Wow guys, thank you all for your feedback! Blew me away! When it comes to guessing Athos' skills.. Well I won't tell you just yet, but there might be someone guessing about right… Or yet again, maybe not! There are also some great ideas among your guesses, hehe!

Anyway, here's the next one! And yeah, I love writing flashbacks. I did have to rewrite the years a little from an earlier chapter (where Aramis talks of Belle) just to make that flashback fit better with this. But that's how it goes when I just write chapter to chapter without actually having a plot, a plan, a beginning nor and end to anything I do… I love watching a story just develop as I go along.

Fourteen.

"How did you guys come to join the regiment?"

D'Artagnan's eyes were locked with Porthos', who was riding next to him on the wide path. Though they all knew the question had been raised to all of them.

"Aramis joined first." Porthos answered, looking back over his shoulder at his brother who was riding behind him, more awake than earlier.

"I travelled to Paris after I'd been in Spain for years." Aramis nodded. "In difference from all of you, I travelled to Paris with the mission of becoming a Musketeer. I had been traveling for years, all through France, Germany, even England, in search of Isabel, but I never did find her. Well, you know, until…"

Aramis words died out as sorrow crept into his mind.

"I'm sorry." D'Artagnan felt guilt hit his chest. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. We'll talk about something else."

"No, it's… It's all right." Aramis said, stretching his back carefully as he sat deeper into the saddle. "While traveling, money was running short. I managed to find lodging easily as I went, that has never been much of a problem, but it takes a lot of money to constantly be on the road. So I sold my sword and pistol wherever I could make money. It turned out to be good practice, and I always strived to get better. But I was just traveling the lands with no point of direction and would probably still be on the road… If I hadn't met Marsac."

"Are you coming with us?"

Aramis looked up to find the face to the voice, which had spoken in Spanish above him, and craning his neck he could see a man standing by the rail of a big ship, dressed in leather trousers and black linens. He had a hat on his head, and a sword around his hip. His long curls were tucked up into a pony by a string, and his hands rested on his hips.

"What's your heading?" Aramis asked. He didn't really care about the answer – he'd travel anywhere, but it was always good to know where he was sailing. That was why he was at the docks that day, trying to find a ship that would take him somewhere.

"Spain." The answer was short and to the point.

"How much?" The question was just as short.

"If you help out on board, I'm sure we can sort the payment out." The man on deck said as a smile appeared on his face. "You carry weapons, and are built like a soldier. That's always handy to have on board. Do you know anything of sailing?"

"I'm a fast learner."

The man on deck was grinning even wider as he gestured towards the debarkation, the heavy planks working as a small bridge between England and the rest of the world.

Aramis made it's way over to the boat, and moved the bag he was holding in his right hand over to his left, he gave the man a sturdy handshake.

"I'm Aramis."

"Marsac. Welcome on board."

The trip was short and uneventful. They had sun in the sky and winds in their sails and never met any unfriendly people. Instead the two men had time to sit down and chat most parts of the day. Marsac taught Aramis how to sail, showed him every rope, every knot and happily explained how everything worked. Aramis listened, glad to learn something knew, and glad that this man was so overly chatty, which helped him get his mind off from Isabel, even just for a little while.

On their last day they sat down on deck, a bottle of rum between them, and a lot of fabric. Marsac pulled out needle and thick thread, and begun mending the broken fabric. Just as he was about to start, and looked over to Aramis who was sitting next to him, leaning back against one of the masts, eyes closed as he enjoyed the sun on his face.

"Hey, Aramis. Do you know how to mend sail?"

Aramis popped his eyes open and leaned forward to meet Marsac's eyes.

"No."

"Then let me show you. It's easier than it looks. And it's a good thing to know. If not for mending your own clothes, then you can use it if you get a bad cut in a battle. There's no real difference between skin and sail."

Aramis shrugged even at the thought of having to stitch in human skin, but didn't decline the offer of being taught a new skill. So he hopped over closer to Marsac, and the man showed him a couple of stitches before letting Aramis take over, allowing him to practice.

"What are you going to do when we reach land?" Marsac asked, being able to lean back and close his eyes now when he sat Aramis to work in his place.

"I don't know. I don't have any plans. I've just been wandering around for years trying to find…" Aramis had to stop and search his tongue for the right word. "… Answers, I guess."

Marsac blinked an eye open. "A girl?"

"A girl." Aramis confirmed with a solemn nod.

"What will you do when you find her?"

"I don't know. Talk to her, figure out what happened. Bring her home possibly. But I don't know where she is, her father sent her off and she could be anywhere. I don't even know if she wants me anymore. I always thought we would have a life together."

"Look, I'm not out to judge you and I don't know anything about you really, so please tell me if I'm stepping in it, okay? But is this girl really worth wasting your life on?"

"Wasting my life?" Aramis frowned, not sure o what the man next to him was referring to. He loved Isabel, and he wanted to spend every waking, and sleeping, hour next to her. He would lay down his life for her if she asked. She was worth everything.

