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The crowds in the square were roaring loudly, cheering their approval of the King and Queen, who, despite the objections of Captain Treville and the Cardinal were showing themselves to the people after Easter Mass.
Treville did not like it. He did not like it at all.
The noise stopped him from overhearing anything that might help them, anything at all. The crowds were thick, and he did not have enough Musketeers to keep things in order in the event of the disturbance he knew was coming. It wasn’t like the Red Guards would be of any real assistance, being more likely, in fact, to contribute to violence than to stop it.
They were probably ten metres from the carriage, and he had started to think that maybe, maybe D'Artagnan's information was wrong; maybe they had not assumed correctly; maybe they would get away with it.
But no - from somewhere to his right, a shout:
'DEATH TO THE TYRANTS!'
He reacted quickly. 'Over there, in the crowd!' he yelled, 'Move! Protect the King!’
Everything after that was something of a blur. His focus was on Their Majesties and the Cardinal, and getting them safely to their carriage, somewhere out of harm’s way. The crowd were screaming; his musketeers were yelling - shots were exchanged - it was chaos, but to his relief, his men were managing ably.
And then his heart sunk. One of the miscreants threw what was unmistakably a bomb into their midst. It hit the ground with a sickening clunk, and then rolled towards him. His Musketeers were able indeed but no skill in swordsmanship could sort out this particular problem.
'Bomb! Bomb! Clear the area!' he yelled - a little property damage was better than any loss of life.
But then - a flash of Musketeer blue - a familiar feathered hat charging out towards him.
Treville - and someone else, he thought Porthos - cried out, 'NO, Aramis, NO!' in perfect unison as it became clear what crazy idea the man had been struck with.
Aramis - stupid boy! - threw himself on top of the bomb, and Treville didn’t stop to think – it would be criminal to waste an opportunity Aramis had bought with his life. He ushered the group he had been protecting out of the blast zone, the Queen looking back desperately at the man who had just sacrificed himself to save her and her husband.
It was not until the Royal couple had rolled off that he turned around and realised that his ears were not ringing from any blast and that Porthos, instead of howling in grief, as might have been expected, was looking at Aramis in stupefied anger - Aramis, who had apparently not been blown to pieces and who was still on the ground, pressing a jewelled crucifix to his lips and looking heavenward.
He did not have a chance for the information to sink in, before Aramis was up, and it became clear that the bomb was a dud and that the real threat was currently at the Palace. He swore colourfully, and then turned on his heel to issue increasingly urgent orders to the Musketeers still stood in the square, all the while promising himself that he and Aramis would be having words, later.
Sat in his office that evening, Treville took a large gulp of cognac from the glass that sat in his hand, wincing as the toxic liquid travelled down his throat. He would save the good stuff for later, for when word came that D'Artagnan was not severely injured from his experience in the tunnels, of which Athos had sent word; for when he had had the chance to speak to the errant Musketeer, Aramis.
It made him shiver to recollect the scene from earlier that day in the square, Aramis throwing himself over the bomb without a second thought. He would admit it to nobody, not even under torture, but the Captain of the King’s Musketeers had his favourites. Three of them, to be precise, although with how quickly the Gascon boy had wormed his way into their group he was sure that the number soon would be four.
However, of his favourites, he had a favourite, and that was Aramis.
Aramis was, put simply, a very likeable man. His affable nature had won him many fans. He was also ace with a Musket, skilled with a sword, and he had been one of the first soldiers to join the regiment after its creation, helping Treville to build it from the ground up into the finest group of fighters France had ever seen. That alone was enough to secure Aramis a place in his affections; he was an original Musketeer, with him from day one.
Many of those original soldiers had long since moved on, or died, some of them at Savoy. Treville had not wanted to send Aramis on that trip, but Aramis being Aramis, he had offered to switch with another man whose wife was ill and with child.
Of course, after that, there had not really been anything he could do about it and with stomach churning; he had had to watch Aramis march away to certain death. When word came that there were no survivors from that ill-fated trip, Treville had been overcome with guilt, thinking first of Aramis, who he had been vainly hoping would come out of it alive, above all others.
And then, when it emerged that Aramis had in fact survived after all, his guilt had only increased as he watched his favourite Musketeer struggle with the aftermath, even the company of Athos and Porthos failing, for a time, to pull him out of his depression. Aramis had eventually improved, but Treville still felt guilty over the whole incident and remained a little protective over the Musketeer.
