Chapter 4
Aramis POV
When he first opened his sleep-heavy eyes and slowly leveled himself up in bed, he couldn't immediately identify what had woken him. A quick glance at the window confirmed that the black of the night had not yet surrendered to the new day and that the first precursors of dawn were only slowly starting to crawl across the sky to chase away the dark.
A twinge in his side reminded him of the marks he would carry for a while. Lifting the thin fabric of his shirt, he carefully touched one hand to the injured area and grimaced slightly as the light pressure caused discomfort.
He also registered a slowly throbbing ache behind his eyes, but the pain wasn't anywhere close to the debilitating thunderstorm that had raged in his head when they had finally returned to the garrison the evening prior.
Even though his tired body had been shrouded in pain from his injuries, he had been determined not to give into his exhaustion until after the meeting with Treville. He was fully aware, however, that he had not managed to fool anyone.
As the conversation had worn on, and the added burden of Treville's revelations had effectively sapped the very last of his remaining strength, he had been acutely aware of the increasingly worried glances aimed in his direction.
He did not blame them. He was worried as well; albeit the motive for his concern almost certainly differed slightly.
Nicolas Valois.
When Treville had uttered the name, his insides had twisted uncomfortably, and his heartbeat had quickened in reaction to the unbidden memory suddenly conjured in his mind's eye. Whenever he thought back to that night in the forest, he vividly relived the horrors of betrayal.
The moment he had opened his eyes and realized that he was about to be murdered by a fellow musketeer had been edged into his memory for countless nightmares to draw on. There had been no easy way for him to accept the fact that a brother would attempt to kill him in his sleep.
He had acted on instinct when he had seized the man's blade in a desperate struggle for his life and ultimately emerged victorious when he had sunk the dagger into Valois' chest.
Even though he had been deeply shaken by the other Musketeer's treachery, Aramis had never felt remorse for his actions that night. He had done what was necessary in order to stay alive and as a traitor to the crown and his brothers, Valois had most assuredly deserved to die.
That knowledge, however, did not make it any easier to come to terms with the fact that yet again his past had resurfaced and this time wasn't only trying to destroy him, but had almost caught his brothers in the crossfire as well.
And therein lay his concern.
He would not be able to forgive himself if either one of them came to harm because of his past actions; no matter how justified they may have been.
Aramis's mind returned to the present when he became aware of a noise coming from the floor. Identifying it as the sound that had woken him in the first place, he frowned into the darkness still shrouding his room and leaned over the edge of his bed.
Peering down, his eyebrows lifted in surprise when he recognized the shape of Porthos in the shadows of the floor next to him.
The larger man was shifting about in an obviously futile attempt to achieve a more comfortable position on the hard surface. His doublet had been removed and served as a makeshift pillow. Aramis's lips twitched into a smile, and he shook his head slowly in fond exasperation.
Scooting backward in bed to lean against the headboard and take some of the strain off his awfully sore ribs, he called into the half light, "Porthos?"
The other Musketeer came awake with a start and immediately leveled himself up onto his elbows, bleary eyes looking up at Aramis and his voice still heavy with sleep. "You're awake."
Aramis tilted his head to the side. "Your observation skills never seize to amaze." When Porthos's light chuckle reached his ears, he added, "Don't take this the wrong way my friend, but what are you doing here?"
Porthos sat up the rest of the way and leaned his back against the wall before answering with a shrug in his voice. "Somebody had to make sure you didn't pass out on the way to your quarters and it seems that I drew the short straw."
His friend's obvious attempt at levity drew a chuckle from Aramis in turn. "I do apologize if my somewhat fragile state was any cause for inconvenience. But as you can see, I was quite capable of reaching my destination unscathed and, therefore, it was completely unnecessary for you to sleep on the floor."
Absently rubbing at a kink in his neck, Porthos replied, his tone suddenly serious. "Yeah, well. When I came in, I found you tossin' and turnin' in your sleep and I wanted to make sure ..."
Apparently unwilling or unable to finish his sentence, Porthos lowered his head slightly, an audible sigh escaping him.
