Aramis was dismayed. It had been difficult to secure a private audience with Capitaine de Treville throughout the long journey back from Belle Ile, and the difficulty did not ease either as they were reinstalled in Paris. There was much to be done and celebrated. Reports to be written, events to be planned, announcements to be made, promotions to be secured and many a-people to meet.
Aramis diligently shadowed her superior, vying for a secluded moment here and there to tell him… only tell him what, exactly?
…that her mission was now complete?
…that she no longer had a purpose in his regimen?
…that she was ready to resign?
…that she felt downright empty, nothing but a shell of herself?
…that everything she ever built those last six years had finally amounted to nothingness in her heart?
Or would she simply wait for him to decide on her Fate?
Alas, when the golden opportunity presented itself one fine sunny day as a preoccupied Treville hurriedly made his way from the Throne room back towards the barracks with Aramis closely in two and no other person in sight, Aramis uttered:
"Capitaine. I really must speak with you."
Treville sighed.
"Make it quick, Aramis, as you see we are late."
"Capitaine… it's about Belle Ile."
Aramis paused, glancing around to ensure their privacy before she delivered her news about her mission.
Or, at least, that was what she intended to do.
"Something happened at Belle Ile…"
Treville involuntarily slowed down. From the trepidation in his musketeer's voice, Treville could sense something was awry. When it came to Aramis, it could only be one of two things: either Aramis had completed her mission, or…
"It's about d'Artagnan…"
He came to an abrupt pause, his worst fear about to materialize.
"Don't tell me," he carefully measured himself through gritted teeth.
Aramis swallowed with difficulty.
No, that was not what she had intended to say. But here she was.
"D'Artagnan knows."
She could see a purple vein in her superior's neck throbbing incessantly. She stood her ground nonetheless, prepared to accept the worst.
He regarded her threateningly for less than a minute, livid, teeth grinding loudly and fists clenched. Thankfully, the endroit they were in – the palace gardens – were such that Treville had no choice but to keep the lid on.
"I don't have time for this right now," he snapped and stormed off.
Aramis followed him.
"Capitaine I…"
He turned sharply upon his musketeer, his nose almost touching hers, steam emanating from his nostrils.
"How could you let this happen?" he hissed. Aramis felt drops of his saliva land on her face and neck.
"It was out of my control… I got injured and d'Artagnan…"
He shook his head and resumed his indignant march.
"Unacceptable!" he bellowed. Then, lowering his voice, as he remarked some ladies in the distance taking note of them. "Absolutely negligent! How could you even put yourself in a position to be injured in the first place?!"
"I was not careful, I apolo-"
Once again, he stopped and turned. He poked at her chest with his index. "So help me God, if d'Artagnan ever breathes a word of this to me or anyone, I will deny everything. This one is on you."
She exhaled. She knew he didn't mean it. "I understand. I'm sorry. D'Artagnan is an honorable man and musketeer, he would never…"
"I don't CARE! And you should hope so, for your sake. Now, I will hear of this no more!" with that, he put a distance between them as he went off to his next destination.
It took Aramis a few minutes to gather herself and go after her superior. She was still on duty, after all, and her tasks for the day involved accompanying Treville to all of his appointments.
"Deny what?" said an amused voice. Startled, Aramis looked to her left to find none other than Athos. How he happened to be there was lost on her.
She shook her head. "Nothing," she sighed.
"The captain seemed utterly displeased," Athos mused. "Are you in trouble?"
"Maybe," she complained and gave him an exasperated look.
Athos laughed. It was always a joke when one of them received the captain's wrath – something they would laugh about later in the tavern.
"I thought I overheard d'Artagnan's name mentioned."
Aramis stiffened. The captain was right. She was being too careless. And was it just her, or was Athos' comment, rather… pointed? Perhaps it was only paranoia.
"He hasn't gotten you into trouble with one of his escapades, has he?" Athos probed, as no response came from Aramis. The blond musketeer's reaction was not lost on the astute Athos. There was definitely something between Aramis and d'Artagnan.
Aramis chuckled, a tinge of nervousness in her voice. "Nothing like that. I was only relaying events from Belle Ile."
It was not a lie.
"I see."
…
"I just don't see it," Porthos exclaimed into a large mug of frothing ale.
"Well, it's right there in front of us."
Porthos stared intently at Athos, studying him, looking for a sign to see if Athos was drunk or had lost his mind completely.
He leaned forward, looked around and whispered. "Aramis is a woman… and is having an affair with d'Artagnan?!"
Athos sipped his wine and nodded gravely.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?! This is the conclusion you have come to?!"
