BBC Musketeers - The Greater Good

[jackfan2]

Chapter 5

Athos irritably massaged his sore neck as they made their way through the city. Beside him, d’Artagnan had fared the journey no better, slumped in the saddle, rubbing at his bleary eyes. They’d ridden without rest or food, the entire way back to Paris, and neither of them had the patience or political tact for two impudent and reticent red guards who barred their way from entering the minister’s war room.

“I said, move aside,” Athos fairly growled, hand on the hilt of his sword. Porthos would’ve been proud of his attempt at intimidation.

The guard swallowed, squared his shoulders and attempted to regain his advantage. “I have orders that no one is to-”

“The Captain said, stand aside.”

Athos and d’Artagnan turned as one. The Queen stood at the entrance of the long hall, back straight, eyes sharp, mouth drawn into a tight line. With everyone’s attention on her, she glanced quickly at Athos then locked her eyes on the guard as she strode confidently forward. Athos and d’Artagnan parted and bowed as she walked past, sharing a glance of triumph in the process. While half the guard’s height, what she lacked in stature, she more than made up for in confidence and poise.

She stopped only an arm’s length from the guard, her chin raised, expectantly. “Do you dare defy the Queen as well as the Captain of His Majesty’s Musketeers, monsieur?” Her voice held a touch of reproach, but her countenance remained calm and collected. She expected to be obeyed, and had no doubt of the soldier’s ultimate acquiescence.

The guard had his back pressed against the door, head back, obviously torn between obeying the orders he’d been given or bowing to Anne’s composed will.

Athos could hear voices from the other side of the door, easily recognizing France’s new War Minister, Treville despite the muffling effects of the ornate wood. King Louis was also in attendance, no doubt deep in the planning stage of their attack on Spain. They had apparently left orders not to be disturbed, Athos surmised -- by anyone - but sincerely doubted the order included the Queen.

“N-n-no, Majesty.” The guard swallowed loud enough that Athos had to dip his head to hide a grin.

She arched a delicate brow and smiled. “Then please step aside and allow us to pass.”

She never raised her voice, but the guard jumped to do her bidding. As he fumbled for the handle to the door, Anne glanced at Athos, and he nodded his thanks. As he bowed, allowing her to precede them into the room, he heard d’Artagnan’s soft snicker from behind and rolled his eyes, but didn’t bother to chastise the younger man.

At the abrupt interruption, Treville slammed a hand onto the desk he was hunched over. “What is the meaning of this?” Seeing the Queen, the Minister immediately recanted. “Your Majesty,” he offered, bowing. “My apologies, I did not know-”

“No apology necessary, Minister.” She held her head high as she swept into the room and stopped before Louis, only to bow before him. “Sire, two of your most trusted Musketeers have come with word of vital importance. They seek audience with you and your Minister of War.”

Louis’ eyes slid past her to the entry where Athos and d’Artagnan waited, then to his Minister of War. “What do you know of this?”

Treville narrowed his eyes at his soldiers. “Only that I sent these two, along with another to seek out one of our men who recently resigned his commission. As we are about to go to war, I felt it prudent to have all of my best men involved.”

Louis nodded curtly. “Ah yes, the one who was wrongly treated in that whole incident with Rochefort. What was his name…?”

“Aramis,” the Queen quickly supplied. “He… saved my life more than once.” She added at Treville’s sharp glance. “As well as the life of our son. I shall scarce forget his name for all my days.”

“Yes, of course.” Louis smiled at his wife, his gaze softening. “Oh my dear, this must be horrifying for you to relive.” He reached out and took her hands. “Why don’t you see to our son while I finish speaking with these men?”

It was not a question but a suggestion wrapped in nothing short of an order, the unspoken reminder that this was men’s work and not suitable conversation for a woman, hung in the air. Athos noticed the flush rise on the Queen’s cheeks, her eyes desperate to remain, longing for word of Aramis.

A cold dread swept over the Musketeer and a quick glance to Treville showed the man had seen it, too. Anne’s face exposed her vulnerability where the Musketeer was concerned, revealing far more than was safe. Although Louis believed all Rochefort’s claims to be lies, the Queen was tempting fate to let the truth speak so clearly in her eyes. Athos cleared his throat, catching her eye for a brief moment. She immediately shuttered her need.