"Never mind." Scrubbing one hand over his face as if attempting to rid himself of a lingering nightmare, he locked eyes with Aramis in the half light and asked instead, "How are you doing now? That was quite the story you told last night."
Aramis studied the other man's features closely for a moment and recognized the honest concern in his dark eyes. Even in the half shadows of the early morning light he was able to identify it as the same look Porthos had held yesterday when he had helped Aramis recover from battle.
During all the years they had been friends; Aramis had learned to read the other man like an open book and he could generally foresee Porthos's reaction to certain stressors. The fact that Aramis's life was threatened now by an, as of yet, unidentified enemy, was not something Porthos would be able to take lightly.
For all of his strength and force on the battlefield, Porthos was considerably less comfortable with a threat that had yet to emerge from the shadows. His fierce loyalty and heart would constantly be urging him to act and carry out whatever deed necessary to protect those he held most dear; no matter the consequences to himself.
Unfortunately, neither one of them had any way of knowing how this particular situation would unfold; there was no course of action as of yet. And still, he felt the pressing need to at least try to dispel some of Porthos's concern.
"What happened with Nicolas Valois belongs in the past. And I won't lie; I would have very much preferred to keep it there. But seeing as there are those who seemingly seek revenge for my actions, I will do what I must in order to finish this once and for all."
He tried to convey the honesty behind his words as he carried on. "You do not need to worry about me my friend; when the time comes, I will be ready for whatever they have in store for me."
Aramis had not been prepared for the ferocity with which Porthos laid out his response. "What I'm worried about most, Aramis, is that it seems you might believe you're alone in this; that this is somehow your fight. And that in some misguided attempt to keep us safe, you're gonna do somethin' stupid."
He sometimes forgot that Porthos was able to read him just as well.
Tilting his head in concession to Porthos's statement, he replied, "Please believe me when I say that I am not on a suicide mission. I will simply be trying to keep the fallout of my actions contained to a minimum."
Judging by the low growl coming forth, Porthos did not agree with his statement. "That's the problem right there. You believe that this mess was caused by your actions, when in fact none of this is your doing. Valois tried to kill you six years ago, someone else is tryin' to kill you now and as far as I can tell the only thing you're guilty of is survivin' two assassination attempts."
Porthos pushed himself away from the wall and seized Aramis with an intensive stare. "Against all odds I might add."
Exhaling loudly, he continued in a softer tone, "No matter what happens today, I need you to believe that. And I need you to refrain from bein' your reckless self and accept our help. I have a bad feelin' about this entire situation."
Aramis understood Porthos's plight. He truly did. It was never easy to fear for the lives of those you care about most and have it remain uncertain whether or not you have the power to help safe them. He had been in that position himself many times, and he did not care for it. That being said, he was not willing to let Porthos convince him to make a promise he might not be able to keep.
He finally settled on a more neutral reply. "I share your apprehension, my friend. Unfortunately, it seems we have to wait for events to unfold until any action can be taken."
Leaning forward himself, he tried to convey his sincerity with a smile. "I can promise you however that I will try my hardest to keep my 'recklessness' confined to a minimum."
Porthos studied his eyes for a long moment, obviously searching for the truth. When he found what he was looking for he nodded slowly. "Alright. See that you keep that promise."
Rising to his feet, Porthos stepped in front of him and rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Don't ever forget that we are brothers who fight for each other; no matter what."
His mind was strangely void of the words needed to properly express the gratitude he felt in the face of Porthos's steadfast friendship. In lieu of a suitable response, he lifted his hand to briefly cover the one already resting on his shoulder. Locking eyes with his friend he attempted to convey all he could not say.
Aramis was glad to see understanding in Porthos's eyes as the larger man nodded his head slowly. "Alright then."
After another moment, Aramis lowered his hand and pushed to his feet to stand in front of his friend. "Now, let us go and see what's for breakfast. No matter what else this day may bring, it will be easier to bear on a full stomach."
Porthos's grin signaled his agreement. "Aye. I'm starvin'. Lead the way."
As he pulled on his boots and snatched his doublet off the back of the chair, Aramis fervently hoped that the sense of foreboding he felt was only conjured by his overactive mind and was not in fact a true indication for what was yet to come.
