Thank you once more for the amazing feedback. And I should apologize for making so many of you shed a tear.. But I'm not sorry, lol!

Chapter 16.

As Aramis woke, he stayed still in position for a moment, just allowing the pain to reach its peak before forcing it to subside whilst staring up into the roof. Rolling himself up into sitting position, he sat still for a while, just taking deep breaths before he lifted his right hand to peak underneath his bandage. It looked good, a bit red and angry still but that was definitely to be expected after yesterday's fight, and the fact that only a few days had passed since the injury occurred. It was an ugly scar, but nothing else were to be expected as they had used a heated dagger to close it, and that form of action always left horrible scars. The stitching was neatly done though, and he had praised d'Artagnan several times for his fine work.

Looking around the room, he saw Porthos and d'Artagnan still in their beds, but the bed Athos had occupied lay empty. This was immediately cause for concern, and Aramis got to his wobbly feet, reaching out to steady his walk by holding onto anything he could reach, and made his way over to his belongings to pull his trousers, boots and doublet on, tucking his left sleeve into the sash as he wrapped it around his midsection. Getting dressed with one arm was a difficult mission, and every movement still sent pain through his shoulder, but the need of finding his brother pushed him along.

While walking down the massive marble stairway, he passed a window and stopped in his tracks. He could see Athos sitting outside, on his knees, by the four graves at the end of the garden, his head hung low. Aramis sighed to himself, cursing the fact that they had just thought Athos would make it through the night. Of course he wouldn't. How could he?

For how long had he been out there in the snow?

Aramis hurried down the stairs as quickly as his body would allow him, and while passing the living room he took hold of his boat cloak – swinging it around him with a practiced movement – and then grabbed hold of two blankets, that he carried on his good arm as he walked outside. Crossing the lawn, he spoke not to startle Athos.

"Brother. You will catch a chill."

"She died because of me Aramis. They all died because of me."

Oh crap.

Aramis saw the red snow next to Athos and was instantly terrified that the wound had reopened once more since d'Artagnan redid it last night – until he saw the bottle in front of Athos, red wine sipping out of its neck. How much had he been drinking?

Aramis felt worry grip his insides. With a concussion like the once Athos had suffered, he should not be drinking heavily, if at all.

"Athos, please, here."

Athos looked over his shoulder, and saw the woollen blanket. He gave a small nod, reaching carefully not to stretch the wound, and took it from Aramis, wrapping it around his shoulders. Aramis crossed himself before the graves, then went down on his knees next to Athos, a blanket wrapped around him as well. In front of them were four graves. The massive one, which was his parents adjoining one, then the grand one with Thomas' name, next to Anne's with the stone pushed over and cracked in two. The white marble one had Simone' name freshly carved in with beautiful letters.

They had buried her yesterday, after the sun had set. It had been hard work digging the grave, but many people in this town loved Simone, and a conjoined effort had happened, and a grave had been made. Luckily the cold had not seeped to deep into the ground yet, and they had managed to lower her into the ground. The burial had been beautiful, most people in the town coming to see her off and hundreds of lit candles made the dark evening bath in a glow as the magic of fireflies.

Aramis swallowed before talking.

"My friend. I need you to listen to me. Not one person of your family died because of you. Your parents died due to raiders, your brother deserved everything coming to him and your wife would've been dead due to your brother. Simone's death was because of Isaac never being able to move on. And Isaac not moving on had nothing to do with you, it was the guilt in his heart that stopped his life. I know you wanted to protect them all, but I believe you were not able to because you were not meant to. God above has a plan for you, a plan for you to do great things and he needed you to take on another family to do so. The fate has played evil tricks on you and I am praying for them to come to an end, because you, my brother, are the noblest of men and you do not deserve all coming to you. I pray it will stop now, I pray you will lose no more."

Aramis took a deep breath as Athos sat quietly and patiently, knowing there were more words to come.

