A/N Finally I have got the chance to continue writing stories, between my new job and now coming back to uni my life has become so hectic. I literally live in the library so my brain has turned into mush. Last night my friends and I re-watched some episodes of The Musketeers so I had that in my head today and it sparked enough inspiration for me to write this second chapter (finally).
Right, enough of my ramblings (I said my brain had gone to mush) and I will let you get on with reading this chapter. I apologize in advance if some things don't make sense, I still have facts for my history essay swirling around my head and I'm pretty sure you don't want to read about it.
Also I kind of rush through what happened during the episode because I wanted to focus on what happened afterwards.
Aramis stood in the garrison courtyard waiting quietly as his fellow Musketeers gathered waiting for Treville. He smirked when he spotted d'Artagnan entering the garrison. The night before he, Porthos, Athos and d'Artagnan were celebrating completing yet another assignment. Porthos had managed to convince their youngest friend to try and keep up with the amount of wine Athos was consuming. The boy had been doing well, when out of nowhere he began to act like a typical drunk; it did not, however, deter him. He continued to match Athos drink for drink, until he passed out and landed in a heap on the floor.
So now the boy was frowning, blinking against the glare of the early morning sun and rubbing his head. All of which suggested to Aramis, d'Artagnan had a very nasty hangover. He heard a deep chuckle next to him, he turned and sure enough Porthos was stood beside him also watching d'Artagnan.
Aramis shook his head, "Was it really necessary to goad the lad into trying to match Athos' drinking?"
"I just wanted to see what his limit was, but you have to admit it was very entertaining" grinned Porthos.
"It was very cruel" commented Aramis as he tried to hide his smile.
"I didn't hear you try and stop him!" Porthos exclaimed in a mock defensive tone.
Aramis raised an eyebrow at his friend, "I assume we are talking about the same d'Artagnan. The same boy who we both know to be a stubborn Gascon who will not admit defeat in any challenge he is set?"
"I suppose" grunted Porthos.
Aramis sniggered and then turned back to d'Artagnan. Who had stumbled over to the table and heavily sat down on one of the chairs. He made to walk over to the young Gascon but Treville arrived so he instead stood in formation with everyone else.
Treville stood on the stairs that led to his office and waited while his men quickly quietened. He told everyone what they were doing for the day and Aramis tapped his foot impatiently. He wanted Treville to finish what he was saying so he could do his patrol and get on with his day.
"Next week is going to be very busy for us all, the King is engaging in important discussions for a Treaty. So you must all be vigilant and no fighting with the Red Guards who will be there when the discussions take place" commented Treville with a sharp glare.
Porthos leaned closer to Aramis and muttered, "You getting the feeling Treville said that last bit to only us?"
Aramis just about managed to choke down his laughter, and quietly replied, "You must admit we do fight with the Red Guards more than anyone else."
Porthos sighed, "Treville's just taking the fun out of everything."
Aramis snorted, but hastily quietened when Treville's glare was levelled on him. From the corner of his eye he could see Athos sending him and Porthos a disapproving look. With one more amused look at Porthos, Aramis turned back to what Treville was saying.
"Now I know he can say insulting comments and it is hard to appear indifferent. Nevertheless I expect you to remain respectful to the Duke of Savoy…"
Aramis gasped as the rest of what Treville was saying faded away as his own pulse roared in his ears.
The Duke of Savoy.
Savoy.
A forest.
Snow.
Massacre.
Twenty dead.
Cold.
The garrison faded away and he was stood in that snow covered forest once again, with his brothers lying still on the floor all around him. He watched as Marsac threw down his uniform and walked away. He stood in the campsite as the only survivor of a massacre that had claimed twenty of his brothers.
He turned left and right and could not escape the faces of his brothers. While they were limp, he could not help but see written across their faces one accusatory statement. "Why do you still live when we do not?"
Tears stung the backs of his eyes and he stumbled back and collapsed against a tree. He curled forward with his head in his hands which rested on his knees, he mumbled the same two words in his head and aloud over and over again.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
"I'm sorry."
"Aramis?"
He blinked and found himself stood in the garrison once again. Treville was not stood on the stairs and everyone else was walking around as they got on with what they were supposed to be doing. He startled when a gentle hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Aramis? What's wrong?" questioned Porthos worriedly.