Schooling her expression, Anne bowed regally. “Of course, Sire.” With a flicker of an emotion Athos couldn’t precisely read, she glided past him and out of the room.

Louis turned to Athos and d’Artagnan. “Well, don’t just stand there, come, come,” he said motioning them in with one hand. “What is it you have to say?”

Athos let loose a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and strode forcefully into the room. Every second they wasted was precious time that should be spent mounting their forces and riding to Douai. Waiting on the affairs of politics and royal society to come to terms with shifts in events, was excruciating at times. He prayed this would not be one of them.

“Your Majesty,” he bowed. “We were in Douai searching for our friend. He’d taken up residence in Flanders, and we meant to persuade him to return with us, as Capt-Minister Treville mentioned.”

“Flanders,” Louis studied the large map spread out on the table they’d been using to plot their strategy. “That is north and controlled by Spain, is it not?”

“Indeed, Your Majesty.” Treville, Athos and d’Artagnan all gathered around the table.

“And Aramis fled to…. Spain?” The King looked curiously at Treville, then to Athos. “Care to explain?”

Athos bristled at the implication that Aramis was anything but a loyal compatriot of France. “It is the abbé at the monastery there he sought, not so much the location. Aramis mentored under him when he was a boy, and the two kept in touch from that time. He went there only because this man was familiar to him. As Your Majesty pointed out weeks ago, Aramis is a loyal soldier of France.”

Treville joined Athos. “I knew of his retirement to Douai prior to sending my men, sire. If I’d had any doubts about Aramis’ allegiance, I would not have done so.”

The King nodded. “Very well,” he turned to Athos. “What was it you found then?”

“We found the monastery had been taken by a small contingent of Spanish forces, a precursor, I believe, to a larger agenda, though we do not know the full scope of their plans as of yet. We have an advantage in that Aramis is not only still inside, but to my knowledge, they do not know his identity.”

Treville nodded, staring at the map, his tactician’s mind making the connections easily. “It makes sense, and I am sorry I did not think it sooner,” He leaned against the table and pointed at the coast not far from Douai. “Part of the Spanish fleet is already positioned in the bay due to their conflict with England.” He traced his finger up the coast of France to the northern inlet near Belgium. “If those ships come to port here, they can create a supply line to the monastery and there, set up a base camp for more troops.” He turned his attention to the King. “If memory serves, that monastery was built for war decades ago and would be a formidable structure, also large enough to house a great deal of men preparing for attack.”

“Attack…” Louis frowned, studying the map. “Surely you do not mean-”

“That they plan to hit us from the north?” Treville stood, his face grim. “I believe that is exactly what they intend.”

Louis’ face showed his concern. “We cannot sustain a war on two fronts. We do not have enough resources. It would be our downfall.”

Athos cleared his throat. “If we stop them in Douai, we would not have to.” All eyes turned to him. “There is only a small contingent of men there now, though too large for us to contain on our own. Give me a company, we’ll ride back and rout them out. If we can take the monastery, their troops will have no place to quarter and we would have the advantage.”

“What of Aramis?” Treville asked. “Were you able to make contact with him before you left?”

“No sir, but the abbé would have made him aware of our arrival, I’m certain of it, and I left Porthos there in case he was able to reach out. If I know Aramis, he is already plotting what can be done to thwart their plans from the inside. It is an advantage they will not be expecting.”

Louis looked to Treville for confirmation and the older man nodded his agreement. “It’s a good plan, sire. If you are in accord, with Athos in command, I’ll see to the plans.”

More settled than when they’d arrived, Louis held his head high and nodded. Athos had no idea when it had happened, perhaps the incident with Rochefort had been the catalyst, or Treville’s calm, intelligent guidance, or both, but the King seemed more at ease with himself and confident with his decisions.

“See to it, Minister,” Louis commanded.

Treville, Athos and d’Artagnan bowed and the three of them exited the room.

“You said a small contingent,” Treville began as they strode down the hall. “Any idea of numbers?”

