Chapter four

When Athos turned to him, Aramis saw exactly why d'Artagnan had felt the need to escape. Athos looked angry.

As Aramis watched, Athos drained the cup of wine that had been all but forgotten in his grasp. He refilled it, the movements sharp, the wine almost slopping over the rim in his haste. He seemed to consider the wine for a moment, but seemed suddenly at a loss, the chair scraping painfully on the floor as he pushed it back, getting to his feet to pace.

The cup of wine arched backward and forwards with Athos's pacing. Aramis watched the cup in fascination from where he stayed slumped, a visage of relaxation at the table, waiting for the contents to be dispatched by the almost violent movements, knowing that such a waste would not help Athos's current mood. Then again, Athos was a master drinker, and was unlikely to waste a drop, whatever his emotion.

'I don't understand; how could he not say anything?' Athos finally said, his voice almost reasonable given the pacing.

Aramis continued to sit quietly, but tore his gaze from the cup to Athos's face. 'What would you have had him say? When?' He asked, genuinely curious to know the answer. It was rare to see Athos so fired up, to be visibly agitated by a revelation. Then again, none of them had even the slightest warning of all that would be revealed, had not had a chance to prepare. And it was d'Artagnan: Athos's own protégée, a boy they had known a year, had spent a year training and developing. Trusting. Trusting with secrets like wives that should have been dead.

Athos turned on him, eyes blazing, arm lifted mid gesture (though not the one with the cup Aramis idly noted) when the question appeared to catch up with him properly and he paused, mouth closing abruptly, by all appearances giving the question the attention it deserved.

Aramis wondered at his thoughts. Athos should have been the one to understand why sometimes it was necessary to keep secrets. He after all had kept the secret of his marriage, and perhaps more importantly its abrupt ending for years. Was he holding d'Artagnan up to a different standard, hypocritically denying that there could be reasons, many reasons for keeping secrets?

Athos had reasons were perhaps more obvious, not wanting to reveal such a humiliating experience, not wishing to discuss the horror of the murder of his brother at his wife's hands. That he hadn't even been able to stand and watch like a man the execution still caused a flush of shame on his face if you knew the man well enough to see it. He and Porthos, and he knew d'Artagnan had spent many words and actions showing Athos that the shame was unwarranted.

Aramis wondered if shame had been a motivation for d'Artagnan too, though Aramis couldn't think why. D'Artagnan had been instrumental in Athos revealing his secrets, in both obvious and less obvious ways. He hadn't let Athos hide away when the shame had driven him into his long abandoned home. D'Artagnan had rescued him from the flames, kept him safe, had not let the revelations change how he saw Athos. Did he expect his own secrets to cause a different reaction?

Aramis wondered if some of anger boiled down to the fact that the trust Athos had shown in d'Artagnan had not been reciprocated. That they had found out only because it had become necessary. Aramis spoke into the darkening room when Athos stayed silent, knowing that his words were likely to provoke the anger, but knowing that lancing a wound was more necessary than stitching sometimes.

'He was the bastard son of a Duke who tried to burn him on a stake.' Athos opened his mouth, but Aramis spoke over him. 'He watched his mother burn at the stake, murdered simply because they became an inconvenience.' An edge Aramis couldn't quite control took hold of his words, driving the cruel details home like nails under a hammer head. 'That they were no longer required.' Athos tried to hide the flinch but Aramis was watching closely now. 'Tell me Athos, what would you have had him say?'

Athos finally let out a low growl of frustration and anger. 'We shouldn't have found out like this.' He said, voice cold as he turned away, desperate to get back control. He took a gulp of the wine.

