artagnan ahead, standing at the top of the steps. It offered a good view of the royals. Down below the King played with his son on the grass, while the Queen walked with her ladies. Aramis' heart briefly lurched at thinking of the King's son. He knew it wasn't so, and yet it had to be so.

"I'm surprised to see you here." d'Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

"As am I to be here. But Athos had nobody else to send, and so…" Aramis gestured at himself.

"Well, feel free to patrol the perimeter if you need to. I've got things in hand up here."

He was offering Aramis the chance to escape, but Aramis found that he didn't want to now he was here.

"In a moment perhaps."

He turned his eyes to the garden. They were so close. The woman he loved, and the child he could never claim. The boy had grown since Aramis last saw him, oh how the years seemed to have flown by. It nearly hurt. The way the Queen glanced his way and then seemed to pretend she hadn't seen him did hurt. But there was little time to dwell on pain when the Dauphin's screech of laughter reached them. He was playing at fencing on the lawn. It made Aramis' breath catch in his throat. What he would give to be the one down there playing with him… There was such happiness here. Aramis felt as if he were intruding. His own presence was a black cloud, a reminder of darker times for all of them.

He swallowed heavily. "I think I'll do that patrol now."

d'Artagnan gave him a nod, sympathy all too clear in his eyes.

Aramis hastily made his way to the edge of the gardens. Although the hedges hid the Dauphin from view his laughter still cut through the undergrowth, straight to Aramis' heart. He walked further, trying to put more distance between them. His heart ached and tears pricked at his eyes. Maybe it was a mistake to become a musketeer again, maybe he should-

Aramis turned a corner and there she stood. The Queen.

"My apologies Your Majesty, I didn't mean…"

He didn't mean to intrude, but perhaps it was her who meant to do the intruding. Her ladies were absent, most likely dismissed, and d'Artagnan hadn't come after her. He probably guessed what she was intending to do.

"You came back." She looked stunned and perhaps a little wary, perhaps a little hopeful.

"Yes, Majesty." He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Were they talking as Queen and musketeer, or as Anne and Aramis?

"I thought I would never see you again." She raised a hand as if to reach out to him, but let it drop, thinking better of it.

"You seem… happy. Your family…" Aramis was usually so eloquent, but words were failing him terribly.

She gave him a sad smile. "Yes, we are."

But everything about her screamed that it wasn't so. Out there the mask was in place, but here she let it slip.

Aramis wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms and take her away. Somewhere far far away where nobody knew them and they could live a simple life. But nothing was ever destined to be simple for them.

"I know my presence might be difficult for you… for them. If you want me to stay away, please, just say the word." It was probably better to address the issue straight on.

She looked conflicted. As if she knew it was better for him to stay away, but it was the last thing she really wanted. A similar war had been waged between Aramis' heart and head. But it was for her to decide. She was the Queen and any difficulties arising would hit her hardest.

"You are a musketeer. Do your duty, as you always have done."

"As you wish, Majesty." He gave his usual slight bow. Enough to be respectful, but one where he could still catch her eyes.

The Dauphin's distant voice called out for his mother, but she remained standing, staring at Aramis as if he were the last light in a world of darkness. She was so afraid it might go out.

And he knew what it was to feel that way.

"You should go." He broke the spell between them. But she didn't move. "Let me escort you back."

Aramis made to walk past her, but Anne caught his hand as he went by. Her gentle fingers closed around his hand and his breath stalled.

They walked together, fingers entwined delicately. For a moment Aramis could pretend they were somewhere else, and they were someone else. Just lovers, like any other, playing out amongst the trees, revelling at a tryst in their secret garden.

But this was the palace garden. And it was the Queen's hand he held.

Treason.

Chains, a cell, the wheel… Marguerite.

He let go.

They reached the edge of the concealing hedges.

"I should return by another route, Majesty." He bowed again and turned to leave.

"Aramis?"

He looked back at hearing his name.

"I've missed you."

And his heart broke.

~oOo~

Once they were relieved from guard duty Aramis told d'Artagnan he would join them at the inn later. He made his way to the church he had taken refuge in the day he visited the market with Porthos. It had played a great part in healing him. He would often sit in quiet contemplation, sorting through his thoughts, defying malign whispers, and placing his emotions. Here he felt that God was with him, and His hand guided him. God was always there of course, but he seemed so very far away in the darkest places when all Aramis could hear was the voice of every tortured soul he had done wrong.

