Chapter Text
If Aramis were honest with himself, he would have realised that he should have seen it coming. He had just got his friendship with Porthos back on track and the three inseparables were brothers again. Paris, however, had had a strange air to it since he returned. Besides the obvious issues, something about the way some people spoke to him and looked at him seemed off. It was only a small handful of occasions but eventually he had realised what was going on.
It started with the looks. A merchant in the street, a new recruit at the garrison and even a young girl at a market. The musketeers were normally stared at but the looks lingered just a little longer on him. It was odd at first and he had thought nothing about it. After that though, the comments started. A whisper or murmur behind his back, a pinched tone to the voices of some people he spoke to and even a flat out refusal to say anything at all or avoiding eye contact. He was frustrated with himself that it had taken a blatant comment thrown at him before the pieces finally fell into place.
"Spanish scum," and "Half breed spy," or his personal favorite, "Spanish dog."
That last one was the first time it had actually been noticed by his brothers. When it had happened, he was walking in the street market with them and Porthos had whipped around and yelled, "Who said that?"
Of course, there was no reply and the shoppers and merchants avoided eye contact with the seething musketeer. Aramis had simply patted Porthos on his arm and gave him a smile.
"It's alright, Porthos." Aramis said, "I understand their anger."
"That does not make it alright, Aramis," Porthos said as they walked back, "The war is difficult for both sides. You are here serving the French king, not the Spanish. You should be shown the respect you deserve."
Aramis sighed and shrugged, "They need to take their anger out on someone."
"And that someone is you?" Athos asked quietly.
Aramis shrugged again, not quite knowing what to say, "It's alright. It doesn't bother me."
"Are you sure?" Athos asked.
"Yes, I am," Aramis replied.
"Things like that hurt," Porthos said, visibly still angry, "Trust me I know."
Aramis felt instantly guilty and bit his lip, "I'm sorry I-"
"Don't apologise," Porthos cut him off, "I'm just saying I understand how it feels to be neither one thing nor the other. People don't take kindly to folk like us."
Aramis frowned and nodded, "The war has everyone riled up. They will grow tired of their insults eventually. Though, I dearly wish I could say the same for you."
Porthos smiled fondly at him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "As long as I have you two idiots I'm a happy man."
They continued walking and Aramis pushed the insults to the back of his mind, enjoying the time he was spending with his brothers.
...
The insults behind his back never ceased and eventually, he became used to them. Whenever he would turn around though, the person who had shot the words out never stepped forward, so Aramis never really felt all that threatened. He kept telling himself it would pass. Besides, for the most part, the people of Paris still treated the musketeers with the utmost respect.
The small incident that took place at the garrison a few days later though, is what Aramis would later describe to himself as an alarm bell. Even after returning to the regiment, he had maintained his status in the musketeers and had therefore kept his ranking within them. And so, just like his two brothers, was in charge of training new recruits on a daily basis when there were no other duties to be performed.
Edgard, a young boy not much older than nineteen, was practicing with his musket outside. It was not a usual training session and Aramis assumed the young man just had some spare time. As Aramis watched him shoot, he noticed one or two mistakes that he was making and the lad was getting visibly frustrated with himself.
Aramis stood up and stepped beside him, "Take a breath before you shoot. Try to relax. If you're too tense, you cannot concentrate enough and you wont hit your target."
Edgard looked at him, startled. The young man's face twisted however, and he looked at Aramis from his boots up to his face.
"I don't take orders from Spanish spies." He spat.
Aramis was so shocked, he did not even say anything in response as the boy turned around to walk away.
It was not Edgard's lucky day however. For as he spun around, he walked straight into Athos, whose gaze would have melted steel in that moment. Aramis almost felt sorry for the young man. Almost.
"You have just insulted not only one of the best musketeers this garrison has ever seen, but your superior." Athos said to him, his face stern and controlled, though Aramis could see the anger in his eyes, "We do not tolerate such behaviour here. If we are to be a strong force, we must learn to trust each other and respect each other. You will hand in your resignation to me by tomorrow morning."
Startled, Aramis decided to intervene, "Athos, it's alright."
Athos turned his glare to him, "No, it's not."
"Resignation seems a little harsh, don't you think? We've all made mistakes."
Athos' features softened slightly and he looked back to the shaking boy in front of him, "You will be working in the stables for the next month and you will apologise to your fellow musketeer."
