A continuation of my last chapter – a coda to Episode 4, The Queen's Diamonds. I received many requests to continue on with what happened when Athos and Porthos find Aramis in the Wren, so… ask and you shall receive. This was quick, but I hope it works!

Obligations

The Wren was quieter than normal, most of the usual revelers remaining in their homes, either unable to afford their normal nocturnal activities or afraid of what was happening to their fair city. The room wasn't quite empty, a few men sitting quietly at a table near the fire, some others playing cards further back. The lack of a crowd made it easy to find the man they were searching for, the marksman sitting alone at a table near the back corner.

His hat sat on the scarred wood table beside him, his leather doublet and weapons belt draped across an empty chair. He had a bowl of stew before him but was either not hungry or unimpressed with the evening's fare since he sat staring at the table, his hand moving the spoon in circles without once bringing it to his lips.

Porthos exchanged a look with Athos before meandering across the room, stopping just before the table, suddenly unsure of his welcome.

"That looks good," he said, nodding toward the bowl of steaming stew as soon as Aramis took note of their arrival.

The marksman pushed the bowl across the table and leaned back, a cautious grin on his face. "Please, be my guest. I don't seem to have much of an appetite this evening."

Taking it as an invitation to sit, both men dropped their hats onto the table and made themselves comfortable in the chairs circling the small table.

"You could've eaten at the garrison, you know," Porthos began. He sniffed the bowl before taking a bite, grunting appreciatively at the savory taste.

"I needed to clear my head," Aramis admitted. "It was a rather trying day."

"For us all," Athos offered. He motioned for the barmaid to bring them a bottle of wine, noting his friend had neglected to order any. The absence of alcohol made Porthos feel a little better, knowing Aramis hadn't slunk off to the tavern to drown his sorrows – though he looked right sorrowful at the moment.

They sat in a tense silence as the maid brought the requested bottle and Athos poured a generous amount into three of the four cups.

"We seem to be missing someone," Aramis nodded to the fourth cup sitting empty in the center of the table.

"I'm sure d'Artagnan will be along shortly."

Porthos hummed in agreement. He'd seen the Gascon as they'd left the garrison, his knowing eyes watching them, a small smile on his face as if he had no doubt where they were headed.

"So what happened with your friend? Were you able to help her?"

Aramis took a deep breath, his eyes losing focus again. "I'm afraid Pauline was beyond my help," he said sadly.

Porthos' spoon stopped midway to his mouth. "She's all right?"

Aramis shook his head, his finger idly playing with a splinter of wood that had come loose from the tabletop. "All right is not a term I'd use right now."

Athos leaned forward. "Perhaps you should start at the beginning."

Aramis told them of Pauline's plight, of her fear of whoever it was who was blackmailing her. Porthos was enthralled as his old friend told him things about himself they'd never heard before, the truth of where he came from, of his mother. Knowing he'd lost his real mother when he was just a boy made Porthos feel a new type of kinship with him. It also made him wonder why he'd never known any of this before.

It wasn't as if he'd never asked about Aramis' past. The marksman had simply never spoken of this part of it. Porthos understood a man not wanting his past to interfere with his present or future, but he'd never have guessed Aramis childhood had been as dramatic as he was laying it out now.

"She killed him?" Athos' question brought him back to the situation at hand, but he made a promise he would ask his friend to elaborate on the story of his upbringing later.

"She was... not in her right mind." Aramis responded, guarded. He was obviously upset, no doubt wondering what he could've done differently to make things turn out better. "She was frightened. He'd threatened all she'd come to hold dear."

"So what happened to her?"

Aramis' dark eyes flickered to Porthos' at the inquiry. He shrugged. "I don't know. St. Pierre said he would take care of contacting the magistrate, but I wouldn't be surprised if he simply put her on a ship to England to avoid the scandal."

"You didn't arrest her?" Porthos cringed at Athos question, but Aramis seemed to have been expecting it.

"No. How could I? I couldn't even look at her." He leaned forward, elbows on the table, letting his head drop as his hands fisted in his hair.

Porthos ducked his head, trying to catch his friend's eyes. "I know that face. That's your guilt face. You're blaming yourself for all this."

Aramis snorted a derisive laugh. "If I hadn't tried to intervene, perhaps she wouldn't have been driven to such desperation."

"You were trying to help her, Aramis. You were trying to protect her."

The marksman dropped his hands onto the table, his grin filled with self-contempt. "Yes. Well you know what they say about good deeds... It seems all the women I care for are destined for tragedy."

"The Queen is -"

"Unhappy, lonely, living in a loveless marriage."

"But safe."

"For now."

Porthos had no idea how to respond to the statement. A quick look at Athos showed the Captain out of his depth as well. After a moment Aramis looked up, his gaze moving from one to the other, his brow furrowed. "Why are you here?"

"What?"

"You successfully retrieved Queen Henrietta's diamonds. I'm sure the King was pleased. You should be celebrating, yet you are here with me, listening to me prattle on about another woman I've failed."

Porthos pursed his lips and frowned, thinking the answer obvious. "I thought that's what friends do, listen." From the look of surprise on Aramis' face, the answer had been a bit more obscure than expected.

"Though to be fair, we haven't been doing much of that as of late," Athos added, his voice touched with remorse. It was clear now to Porthos that d'Artagnan had been right. They had all had a difficult time readjusting to their new dynamic after years apart. He'd assumed Aramis was fine because he hadn't had to be knee deep in mud and blood. But just because Aramis had been tucked away in the monastery fighting spiritual battles instead of physical ones the battlefield, didn't mean his transition had been any easier.

"You're busy men," the marksman noted and Porthos decided he hated the despondency lacing his friend's voice. "Being a war hero – not to mention a Captain - comes with many obligations."

"It does," Athos admitted quietly. "The wellbeing of my men is one of those obligations."

Aramis' smile was tentative but genuine, his eyes lighting up for the first time in a long while. He held his cup aloft, waiting for the other to do the same. "To obligations."

The clank of the cups echoed loud in the quietness of the tavern.

Fin.