I have to go back to work tomorrow so posting will slow down to once a week. I have hit a bit of a wall with Reconciliation but will continue with it as soon as my writer's block clears.

The Key to Salvation

Chapter Two

It was rare for sound to intrude upon his isolation. When he woke to the faint clamour of every church bell in Paris ringing he knew it was a special day. There were only two days in the year when all the bells rang in unison, Christmas and Easter Sunday. So, it was Easter. It had been a long time since he had tried to keep track of the days and months of his captivity. In his windowless cell it was almost impossible to distinguish night from day. Food was delivered twice a day, the only way for him to measure the passage of the endless days since he had been incarcerated.

He rose from his bed and knelt, hands clasped in prayer. They had taken his rosary beads away from him, claiming that, in the hands of a skilled Musketeer, they could be used as a weapon. It had been heart wrenching to be parted from them. They had been a gift from his parents when he took his first Communion so many years ago. At least his crucifix was safe with Athos. He hadn't dared risk bringing it with him, knowing it would only have been stolen by the guards. He bowed his head, lips moving soundlessly as he began to recite the words of the Easter Mass. Last year he had stood as a proud Musketeer in Notre Dame with the royal family. Now, he was alone and disgraced, stripped of his commission and his freedom.

The door opened to admit his jailor carrying a bowl filled with an inadequate amount of thin gruel. It was the standard morning fare, eagerly consumed despite its bland taste and unappealing texture. Today, though, Aramis ignored the man and the food, lost in the familiar cadences of the words of the service. A blow to side of the head jerked him abruptly from his reverie.

"Yer breakfast's 'ere," his jailor said, looming over him.

Aramis nodded, keeping his eyes downcast. He had learnt early on that showing any sign of defiance came with a price. How many times had he been beaten in those first few weeks? His pride had been no friend to him during those desperate days when he struggled with his loss of liberty. He inwardly cringed at how compliant he had become. His friends would no longer recognise him. When the door closed he scrambled to his feet, the moment of prayer and contemplation lost to him. The food was luke-warm and, in his previous life, he would have rejected it as inedible slop. Now it was the only thing keeping some semblance of life in his body. He cleared the bowl and picked up the cup of water that had been placed beside it. Water was even more precious than food and he carefully hoarded it to see him through to the evening. A couple of sips was all he allowed himself before placing the cup in a corner of the cell where it wouldn't accidentally be overturned.

He had retreated into the comfort of his bible when the door, unexpectedly, opened again. He looked up warily. Any change in routine usually didn't herald anything good.

"Give me yer hands." The jailor held out a set of shackles.

Aramis put the bible in his pocket, rose obediently and walked over to the door. His heart began to hammer painfully in his chest as he wondered what was going on. The cold metal snapped closed around his wrists, tethering his hands in front of his body.

"Come with me."

He trailed after the jailor, passing the other cells that lined the corridor. When they reached a flight of stairs and began to ascend he frowned. The man unlocked a door at the top and stepped out. Aramis instinctively ducked his head when the light of day hit his eyes, making them water. A cool wind wormed its way under his threadbare shirt and he began to cough, a harsh wet sound.

"Get in line."

He looked up cautiously, blinking frantically against the daylight. Even though it was cloudy it was still brighter than anything he had experienced for many months. There were, he discovered, a half dozen other man standing in a ragged line in the courtyard. He shuffled over to join them, still at a loss as to what was happening.

There was a gate about fifty yards in front of him. When it opened the yard abruptly filled with people. It was overwhelming after so long on his own and he was overcome with a sense of embarrassment that people should see him like this. He dropped his gaze, fixing it on the ground. There was the rumble of voices and then one voice that was dearer to him than his own life. Suddenly, in a rush of hope, he understood.

The Queen passed slowly along the line of prisoners, handing out a small purse of money and saying the words that granted freedom to the condemned. He swallowed harshly, overcome with self-loathing. He couldn't bear for the woman he loved to see him like this. There was the swish of her shirts and then she was standing in front of him. He kept his eyes down and head bowed, praying that she wouldn't recognise him.

"The King in his infinite mercy has granted you…." Her voice stuttered to a halt and he heard her sharp intake of breath. "Aramis."

Now, he had no option other than to look at her, feeling a flush start in his cheeks and neck. He saw the look of horror on her beautiful face and bowed awkwardly. "Your Majesty." His voice was rough from disuse and from the lump that had formed in his throat.

The Queen recovered her composure quicker than him. She pressed the money into his hand, her fingers lingering for a second too long before she stepped back. "You have been granted clemency," she said, her voice unsteady.

He nodded, unable to trust his voice and knowing it would be unseemly for him to address her further. Then, another thought struck him. If the Queen was here then she would have a Musketeer escort. She was walking away from him now so he scanned the courtyard. The first person he saw was Athos, who was watching him steadily. Next to him stood Captain Treville, who nodded in acknowledgement. He swung his gaze the other way and it alighted on Porthos, who looked torn between grinning broadly and wanting to hurt someone in retribution for all his suffering. D'Artagnan wasn't able to keep his emotions from his face. Aramis saw pity and shock. He wasn't surprised given his present condition.

He began to shiver as the wind increased in ferocity and then he felt the weight of a cloak settling across his shoulders.

"Get him out of these chains." Porthos voice was harshly demanding.

He didn't remove his eyes from his best friend's face until the shackles dropped away. It was only then that he realised he was wearing Porthos' blue cloak and fumbled to remove it. "I am not fit to wear this."

Porthos' hand closed around his own, warm and firm. "Nonsense. You have done nothin' wrong."

He nodded, unconvinced but pulled it closer round his body to warm himself. "It is good to see you, my friend."

He was pulled into a hug that left him breathless. Porthos stepped back and looked at him critically. "You're wastin' away. Time to get some good food into you."

Athos came to join them and rested a hand on Aramis' arm. "We will guard the Queen," he said to Porthos. "You should take our brother home."

That was when the reality of his situation struck Aramis as forcefully as a fist to the jaw. He had no home, no occupation. He looked at Athos, stricken.

"Don't worry," Athos said, correctly interpreting the look. "There is a room at the garrison for you as long as you need and the rest, well, we'll figure that out tomorrow. For today just enjoy your freedom."

The Queen was leaving so Athos had to hurry to her side but not before giving him a warm smile. Porthos slung an arm around Aramis' shoulders. "Athos is right. There's time enough to sort everythin' out."

"Yes." The cold air caught in his throat and he began to cough, bending over with the force of it. He felt Porthos tighten his hold. By the end he was feeling weak and unstable so he leaned into Porthos for support.

"Let's get out of this god-forsaken place," Porthos said.

Aramis, content to follow his friend's lead walked out into the streets of Paris.

Tbc