Edgard nodded and slowly turned to Aramis, "I'm sorry." He looked genuinely regretful and Aramis gave him a short nod.
"You are dismissed," Athos said.
He turned to watch Edgard walk past him and added, "Edgard?"
The young man turned around, eyes as big as saucers, clearly afraid Athos had changed his mind.
"One more thing," Athos said, loud enough for surrounding heads to turn, "The next time the best marksman in France gives you advice, I suggest you listen."
The boy blushed scarlet and nodded dramatically, turning around and marching away, his head hanging low.
Athos turned back to Aramis and his expression changed instantly from Aramis' captain to his brother, "I'm sorry you have to deal with this."
Aramis smiled at him, "It's alright, it will all blow over eventually."
Athos nodded but a frown formed on his face. Stepping closer to Aramis, he said, "Listen, I'm never too busy if you want to talk to me. If it's bothering you, I understand."
Aramis grabbed his shoulder and squeezed, "You needn't worry about me, brother. All is well. Now go along and scare some more new recruits."
Athos rolled his eyes and patted Aramis on the arm as he walked away.
...
The second 'alarm bell' occurred only a few days after that. Aramis was enjoying the company of Porthos at their favorite tavern. Looking back on the incident, both men would say that they had actually been minding their own business that time, for once. Aramis was telling Porthos stories about the children at the monastery and his brother's face would light up at each one. His booming, deep laugh had filled the tavern at the many misadventures he had had with the children. He was in the middle of another story when a very intoxicated man approached their table with as much determination as can be put in a stumble. He was mumbling words that Aramis could not make out and was holding an empty wine bottle in his hand.
Aramis' stomach dropped as the man raised his hand and yelled, "How many of our sons did you kill out there?"
His arm came down towards Aramis' face but it did not reach it's target. Porthos was up in a flash and had tackled the man back against the wall. He grabbed the wrist of the hand holding the bottle hard enough that the man was forced to let go and his other hand was grabbing the collar of the man's shirt.
"How stupid could you possibly be?" Porthos asked, enmity dripping from his voice as he pulled the man from the wall then shoved him roughly back again.
Aramis stood up and placed a gentle hand on Porthos' arm.
"Porthos," Aramis said, "leave it."
"Leave it?" Porthos asked, looking at him with clear frustration, "He was going to hit you with that bottle, Aramis."
Aramis sighed, acutely aware of the silence in the tavern, "Let's not make this worse than it has to be. Let him go, he's drunk."
Porthos didn't look convinced as he searched Aramis' eyes. What he was looking for, Aramis had no idea.
Aramis sighed and looked at the man who was staring at Porthos and wriggling in his grasp in panick, much like a mouse would do in the claws of a cat, or in this case, a tiger.
"You won't do it again, will you?" Aramis asked the frightened man.
The man shook his head vigorously, "No, no, no monsieurs, I swear."
Porthos growled, not loosening his grasp in the slightest, "Apologise to him, now."
"I'm sorry, so sorry monsieur, please don't arrest me." The man babbled.
Aramis patted Porthos' arm and the man let go, leaving the drunk man to slide to the floor. All eyes were on them as they walked out of the tavern and into the Parisian night.
They walked back in silence for the most part. Aramis eyed Porthos out of the corner of his eye. His brother was oozing tension and Aramis felt suddenly guilty for causing all this nonsense.
"Porthos, I-"
"If you apologise," Porthos cut him off, halting in his steps to turn to Aramis, "I will break your nose."
Aramis sighed and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say. He watched as the tension seemed to drain from Porthos' shoulders and his brother wiped his face with a gloved hand.
"Aramis," Porthos said, "I'm so sorry this is happening to you."
Aramis looked up at the stars, "It will pass."
"That may be so," Porthos agreed, "But that fact does not make it any easier."
Aramis looked back at him, "It's fine, I have you and Athos."
Porthos smiled, "Yes," he said, "You do, but I can tell it's hurting you."
Aramis wasn't sure what he meant, he did not feel hurt. He did not ask his brother about it as they walked back to their home. He only hoped, as he curled up in his bed, that he had seen the worst of it.
He was wrong.
...
It was on a cool night, some weeks later, when Aramis was walking alone to one of their taverns. The incidents with Athos and Porthos were pushed back in his mind and he was enjoying the fresh air and the twinkling sky. He had finished his duties about half an hour earlier than them and so had volunteered to go get a table and have wine waiting for them on their arrival.
