This one may have made me tear up a little.
Episode 9 – The Prize
Fathers' Day
Aramis sat back on his haunches, numb, not feeling the strain on his legs and back, unable to think past the grief that was beginning to bubble up from deep inside.
Treville was dead.
Gone.
His body still lay before them, his head cradled on the marksman's thigh, but his spirit had already moved on. Aramis could feel the change. The Minister's face was peaceful, almost like he was asleep, but the familiar features were slack, devoid of life and Aramis felt a burning in his chest he feared would never stop. He believed his heart literally breaking until he realized he needed to take a breath, that he'd been holding it since he slid to a stop, hoping beyond hope that the damage he knew was there was not as dire as he'd thought.
He gasped in a quick gulp of air, the oxygen burning his throat as he tried to swallow the distress he felt slowly seeping through his entire body.
This couldn't be happening.
It wasn't as if he was unfamiliar with death. He'd seen many a soldier fall in battle, prayed over and buried many a brother throughout his life. When the war came close to the monastery, the devastation was hard to bear, but he'd done what was required and used any means available to help lay the dead to rest.
But never had it been this hard.
Never had it been family.
Despite the harsh words that had been spoken between them after he'd been rescued from Grimaud's clutches, Aramis knew the Minister's anger was equal parts disappointment and fear. Disappointment that Aramis had not come to him with the Queen's plans; fear that one of his own had been put directly in danger that could've been avoided.
Aramis did not regret the attempt to broker peace, but he wished with all his heart he had spoken to Treville, been able to explain that he had wanted to inform him all along but could not, his silence requested by the woman he would die for and loved with all his heart.
He would've died for Treville, too. He'd proven that on many an occasion, following the former Captain's orders without question. He knew Treville had trusted him – though the true motives of his game with Lorraine and Gaston had been hidden from all but a few including Aramis and the Queen herself.
But Aramis understood.
Treville had placed the safety of the Duaphin above all else. He had orchestrated events to keep the boy safe and he'd given his life to make sure the future King lived to wear the crown.
The King.
His son.
Aramis would forever be grateful to Treville for what he'd done to save little Louis. His quick action had no doubt saved the boy from becoming a pawn in Gaston's bid for the throne. Despite the fact the Dauphin had ended up in Grimaud's clutches, Treville had paved the way for reconciliation with the Duke of Lorraine, the power behind Gaston's threat, reducing the peril and allowing them the opportunity to keep the boy from harm.
He had no idea how Treville had managed such a coup. The Minister had kept his agenda to himself, trusting no one, taking no chances his plans would be thwarted. Aramis would have to ask Porthos for the details of what had happened in Lorraine's camp later, once the pain of the fallout had lessened.
Porthos.
Aramis' shoulders slumped further. The big man would be devastated when he found the cost of their mission.
Treville had been like a father to him. He'd been like a father to all of them, but especially to the Musketeer from the Court of Miracles. They had made it through the rough patch concerning Porthos' true father, and Treville's part in his mother's abandonment. He had accepted that his place in the Musketeers was of his own accord and not due to the Captain's guilt. They had forged a deeper bond and Aramis feared what the loss would do to his friend. They would all feel the grief, but Porthos more than most.
A quiet sob hitched beside him and Aramis finally remembered he was not alone in his grief.
D'Artagnan stared at Treville's cooling body, tears running unabashed down his cheeks. This was the second father the younger man had lost and it was obviously no easier than the first. He wanted to say something to temper the young man's pain, but his words seem to have deserted him, his mind still reeling from the tragedy, unable to console himself let alone his brothers.
Looking up he found Athos standing guard in front of them. The Captain's eyes were hidden in the deep shadow of his hat, but Aramis could see the shine of tears as Athos' gaze shifted to meet his. The blue eyes reflected the pain Aramis felt, the devastation of the loss written on the swordsman's normally impassive features.
The Captain swallowed, his eyes moving to once again look at the body of his friend before turning to assess their situation. Ever the professional, Aramis took strength from Athos' demeanor, knowing that despite their anguish, there was still work to be done.
Duty before sorrow.
The smoke had cleared from the area in front of Lorraine's tent, the bodies of the men responsible for Treville's death lying still in the dirt. They had arrived in time to kill those who'd dared threaten the King, but they'd been too late to save the man to whom they owed everything.
To whom he owed everything.
Aramis' thoughts turned to his son. Porthos had spirited him off to safety, and it had been obvious the boy was still alive, but was he hurt? Frightened? Aramis longed to hold him, tell him he was safe, that he would never allow harm to come to him.
Treville had kept his plans from him, going so far as to order Athos not to inform him of the Dauphin's whereabouts. Aramis knew the minister had the boy's best interests at heart, but who better to protect him than his father? Treville had gambled with the Dauphin's life, believing Aramis unfit to see to his safety. Despite his current grief, he could only hope the Minister had come to realize his mistake.
Aramis was under no delusion as to Treville's motives for keeping the Dauphin's true parentage a secret. It had been for the sake of France, for the safety of the boy and the Queen. He had helped them take down Rochefort, but Aramis had felt Treville's disappointment and it had been one of the deciding factors that had led to his retiring to the monastery. He never wanted to see that discontent in Treville's eyes again, and knew that if he remained, it would always be there.
But Treville had a soft spot for the Queen, and Aramis knew the man would never betray her – not even to Louis himself. He would do all he could to keep her and her son safe. It was the only way Aramis could leave, knowing Treville and the others would be there to protect them when he could not.
And protect them he had. Treville had proven himself a true son of France, a true hero, a man Aramis could always look to with pride and trust. He had always been one of them – even when he'd been their captain, their minister, their leader. He was their fifth Musketeer, and their lives would be forever poorer without him.
Athos cleared his throat, the sound loud in the silence of the field. Aramis nodded, knowing they had work to do before they could take care of the dead. Grimaud had escaped yet again, but there were still men lying wounded, soldiers who needed to be looked after, remanded into custody. They still had their duty to perform. Just as Treville had taught them, what he would expect of them.
Aramis looked back down at the still face of the man they had all considered friend and so much more. Slowly, reverently, he traced the sign of the cross on his forehead, whispering words of prayer, hoping to ease him from this life into the next.
Silently he added his undying gratitude for what had been done, for what had been saved. He would forever owe Treville his thanks, his very life. From one father to another, he vowed to live up to the example set.
fin