“None,” Athos said from his right. “I saw more than a dozen horses and four carts when we first arrived to inquire about Aramis, but nothing more. I’m hoping that upon our return, we’ll have more definite information.”

Treville looked at Athos. “You think Aramis will be able to get word to us?”

Athos nodded. “Aramis is resourceful and devious when warranted; he’ll find a way.”

“If not,” d’Artagnan added. “Porthos will tear that place down stone by stone to get to him.”

One side of Treville’s face curved in a small, fond smile. “Of that I have no doubt.”

“Either way, we will succeed,” d’Artagnan reiterated.

At the exit of another, larger room, the older man stopped and faced them, his eyes scanning the men, carefully. “You two appear as if you could use a good meal and some sleep.”

D’Artagnan drew himself up, though his eyes were clearly lined with fatigue. “We’ll be ready to ride when the regiment is.”

Treville smirked. “I’ve no doubt of it and I wouldn’t suggest you stay behind. But it will be a few hours before they are ready to disembark. I can take care of those arrangements, it hasn't been that long since I was in your shoes,” he nodded at Athos. “You two get a meal, fresh clothes and rest for as long as you can. Meet in the Garrison courtyard in three hours.”

Both of them muttered their gratitude as Treville stalked toward the exit that would see him to the newly established Garrison command post where he would send out orders to form the company for deployment. As soon as the Minister was out of sight, their shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

“You think Porthos and Aramis have gotten into any trouble yet?” d’Artagnan broke the silence as they made their way to the portico surrounding the Louvre.

Athos pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is little point to worrying about things we can do nothing about.” He shot an annoyed look at the younger man. “But I assume either one or both of them have by now.”

D’Artagnan chuckled.

“A moment, Messieurs.”

Both Musketeers came to a halt and turned toward a smaller room to their left. The Queen stood at the entrance, her expression a mixture of concern and authority. She took a small step forward, but a hand pressed her back and Constance stepped into their line of sight.

“Don’t just stand there staring, come in here before we’re seen.” Constance’s whisper carried down the portico.

D’Artagnan smiled, immediately gathering Constance up in to his arms and holding her tight. Madame D’Artagnan’s delight at seeing her new husband was apparent in her barely contained squeal of delight. After a moment, they composed themselves, remembering they were not alone.

“It’s good to see you, Athos,” she smiled at him, blushing. “I assume you found Aramis?”

Athos nodded, returning her smile, before shifting his attention to the Queen. “We believe he is well,” he assured them both.

Anne’s relief was obvious. “Captain,” she began hesitantly. “I wonder if I may have but a moment of your time. Please.”

Athos sighed. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her they were in a hurry. There was not a moment to spare, but the petition in her wide blue eyes made it impossible to deny her. The small fact that she was also the Queen made it rather difficult to refuse.

He felt sympathy for her, an emotion that surprised him. He’d been angry when he’d found them, disappointed in his friend and fearful of the repercussions. When Rochefort had found out, a dread had filled him, knowing Aramis’ mistake would come back to haunt him. His anger and disappointment at their lack of judgment had filtered over to the Queen, though Athos had done his best to keep it hidden. While Aramis had never once allowed anyone to impugn the Queen’s reputation, Athos was under no delusion their clandestine relationship had been anything but consensual; her decisions just as condemning as Aramis’ had been. Maybe more so.

“Your majesty,” he bowed stiffly before her, wanting to be anywhere but in this room. “I am yours to command.”

“Thank you.” She offered a tight smile, her eyes moving to Constance who nodded back to her. “Surely it would be alright if Constance and d’Artagnan were to have a moment alone while we speak?”

Athos gaze cut to d’Artagnan. The younger man was obviously eager to spend what time he could with his bride, but his eyes told Athos he would stay if needed. Deciding this was a conversation best done in privacy, he nodded to the Gascon. “Go.”

D’Artagnan’s head tilted, hesitant, silently asking if he was sure. At a second nod from Athos, he held out a hand to Constance and they stepped back through the door and out of sight.

Athos took a deep breath and turned back to the Queen, resigned to his fate.