He took a deep breath through his nose and smiled, the last few days had been peaceful. There had been very few remarks thrown his way and, if he was honest, he was used to them by that time. It did not go unnoticed how reluctant his brothers were to leave him alone though, and it had taken a great deal of negotiations before they let him walk this way alone. At Athos' request, he had a loaded pistol secured to his belt and he was armed with his sword.
He was almost near his destination when he heard someone whistle a melody behind him. When he turned, he saw a figure silhouetted by the moonlight, walking casually towards him.
"Athos?" He asked with a smile, "What are you whistling? Have you and Porthos started drinking already?"
Before the figure confirmed whether it was or was not his friend, Aramis felt a hand slip over his mouth from behind him and yank him backwards. Shocked, Aramis elbowed the man and wriggled free after hearing a loud "oof" of surprise.
Aramis drew his pistol and pointed it at the man, who he recognised to be the one who was brandishing the wine bottle those few weeks ago. The man sneered at him and spat on the ground.
"You're going to pay, Spaniard." He said, "You're going to pay for what your friend did to me in that pub and you're going to pay for being a traitor on our land."
Aramis held his hand steady but he did not pull the trigger, not wanting to shoot someone over something that seemed so trivial. He was certain that shooting this man would only make everything worse. Before he could make a final decision however, someone (who he assumed to be the whistling man) knocked him on the head and he went down. He was grabbed and dragged to the side of the gravel road where there was another man waiting.
...
Athos and Porthos were enjoying the smell of blossoms in the night air. Spring had arrived a few days ago and their world was filled with colour again. They walked in a comfortable silence but with a determined pace, both wanting to be at Aramis' side as soon as possible.
As they neared the tavern, Porthos could hear some men laughing and shouting. In the distance, he could make out three figures on the side of the road and they seemed to be kicking something.
"What's going on there?" Porthos asked.
"No idea," Athos said, "But I can't imaging anything good."
They walked toward the men and in the dark could make out a curled up figure on the ground which they were kicking enthusiastically.
"Enough!" Athos' voice broke their laughter and they turned to face him. It was difficult to make out their faces in the dark though Porthos instantly recognised the man he had almost arrested a few weeks ago.
"You again?" Porthos asked, "You seem to have a knack for trouble."
"Leave us to our business, gents," One of the other men replied.
"Everything that goes on in this city is our business, we're musketeers," Athos snapped, "Now tell me, what has this man done to you?"
The men seemed to glance nervously to each other, from what Porthos could make out, and slowly started to back away.
After receiving no reply, Athos sighed and said, "Do you think three against one is fair?"
Without warning, the men bolted. They all ran in opposite directions, leaving their victim lying on the ground.
Porthos approached the person slowly and knelt down. It was very dark on that particular side of the road, as no moonlight had reached it. Porthos gently placed a hand on the man's arm who hissed in pain and curled into himself even tighter.
"It's alright, monsieur." Porthos said as he tried to keep the man calm, "We're going to get you some help."
The man seemed to turn his head slightly and relaxed under Porthos' touch.
"Porthos?" He asked.
...
Porthos felt instantly sick as realisation dawned on him and felt Athos immediately kneel next to him.
"Aramis?" He asked, completely at a loss to say anything else.
Aramis groaned and Porthos could feel Athos grab his arm.
He looked at his brother and found the same emotions on his face. White hot anger and sadness.
"Let's get him back to the garrison," Athos said, his usually sturdy voice shaking in rage.
They very carefully moved Aramis into he moonlight so as to get a better idea of how hurt he was and where.
Aramis had a large purple bruise on his left cheek bone and a split lip. The rest, they assumed was hiding under his uniform. It was with the utmost care that Porthos lifted his brother and tried to hold him securely without causing him anymore pain. Aramis groaned but did not say anything as they began to walk. Athos was walking beside them with his sword drawn, a promise of murder on his face should the men return.
"We shouldn't have let him walk alone," Porthos said, trying to keep a hold on his anger.
"Mmm fine." Aramis' voice emerged from his arms, "You should... you should see what the other's looked like, I came out on top."
"Now's not the time for humor, brother." Porthos said, although he was relieved his brother was not so hurt that he would not attempt to make them smile and he could not help the tiny lift of the corners of his mouth.