"Sorry, I didn't mean… What I meant is, you are traveling the world looking for one certain person. The world is big and crowded, what if you never find her? Are you just going to spend your life moving from one place to the next until you drop dead of old age, realizing you've done nothing?" Marsac watched Aramis carefully as he spoke, treading carefully in the unfamiliar territory of his newfound friend's mind. "My mother used to tell me that what's meant to be will be. If you are meant to be with this girl, God will put you in her path. You don't have to go around looking for her. Stand still, and he will move you to her, eventually."

Aramis heaved a heavy sigh. He had been thinking the same things as well, and he was tired of traveling. He was just 16 years old when he met Isabel, and they had been madly in love, but he only got a year with her before she fell pregnant. For two years now he had been looking for her, and as he was loosing his teen years, he wondered if the rest of his young age would be spent on the roads looking for someone he may never find.

"What about you Marsac?" Aramis said, changing topic. "What are you up to?"

"Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be one of the King's Musketeers. Protect and serve the country."

"Are you from France?"

"Oui."

And after several days of traveling, they switched language from Spanish to French as they realized they had something in common.

"My father told me stories about the Musketeers, but the ones he told were most likely very exaggerated." Aramis smiled upon remembering the stories his father used to tell him while he was sitting next to him down by the still, the smell of grape- and honey brandy clinging in the air. His father would tell stories of the honourable men in their blue capes and leather hats with feathers dancing as they fought to keep the king's justice. They could slay anything from giants to entire armies, a thousand to one. But as he had said, Aramis was certain that maybe the stories were just a little big exaggerated.

"My parents died when I was five." Marsac said, his head leaned back and eyes closed still, as he drank heavily from the bottle. "There was a raid, a group of men rode through the city and destroyed everything, killing people with no reason other than the sport of it. I hid under the bed, and didn't come out until everything was dark and quiet. I sat there… I stayed with my parents, I didn't know what else to do. I don't know for how long, it must've been a day at least. I never noticed the men until someone lifted me up and pressed me against their shoulder – against a spaulder carrying the fleur-de-lis. They took me to the garrison in Paris, and cared for me until they found me a new home. And ever since then I've wanted to return. The adventures, the danger, the smell of the battle, but mostly the brotherhood and friendship, the honour and pride. I want to be a part of it."

As they parted upon setting foot in Spain, Aramis made a promise to Marsac, a promise of coming to Paris when he was tired of the hunt, a promise to find his new friend. And Aramis was a man of his word.

It did take another year before he finally surrendered and stopped looking for Isabel. Marsac's words had moved him deeply and he had not stopped thinking about this wise man ever since his trip over to Spain. She would come, God would see to it. One day he would cross paths with her again.

But in the meantime, he had to live. He wanted to do something with his life, and most of all he was tired of being alone. Finding Marsac again seemed like a fine idea, even if the man had not made it as a Musketeer he was at least good company. He would probably be easier to find than a woman lost in the world. And Aramis turned his heels out of the Spanish heat, heading north. Along the road he found Belle, and after that it didn't take long before he arrived at the garrison in Paris.

"Marsac was already wearing the Musketeer blue and the fleur-de-lis on his shoulder, standing gallantly in the square with a sword in hand. I was a bit worried that I had just been traveling for weeks to get there and maybe he wouldn't even remember me, but as I rode in, he turned around, grinned and asked me what had taken me so long. And that's how I begun hanging around there… Oh, it was ten years ago this fall. Wow, time really just flies, doesn't it?" Aramis said, shaking his head slightly as he looked over at his friends, before finishing off his story.

"Marsac showed me rounds, introduced me to Treville and everyone else, and we would train together every day. Treville didn't trust me at first, he thought I was a Spanish spy – I guess my French was a bit decayed as I had been speaking Spanish the last year – but that all changed when I covered our king at the siege of Montauban, just a few months after arriving, and I ended up getting stabbed in his place. Marsac stitched me up, and by the time I woke up, Louis was standing next to my bed with a pauldron."

Aramis looked up as he finished, smiling to his friends, and they all returned the smiles. None of them had ever heard the full story before, Porthos and Athos both knew that he had met Marsac before joining the regiment, but they didn't know that it was actually thanks to Marsac that Aramis even did join.

"Wait… If you were nineteen at that time… and it was ten years ago… That means your next birthday is your thirt-"

"Don't even say it." Aramis growled. "I feel old enough as it is."

"Oh you be quiet." Athos pouted, sending Aramis an angry glare. He couldn't even remember his thirtieth birthday. That wasn't as much due to the fact it was a long time ago, because it wasn't more than a few years – it was more due to all the wine he had been trying to drown himself in.

"Oh, I do apologize old man." Aramis said, seriousness striking his face. "I forgot this was a sensitive subject. How are your aches this morning?"

If looks could kill, Aramis would've fallen off his horse and landed in a pile on the ground at that exact moment that he met Athos' eyes. Luckily, Aramis was safe on his horse still, and he rode closer to bump into Athos.

Athos eyes turned softer, and a small curve could be seen on his lips. "I might be older than you, but that also means I will always be wiser. And even when I'm so old that I can not move from my bed, I will still take you in swordplay."