Picking nervously at her fingers, she seemed hesitant. “Constance told me about Aramis retiring to Douai weeks ago. It saddened me but I know it was probably for the best, and yet-”

Athos held in a groan. He’d been right, it was a conversation he’d neither the time nor the inclination to have. He understood the Queen’s concern - though he’d be much happier if the whole mess could be forgotten. He shifted on his feet impatiently. His exhaustion and frustration were making him impertinent and he cringed at his own audacity. He was not as angry with her or Aramis as he was with himself - wasting time blaming them both for something neither of them had done out of anything other than the need to feel something other than fear or pain.

“If Rochefort’s advances to the Queen are treason, what does that make yours?”

“Love.”

“I’m sure the King will appreciate the difference.”

Athos guilt flared at the memory of his friend’s look of contrition when he’d once again thrown Aramis’ actions in his face. He forced his emotions down, knowing now was not the time for anything other than the mission that lay ahead. He was a soldier, not a diplomat. There would, hopefully, be time to deal with the recrimination when they returned.

“Captain?” The Queen broke into his thoughts. “Are you all right?”

Athos forced himself to focus on the woman before him. Anne frowned, suddenly unsure of herself. It was a vulnerability he’d only seen once from her - when Rochefort had attacked her in her apartment - and he loathed to be the cause of it now.

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” He softened his voice. “I have ridden straight through from Douai and am feeling the effects of the journey. I beg your forgiveness for my poor manners.”

She smiled, forgiving. “No apologies necessary, Captain. I understand your haste.” She began pacing a moment then stopped suddenly and faced him. “It is Aramis you go to help?”

Athos nodded. “In a manner of speaking.” He hesitated telling her more but offered, “In truth, it is he who will be helping us.”

Anne nodded, a small smile on her lips. “So he is well…” her face showed relief as she looked away. “That is good to hear.”

Athos shifted anxiously, an inner voice shouting at him to be patient and she must have seen it because made to apologize again. “I’m sorry, I know I have no right to ask of him-

“I believe Aramis would disagree.”

“It is for my son…” she paused, dropping her head before once again meeting his eyes. “I know it is still dangerous for either of us to think of each other, but…”

“May I speak honestly with you?”

“Please.” She nodded, and Athos began searching for the right words, trying desperately to measure them in a way that would allow him to make his point, and possibly keep his head.

“What happened between you and Aramis is in the past. It can never be. He paid a terrible price for his choices and the burden of guilt was nearly his undoing. It drove him from us and that was bad enough for us, but for him, it was much more.”

Seeing her distress, Athos moved closer and softened his voice. “I am not the romantic Aramis is, so I can see it clearer from my vantage point. You love each other, that is not in question. I don’t condone it, but I can understand it. If we manage to survive this war, and if we are able to persuade him to come back to Paris and take up his pauldron once more, you must release him. I know your son - if you truly believe him to be Aramis’ - will always connect the two of you, but I beg of you, if there seems to be a private moment where you two can share a word, a kiss, a touch. Don’t. He will always long for you until he understands he cannot have you.”

“I would never-”

“Not intentionally, no. But he is vulnerable simply because of who he is and how deeply he feels, and it would take very little in the way of encouragement from you. Then he- you would both be drawn back into a situation that is, and it pains me to say this, hopeless.” He took her hand, knowing it was bold. But the woman before him now was not the Queen of France but a sad, young woman in pain. She did not pull away, grasping the offered comfort firmly in return. “I’m sorry,” he continued. “But you must let him go. It is the only way either of you will be able to survive.”

“It is not fair….” She said, her voice barely above a whisper, her lowered eyes shining with tears. There was no desperation in the words, just a quiet acknowledgement.

Athos sympathized. His chest tightened as her pain found footing in his heart, but he swallowed it down, released her hand and stepped back. He needed to turn his focus to getting Aramis back alive. They could worry about the rest later. “Life and love rarely are,” he offered. “If it makes you feel any better, I know Aramis feels the same.”

Turning to leave he stopped at the door and looked back over his shoulder, noting the tears falling from her eyes. He bowed. “By your leave…”

“Yes, Captain.” She wiped at the tears. “God speed and… keep him safe.”