Once they made it to Athos' room (the largest and closest) Porthos laid Aramis on the bed as carefully as he could and Athos lit some candles so they could get a better look at the damage. Very carefully, they removed Aramis' uniform, pausing at every groan and grunt of pain to let their brother catch his breath. Aramis had developed multiple bruises all over his torso but thankfully his ribs had not broken. They gently applied salve to each one, working in silence.
"You're both very quiet." Aramis remarked, his voice laced with pain.
Porthos and Athos both looked up at him, then at each other.
"Sorry, mon ami." Porthos said, "I'm just so upset that this has happened."
Porthos watched as Aramis bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling.
"It could have been worse," Aramis said and Porthos heard Athos sigh opposite him.
Out of the corner of his eye, Porthos saw Athos get back to tending their brother's bruises but Porthos kept still, keeping his eyes on Aramis' face.
"It will pass," Aramis said, not removing his gaze from the ceiling.
Porthos put the salve down and moved closer to Aramis' head. He slid his hands under Aramis' arms and lifted, helping him sit up with much groans hisses of pain, and said, "I'm going to put some salve on your cheek."
Aramis nodded and closed his eyes as Porthos gently rubbed the salve in with his thumb.
"You keep saying that," Porthos eventually said.
"Keep saying what?" Aramis asked, not opening his eyes.
"That it will pass," came Athos' voice from where he had gone to make some tea by the fireplace.
"It will," Aramis replied with determination and Porthos was not fooled for a second. He knew Athos was not either.
"Yes," Porthos said, "it will. But that does not mean you have to continue to suffer."
"I'm not suffering." Aramis replied.
Porthos sighed, "It's alright, Aramis. You needn't hide your pain from us."
He got no reply and continued to concentrate on gently rubbing the salve into Aramis' cheekbone. He halted in his movements when his thumb collided with a tear.
...
At Porthos' words, Aramis felt confused. Was he in pain? He had spent all these weeks convincing himself that it was alright, that the comments and actions of those people had not bothered him and he had hid behind his mantra that everyone would eventually find something else to take their anger and frustrations out on. It was with great surprise, that Aramis realised he was, in fact, not alright and that the words and actions had been bothering him immensely. And after what had just happened, he realised that it was all just too much for him to ignore... it was all just too much.
He opened his eyes as he realised he had let a tear escape and Porthos had moved both of his hands to cup his face. Porthos' face was so full of sadness and understanding that Aramis suddenly felt very overwhelmed and his breath hitched, causing more tears to escape his eyes without his permission. Porthos held him as gently as he could without aggravating his bruised body. He climbed more comfortably onto the bed and cradled Aramis to him, squeezing his shoulders and kissing his forehead softly.
"I'm sorry." Aramis mumbled eventually.
"Sorry for what?" Porthos asked.
"I'm sorry that you've felt like this before, Porthos. I'm so sorry."
Pothos pulled him back to look at his face and gave a gentle, kind smile, "I have not felt this way for many years, because I knew I always had you two to go back to. And just like me, you have two brothers by your side, Aramis. You always will, I swear it."
Aramis smiled and buried his face back under Porthos' chin. Porthos continued to soothe him and eventually Athos, who seemed to have abandoned his tea, joined them. He sat on the bed beside Aramis and opened his arms.
"Come now," He said, "As captain I demand a turn."
Aramis chuckled and dove into his arms, momentarily forgetting that he was injured and hissing in pain.
"Easy," Athos whispered, "We've got you."
He patted Aramis' hair and rubbed his hands up and down the non-bruised areas of his back. They stayed that way for a while and Aramis would have fallen asleep were he not in pain.
"Athos," Aramis heard Porthos say from behind him, "You're going to burn the tea."
"It's impossible to burn tea, you dolt." Athos replied and Aramis melted into the familiarity of their bickering.
"I wouldn't put it past you to burn tea," Porthos said.
"Fine, I get the hint." Athos said and Aramis could hear the smile in his voice.
Aramis was gently transferred to Porthos' arms once again and Athos came back with three steaming mugs of herbal tea which helped soothe his pain.
"You're going to have to be with at least one of us for the next few months." Porthos said eventually.
Athos nodded, "I agree, it's too dangerous right now for you to be alone."
"Hmm, my own personal bodyguards, how fun." He said as sarcastically as possible.
Porthos' face turned into the picture of mischief, "Yes, that will be fun."