"Confidence. I like it." Porthos howled from the front.

"So how about you Porthos? How did you end up in the regiment?" D'Artagnan asked, still so curious about his friends' stories.

"I will tell you. But first we will make camp for the night, it's getting dark, and it's getting dark fast. And I'm starving! And guess who is cooking?"

D'Artagnan groaned. "This is why I never told you! I could always just lay back and relax before."

"Well things change, my friend." Porthos grinned. His plan was to never cook again.

The four of them stopped as they found another good location hidden amongst the trees. Finding a camp was not always an easy task, and they much preferred staying at inns. It was mostly for Aramis sake, sleeping under the bare sky amongst the trees would pretty much always leave the man thrashing from nightmares, waking up under the moon with his sword in hand. More than once had Athos and Porthos found him standing over them, as if to protect them from danger only he could see.

But his night terrors were getting better, he felt safer, and they had learned how to deal with it, how to help him through it. They would not camp in an open glade, instead they would hide their shelter, build it with bushes and trees until it were almost impossible to spot in the shrubbery. When it was bad – if there was snow covering the ground, or if there were a lot of crows in the sky, they might even set traps. Branches that would give away noise, ropes hidden amongst the leaves that would pull things down – anything that would be sure to wake them up was anyone to approach them without their knowledge.

This night though, they found a great spot, just open enough for them to start a small fire, which d'Artagnan begun, as Athos and Porthos begun making their shelter. Aramis was over by the horses, his fingers trying to sort out Belle's tail, which had entangled on itself, as he hadn't been grooming it as neatly as he used to of lately. The others would usually tease him about it – Belle's mane and tail was usually combed through a lot more neatly that Aramis own hair. He could spend hours just working through the thick dreads of her tail, carefully sorting it out with his fingers, one hair by the time, not to damage it. Horses need their tails, and it's a beautiful part of the proud animal. A heavy, thick tail is like a woman's hair as it's fluttering along with the wind.

Aramis leaned his head towards Belle's thigh, his fingers still carefully detangling the tail, but his eyelids were growing heavy. Belle was grazing idly, but as she felt the weight against her, a nose pressed into her fur, she decided to take a rest, lowering her head to relax her neck and stretch her sore back, happy to be rid of the saddle, and she allowed one of the hind legs some rest as she locked the joint and tipped the hoof up on its tip. As she relaxed, it immediately rubbed off on Aramis, and he could feel his fingers working slower and slower with the tail as he leaned heavily towards Belle's big thigh, his eyes closing shut as well.

It wasn't until someone grabbed onto his upper arms and led him away from Belle that Aramis realized he had fallen asleep, standing, leaning against his horse. Well, it wasn't his first time. They had all had moments of exhaustion where they would fall asleep while tending to their horse. Now Athos guided Aramis to sit down by the fire, above which d'Artagnan was roasting a hare. It smelled amazingly, and Aramis made a mental note to ask him about which herbs he had used later on. Right now, he required some rest, and he rolled himself into his blue cloak, and lay down with his head into Athos' lap, squirming to make himself comfortable.

Athos looked like he was about to question this, and Aramis was truly just waiting for it… But d'Artagnan was busy cooking, Porthos was still up doing the last to the shelter, while Athos was just sitting here, leaned back against a tree, close enough to the fire to get some of the heat, but far enough so you couldn't accidentally roll into it while sleeping. And Athos' crossed legs just looked so much softer than the hard ground, so Aramis had taken the chance as he saw it, and just made himself snug as a bug in a rug into his lap.

Had it been any of the other two, had a mad man that Athos was supposed to watch over at the time he escaped not lighted Aramis afire, and had they not been separated for days worrying about each other, Athos would've just rolled Aramis incautiously out of his lap. But now… He couldn't. Instead he relaxed into the affection, one of his hands moving to Aramis' head, fingers tenderly moving through his hair, massaging his scalp.

"We need to cut your hair, Aramis." Athos noted. "It's thriving like weed in a garden."

Aramis might've closed his eyes by the second he lay down into Athos' lap, his head on Athos' thigh, but he was still awake, and his mouth curved up into a smile. His eyes remained closed and his body remained relaxed as he spoke. "Have you examined a mirror of lately?"

Athos could feel the corners of his lips tug lightly as d'Artagnan giggled next to him at Aramis' response. Athos just kept massaging his skull, the man in his lap definitely relaxing to the movement.

"Rest Aramis. We'll wake you in a bit when the food is done so I can get you out of my knee."

Aramis mumbled something that no one could understand, before his breathing eased out, drifting off to sleep. They all knew he would wake tonight, he would not be sleeping peacefully as his mind drifted back into the past, back into the trauma it once had to live through. Hopefully it would not be too bad, he might not even have a nightmare, but even if a dream is not bad, it can still be intense enough to leave you drained upon awaking. Athos knew just how emotionally and mentally drained Aramis would be in the morning, and that was one of the reasons Athos was now granting Aramis the rest in his comfort.

Athos immediately regretted it though as Aramis begun mumbling in his sleep, drool dripping from his moving lips down onto Athos' trousers. 'Great… Just great.'