Treville looked up at a knock on his door, pulling him out of his reverie.
'Enter!' he called, putting the glass away.
Aramis walked in, hat in hand. 'You wanted to see me, sir?'
'Ah, Aramis.' he said, as if the man had not just occupied his thoughts. 'How is D'Artagnan?'
'He has a concussion, we think - a few cuts and bruises... he's made an awful mess of his wrists and has three broken ribs. He said that Vadim tied him to the gunpowder,' said Aramis, tone coloured with anger.
'He - what?' Treville had only expected a standard answer, but Aramis had caught him by surprise and he gaped at the man.
For the next ten minutes, Aramis related the tale that D'Artagnan had told him - what happened in the tunnels under the Louvre, and what happened when they took him back to Madame Bonacieux' house.
'Will that be all then, Sir?' Aramis finished his tale and stood as if to leave, something like success written on his face.
It was that look which brought Treville back to his original purpose in summoning the Musketeer. Aramis was a fine liar, but not amongst his friends, and not with the Captain. He had a tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve - only when he was around those he trusted without question, but as Treville was one of those people [not entirely deservedly, he thought, guiltily thinking of Savoy], he wasn't complaining.
'Oh no,' he said, 'don't think you can come in here and distract me with D'Artagnan's story in the hope I won't mention your little encounter with a bomb this afternoon.'
He had to supress a laugh as Aramis pulled a face that reminded him of a trapped animal, and sat back down. This was a serious conversation, one that needed to be had.
'What, exactly, did you think you were doing?' he asked, hoping his face was as unreadable as his tone.
'My duty,' answered Aramis, promptly, 'protecting the King and Queen.'
'With no thought whatsoever for your own life? Do you always act that recklessly?' he asked, feigning disinterest.
'I am not reckless!' countered Aramis, hotly.
'Aramis, you jumped on a bomb, for god's sake!' Treville gave up and let his exasperation colour his tone.
'But it was a dud!' cried Aramis.
'You didn't know that though, did you, you fool?!' he retorted.
'That didn't matter! We are men, we are musketeers, and after all, it is our business to risk our lives!' Aramis spat back.
Treville stopped short.
'...our business?' he said, disbelievingly, 'our business? Not at the expense of all self-preservation!’
Aramis stared at him blankly. Treville couldn’t believe it. He expected such statements from Athos, of course, who did not fight in order to die but didn’t exactly fight to live either – but arguably, he was a special case. He did not expect such statements from Aramis, who was the optimist of the inseparables.
Eventually, he managed to string a reasonable sentence together. ‘We take risks, of course we do, but how are we supposed to protect the King and Queen if we’re taking such monumentally stupid risks that lead to Musketeers dropping dead left, right and centre?'
His voice was rising in his incredulity, but Aramis looked defiant. Then… something clicked inside Treville's head, and he felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
'Ahh...' he said slowly, Porthos hasn't got to you yet, has he?'
Aramis blinked owlishly and Treville smirked. That was a no, then.
All the Musketeers highly respected their Captain, and Aramis was no exception. However, Treville knew and accepted that some things were more effective coming from a peer than from your boss. Aramis, Porthos and Athos were called by many in the regiment 'The Inseparables', but Aramis and Porthos in particular were very close. That was a fact, and Treville was going to use it to his advantage.
And, rather conveniently, he could see from his window that the very man in question had just stepped into the garrison.
Gesturing to Aramis to wait, he stepped outside his office and called down.
'Porthos, a word, please. Now.'
Porthos came into the office, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Aramis, who had by now slouched in his chair pulling a face like a sulking two year old. Looking from him to the Captain, who was trying and failing not to look pleased with himself, he quickly put the pieces together. A grin flashed across his face. There were several reasons why Captain Treville was so respected amongst his men and one of them was that no matter how much their respective stations separated them, he was a true Musketeer at heart.
'I don't suppose this is about a small incident with a bomb in the square earlier on, is it Captain?'
Treville feigned a look of surprise. 'How did you guess?'
Aramis shifted, currently looking rather uncomfortable in his own skin, and the moment of levity was over.
'Aramis just told me, by way of justification,' said Treville, voice heavy with meaning, 'that, and I quote, as musketeers it is our business to risk our lives.'