…
The house Aramis and Athos were looking for was located at the entrance of a narrow alley way, just around the corner from the marketplace.
At this early hour the market only just came to live and was still devoid of its usual bustle. Walking quickly across the cobblestone, Aramis observed several vendors prepare their carts of fresh produce, meats, and delicious smelling baked goods in anticipation of the populace who would surely arrive within the hour and turn this place into a hub of activity.
Rounding the corner into the alley, Aramis and Athos came to stand in front of the small two-story stone building that had once been the home of Nicolas Valois and his son Bernard.
Aramis could feel his friend's gaze on him, and he turned his head away from the house to lock eyes with Athos.
"Let us hope we find some answers here." Athos's voice was quiet and earnest.
He didn't wait for Aramis's reply before lifting his hand to rasp his knuckles against the old wooden frame.
As they waited for the door to be answered, Aramis spared a moment's thought for Porthos and d'Artagnan. His other two friends had left the garrison on horseback before the sun had even fully risen; riding out to the abandoned farmhouse mentioned in the note they had recovered.
This farmhouse, which had evidently served as the meeting place for the mercenaries who had attacked them in the forest, was about a half hour's ride outside of Paris. Porthos and d'Artagnan should have reached it by now if they hadn't been delayed.
Aramis's sense of dread for coming events still had not abated; he felt like he was missing a vital piece of information, like he wasn't able to grasp the big picture as of yet. His insides twisted into a painful knot when he thought of the fact that his lack of awareness might proof deadly.
His train of thought was interrupted when the door in front of them finally opened with a groan to reveal an elderly woman in a nightgown. Her unruly gray hair was tied back in a messy bun, and she wore a scowl on her face.
"Who on earth would disturb an honest woman at the crack ass of dawn?"
Aramis and Athos exchanged a quick look of bewilderment accompanied by raised eyebrows.
Recovering quickly, Aramis drew his hat and held it to his chest as he replied, "The King's Musketeers, Madame." Bowing his head briefly for charming effect, he added, "My sincere apologies for the early morning intrusion, but we are here on urgent business."
Studying them closely with a frown still firmly in place, the woman replied, "King's Musketeers you say? What urgent business could you possibly have at my door, especially at this hour?"
"We were hoping you would remember two people who used to live here about six years ago," Athos said. "Another Musketeer called Nicolas Valois and his son."
"Anything you could tell us about the possible whereabouts of Valois' son Bernard would be greatly appreciated, Madame." Aramis flashed his most dashing smile. "And may I inquire your name?"
The elderly lady eyed Aramis skeptically for a moment before responding, "The name is Beatrice. And you think you're extremely charming, don't you?" She ignored Athos's half choked sound of laughter and Aramis's scowl and continued, "The other one thought he could charm the information out of me as well."
Athos sobered immediately. "The other one?"
"Yes, the other musketeer who came by a couple of months back, asking all the same questions about Valois and his boy." She lowered her voice almost conspiratorially, "of course I knew he wasn't a real musketeer; at least not anymore." The woman pointed at Athos's pauldron. "He didn't have one of them fancy uniforms like you do."
At Athos's raised eyebrow, she shrugged her shoulders, "I notice things."
"Might you remember his name?" Aramis inquired.
His mind was reeling. This was a part of the elusive big picture, and he desperately needed to find the next piece. Who would pretend to be a Musketeer and ask this woman about Valois' son's whereabouts? She said he came by a couple of months ago. The only thing he immediately recalled from two months back was the visit from the Duke of Savoy and…
Aramis blanched as the realization hit him, and he was suddenly able to answer his question himself.
"Marsac."
His voice was but a whisper as there suddenly didn't seem to be enough air in his lungs to make a proper sound.
Beatrice nodded. "Yes, that was it. Marsac. Even though I knew he was no musketeer, I still felt inclined to help him. He had a certain look in his eye, you know. Like he was lost and desperate."
Observing Aramis closely for a moment, she added with a frown, "You are, in fact imitating his expression rather well at the moment."
At her comment, Aramis quickly schooled his features and forced his anxiety down. "Could you tell us what you told him? About Valois?"