'We shouldn't have known at all!' Aramis countered, Athos spinning back at him ready to disagree, the wine contained in the cup only by virtue of there being little but dregs left. 'Alexandre D'Artagnan risked everything to save him' Aramis continued before he had a chance. Any semblance of calm was gone, though Aramis stayed sitting, knowing that to stand would likely cause the words to become physical. 'They had to live everyday with the knowledge that if anyone found out, they would both likely die at the stake too. D'Artagnan grew up with that, with that danger and secrecy. And he was five, Athos!' Aramis voice rose in indignation that was not focused at Athos. 'He was five years old when his mother was killed. All he's known, all he's ever known is her murder. His earliest experience was knowing that his presence was no longer required. His earliest memories being told that he was an inconvenience, a source of a shame, only good enough to burn on a pyre as if being born a bastard was a crime he was guilty of and he deserved death as a punishment.'

Athos's shoulders slumped, one hand coming up to massage his temple. Aramis felt almost out of breath, the words cutting too close and he fought to keep his attention in the present. He knew now that Athos wasn't really mad about not knowing. Because Aramis felt it too. The anger was coming out at a world and an injustice that none of them could right. Of course, they were all aware of the world they inhabited, that injustice and cruelty abounded more than love and kindness. But to hear of what d'Artagnan had witnessed as a child was an outrage, that a child so young had been sentenced to death simply because he wasn't needed anymore. And to hear it out of the blue, unprepared, from a man you considered a brother…

It hurt.

As he watched Athos struggle to come to terms with the revelations, Aramis could feel his own raging emotions. He knew, though, that whatever happened tomorrow, that they couldn't show such conflicting emotions to d'Artagnan. They couldn't change that they knew, but they had to be careful to not let it affect how they were around him.

D'Artagnan had revealed a huge, hidden part of himself. Yes, it had been forced to an extent, but it had also cost him to tell the story. The pain was obvious; the memories, as old as they were, still had the power to cause physical hurt. It had been there in d'Artagnan's demeanour, his words, his desperation as he had looked at Athos, wanting to know that they wouldn't view him as different now. That they wouldn't let the events change who they viewed him as.

Aramis knew thought that it was better to argue, shout, rage here, in this room, than to do it in d'Artagnan's presence. They held the power to hurt d'Artagnan badly with their reaction, but Athos wielded the potential to do the most harm. And Athos's reaction already had hurt, had driven d'Artagnan away, however unintentional it had been. Aramis knew, though, that the depth of their relationship was far bigger than this.

'We need a plan.' Aramis finally said when he felt he had sufficient hold of his emotions.

Athos nodded, coming to sit down at the table, pouring fresh wine into his cup. Aramis shook his head when Athos offered the bottle to him. 'I should go and find d'Artagnan.' He said quietly.

When he didn't say anything straight away, Athos looked up at Aramis. He simply shook his head. 'D'Artagnan doesn't need your pain on top of his.'

'But'

'He knows, deep down, that you weren't angry at him.' Aramis reassured him. 'It wasn't easy to hear, as much as it took everything for d'Artagnan to tell it. Porthos is with him, will make sure he gets to back to the garrison ok. Better to get the anger out here away from him, than confuse him with it.'

'Still want to talk to him about it. About why he didn't tell us.'

'Yes. We all need to talk more. But not now. Tomorrow is another busy day. Another day he potentially has to come into contact with his real dad. We get through this weekend, the Duke goes home with his son, and we can start on getting things back to normal.'

'Normal?' Athos infused the word with doubt.

'Normal.' Aramis said with a shrug. 'You really think knowing who d'Artagnan's father really is will change anything?'

Athos took a moment longer than Aramis seemed to think necessary to think about it. 'Only that certain things make a little more sense now.' He said thoughtfully, remembering the previous evening, not wanting to see the look of abandonment he had known would grace the young man's face, however fleeting. In the light of all they had learned that night it made perfect sense.

And caused a revelation that had Athos standing so suddenly he sent his chair flying.

Aramis startled at the movement. 'Where are you going?' He asked, confused.

'To find d'Artagnan.'

'Athos, it is late. We are all tired, and all have to be up early.' Aramis reminded him, clearly not sure that anything more should be said tonight.