Aramis shook himself and managed to force his voice to sound normal. "Nothing" he then plastered a fake smile on his face and headed towards the stables so he could get his horse and ride to the Palace for his patrol. All the while trying to ignore the feeling of Porthos' eyes following him.
He would be fine. It was summer, not winter. There was no snow. It was warm. It wasn't cold. He and his friends were not camping in a forest. No one could sneak up and attack them. There wouldn't be a massacre. It was fine. He would be alright.
Despite the hot sun he could still feel the cold that slowly claimed his limbs. He knew then, in the next week it was only going to get worse. For him Savoy was never that far away, every time he camped in a forest or wood. Normally Paris was safe for him, but it wasn't now.
He wasn't alright.
The day of the Duke of Savoy's arrival had arrived. All week Aramis had been quiet, he had plastered a fake smile on his face all week. He had to have been convincing as Porthos seemed to be the only one who was aware that something was wrong. Either he had done a good job of avoiding Porthos every time he had the opportunity to ask if something was wrong, or Porthos had sensed that he didn't want to talk about it. Either way Aramis didn't have to explain what was bothering him, so he was perfectly fine with that.
Every night he woke to nightmares of a snow covered forest, every part of him felt cold; it didn't matter how much wood he put in the fireplace for the fire. No heat touched him. Every inch of him was freezing.
He and his friends were stood to attention in the summer's heat waiting for the Duke. He was not paying attention to what was happening around him. He was too busy trying not to think about the twenty of his brothers who had not lived to see this day. Then he heard Athos asking Porthos what was wrong with him, he internally groaned when d'Artagnan asked about the massacre. He knew he was going to be getting a lot of questions from the boy, something he very much wanted to avoid.
It was too much. Treville couldn't possibly have betrayed him and his brothers five years ago, he couldn't have. But the evidence was stacking up against his Captain, the man who had given him a place in the finest Regiment in all of France. The man who had remained steadfast beside him after he returned the sole survivor of the massacre. He listened as his closest friends discussed heatedly how Marsac was wrong; Treville was no traitor to the Musketeers.
Aramis was leaning against the wall dejectedly. Across from him Marsac remained huddled on the floor and the man Marsac had killed still hanging by his arms from the ceiling.
"Aramis" he turned hearing Athos call his name. He sighed as he slowly pushed himself off the wall and shuffled over to his friends. He looked up and he could see Porthos knew what he was thinking.
"You can't believe Treville had something to do with the massacre?!" exclaimed Porthos with an angry edge to his voice.
Aramis flinched hearing the tone directed at him. He looked down at his feet as he softly replied, "I don't know what to think."
Athos nodded, "Well then, we'll just investigate what we can about the Duke."
The others began to break their small circle when Aramis shot his head up and forcefully grounded out, "No we won't."
"Aramis?" Questioned d'Artagnan in a quiet voice.
"We will still look at Treville's involvement" he firmly stated.
Athos stood silent in shock, when Porthos frowned and took a step forward almost threateningly, "You just said you didn't think Treville was involved."
Aramis raised his head higher and glared at Porthos not backing down. "No I said I didn't know what to think. I don't want to believe Treville had anything to do with what happened, he more or less saved my life by making me a Musketeer. But a few months ago you promised I would get justice for those who were lost five years ago. Justice means investigating every possible angle. So we will look at Treville."
There must have been something in his eyes, for Porthos backed down and looked worriedly at him. Aramis ignored Porthos' look and marched past his friends towards Marsac and pulled the man to his feet.
As they exited the building he pretended not to notice the looks directed at him from his friends. Slowly the cold was fading from his limbs to be replaced by an all-consuming fire. For once he felt justice was in his grasp and now he felt he could do something to atone for his survival and his brothers' deaths.
Aramis didn't feel the rain that slipped down his face and the back of his neck. He eyes remained fixed on Marsac's grave for a few moments before he plunged his sword into the earth and began to walk away. Hoping now the ghosts of Savoy could finally be laid to rest.
He didn't know where he was walking, and to be honest he didn't care. When he looked up he found himself outside the inn he and the others frequented most nights. He looked through the window and sure enough d'Artagnan, Athos and Porthos were sat in their normal places. Tonight, however, Aramis did not feel like joining them, so he continued walking, again not taking note of where he was or where he was going.