"Very well." – Beatrice sighed dramatically – "Nicolas and his son Bernard used to rent the apartment upstairs. After his father died in the line of duty, the boy went to live with one of his two uncles. That is really all I can tell you."
"Do you happen to know where the uncle lives?" Aramis asked.
"No, I don't." She cast her eyes downwards for a moment, before lifting her finger and starting to shake it in Aramis's direction as if suddenly remembering something important. "But your friend did. Marsac? He said he would know the way from here. You should ask him."
Aramis's heart sank. He glanced over to lock eyes with Athos and a look of understanding passed between them. If Marsac had been looking for Bernard and had found him at his uncle's house, then it stood to reason that he had been the one to tell the Valois family what had truly transpired in the forest six years ago.
He must have been the one to tell them who had killed Nicolas Valois.
Why on earth Marsac had felt the need to divulge that information would most likely remain a mystery, however, seeing as after all, Marsac was dead.
It was possible that his former friend had attempted some sort of misguided penance. Marsac had returned to Paris two months ago to assassinate the Duke of Savoy, and he had known that this particular mission would most likely be his last undertaking.
If he had felt cross about the way Bernard Valois had been lied to after his father's death, Marsac might have tried to atone for his perceived sins by telling the truth.
Of course Marsac hadn't completely been in his right mind at the time and by telling the truth, he had inadvertently made Aramis the target of a family revenge plot. As if leaving him to die in a snowy landscape with twenty dead musketeers hadn't been enough.
Aramis looked back at Beatrice and bowed his head slightly. "Thank you very much, Madame. You have been most helpful."
"One last question, if I may," Athos interjected. At the women's nod, the older musketeer continued, "Were you aware of any money troubles Nicolas Valois may have had?"
Aramis frowned for a moment before realizing what his friend was doing. The idea that any musketeer would betray his brothers in the horrific manner Valois had, was inconceivable to Athos; a man who would surely die before letting any harm come to those he cared about most. Athos was searching for Valois' motive.
"Now that you mention it, he was late paying his rent a few times. Very late" – Beatrice lowered her voice again – "I think he liked the gambling."
After a moment, the woman tilted her head and added, "But I do remember he paid up in the end. As a matter of fact; shortly before he died, he paid everything he owed in a nice large sum."
"I'm sure he did." Athos said; his voice grim. "Thank you again, Madame, your help is very much appreciated."
Beatrice nodded with a smile on her face and closed the door.
Aramis noted that Athos had already turned to leave. Replacing his hat where it belonged, he commented with a bitter edge to his voice, "Well, that has certainly been very informative."
When no reply was forthcoming, he turned to face Athos and noticed the other musketeer's suddenly stiff posture and fierce scowl. Turning around the rest of the way and following Athos's line of sight he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.
The weapon aiming reliably at Aramis's chest was held in a tight-knuckled grip; the man attached to it standing only feet away. His dark leathers allowed him to stay mostly concealed in the shadows of the building across the way.
Advancing a few steps in their direction, the man's aim was carefully maintained and did not waver. When he left the shadows and stepped out into the sun, Aramis could see the unadulterated hatred reflecting in his eyes. It was the same expression as held by the man who had almost succeeded in killing Aramis the day prior.
It was not only the expression that was familiar, however; but the eyes as well.
Aramis was sure of it; this man was another member of the Valois family. When noting that he also seemed too old to be Nic Valois' son, Aramis recalled what Beatrice had said, 'the boy went to live with one of his two uncles.'
As the truth took shape in his mind, Aramis stated with confidence, "You are one of Nicolas Valois' brothers."
The man's answer was a quiet growl. "Connecting the dots, are we?" The dangerous glint in his eyes grew more intense as he continued, "I am in fact the last of three brothers; the only one who hasn't died by your hand." – He raised the pistol threateningly by just a fraction – "I am also the one who will spell your doom."
Next to him, Athos suddenly stepped forward and casually remarked, "It seems that one of your brothers was a traitor of the worst kind while the other one did not leave us much choice. And you are mistaken," – Athos's voice suddenly changed to a dangerous rumble – "I killed your second brother yesterday. I shot him in the back and then I took his silver ring off of his dead body."