Athos knew, though, that it had to be tonight. The anger and hurt burned, but not at d'Artagnan, and he wouldn't have d'Artagnan thinking for one moment that he was angry at him. Angry at the world, maybe. Certainly angry at a man who had been cruel enough to burn a woman and boy alive because it was easier than worrying about a suddenly unneeded heir. Hurt, perhaps, that d'Artagnan hadn't told them before, though he could understand every reason why not.

This couldn't wait till morning. He could not bear if even the whisper of a thought that Athos would think less of him lingered in d'Artagnan's mind till morning.

xxx

D'Artagnan had started walking home, a cool wind whipping up the trash on the streets around his feet, knowing after only a few minutes that he was being tailed. He'd expected it, really. He ducked down an alleyway, waiting for Porthos to enter before simply stepping out and facing him. Porthos had grinned slightly at him, an eyebrow raised in challenge. D'Artagnan had been too exhausted to even try and make reason with him so he turned, waiting a beat for Porthos to reach him, walking shoulder to shoulder with him back to the garrison.

He eyed the bed when he entered the room. He felt exhausted but the thought of sleep left him dreading the dreams that were likely to surface. He stripped off his weapon belt but kept his jacket on, the chill of the night permeating the air. Turning to the blanket box at the end of his bed, he dug through his spare shirts to the emergency bottle of red hidden under them. He uncorked it as he walked to the bed, and in lieu of anything but the bed to sit on, simply sunk to the floor, using the bed as a leaning post instead. The wine settled to a nice burn in his empty stomach. Porthos settled next to him, accepting the bottle off him and taking his own deep swig before handing it back. The bottle went back and forth between them as they simply sat in companionable silence.

Athos disturbed the silence, only a cursory knock announcing his arrival as he walked in, the two men looking up at him in surprise, then to Aramis who followed.

'Thought you were going home to bed?' Aramis asked with a pointed eyebrow.

'You sent Porthos after me. Seemed rude to send him away without a drink.' D'Artagnan seemed weary, more than anything, even answering Aramis his words were quieter than normal, his shoulders slumped, his face pale in the single lit candle.

Porthos jostled the shoulder that was pressed against d'Artagnan's 'Could 'ave found a better red.' He commented lightly.

Athos came and sat on d'Artagnan's other side, pressing a shoulder into the Gascon's in an uncharacteristic physical touch of comfort. He didn't miss the slight lean as d'Artagnan shifted against him. Aramis sighed dramatically as he took a seat against the wall opposite them, though the room was small enough that his knees practically touched d'Artagnan's.

'I can't imagine the shock of seeing him again.' Athos said with little preamble, accepting the bottle and taking a swig of the wine, passing it onto Aramis.

D'Artagnan worried a flap of skin by his thumbnail for a moment, concentrating deeply on it. 'Haven't seen him in 19 years.' He finally commented. He sighed, ruthlessly tearing the flap of skin from his nail bed, watching as a faint spot of blood appeared in its place. 'He looked…different. To how I remember him.' He added.

''Spect you do to.' Porthos pointed out quietly, watching with satisfaction the small smile that lifted d'Artagnan's lips at the comment.

'Haven't even thought about him in years. Not…awake, anyway.' He picked at the raw skin again. 'Looks different in the dreams though.'

Athos looked up from studying d'Artagnan's profile and caught an understanding look on Aramis's face. He frowned in question, but Aramis simply shook his head. 'You haven't been sleeping well.' He commented instead to d'Artagnan, remembering the conversation he had tried to start a few days ago. It felt like an eternity ago now.

'I…' a hitched breath as d'Artagnan seemed to flounder for a moment in an attempt to explain, 'the leaves are red.' D'Artagnan finally decided on.

Athos thought of the signs of autumn that were hard to miss.

'There was an oak tree. Huge thing, in the garden. The grounds were covered in red leaves.' D'Artagnan was clearly somewhere else, back in memories, a fine trembling beginning. Athos pressed closer, attempting to bring him back to the present, watching as the young man blinked, shooting a quick glance at him before he straightened slightly.

'What do you want to happen now?' Athos asked, turning his head to regard d'Artagnan.

