Wow, it took me way too long to post another chapter. I am truly so sorry, but I have had one of the worst weeks this year and just couldn't bring myself to work.

I still hope you enjoy this chapter. I will probably end this fic in the next chapter or so. I have a new idea for another story that will probably help me let all my negative energies out, so I can't wait to start working on that.

In the meantime, please make sure to read and review, and I will see you in the next chapter.

-M

Porthos watched his sleeping friend, unable to rid himself of that awful feeling in his heart.

His eyes traveled up and down Aramis' body, noting all the injuries he had sustained because of Grimaud.

The marksman's shoulders were still bruised, and so was his waist, although Porthos could barely see it because of all the bandages.

Aramis' face was strained and tired. It was like he hadn't slept in days. Knowing him, Porthos was sure that it was true. He probably stayed up all night thinking about Grimaud, and all that he had done to him and his friends.

But what hurt Porthos the most was the fact that only now was he noticing this.

It seemed as if all this time, Aramis purposely hid behind fake happiness. It was as if he was too afraid to show any weakness, even to his friends.

Even while he was Grimaud's prisoner, he kept a calm demeanor throughout his entire capture, and was even willing to die just to rid the Earth of this monster.

I wanted peace, Porthos remembered him saying.

All he had wanted was to try and make the world a more peaceful place. It wasn't for himself, and it wasn't for just the Queen … it was for everybody.

He suffered so much just because he wanted peace for a change.

He was always a peaceful human being, always preaching equality, and never wanting to start fights. Porthos admired him for it, because it was a characteristic that not many people have, and especially not Musketeers.

Nobody - not Porthos, Athos, Her Majesty, or even Aramis himself - could have known that all of this would come with a price.

And that price was to suffer.

In a way, Porthos felt guilty for not being able to protect his best friend from all this. Now, he was afraid - terrified, even - that Aramis would not be the same after all of this. He prayed that this man, who was so full of joy, and love, and peace, would not wither before his eyes, and become this trapped, sad, and hurt soul that no one would be able to save.

He prayed to God, that he would spare Aramis, because everyone knew that he did not deserve this kind of suffering … this kind of pain.

XxXxX

He stood in the flames, staring at the burning bodies around him with wide eyes. 'Why can't I save them?' he kept thinking. It seemed that he was literally stuck in place. All he could do is turn around to watch these horrors unfold before him.

Many of them were screaming, begging, for him to save them. They called his name, their voices cracking each time.

None of these men were ready to die. Aramis knew it was his fault for not being able to save them.

Suddenly, he heard laugher. Familiar laughter.

He whipped around, his eyes growing even wider. It was Grimaud.

"Aren't you going to save them?" he taunted.

"You bastard!" Aramis cried, feeling tears falling down his face. "Why would you kill so many innocent men?! They did nothing to you!"

"Oh, but you did," that monster replied. "And Athos, and Porthos, and d'Artagnan … they all ruined everything. So I need my revenge."

Suddenly, Grimaud charged at him, and then the next thing he knew, pain erupted in his chest. He gasped, his eyes traveling to Grimaud; they were wide with fear.

"Now, off to the others," he said. "I hope you know that you are the reason they will not live to see another day." He pulled his knife out of Aramis' body, grinning as he watched the Musketeer collapse. "It was fun while it lasted," he added quietly. "Maybe I will go for your lover next."

XxXxX

"Constance, get some wet cloths!" Athos yelled, rushing to his struggling friend. "He's having another one!" He took the other man's hand and said, "Come on, Aramis, snap out of it … Porthos! Where's the water?!"

"NO!"

Aramis suddenly jolted awake, shooting upright. He gasped, and Athos could almost feel his pain. He watched sadly as his poor brother collapsed back into his bed, curling into himself and beginning to shiver.

"Athos…?" he whispered brokenly.

"Yes, Aramis, it's me," the swordsman replied. "You're alright. You're safe. That burns of yours is giving you a fever. You need more rest."

Aramis shook his head, and began to get up. 'I have … t-to save those m-men," he said, his voice trembling. He jerked when Athos placed a hand on his arm. When he turned around, all Athos saw was fear and guilt.

"If you overwork yourself, you will get worse, Aramis," Athos said. "Please, just get some more rest first."

Once again, Aramis shook his head. "I can't," he repeated. "I have to save them."

He managed to get out of Athos' grasp, and then began walking away … when he felt, yet, someone else touching him. The touch was gentle and familiar, and when he looked back, he just about broke down.

Porthos was standing in front of him, a look of understanding in his expression. "Please, Aramis," he said softly. "Get some more rest."

After a moment of silence, Aramis sighed. "I'm sorry, Porthos," he said. "But I have to." He walked towards one of the men in the beds, and began trying to help.

On that same day, he lost another cadet while trying to save him. He had not meant for it to happen, but when it did, all his energy left him, leaving behind a tired and hurt Aramis.

The poor man took a couple of steps back until he hit a wall. He stared at the, now, dead body with guilt in his eyes. Why couldn't he do anything right today?

"Aramis, it's not your fault," someone said.

Once again, that someone was Constance. She slowly walked over to her friend and took his hand.

"You can't save everyone," she said gently. Her voice carried sadness, as well as her eyes.

It hurt her to see Aramis so exhausted, so pained. It was like his tortured soul was slowly leaving him.

"I should have tried harder, Constance," whispered Aramis, keeping his head down. His eyes suddenly turned cold. He looked up at Constance, and he basically aged ten more years right in front of her eyes. "This is Grimaud's doing," he said, his voice emotionless. "This is his fault. I will kill him for it. I swear, I will, if it's the last thing I do."