"Athos." Aramis hissed the quiet warning. He knew what his friend was trying to do, and he could not allow it.
All emotion suddenly seemed to drain from the man's face, and the searing hatred that had burned in his dark eyes was replaced with an empty stare, his expression bordering on madness. "Do you honestly believe you can bait me with your words? That somehow you can cause me more pain than I already feel in the face of all that I have lost?"
His intense gaze settled on Aramis once more and he tilted his head before continuing with the same detached voice, "It does not matter now because you will understand soon enough. In light of what happened yesterday, we decided to respond in kind before we kill you. An eye for an eye."
The words spoken had Aramis's dread levels rise tenfold. It was as if his insides were seized in a tight grip, while his heart rate sped up exponentially. Evidently his heart had already understood what his ears had yet to listen to.
"The two musketeers who rode out to the farm this morning should be dead by now, and when you lay eyes on their lifeless bodies, you will share the excruciating agony that threatens to drown you when faced with the loss of your brothers." – The trajectory of the pistol suddenly changed – "At least one of you will."
Aramis's system was infused with adrenaline when the pistol started moving in Athos's direction. Out of the corner of his eye he registered that his friend made to draw his own weapon, but instantly realized that Athos would be too late.
Aramis had a split second to make a decision and was already in motion before the firearm fully settled on his friend's chest. The pistol fire echoed through the narrow alleyway just as his body connected with Athos's full force, propelling them both to the ground.
His vision darkened around the edges when the force of the impact set a fire alight inside his already injured ribcage.
The dull thud his ears had registered even through the pain, had him fighting to clear his vision in order to check on Athos.
First however he needed to neutralize the immediate threat. Aramis leveled himself off of Athos's motionless body and turned his head towards Valois. Realizing the man was advancing on their position with a drawn rapier, Aramis scrambled to pull his pistol free of his weapons belt.
He was about to take aim when Valois suddenly stopped his forward movement and turned his head toward the entrance of the alley. The pistol fire had drawn a small group of onlookers who had come to investigate the commotion.
Faced with witnesses Valois quickly sheathed his sword and fled down the path, away from the marketplace.
Aramis was momentarily torn between the need to chase after the enemy and the necessity of ensuring Athos's safety.
In the end, he tore his gaze away from Valois' retreating form and ran a practiced eye over his friend's body. The dull sound he had registered had been Athos's head connecting with the cobblestone beneath them; which would explain the blood matting his friend's hair as well as his unconscious state. He connected two fingers with the pulse point on Athos's throat, relieved to find it steady and strong.
Next he searched his friend's torso. Aramis was momentarily alarmed when he found traces of blood staining the leather on Athos's upper chest, until he realized there was no wound to account for the sticky substance.
Still confused at the fact, he lifted his head when he heard a familiar voice call his name, "Aramis?"
Amidst the group of onlookers, he found a familiar face to match the voice.
Constance.
He exhaled heavily in relief.
As she made her way over to stand next to him, he quickly looked over his shoulder in the other direction just in time to see Valois round the corner at the end of the alley. Aramis knew the next side street was a dead end, though. Valois had nowhere to go.
"Aramis, what happened?"
He turned back to Constance while rising to his feet. Ignoring her question, he posed one of his own. "Will you stay with him?"
Her voice started to have a frantic edge to it when she replied, "And what exactly will you be doing?" – Constance's gaze settled on his right arm – "You're bleeding."
Following her line of sight, his brow creased in a frown before finally noticing the wound in his bicep. The escaping blood had already stained a good portion of his leathers. Ah. That explained a few things.
At first glance, it looked like the ball had entered from the side, torn through his muscle and exited again. Mercifully he did not feel much of anything at the moment, only a strange sort of numbness. He knew the pain would come soon enough.
Regardless, he was not willing to delay any longer, and he needed her to understand. Taking a step into her personal space he placed both of his hands on her shoulders and locked his intense gaze onto hers; imploring her to listen, "Constance, please. Will you stay with him until he wakes?"