In profile, he watched as d'Artagnan contemplated the wine bottle in his hand, turning it over and over in quick fingers before he looked up, fleetingly meeting Athos's look. 'I've thought of all the ways this can play out.' D'Artagnan finally said.

'I don't think the duke would dare try anything here and now, the palace and the security is too much for one.' Athos started for him.

'Report him to their majesties- gain justice for your mother's death.' Aramis suggested quietly. Athos saw Porthos momentarily lay his hand on d'Artagnan's arm, give it a squeeze as d'Artagnan's breath hitched uneasily.

D'Artagnan regarded Aramis when he spoke. 'There's no proof.' He said quietly. 'My dad…my' he floundered for a moment as he tried to decide the proper term now.

Athos came to his rescue 'Alexandre d'Artagnan was more a dad to you than your biological father.'

Galvanised by the words, d'Artagnan smiled softly at him before he carried on answering Aramis. 'My dad spoke of justice. But when he attempted to find a way to report the…events to the local constabulary, they ignored him. When he pressed, they threatened to have him thrown in a cell.'

'He had you to fear for though. If anything happened to him, it would affect you also.' Aramis pointed out.

'No one will take the word of someone's decades old memories. And worse, that of a child's.' D'Artagnan pointed out.

'The duke will deny everything.' Porthos spoke up. 'It will be his word against d'Artagnan's.'

'And he is a duke.' Athos finished quietly.

'Doing nothing. Having him go home just like normal feels…unsatisfactory.' Aramis said, a look of disgust on his face.

D'Artagnan shrugged, jostling the men sat by his side. 'Nothing will have changed. Maybe that's ok.' He hesitated before adding, 'I think that's what my dad would advise.'

Aramis had begun to interrupt but stopped at the last sentence. d'Artagnan looked up at him, grinned slightly. 'when I was young, I had a bit of a temper.' A snort from more than one of the men at his side made him grin wider for a moment, his face instantly younger. 'I was arguing with my dad one day…can't even remember what we fighting about, but I ended up yelling at him "you're not my father".' D'Artagnan winced even at the memory. 'I'll never forget the look on his face, the disappointment. But he didn't yell back. He got…all quiet.' D'Artagnan took a gulp of wine, handing it blindly out, Athos relieving it from his shaking hand. 'He said that that was my choice. That he would never force me to stay, but that I would always have a home with him. I've never felt so…small in my life. Just the thought of not having him in my life- I felt sick. But he wouldn't let me apologise, or say anything. Said I had to think about it. I managed about 10 minutes before I went and threw myself at his feet.'

D'Artagnan's smile was wistful, his look on the floor, his attention clearly in the past.

'When I asked him why he had said that, how he could…risk me leaving, he simply said that he would never force me to stay. He had been able to choose me as his son and that he would forever love me as his son. He gave everything up for me, and nothing I did could make him wish he had chosen differently.' There were tears in his eyes, but d'Artagnan didn't appear to notice.

'Your father was a wise man.' Athos commented quietly.

'He gave me everything. He gave me my life, a home, a father.' D'Artagnan said. 'Everything. Even his death was not completely in vain, because it brought me to Paris. It brought me to a new family.'

Stilled, floored by the words, a deep, reverent silence settled in the room.

Aramis eventually broke it, after watching d'Artagnan run a hand over his face and blinking back the tears. 'Your father would not want to risk us doing anything if it puts you in danger.' He concluded what d'Artagnan had been trying to say.

'Not for the duke.' D'Artagnan nodded.

'He'll escape judgement.'

'In this life, maybe.' D'Artagnan agreed. Like many soldiers, d'Artagnan had always demonstrated an irreverence towards faith, but Aramis could hear an echo in his words, presumed d'Artagnan the elder had instilled the sentiment into his son, a way to live with the past, perhaps, a way to move on when justice was not possible. To live a life that wasn't burned out before it started through an unrequited need for vengeance. It still felt unsatisfactory, but d'Artagnan had had to live with it for the past 20 years. They could learn to live with it too.

xxx

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