Undeterred, Athos went on calmly.
"Think about it-"
"I can't even fathom it," Porthos almost yelled in utter disbelief. He took another swig.
"It's the only explanation."
"How in the bloody hell could THIS be the only explanation?! You were always the most intelligent of us, Athos, but I am seriously beginning to doubt your sanity."
"Just give it a though, and you will see…"
Porthos shook his head profusely. Surely, Athos had gone mad.
"In a way, we had always suspected… you know, about Aramis… and then the picture in the locket that Aramis carries…"
"Which could have been Aramis' sister," Porthos countered.
Athos shook his head. "Aramis has no family."
"That you know of."
"Trust me, I would know."
Porthos raised an eyebrow. "Then answer me, this: How many brothers do I have?"
Athos regarded him with disdain. If Porthos wanted to challenge him, he will rise up to it.
"One brother."
Porthos chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he downed the remainder of his ale.
"I have none."
"That's not possible, I distinctly remember you mentioning a brother," Athos defended himself.
"I am telling you, I have none. Although, I do have many sisters. Do you know how many?"
"…seven…?"
"FIVE!"
Athos crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. Porthos motioned for another round of drinks.
"We don't even know each other's real names, Athos. We left that life behind us. That was the whole point, n'est-ce pas, Monsieur le Comte?"
"Ssshhh!" Athos crossed his arms on the table. "How did you know I am a Count?"
"It was obvious from the beginning, but I never asked you any questions because that's not what we do."
The drinks were served and a bitter silence descended on the table.
"There was barely any light that day and the portrait was small, we could have been mistaken about what we saw."
Despite having said those words, Porthos himself had been so drawn to that portrait of a pretty young woman that he could not mistake the way she looked, nor how much she resembled Aramis.
"So what is your theory, then? That it is Aramis' sister?"
Porthos nodded.
"Why on earth would Aramis cling profusely to a portrait of his sister like a forlorn lover?!"
"I don't know! Perhaps she passed away and she was his only family… A pretty thing like that… what a loss indeed."
Athos chuckled. "Pretty, indeed! But then, how do you explain how the medallion ended up in Manson's hands?"
Porthos thought for a few seconds. "Perhaps…" his face became suddenly dark. "Perhaps Manson did something nefarious to Aramis' beautiful sister…"
And then it dawned on him. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "It is a story of revenge, no doubt! It explains why Aramis felt that he needed to betray us and become captain!"
Athos crossed his arms and propped his chin in the palm of his hand. He nodded slowly. "That is plausible…"
"Oh, that vile man, Manson!" Porthos shuddered, as his mind began to dig up all kinds of scenarios into Aramis' alleged sister. "If only Aramis had confided in us. I would have avenged that lovely maiden with my two bare hands!"
Athos raised an eyebrow, amused at Porthos' theatrical proclamation. "But there remains the mystery of d'Artagnan and how he is involved in all of this. In any case," Athos added. "The truth will reveal itself sooner or later and we will know which one of us is right."
Porthos knitted his brows, this did not sit right with him.
"Leave it be, Athos," he cautioned. "Aramis is entitled to his secrets."
Athos gave him an incredulous look. "This isn't just any secret. This could change everything!"
"How?! Aramis is Aramis. This changes nothing."
"You mean to tell me that Aramis being a woman does not bother you?"
Porthos stared at his friend. To be fair, he had contemplated this question since he laid eyes on the medallion and all the way through to Paris. The picture of that young woman became so imprinted in his mind that every time his eyes set on Aramis, he could no longer see the man behind the musketeer.
It was there, right in front of their eyes the whole time. Disguised in plain sight.
"It changes nothing for me. And frankly, so what if Aramis was a woman?"
Athos' eyebrows shot up.
Porthos' audacity shocked Athos into silence.
"It would not be the first time, nor is it the last. I know of many women who have disguised themselves as men and performed heroic acts. It is not as uncommon as you think. Even as we speak, there might be one or two in this tavern, who knows?"
"Oh, you know of many women who do that, do you?"
"Yes," Porthos puffed out his chest and drank his ale.
"And whom do you know, pray?" Athos sniggered.
"Well…"
Athos raised an eyebrow.
"There is… Jeanne d'Arc, to begin with," Porthos recounted slowly, more to himself.
Athos looked unimpressed.
"And, and! There are many women pirates, you know. I have personally met one, and heard of many others."
"Pirates…" Athos nodded mockingly as he brought his wine glass to his lips. "I see."