After searching his eyes for a moment, she broke eye contact and settled her gaze on Athos's prone form. "Of course," she said. "You know I will."
That was all he needed to hear. Spinning around, he set off at a dead run towards the corner of the alley where he had watched Valois disappear.
When he pulled the pistol from his belt with his right, a disturbing thought crossed his mind.
Even though he knew this city as well as his quarters at the garrison, and he was certain that the turn Valois had taken led to a dead end, there was still the possibility he had found another way out. Maybe he had managed to scale the wall at the far end, or perhaps he had broken into one of the houses along the way only to exit through a window on the other side.
He was still thinking of the possibilities when he rounded the corner at full speed. The one thing he did not expect was the flying dagger approaching his chest at great velocity as soon as he made the turn.
Leaping sideways without conscious thought, he tugged his head under his chest and rolled over his shoulder to come back up in a crouch. He quickly scanned the area in front of him to locate Valois. Finding the man only a few yards ahead, Aramis did not waste any time and raised his pistol.
He was just about to take the shot when his arm started to shake as his muscles betrayed him. For the first time since the ball had entered his skin, he felt the searing hot pain of his injury, and the intensity of it left him gasping.
Evidently the short reprieve he had been granted had come to an end.
Pulling the trigger regardless, Aramis watched with bated breath as the ball buried itself into Valois' left shoulder, tearing a ragged scream from the man's throat.
As he registered his failure to deliver a kill shot Aramis's eyes briefly closed of their own accord, a shaky breath escaping him. Considering the circumstances, however, he supposed he was lucky he hadn't missed entirely and that at the very least, the playing field had now been leveled.
Attempting to rise from his crouched position took a lot more effort than it should, and when he finally gained his feet, he felt his spent pistol slip from his lax grip. Looking down briefly, he realized that his blood stained the cobble stone next to him where the substance had been dripping steadily from his fingers.
A sensation akin to liquid fire emanated from the ragged hole in his arm and spread its agonizing tendrils all the way down to his finger tips. He recognized with startling clarity that attempting to use the injured limb during the impending battle would likely spell his doom.
Therefore, he decided to count himself fortunate that the life of a soldier dictated for him to be a proficient swordfighter with both of the arms he had been given.
Aramis tightly wrapped his left hand around the hilt of his rapier, pulled it free of its sheath and advanced on Valois' position with all the confidence he could muster.
The other man had seemingly recovered sufficiently to draw his own sword and appeared more than willing to meet Aramis half way.
No words were exchanged. The mad expression on Valois' face told him all he needed to know.
This would be a fight to the death.
Their swords clashed in the middle of the alleyway, the grating sound of scraping steel resonating through Aramis's body. It was his intend to use the first few strikes and parries to assess his opponent's skill.
Driving his rapier hard towards Valois' ribs, he kept coming in a flurry of movement, intend and lethal. The man's parrying maneuvers did speak of proficiency and training, yet they appeared to be slightly hampered and stilted by his injury.
As were his own he knew.
Continuing to trade vicious thrusts and blows, each of them tried desperately to gain the upper hand.
The next arching swing of his weapon was parried easily by Valois' blade and the force of the connection had Aramis grit his teeth in order to stand his ground.
His strength was fading fast.
Valois pushed Aramis's rapier aside with a circular motion of his sword. Attempting to press his perceived advantage, his opponent delivered a brutal strike aimed at Aramis's head.
Quickly dodging the blade by bending backward and spinning sideways to circle around Valois, Aramis viciously swung his blade at a downward angle and connected harshly with the man's ribs.
He heard the leather rip under the edge of his sword and felt his blade slice into the flesh beneath.
He had drawn first blood.
A blood-curdling scream tore free of his adversary and Aramis watched as Valois stumbled forward a step, clutching one hand to his injured side.
When his opponent spun back to face him once more, his eyes had a crazed look about them and his face bore an angry snarl. In an obvious bout of rage Valois expelled a furious roar. Lifting his sword overhead, he swung it in a powerful downward motion, evidently attempting to split Aramis in two.
He brought his sword up just in time to block the furious attack, the force behind it echoing painfully through his tired body.