"Sometimes we need to lose some love to leave room for another, greater love, we have all done it. Porthos lost his mother, d'Artagnan both his parents, I haven't had contact with my family since I left in search of Isabel. We have all lost our families by blood, but in the depths of our despair we have built a new one, a family chosen by fate, then built by brotherhood and comradely. We know each other's pains, because we have been hurt ourselves, and we know love because we have all had it – and lost it. The only thing that still stands strong throughout all of this is our brotherhood, and it always will. Therefore I beg of you to confine in me, to trust me with your heart just like I know you trust me with your life. I beg of you to believe me when I say these people resting before us has not been slain by your hand, nor your incompetence. They were slain by fate and bad circumstances, to give room for your brothers-in-arms. Life is a cruel joke, but for those of us who take it, beat it, wrestle it and form it with our will, the joke will be on those who get in the way."*

Athos gave a nod, knowing deep inside that Aramis was right, but refusing to believe it, his pride sitting in his ear like an angry bug telling him that he should've been able to protect them – and that he failed.

"Our destiny has been to become Musketeers, and none of us would've arrived here without suffering tremendous losses. You would never have left La Fére to come to Paris had nothing happened here, and you would've spent your life pleasing Milady, breeding a family while constantly worrying about where and what Thomas was up to. You wouldn't have fled to Paris, not met us, and you would not have become a Musketeer, and one of the finest soldiers that France ever had the privilege to behold."

Athos huffed at the words Aramis spoke, but didn't interrupt.

"We need you Athos, we need you to lead us. We all look up to you as our mentor and guide in the heat of the battle, and we would walk behind you in the darkest and coldest of forests. You had hundred of men behind you yesterday, even people who doesn't care for you were still listening to your command out of respect of your authority. That is your place in the world, a warrior on the frontline, not in a dull and dusty library reading up on history. You were meant to battle, and for that, God decided he had to find a way to guide you onto the right path. It hasn't been pretty, but it all serves to finding the path of your destiny."

As Aramis ran out of words he sat quiet, hoping that Athos would have a response for him. Athos just looked over to him, and reached out to grab his hand. Their fingers lacing together, and as Athos squeezed, Aramis squeezed back. There were no words necessary for Athos to speak – that touch meant a lot more than he could ever express with words.

The sat still for a few minutes, just holding hands, before Athos finally spoke.

"We should go inside. Last thing we need is to catch a chill."

Aramis smiled, sure he had come through to his friend, as the two of them got to their feet carefully, steadying each other as both of their worlds swayed unsteadily. A pair of strong hands was suddenly there, reaching out for both men to anchor them into the ground, and as the two turned their heads, they met the worried eyes of Porthos. Aramis gave him a small nod, and Porthos immediately let go of Aramis to wrap an arm around Athos, guiding him back inside. Aramis observed with clinical eyes as Athos stumbled inside. They had forced him down in a chair yesterday, Aramis looking him over as there seemed to be no end to the nausea and dizziness. Concussion was a fact, most likely being worsened by the fact that Athos had already suffered a heavy blow to the head earlier.

Once inside, d'Artagnan met them with cups of steaming hot tea, looking from Aramis to Athos, then back to Aramis, who gave him a small nod. Porthos smiled as he guided Athos to sit down at the dining table, which had been set with breads, spreads, butter, marmalade and cheese.

"Is everything under control?" D'Artagnan asked carefully, hovering behind his mentor, observing every move.

Athos groaned as he sat down carefully, a hand pressed to his side, but he looked up to meet the eyes of his brothers.

"No. But it will be."

"Time heals all wounds, even if the scars always remain. We'll patch each other up, and we move on, but we never forget because the scars are always there. Even scars fade with time, but now and then they reappear to make themselves known, and when that happen we just need help to ease the pain." Aramis said quietly, looking amongst his brothers.

"You should've been a poet." Athos said dryly, but his voice roaming with fondness.

"Nah, you would've shot me years ago."

Athos didn't say anything, but his face spoke volumes. Agreement.

"The question is who would've shot y'first – Athos, Treville or the King 'imself." Porthos laughed, his joy contagious, sending giggles through out the room, Athos smiling, but the laughter was immediately followed by his friends bending over in pain. Porthos mumbled an apology as he watched them take control of their pains. Athos gave him a light smile before raising his cup to his lips, stopping halfway to stare down into it.

"D'Artagnan. There's a lemon in my tea?"

"Yes." D'Artagnan nodded, raising his own cup to smut his tea. Even with the cup covering his mouth, they could all see him smiling.

"Do I dare to ask why?"

"It's good for you."

Athos just rolled his eyes. This lad apparently tried to make him 'healthy'. Whims.

