I was told the BBC was using a rather eclectic scheduling concept, so I didn't want to get too far ahead of them. I hope episode 6 has been shown now, so on we go!

Episode 6 – Death of a Hero

Hidden Damage

"Why?"

Aramis turned, confused at Porthos' simple question as they followed Athos to the stable. The Captain moved in a straight line, but it was obvious he was still in pain from the beating he'd taken at the hands of Grimaud earlier. Porthos and d'Artagnan were moving slower than normal as well, though he supposed having a building fall on you would definitely curb one's enthusiasm for prolonged activity. They had all assured him they were fine – bruised and sore but functional – but he was not about to take their word for it and found himself unwilling to let any of his brothers out of his sight until he could check them over and confirm their claims. Oddly enough, despite facing his own demise from the most powerful man in the country only hours earlier, he was the one who'd come through the day unscathed.

Physically, at least.

"Why what?"

"Why of all people would the King confide about his health in you?" Porthos asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "It's not like you're one of his favorite people at the moment. Why tell you he was dying? According to Treville he hasn't told anyone – not even the Queen. So why you?"

Aramis shrugged, deflecting. He'd neglected to tell them of Louis' real reason for ordering the failed monk to accompany him on his pilgrimage, knowing none of them would take it well. At the moment, he would like nothing more than to forget the day – and the King's petulant threats – and force the others to concentrate on their own pains.

But he was tired of all the secrets being kept, tired of the strain between them, and felt the need to be truthful, if only to selfishly know they would still have his back if the King decided he wanted his head after all. It was hard to believe that it was just this morning he and Porthos had been shooting bottles like old times. It had been the first time since their return he felt that they could quite possibly find the rhythm they used to have, but now he was knew that was merely a momentary reprieve from the menace that still haunted them. Apparently the past was not so easy to escape.

"I don't believe the revelation of his dire health was the main point of the excusrion," the marksman admitted sullenly.

"And just what was his point?"

"That he had every intention of seeing me hanged for sleeping with the Queen."

He took another step before realizing the others had stopped. Looking around he noted three pairs of wide eyes staring at him from where they flanked him on all sides.

"He knows?" Athos clarified, his voice a hushed rumble. "How?"

Aramis could only shrug. "I didn't actually inquire, but he seemed quite convinced. He ordered me to confess." He honestly had no idea how Louis had gone from believing Rochefort's accusations all lies to being convinced of the betrayal. It wasn't something he was apt to investigate considering the precarious status of the King's decision.

D'Artagnan sputtered an incredulous laugh. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Not in so many words." Aramis lifted his head, unable to meet their gazes, staring up at the thatched roof of the stable. "I told him I slept with a very lonely woman."

"Ah, Aramis…" The Gascon sighed and turned away, covering his eyes with a hand.

"You're joking," Porthos grabbed his shoulder, forcing Aramis to pivot back to face him. "You – the man who barely acknowledges any order given and this is the one you decide to follow?"

Aramis brushed his friend's hand off, annoyed. "What was I to do? Hmm? He was already convinced, it's not like it did more harm. Besides, he decided not to hang me after all."

Porthos slapped a hand on his leg causing dust to rise into the air. "Wonderful," he hissed. "It's not enough we have Grimaud and Marcheaux to deal with, now we have to worry about the King himself coming after us."

"Not us, Porthos," Aramis corrected. "Just me. It's me he's angry with. I will not allow the rest of you – nor the Queen – to be held accountable for my actions."

"You said he decided not to hang you?" Athos inquired. "He said this?"

Aramis nodded. "Perhaps it was because I protected him from Grimaud's men. Or..."

"Or?"

The marksman shrugged again. "Perhaps it was his grief over Governor Feron, or he was simply being merciful considering his current condition, though I doubt it. As it is, my head will be able to stay attached to my body for the time being."

Porthos narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. "But? I can always tell when there's a but."

Aramis dipped his head. "But… he made it quite clear that I would never be allowed anywhere near the Queen or the Dauphin even after his death." He looked up, his dark eyes empty, cheerless. "I believe he rather enjoyed taunting me with that promise."

The other three exchanged looks of sympathy. Porthos wrapped a hand around the back of Aramis' neck and squeezed hard. "I'm sorry, 'Mis. But it's not like you didn't already expect that. You're lucky you're not in the Chatelet already."

Aramis nodded, pulling his hat from his head and running a hand through his hair. "Louis can't do that. Not without admitting the Dauphin isn't his son and leaving France without an heir," he reasoned. "I doubt he wants to name Gaston his successor considering the past and his treachery of late. He is out of time. Unless Louis is willing to admit the Bourbon line will end with him, he really has little choice but to keep the secret."

"Which means he cannot publicly arrest you and charge you with treason," Athos concluded. The Captain slouched in relief, leaning back against a post, the effort only managing to accentuate his obvious pain and fatigue.

Porthos grunted his opinion of the King's pride. "So he's willing to let everyone believe the Dauphin is his true born son to save face."

"Our King will go to any length necessary to hide the fact that he was not able to provide a Bourbon heir."

D'Artagnan huffed a laugh. "So he should be thanking you, not threatening to kill you."

Aramis' grin was grim. "Somehow I doubt he sees it quite that way." He took a deep breath and placed his hat back on his head, smacking his hands together as if to rid them of the metaphorical dirt clinging to them. "But it is not my troubles that should be the immediate concern," He made a show of looking each of his friends up and down, tutting at the rather pitiful picture they presented. "You all look absolutely terrible. I suggest we get you all cleaned up and a hot meal in your bellies. After that, I hope you will allow me to assure myself of your good health."

"After all that, he's worried about us?" d'Artagnan asked incredulously.

"Physical injuries are something he can fix," Athos said knowingly, a crooked grin lighting his bruised face. He bowed stiffly, placing a hand on their field medic's shoulder. "I for one would be grateful for the attention." Whether it was because the Captain truly needed the help or simply wanted to keep Aramis' mind occupied from his own troubles, the marksman couldn't guess, but he would accept the gesture of trust nonetheless. "I will meet you at the garrison. There is something I must attend to first."

Aramis silently challenged his decision, but the Captain held his gaze and he reluctantly nodded his agreement.

"Yeah," Porthos added. "I could use a good massage." He rolled his shoulders to emphasize the statement. "I hope you're still as good with your hands as you used to be."

"As do I." Aramis smiled. "Would it be too much to ask for us to hurry our departure. The longer we remain on royal grounds, the more I fear my luck may run out."

"But you're the luckiest man I know," d'Artagnan countered as they headed toward the horses.

Aramis placed an arm across the young man's shoulders, ignoring the dust that flew up at the contact. "With friends such as you, how could I be anything but?"

Fin