He heard one of them now. Marguerite.

Aramis slipped into his usual pew at the back and clasped his hands in prayer for her. The torture he endured now was nothing, for at least he still drew breath. She had taken her own life, and it was all down to him. He should have left her alone, he should have stayed away.

But like a moth to a flame he was drawn to the Queen and his son. No. Not his son. The Dauphin. It was happening again. He didn't want this. He knew it would happen if he saw them again. But God, how he wanted this. He needed to be near them, to see them, to touch them… Aramis closed his eyes and recalled the feel of her fingers against his own. He took it in and locked it away. Something to remember in darker days. But he knew he should be rejecting it all. Athos would be raking him over coals if he knew what had just passed.

It was a yearning of the heart that was beyond his control. But with the grace of God he tried to control it.

More people filtered into the church. Their overly loud voices would have earned a harsh look from Aramis, but he was so intent on his prayer he barely noticed them enter.

He prayed for Marguerite, for the Queen and Dauphin. Then for himself to be granted the strength to defy his own nature.

Aramis raised his head after a final 'amen' and then he flinched as he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder.

"So you are a musketeer again."

That voice. It couldn't be… He turned around and his senses nearly took flight.

Romero.

"What are you doing here?"

"Keep your voice down, we are in church, my friend."

"How are you here?" Aramis tried to keep the panic from his voice. Everything in him was screaming run.

"I have my ways, you know this. Besides, there are plenty of refugees pouring into Paris. What is one more? I sold your horse for a good price and set myself up here. Although I have to say the city is not what I imagined it to be. A little less fine for sure, but that is what war does to places and men it seems."

"You can't be here." Aramis was still stunned.

"And yet I am. Once I saw to your freedom it was easy enough to follow at a distance. All it took was the right questions to the right people, and a little more besides." Romero gave him a meaningful smile.

"You freed me?"

"Yes, Brother Lussier was most distraught when I told him you were due to hang. I suggested he might want to intervene."

"What happened to him?"

"That I cannot say. Anyway, you did well in Foix, my friend. It is a pity the Minister and Captain escaped unscathed, but we can correct this. In any case, you are well placed to do more damage than any explosion."

"What do you mean?" Aramis felt like his mind was stuck on the fact Romero was here. He should call for help, he should find Athos, he should…

"Come with me."

Romero took a tight grip on Aramis' arm and dragged him to a discreet corner away in the church aisle.

"You are a musketeer. You guard the King. It would only take one shot…"

"But I would be killed." Aramis couldn't believe he was entertaining this with a rational response.

"Poison then. There are many ways to end the monarchy."

"I can't… I can't."

"Aramis, don't let me down."

The words were spoken just as they were before. Aramis bodily flinched at them. With those words he felt as if he had just climbed out of a pit only to be thrown back in. His mind went to war against itself.

Romero was his friend.

It didn't make sense, he shouldn't even be...

He couldn't let Romero down.

"My son… he would take over. The monarchy wouldn't end."

Why was he actually contemplating this?

He couldn't let Romero down.

"No, a regent would take over, and we could arrange a kidnapping. We could get your son far away from here, where nobody knows him, or you."

"It would never work, there are too many against us."

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. "Have faith, my friend. I have met a man by the name of Grimaud, he is of a similar mind to you and I. He can raise an army. We shall kill the King, take the Dauphin, and they will move in. I need to talk to Grimaud further, but once the city is ours we will have a chance to truly change things."

"The musketeers will stop you."

"The Red Guard will fight with us, there are not enough musketeers to take us all on. Especially if you can do some damage at the garrison."

"And what of the Queen?"

"I do not see why she could not join you. We could arrange a new life for all three of you. Wouldn't you like that, Aramis? To live as a family and raise your son together?"

He was quiet for a moment. It was all he had ever wanted.

"I would."

"Good, now carry on as you were. Tell no one of our meeting. I will find you again."

He made to leave. Heart and head in turmoil.

"Aramis?"

He looked back as he had done earlier, but this time it wasn't the Queen calling his name.

"You won't let me down, will you?"

"Never."

~oOo~

After leaving the church, Aramis made his way to the inn. He felt like being sick. Romero was here. He should tell the others. But he didn't want to let his friend down. And he knew he should fight against that thought. He had so much practice battling against it, but now the man himself was here, speaking those words. Aramis was overwhelmed.