Not long after he then found himself, not at his lodgings, but at a church. He pushed open the door knowing the priest kept it open all hours for those wanting to seek comfort. It was almost pitch black, save for the few lit candles littered around the wide open space casting long, flickering shadows up the walls. He walked up to the alter with quiet steps, there he slowly fell to his knees and clasped his hands together and began to pray for those lost at Savoy. And for Marsac.
He did not try to block out his memories of that dreadful night, instead he let every last detail play before his eyes. Finally he knew the truth and in a slight way justice had been served, not the way he had wanted. But answers had been given to the questions that had haunted him for five years.
He bowed his head ignoring the tears that slipped down his cheeks, he closed his eyes and not for the first time wondered why he had been the one to survive. With Marsac's death he truly was the sole survivor. Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos, while they had tried to help him, did not understand what it was like to be the sole survivor of a massacre of dearest friends. And he prayed to God they never would.
His knees began to ache from where he rested his weight on them, but he did not move. Not until the sun's rays filtered through the windows. Through the night his hair and clothes had dried leaving him feeling chilled, but he didn't care. He slowly and stiffly rose to his feet and with one cold hand he went to adjust his hat and then remembered he did not have it. It was still in Constance's house where Marsac had knocked him unconscious. Marsac. He shut his eyes momentarily, the pain of the death of his friend cutting him deeply. He sucked in a breath and began to walk out of the church.
Soon, too soon, he was walking into the courtyard of the garrison. His friends were sat in their normal places at the table, their heads snapped up to look at him as he slowly approached.
D'Artagnan gave him a small smile and held out his hat, "Constance found it."
Aramis nodded his thanks and placed his hat on his head and sat down with the others.
"You never go anywhere without that hat" frowned Porthos.
"With all that was happening I simply forgot about it" replied Aramis, his voice hoarse from not talking and his slight chill.
Porthos' frown deepened and Athos just gave him a look he didn't want to translate.
"You didn't join us last night" said Athos as he sent Aramis a look he couldn't read.
He shrugged, "Went for a walk."
"In the rain?!" exclaimed Porthos unhappily.
"It didn't bother me" croaked Aramis.
"Oh I can see that" snarked Porthos. Aramis flinched and was very glad he was in the seat next to d'Artagnan.
"I heard about what happened yesterday, I'm sorry Aramis" commented d'Artagnan softly.
Aramis swallowed hard and sent the boy a grateful smile that almost resembled his usual smile. From the corner of his eye he saw Porthos and Athos exchange an angry look, and he knew they were about to say something about Marsac. Unable to listen he stiffly rose to his feet and went to go and sit at the edge of the kitchen to listen to Serge. The old man never minded when anyone came to the kitchen, and he knew when a person wanted a conversation or when a person merely wanted to listen to Serge dribble on about this and that. Aramis had done this often after he had returned from Savoy.
In the next week Aramis spent his days practising with his sword alone until he was utterly exhausted, and he spent his nights going to the church and thought about the massacre and the whole situation of Marsac's return. He knew if he was to try and sleep he would wake shaking and sweating with a scream about to burst from his throat. He couldn't face sleeping, but he knew it would only be a matter of time until the others intervened; so he avoided them. He hated to see the hurt look in Porthos' eyes, but he couldn't face his brother now. Not when he knew Porthos would say something bad about Marsac, he wasn't ready to face that just yet. He knew what Marsac did was wrong, but how could you speak ill of someone who had saved your life?
Night had fallen so Aramis began to walk to the church, he was so tired he didn't realise someone was watching him from a distance; and that someone was now following him.
He was near the alter of the church when he heard a second set of footsteps enter the church behind him. He stopped and tensed, he was about to draw his sword when he tilted his head and from the corner of his eye he saw who had followed him. He sighed and dropped his hands beside him and stared straight ahead.
"Aramis?" questioned Porthos quietly as he slowly approached his friend, as one would approach a frightened animal.
"It's alright Porthos" commented Aramis, his voice croaky from the lack of use, "Everything is fine. There's no need for you to worry."
"There is every need for me to worry!" spat Porthos as he marched towards his friend and spun Aramis to face him. "It has been a week and you have not said two words to me; or Athos, or d'Artagnan, or anyone. That is not like you. So don't tell me not to worry!" In the back of his mind Porthos knew yelling was not going to help the situation, but all his pent up worries from the past week burst out and he could not real them in.