~*~

The village stables were quiet and unattended as per Aramis message, making it a perfect meeting place for the two men. Anxious to see his friend and fearful of the danger the meeting presented him, Porthos paced the wooden enclosure, hands opening and closing into fists before relaxing again.

Since receiving Aramis message requesting they meet at midnight, the day had become interminable. He’d abstained from his usual vice of cards, choosing instead to roam the village, seeing what he could gather in reconnaissance. He’d learned quite a bit.

While the recently arrived Spanish force was not a large one, Porthos had catalogued the faces of the soldiers he’d seen who’d been allowed to venture out amongst the villagers throughout the course of the day. He’d next made himself comfortable near the gate leading to the monastery and watched soldiers come and go. Athos had been right. There were at least two dozen soldiers, and he reluctantly had to admit that attempting to bring Aramis out themselves would’ve resulted in disaster.

Grinding the fist of his right hand into the palm of his left, Porthos chafed at the need for patience. It was not his strong suit, especially when the life of one of his brothers was at stake.

“You know if you’re not careful, you’ll wear a trench into the floor.”

Porthos spun, hand on the hilt of his sword. A familiar figure stood in the shadows, little more than a silhouette in the gloom of the dimly lit stable. Admittedly he’d been lost in thought but he’d felt certain the few animals stabled here would have alerted him to someone else entering the structure.

When his heart stopped thundering long enough for his mind to register the voice, Porthos smiled. “Aramis…” he breathed out.

Aramis stepped forward into the light, pulling back the hood from over his head and letting it settle around his neck. The marksman quickly crossed the distance between them, mirroring his friend’s welcome smile. “Porthos…” he raised his hands, outstretched to receive his friend. “It’s so good to s-”

Porthos grabbed the smaller man up in a hard embrace. Overcome, he squeezed tighter, unaware of the rush of air exhaling from the Aramis’ lungs, deaf to the sound of his wheezing breaths, numb to his flailing hands as he began smacking him on the back.

“P-Porthos.” Aramis gasped. “Can-can’t breathe, m- fr’nd.”

Eyes wide, Porthos quickly released the smaller man and stepped back, chagrinned. He watched Aramis gulp air into deprived lungs, offering a small smile only to pale alarmingly and begin to crumple. Porthos just managed to grab him about the shoulders before he could collapse completely.

After a moment, Aramis’ face returned to a more natural color. “I’m all right,” he said, patting his friend on the arm, reassuring. “Well, I was before I got the breath squeezed out of me.”

There was no malice in the words but Porthos colored all the same. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“I forgot how enthusiastic you can be,” Aramis coughed. “Though it’s always nice to be missed.”

Porthos nodded, taking in the sight of him. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so many things he wanted to say, the largest looming like an anvil in his heart: Will you come back with us?

But it was a question, like all the others, that there was no time for yet, out of place within the context of this meeting. And if he were honest with himself, it was an answer he was not sure he was prepared to hear. For the first time since leaving Paris, since discovering they’d be going to war, he wasn’t sure of Aramis’ answer. In truth, part of him wanted his friend to stay here, be safe, but the other part of him, the more selfish side of him, wanted Aramis by his side or covering his back, fighting. Together.

Finding his voice once more, Porthos broke the silence, his eyes shining in the low lamplight. “It’s good to see ya, ‘Mis.”

“I’m glad to see you too, my friend. More than you know.”

Porthos nodded and squeezed the marksman’s shoulder, noting the feel of bone beneath his grasp. “Hey…” he mumbled and quickly began measuring his friends’ shoulders and arms with both hands, squeezing the muscle beneath the cassock.

“Porthos, what-”

The dark skinned Musketeer spun him about, worked his hands across Aramis’ shoulders before spinning him face front and thumping him on the chest. “You’re skinny,” he grumbled, glowering menacingly. “No wonder you all but collapsed. Don’t they feed you in this place? Are you eating? You should-”

“I’m the mother hen, here, not you,” Aramis stepped out of his reach. “I’m fine.” He laughed, self-conscious. “We’re fed better here than at the Garrison. The farmers and villagers love to bring us food. All the time.”