On arriving at the inn Aramis briefly said his greetings and sat down with the others.

Porthos frowned across the table at him. "Are you all right? You look pale. Not coming down with Accambray's sickness are you?"

"I'm fine."

"If you're sure, but I know what you're like. You're always fine, until the moment I'm picking you up off the ground."

"I am well, I assure you."

But Aramis spent the evening worrying at his cup rather than drinking from it. The others talked around him, while he stared at the table or the middle distance. His thoughts were miles away, with Romero. He didn't want to let his friend down, and there was the possibility of a new life with his family. Thinking of the Queen and the Dauphin as his family made his heart ache with yearning. But it would mean more bloodshed, more treason, more killing of his people, his brothers… They were his brothers again. He should fight against this, he should tell them about Romero.

"There's something…" He took a breath and forced the words out. "I have to tell you something."

The others stopped talking and turned to him.

You won't let me down, will you?

Aramis' mouth hung open. Suddenly the words wouldn't come.

"I'm… I'm feeling a little tired, I think I'll retire for the night."

He got to his feet and hurried away.

Behind him Porthos' voice could be heard. "I knew he wasn't well."

~oOo~

He was in church, praying.

Reformed and reborn.

God helped him to loosen the hold of the demons pulling him down. With their clawed fingers pried away Aramis almost believed the atrocious deeds were somebody else's.

But then he was pulled backwards.

And it was tight around his neck. The noose.

His legs were dangling. Kicking.

He tried to drag a breath in, but his lungs spasmed, painfully empty.

And they watched.

He realised then that it wasn't rope around his neck.

It was a halo. Pulled down from his own head.

Pulled down. Around his neck.

It pulled him down to the ground.

And they watched as he choked. They stood around with their dead eyes, watching.

If only he could speak he might find something to say. There might be words that would make amends. But nothing passed his lips. Only strangled sounds and bloodied spittle as he struggled.

He was dragged backwards and the ground gave way.

He was here again. In his grave.

They gathered round, up above, staring down.

They gathered round, and a single rose was thrown down. It landed squarely on his chest.

He couldn't see who had thrown it. Marguerite? His eyes were watering, blinking away the dirt that was falling in.

It was Athos' distant voice that spoke.

"You'll never be clean."

And then his mouth was stopped up by mud.

Aramis startled awake when a sharp sting graced his cheek.

"You're all right, just breathe."

He was on the floor, in Porthos' arms.

"You can breathe, there's enough air. You can breathe, just slow down."

But he couldn't seem to stop the frantic gasping. He could still feel dirt at the back of his throat.

More hands landed on him. "Turn him over, he's going to-"

Aramis gagged and retched. A line of spittle and worse trailed from his lips to the floor.

And then he was lying back in Porthos' arms. A heavy hand landed on his chest, and his breaths seemed to slow down. He hadn't the energy to keep up with his lung's frantic pace.

"That's it, you can breathe."

He blinked and waited for his heart to settle.

"There you are. It's been a while since that's happened. Are you all right?" Porthos sat Aramis upright and propped him against the bed.

Aramis stared at his outstretched legs for a moment, then his eyes landed on Athos with a basin of water, scrubbing at the floor.

"Aramis? What are you-?"

The next thing he knew he was scrambling forwards towards the basin. He thrust his hands in and splashed the water up his arms. Aramis started to furiously scrub at his skin.

"Not clean." He grit out. "I'll never be clean."

Nails scored red lines across his flesh.

"Aramis, stop." Athos grabbed his arms firmly and caught his eyes. "You're clean."

Aramis shook his head.

"Listen to me. You are clean. It's all washed away, there's nothing left. You're clean."

He frowned at Athos, so unsure. And then Porthos was pulling him to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you back to bed."

~oOo~

The next morning Aramis woke and went down to the join the others eating at the table.

Porthos pushed a plate towards him. "So, last night… what was that?"

Aramis rubbed at his eyes and fought off a yawn. "Just the usual."

"Well, the usual seemed to be dying away didn't it?"

"Nightmares can always return. You know that. I've woken screaming about Savoy years after the massacre happened."

"But there was usually something to set it off. Has something happened?"

Aramis looked down and started to pick at his food.

"Aramis?"

"No. Nothing."