They all shared a giggle at Athos' confusion before Porthos spoke.

"So what now?"

"We'll stay here until we all are fit to ride." Athos answered. "Then we will return to Paris. Treville took Isaac but told me he will stay in the Châtelet until our return."

The three men nodded. Things were coming to an end. The entire regiment of Musketeers, who had arrived shortly before the fight, all pampered up in leather, breastplates and the light blue leather cloaks, had been a welcome sight as they rode in. Athos had stood straight as he welcomed his brothers to his land, some of them knowing of his background of nobility, some of them completely new to the information. All of them were staring at the manor with amazement upon arrival.

They had all stayed until Simone had been buried last night, standing straight in respect as the entire town saw her off. She was a woman loved by all, and Athos had a hard time remaining composed, as he stood tall amongst his brothers. During the funeral, his knees had buckled and his hand trembled as he felt emotions push their way up, as if his heart was climbing up his throat. But he had not been alone, and hands belonging to three different people had quickly found him. Aramis' hand snuck into his clenched fist, their fingers lacing together. Porthos reached behind Aramis to place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. D'Artagnan's hand on the small of his back, just being a steady support. They didn't say a word, and there was no need for it as well. Just knowing they were there, knowing they would catch him when he fell was enough to anchor him, and help him through the funeral.

When the funeral was over and everyone was retreating, Treville had roughly shoved a bound Isaac into a carriage, set Musketeers on watch, and sent them on their way to Paris. He had walked up to Athos to express his sincerest sympathies, and after Athos had promised that they would return as soon as they were fit to ride, Treville had mounted and ridden to catch up with his men.

Things were definitely coming to an end.

Finally.

That afternoon, the four of the men had been moving to sit outside by benches in the garden. The snow glistered on the ground, but the sun was up and leaving a beautiful light in their other time so dark world. Those few moments when sun would actually appear, they always tried to move outside, to gulp in the last rays of summers before the nights and days turned darker by the hour.

They had covered the benches in blankets, wrapped around their legs, but their boat cloaks added to the sun provided enough warmth for them to enjoy sitting outside talking without being annoyed with the cold. Porthos and d'Artagnan had set the table to a smaller feast, Porthos went out to shoot a hare and d'Artagnan cooked it in the most appreciated fashion. The meat had been served with potatoes and carrots from the earth cellar, and whilst down there, Athos had grabbed some fine wine with him up. Aramis had quickly confiscated the bottle as Athos had already been drinking half the night, and with a head wound like the one he had, he really should not be drinking at all. Athos had understood, but none the less had he been mumbling ungrateful words as d'Artagnan served him water and honey tea.

They remained seated even after they finished their food, cleaning weapons and mending clothes. Everything they owned was in need of care, there had just not been time for it.

As they were sitting there, they all suddenly looked up as they noticed a rider approaching. Three of them immediately tensed, not knowing if to expect danger, or kindness, and they all turned to look for guidance in Athos' face. Athos was smiling as he carefully rose to his feet, obviously in pain but manners pushing through it. The man, just about Athos' age, dismounted from his horse, reaching out a hand for Athos to shake. Athos was not slow on responding.

"My Comte, it's good to see you standing. I was told there has been some trouble."

"Isaac. But it's been taken care of." Athos nodded, his face not giving away any kind of emotions. The man opposite was of a completely different story, every man around could see the sadness on his features as he nodded to Athos.

"I'm sorry I could not be here to help. Had I known-"

"Pierre, it is all well. I know you would have been by our side had you been here."

"My loyalty will always be with you."

"I know that, and for that I will always be grateful. Now, tell me, how was Frankfurt?"

"Cold, wet and lacking in wine." Pierre grinned, before he seemed to have remembered something. He quickly turned, and pulled a bundle out of one of his saddlebags. He held it up for Athos to take, and so Athos did, with a smile spreading across his face.

"You found it?"

"I did indeed. It wasn't easy, but eventually I managed to place my hands on one." Pierre was smiling proudly, while pulling up a little pouch filled with coin. "There wasn't need of all the money you gave me to get it for you – I only used about half of it."

"Please keep the rest, for your troubles. I heard your wife is expecting another child – so I'm sure you can put it to good use."

"Thank you. If there's anything you need upon your visits, please don't hesitate to knock my door. It's always open for you."