“It only counts if you’re actually eatin’ it.”

Aramis studied his friend’s face for the first time, his eyes suddenly dancing. “What of you, eh? You not only hug like a bear, but you look like one.” He rubbed at his own chin before pointing at Porthos’ face full of whiskers. “Have all the razors in Paris suddenly disappeared?”

Porthos chuckled and rubbed his hand over his full beard. “Not much time for grooming with all this going on. Besides,” he reached out and behind Aramis to flip the knotted leather at the nape of his neck and the hair gathered within. “You’re one to talk. I don’t recall seeing any monks with this much hair.”

Aramis pushed his hand away, making the big man chuckle.

“So how is your old mentor, Fouquet?” Porthos asked.

Aramis eyes widened in surprise. “You remember his name. I’m impressed.”

Porthos shrugged matter-of-factly. “You told me stories about him. I could tell he was important to you.”

Nodding, Aramis’ gaze warmed. “And you always care about what your friends care about. You are a better friend than I deserve.”

The dark skinned musketeer’s brow furrowed. “If everyone got what they deserved all the time, there’d be few people left in the world, I suspect. Myself included.”

Aramis huffed. “I doubt that.”

“And just who decides what you deserve, eh?” He narrowed his gaze at his friend. “I thought you told me that it was God’s choice, not yours or mine.”

Aramis smiled. “I’ve known men who were learned and foolish. I’ve known men who were smart but cruel. You, my friend, are far wiser and big hearted than all of them combined. I am truly fortunate to call you friend.”

Porthos nodded and did not shrink from the compliment, determined to make Aramis see his own worth in kind. “Same applies here, too.”

Porthos desperately wished for more time, but knew that, as much as he didn’t want Aramis to return to the monastery, the marksman would insist, regardless of any objections. To protect his true motives, he had to hasten their meeting.

“So, you know about the war?”

Aramis face grew somber as he nodded. “I suspected as much when the soldiers arrived, and more so when I overheard them the other day in the monastery stables.” He grinned. “They are free with their conversation when I am invisible. I’m sure it hasn’t dawned on them some Frenchman do understand Spanish.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, my friend.”

Aramis grinned, devious and dark. “It’s a game I’m rather good at, if you recall.”

This was the Aramis he knew. That dangerous, draw to the thrill of the fight, the Aramis of old, the man Porthos had gone into battle with countless times; sure of himself, confident. The man he hadn’t seen since the King announced the Queen’s pregnancy a year ago. Perhaps this was the man who would return with them. He certainly hoped so.

Porthos smiled grimly. “You are,” he agreed.

Aramis looked around. “Where are Athos and d’Artagnan?”

“They returned to Paris to tell the new Minister of War about the situation here.”

“Minister of War?” Aramis canted his head curiously.

Porthos grinned. “Treville.”

“Ah,” Aramis returned his grin. “There could be no better choice.”

“And Athos is Captain of the Musketeers now.”

Aramis nodded, pride welling up within him. “I was telling the abbé the other day that the best tactician I knew was in this village. Glad to see I was right.”

“And d’Artagnan finally made an honest woman out of that girl of his.”

“Married?”

Porthos bobbed his eyebrows in answer. Aramis’ grin stretched into a blinding smile. “I’m sorry I missed that but I am no less overjoyed at the news.”

“Once the King and Treville know about what’s going on here, they’ll return in a day or two with reinforcements.”

“Well then,” Aramis nodded and paced over to the door and gazed up at the waning moon. They both knew it was high time for him to get back. “I had best impart what I’ve learned thus far to make their trip worthwhile.” He rubbed his hands together, his voice taking on an excited tenor. “Three dozen Spanish soldiers rode in day before yesterday. They arrived with four wagons of munitions, shot, powder, wadding and muskets.”

Porthos nodded. “That’s a lot of powder and shot for that many men.”

“Indeed. They are digging in for a much larger force to arrive here within a fortnight. They plan to set the monastery up as a key supply depot and tactical outpost in their plan to attack Paris.”

Porthos face paled. “Athos was right.”

“I assumed he’d figure it out.” Aramis mused.