Aramis stared back at Porthos with blank eyes. "I haven't said anything to anyone because I do not want to hear what you are all bound to say about Marsac."
Porthos gaped and narrowed his eyes in frustration, "That deserter is stopping you from talking to us when you obviously need someone to talk to?!"
"Don't call him that!" thundered Aramis, his voice echoing into all the corners of the church. Porthos stood in stunned silence. Aramis' voice then became quiet again. "He is the only reason why I am standing in front of you! Yes I know you hated him, I know he deserted, I know what he did was wrong. But that does not take away the fact that he was my first friend in the Regiment and that five years ago he saved my life!"
Porthos, never one to back down in a fight, stood to his full height and glared at Aramis. "If I had been there to help you five years ago, last week you would not have been blindly following Marsac-"
"If you had been there five years ago you would have been buried beside the others!" Aramis angrily countered, his voice catching on every other word as he began to use his voice again after a week of silence.
"You don't know that!"
"Of course I know that!" spat Aramis, he didn't usually like conflict but Porthos was scratching at old wounds that he didn't want touched. "I was there when you were not! You have no idea what it was like!"
"Then tell me!" pleaded Porthos. Even after they had found Cornay and his frozen troop, Aramis had still not opened up about what happened to him in Savoy. Porthos had seen Aramis was not yet ready to confront what had happened, but seeing his friend now; Porthos knew Aramis had to talk about it. For his own good. His own words to Aramis about talking about Savoy after finding Cornay came back to him; "You can't keep it bottled up. One day it will burst out and it might destroy you in the process."
"Fine! You want to know what happened even after I told you, you didn't want to know? Here you are!" exploded Aramis. Porthos was shocked, he didn't actually think Aramis would tell him, he must have really wound Aramis up enough for him to not register what he was telling Porthos.
As Aramis divulged what had happened to him five years ago; he paced running his hands constantly through his hair and his voice would hitch as he poured out his grief and guilt. Porthos had tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he listened and thought about Aramis alone in that snow covered forest with their fallen brothers.
When Aramis stopped, he took a shaky breath and then sank down to sit on the alter steps. Porthos looked forlornly at his brother as Aramis rested his head in his hands. He knelt in front of Aramis and rested a comforting hand on his brother's knee.
"I'm sorry Aramis. I am so very sorry that I never realized or understood" he softly said.
Aramis shook his head, "No, I'm glad you didn't understand. I'd hate for anyone to go through what I have done. While I hated to see Cornay and his troop slaughtered, I am glad for them that none of them had to carry the same burden I carry every day."
"Well I'm here to help you carry that burden now" commented Porthos.
Aramis lifted his head in shock and smiled faintly seeing the serious look on his brother's face. He reached out and placed a hand on Porthos' shoulder. "I am glad you are with me brother, without you I would have been lost like Marsac."
"Never" choked Porthos, "I will never let you become lost, just as you would do the same for me. You sew people back together, body and mind, now let others do the same for you. You don't have to pay penance for what happened in Savoy. You did nothing wrong."
"But I survived when twenty fell!" protested Aramis with shining eyes with unshed tears.
Porthos squeezed Aramis' shoulder, "There is nothing wrong with surviving. It is easy to give up and die, but it is brave to get back up and continue living as you have done brother."
Aramis nodded, his eyes and head began drooping as the lack of sleep finally started to catch up to him. Porthos shifted so he was sat beside Aramis and moved his brother so Aramis' head was comfortably cushioned against him, and he wrapped an arm around Aramis' shoulders. He looked up hearing footsteps and smiled seeing the Priest walking towards him holding a few blankets. The sliver headed old man gently wrapped blankets around the Musketeers and left them with a smile.
Porthos looked down to see Aramis sleeping soundly and he was content to watch over his brother as he slept. Aramis had done this many times when Porthos had been wounded, it was only fair Porthos return the favour now.
He conceded that Marsac had done two things right; he had saved Aramis five years ago and he had saved him again the past week by bringing to light what had happened. Now answers had been given and Porthos hoped with those answers Aramis could live a more peaceful life. Without the dark memories hanging over him like a noose, ready to choke him at moment's notice.
The End.