"The point is," Porthos attempted to regain control. "Aramis can be whoever Aramis is. We don't ask any questions about our pasts, why should Aramis be any different? Why does it even matter?"
"It matters because we are being lied to!" Athos slammed his glass onto the table, startling Porthos, who was not expecting such a strong reaction. "How could you not realize it?! A woman! A woman for Heaven's sake, penetrating our midst! Gaining our confidence, privy to all our discussions and perversions, pretending… day in and day out… pretending… and lying."
It was as if Athos had slipped into a distant world in his mind as he said those words, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his glass.
"Hold your tongue as you speak about Aramis and careful that you don't say things you will regret later. Man or woman, Aramis is still Aramis."
Porthos' harsh reprimand silenced him. He was right: there was no proof of anything yet and it was not honorable of him to speak or Aramis as if he was a common prostitute.
Athos' cold-heartedness and his attitude towards women always generated a theory that he had been severely wronged in the past. But nothing was ever spoken of.
"Is it true, then?" Porthos asked. "You loved and you were scorned?"
Athos chuckled bitterly.
"I thought we did not ask any questions here. 'It's not what we do'."
"You're right. So let's leave it."
…
The topic was not discussed again.
Each musketeer clung stubbornly to their opinions: Athos, adamant on discovering the secret of Aramis while Porthos resolved not to. And while neither one voiced their beliefs about Aramis out loud, there was no shortage of underhanded comments and passive aggressive behaviours between each other and even involving Aramis.
Such as the time when, the three of them were out riding and Athos uttered out loud, throwing a sideways glance at Porthos:
"Say Aramis, it has always been a marvel to me how you maintain such a slim and small physique. Of all of us, you train the most and work the hardest and yet you never grow any muscle!"
To which Aramis cleverly replied that it was likely because he was a balanced individual who did not overindulge in rich foods like Porthos nor heavy liquors like Athos.
Whether Aramis suspected anything behind Athos' comments, Porthos could not tell. The blond musketeer thwarted these attempts with good unsuspecting humor. But the more Athos persevered in his quest, the more Porthos took the side of Aramis and positioned himself as an unsolicited champion.
However, there was one part in Athos' argument that gnawed at Porthos: the undeniable newfound closeness between Aramis and d'Artagnan.
There were… signs that Porthos could not ignore.
The two could often be seen walking together, sparring together, and whether by chance or otherwise, they seemed to always pair up in the same shifts.
Porthos had even overheard d'Artagnan invite Aramis to sup with him and Bonacieux several times.
Then there were secret nods exchanged here and there. And… looks.
A soft gaze full of concern and affection on the part of d'Artagnan. Aramis, on the other hand, appeared relaxed and almost carefree around d'Artagnan.
Aramis also took a keen interest in training d'Artagnan. There were after-hour exercise routines and d'Artagnan followed his new mentor around like a lapdog.
And then there was that time Porthos spotted them in the stable. They were clearly trying to be discrete, but Porthos saw Aramis place a small package into d'Artagnan's hand. The latter clasped his hand onto hers, placing the other on his heart and Porthos could hear him say, "I promise."
He did not want to make much of this, but then he saw them again a week later. This time, d'Artagnan giving Aramis the package and the latter…sobbing. Porthos' eyes widened in disbelief as he saw d'Artagnan embrace the blond musketeers in his arms. It was very late and there was no one around, but by God, they were careless and risked a scandal!
The ease with which d'Artagnan permitted himself to wrap his arms around Aramis was further proof that this had not been the first time he had done that. That this was a habitual act.
He could not explain it, but Porthos walked home livid that night. No one was ever allowed to touch Aramis. And yet, here was this young and green cadet, whom they had barely known, taking liberties with Aramis. Privy to this part of Aramis that no one was permitted to know about.
Why him? Why d'Artagnan?!
And to think that he, Porthos, had been protecting Aramis and Aramis' secret from Athos just so… just so Aramis could continue fraternizing with d'Artagnan.
And so, it was with great relief that the day came when an elephant was readied and brought to the barracks for d'Artagnan to finally take it home and disappear to Gascony for a period of time.
"You will be alright? Are you sure?" he heard d'Artagnan whisper to Aramis in the courtyard.
"Yes!" Aramis said impatiently. "Now go, already!"
"D'Artagnan," Porthos interjected, startling the two. "You should get going. Let me see you out, my friend."
While Porthos cherished d'Artagnan, he could not help but welcome this timely departure in the hopes that it would reignite the friendship and confidence between him Aramis so that could once again feel included and important in the life of Aramis. Aramis, was, after, his best friend.