Porthos looked thunderously at Aramis, who cried, 'What? It’s true!’
‘Aramis,’ said Porthos, dangerously, ‘even Athos would take issue with that statement, in light of exactly what you did earlier on.’
Aramis faltered under the narrowed gazes of his friend and his captain. ‘Look – it was just my first reaction, okay?’ he explained, exasperatedly. ‘Protect the King, Protect the Queen, Protect.’ he stopped abruptly as if there was more to the sentence than he had voiced aloud.
Protect you. Porthos heard the unspoken words. So did Treville.
‘How are you supposed to protect anyone if you’re dead?’ Porthos asked, tripping slightly over the last word. He had felt sure he was going to have a heart attack when he had seen Aramis charging out and throwing himself on the bomb with nary a thought.
‘Funny,’ said Treville, ‘that was what I said to him.’
Aramis sucked in a breath. ‘What do you want me to say? That I wouldn’t do it again? Because I would,’ he said stubbornly, holding up a hand when Porthos looked like he was about to argue. ‘I am a soldier; risk to life comes with the territory.’
‘Yes, it does,’ agreed Treville.
Porthos shot his captain a confused look. Aramis looked surprised - was it not Treville who had hauled him in for this conversation in the first place?
Treville wasn’t finished, though. ‘It comes with the territory - but we do not need to increase those risks through our own actions. Do you know what my first thought was, today, when that bomb turned up?’
Aramis shook his head mutely.
‘I thought, we’ll clear the area - a little property damage is better than any loss of life, because it can be fixed. You have been a soldier longer than nearly everyone in this regiment, Aramis. You already know everything we’re telling you, really. I don’t know why you are refusing to acknowledge it.’
Porthos took up the train of thought. ‘What do you think Athos and I would have done if that bomb hadn’t been a dud? And d’Artagnan, too, for that matter.’
Aramis' mouth was beginning to twist into a somewhat sheepish smile, clearly having realised that Porthos and Treville were right, although he was clearly trying to supress it, because letting it out would mean admitting he had made a misjudgement. Seeing this – seeing that the point they were making was beginning to hit home, Treville went in for the kill.
‘What you did today was very honourable, Aramis, as I would expect from a King’s Musketeer, from you.’ he said, a hint of pride colouring his tone despite his best efforts to stop it. ‘You’re right, in that as soldiers, we must take risks. We’re not asking you never to take any risks, Aramis.’ he said.
‘We’re asking you for a little more thought and a little more self-preservation.’ Porthos finished, aware that it was slightly ironic for him to be preaching this but not much caring at the moment.
Aramis looked at the two men stood before him. The Captain who had brought him into the regiment and was a figure of respect for them all; the best friend and brother-in-arms who, he realised belatedly, he had given a nasty scare today during his fit of chivalry. Treville, he knew, was right.
Aramis was one of the longest serving soldiers in the regiment, and he did already know all of this. In the face of danger, it took a lot to make Aramis so much as flinch – the problem was that every once in a while his steel nerves would lead to slight foolhardiness on his part. This was not the first time he’d had to be reined in – it was surely not the last.
But their point made, he nodded, feeling slightly guilty once again when Porthos let out a long suffering breath.
Treville only nodded to Porthos in a way that let the bigger man know he was dismissed. He left, no doubt to wait for Aramis in the yard with Athos, who would more than likely give Aramis a similar lecture later on.
Just the two of them once again, Treville fixed Aramis with a hard stare, the younger man straightening in his seat.
‘As Musketeers, it is our business to take risks in the name of fulfilling our duty. That is not the same thing as the tripe you came out with earlier on. You understand that, Aramis?’ he said, finally.
Aramis suddenly understood that the nod that had been sufficient for Porthos had not satisfied his captain, and verbalised his answer.
‘Yes Sir, I understand.’
Treville let some of the tension leave his bones, wanting to say something else but not sure where to find the words.
‘Dismissed.’ he said, instead.
Aramis got up, and face relaxing into the mischievous look that usually graced his features, left.
Treville stood there in silence for a moment, contemplating the conversation he had just had with his favourite Musketeer. Then, sighing, he turned to the cabinet that sat in one corner of the room, and finally allowed himself to pour a glass of the good cognac.
Taking a large gulp, he sighed to himself, ‘Those four will be the death of me, someday.’
And he found that he didn't actually mind all that much.