“Well then, that settles it. You get back in there, get your things and meet me back here on the ‘morrow. When Athos and the reinforcements arrive, we’ll fight them together.”

Aramis shook his head. “That I cannot do, mon ami.”

“What--” Porthos sputtered and glowered at his friend, dread tying his heart in a knot at the prospect of Aramis caught behind enemy lines. “Why not?”

Aramis grinned and it was a devilish sight. “I plan to learn where the Spanish store their munitions within the monastery walls. Once I do, I’ll break in and soak their powder and sabotage the muskets, rendering it all useless, hopefully before Athos returns with reinforcements.”

Porthos chuckled. “Now that sounds like the Aramis I know.”

“With luck, when the battle begins, their ability to return fire will be seriously impaired. With dry powder, better fire power, and the more skilled swordsmen of the Musketeers, the fight should end quickly with little loss of life on either side.”

Porthos studied his friend. “Little loss of life… that matters to you, huh?”

“Whatever the monastery was in her past, she is hallowed ground now,” Aramis offered, his voice taking a reverent tack. “The abbé desires as little blood shed and death within her walls as possible. I gave him my word I would do all I can to avoid it.”

Porthos’ brow furrowed. He hated all of this. He still wanted Aramis out now. “Fine. You get in, muck up their stores, then you grab your things and get out of there. Meet back here, and once Athos and the men arrive, we fight them together when the battle starts.”

Aramis smiled fondly, and Porthos had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like his friend’s response.

“No, Porthos,” Aramis shook his head slowly. “If I cannot get to their munitions before the battle, or even if I do, either way I am uniquely positioned to do more harm on the inside than out here with all of you.”

“You’re also in a unique position to get yourself killed,” Porthos grumbled.

“I assure you, that is not my intention.” Aramis placed a staying hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I seek only to protect the monks, for they will do nothing to save themselves.” He patted the larger man on the chest. “And if I can help my old friends, so much the better.”

Porthos’ gaze dropped to the floor. He was still uncomfortable with Aramis behind those walls, but the marksman’s words made sense and deep down he knew Athos would approve. “Still…” he argued against tactical wisdom, “I’d rather have you protecting my back when things get heated.”

As always, Aramis saw through the words. “I appreciate your concern, mon ami. Once the battle starts, I will have your back. I can tilt things in our favor if they should take a turn otherwise. Have faith.” He clapped a hand to Porthos’ back.

Meeting Aramis’ eyes directly, he nodded. “I have faith,” he offered sincerely. “I have faith in my friends, in my brothers. In you.”

“Faith…” Aramis repeated, his voice a hushed whisper. “In me…” he paused, tentative. “That is more than I have a right to. If indeed it’s true, then trust me with this.”

The pleading echoed with both resignation and hope. The moment stretched between them, Porthos still uncertain where they stood when this was all over. There were too many questions unasked, and one very important answer unsaid. Fears neither confirmed nor denied. Aramis’ deep brown eyes implored and the larger man found he could not deny him.

“Fine,” Porthos finally sighed. “We do this your way.”

“Thank you,” he responded sincerely. He crossed to the stable door and looked out carefully before glancing back at Porthos. “If I have any more news to relay, I’ll send word.”

Porthos noted Aramis’ restless energy; he was about to leave. He watched him adjust his cassock. “Right.” There was nothing he could say; nothing to make the man he loved like a brother reconsider. He knew it, though it pained him to admit it.

Hood in his hands, Aramis stopped short of pulling it over his head, locking eyes with Porthos as he stood by the door. “It truly is good to see you my friend.”

It sounded like good-bye, too full of finality for Porthos’ liking. He strode purposefully to his friend and wrapped his arms around him. The hug was brief, not a goodbye, but a reminder of what awaited his return. He would hold out hope until there was none left, until they drew final breath and not a moment before.

Stepping back he nodded at the marksman. “Good seeing you.”

A crooked smile tilted one side of Aramis’ lips as he pulled the hood over his head. As he made to step out, Porthos grabbed his arm. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid,” he growled.

Aramis only smiled and slipped out the door, disappearing into the night.