"Same goes to you, my friend."

Athos' hand squeezed Pierre's wrist, before they shared another smiled, and Pierre rode off into the woods again. Athos turned back to his brothers by the table, walking up to them he placed the package, which was wrapped in brown, thick paper, down on the table, and he slid it over to Aramis, who looked up at him with a confused expression. Athos just gave him a small nod while he sat down on the bench, and Aramis – like a child with a present – ripped off the paper with his only useful hand, revealing a beautifully bound book. Aramis could tell the book was brand new, the pages hadn't been touched yet, and he turned it over it so he could read the title.

"Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis in animalibus." Athos told him before he even had time to read it. "'The Anatomical Function of the Movement of the Heart and the Blood in Animals', the author is William Harvey, the English physician. I have been told it is to be intriguing, and explores a new way of thinking in terms of medicine. I believed you might like to read it."

"Oh, Athos, how you spoil me." Aramis grinned from ear to ear as he grabbed onto the book and begun flipping through the pages.

"Since you are our physician, I feel it's my duty to give you the means to study. I'd prefer if you studied with a book instead of our bodies. Pierre," Athos said, his hand gesturing towards the forest of where his friend had disappeared. "- told me he was to travel to Frankfurt in business, I asked him to find me the book. He is a man I trust."

Athos loved reading, and the others would borrow books from time to time from his little library, but now and then Athos would come across a book that would suit the others better than himself, and he could not help himself, he just had to buy it for them. Aramis had been on the receiving end the most, as Athos kept finding books on medicine, feeling the importance of keeping Aramis' medical skills up to date. Since they had found out d'Artagnan was a brilliant little chef, the amount of cookbooks had increased dramatically. Athos had also given d'Artagnan books with empty pages, where he could write down his own dishes to remember how he made them in the future.

The last one Athos had purchased for Aramis though had been 'La methode de traicter les playes faictes par Hacquebutes, et aultres bastons a feu'. The method of treating wounds caused by Arquebuses and other firearms. With a little bit of sweet talk and a ginormous bit of generosity, Athos had purchased it straight from the royal library, where it had been since its author – Ambroise Paré – placed it there. Ambroise Paré had been a barber surgeon to the French Kings Henry II, Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III, and Athos had heard the rumours of his greatness when it came to medicine. He knew he had to get that book to Aramis, and he never regretted it as Aramis had devoured the book, and he kept it close to him, almost like a handbook. He might not always follow it, but he would now and then refer to it, as a guide.

"I'd prefer that too." Aramis smiled gently as he let his fingers trail over the back of the book. "Thank you Athos. I will read it with care."

Athos smiled at Aramis as he reached over for his glass of water, drinking heavily from it as he gave Aramis a sideway look. Their medic was already completely lost in the book and Athos knew it wouldn't take long before he had finished reading it. Reading is important, to keep the mind sharp and focused.

A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge.**

* The last line of Aramis' ramblings is an altered version one of my favourite quotes, although stolen and then twisted, from Xena; The Warrior Princess. Episode S03E01: the Furies, told by Ares, God of War. Full quote;

"Life isn't worth living. It's to be taken, and beaten, and wrestled, and formed in your image. That's where the meaning lies; in what you can twist life into. For those who just endure life, yeah, it's a nasty joke. But for those who form it with their will, the joke is on those who get in the way."

** Quote from "A Game of Thrones" (1996) written by the most amazing of authors – George R. R. Martin. Said by Tyrion Lannister, page 124. Full quote;

"My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… And a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge."

And yes. The books are legit.

'Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis in animalibus' was published Latin in Frankfurt 1628, and it's like a milestone in the history of physiology as it established the circulation of the blood. This book, and author William Harvey, was the first to compare the heart as a 'pump'. The second book mentioned, 'La methode de traicter les playes faictes par Hacquebutes, et aultres bastons a feu', was published in French in 1545 (there's an English copy made in 1617 but to me it made more sense for them to have the French copy. They are, after all, in France.) In this book Paré mentions that "Wounds treated with a mixture of yolk, rose oil, and turpentine was healing better than those treated with the boiling oil."

And no there weren't really any cookbooks like ours today, full of recipes and stuff, but there were some books about cooking.

See. I've done my homework!