In his frenzy Valois continued to use his weapon like a sledgehammer; drawing it back quickly only to bring down another bone-jarring blow onto Aramis's waning defenses.
And another.
And another.
Badly reeling from the sheer force and mad energy behind the attack, Aramis seemed unable to escape the raging fury currently raining down on him. His left arm and only defense was tiring quickly while his body screamed at him with every grating blow of Valois' sword against his.
Aramis's injured arm was engulfed in flames, his ribs were screaming at him in protest, and his head was throbbing madly in tandem with his furious heartbeat.
Valois delivered one more grating strike against Aramis's rapier, the strength of which forced his tired limbs to surrender at last. As his knees gave out, he forcefully hit the ground at the same time his sword was finally knocked free of his hand, clattering loudly onto cobblestone.
Panting hard but stubbornly refusing to let the pain he was in reflect on his face, he looked up at Valois and raised his chin defiantly.
His opponent took one step forward to stand directly in front of Aramis, a feral grin distorting his features.
On his knees and waiting for the lethal blow that would have him depart from this world, an unexpected thought penetrated the pain.
Porthos.
Up to this point, he had not allowed himself to think of his friends and whether or not Valois had been truthful about their possible demise.
He remembered the words Porthos had spoken that morning, 'Don't ever forget that we're brothers who fight for each other; no matter what.'
That statement went both ways he knew.
There was a chance that Porthos and d'Artagnan were still alive. And as long as there was a chance, he would fight for them.
But in order to do so he had to survive himself; not perish in some random back alley, kneeling in front of a mad man.
Watching as Valois slowly raised his sword one last time to deliver the final strike, Aramis decided that he could not and would not die this day. Not in this fashion. Not alone.
Not ever alone.
We are brothers who fight for each other.
All for one.
"This is for what you have done," Valois hissed, his sword now swiftly descending at an arch towards Aramis's neck. "This is for my brothers."
Ducking low just in time, he could hear Valois' blade hiss through the air overhead. He brought up his left arm to seize his opponent's wrist in a tight-knuckled grip to render his sword useless and simultaneously reached behind him with his right to firmly grasp the hilt of his main gauche with blood covered fingers.
Freeing the weapon quickly from its sheath he viciously thrust the blade upwards to bury it deep in Valois' stomach.
Valois froze.
Not releasing his hold on the hilt of his dagger, Aramis got one foot underneath him and pushed off the ground.
Standing face to face with his adversary, he locked eyes with the man and whispered, "And this is for my brothers."
One for all.
He pushed the blade deeper still and twisted it sideways. When Valois's eyes surrendered their madness to the great beyond and his last breath left his body, Aramis pulled his weapon free and watched his enemy collapse in a heap before him.
He breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
When he attempted to back away from Valois' lifeless form he started to sway unexpectedly and had to close his eyes against the sudden dizziness that assaulted him.
Staggering badly, he was taken aback by his lack of equilibrium and almost didn't notice that his main gauche slipped out of his blood slick fingers. Looking down the length of his arm he noted visible tremors running through it.
He also took in the expanse of dark stains covering his leathers.
He was losing too much blood.
Bringing up his left hand, Aramis covered the wound in a feeble attempt to stem the flow. The moderate amount of pressure he exerted had him gasping in reaction to the burning pain just as his vision grayed around the edges.
An angry growl emanated from his throat. There was no time for him to be weak.
He closed his eyes again and breathed deeply; desperately trying to focus his muddled thoughts to regain some semblance of balance and control.
He needed to see if Athos was alright.
They needed to go after Porthos and d'Artagnan.
Unfortunately, it was no use.
When the fog inside his head was joined by the sound of his blood rushing through his ears, he felt himself listing dangerously to one side.
"Aramis?" the voice held a certain sense of urgency as it penetrated the haze in which he was currently trapped.
Even in his present state he recognized it instantly.
Athos.
He forced his heavy lids open to reveal a blurred version of his friend advancing quickly.
When his body's need to shut down finally overcame his stubbornness to hold on, he briefly wondered if Athos would be fast enough to catch him.
He barely felt his knees buckle when he finally surrendered to the waiting darkness.
TBC
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