Chapter Sixteen – A Soldier's Requiem Pt. 2

The last time Aramis had heard Athos screaming his name, it has been in the blood-stained snowy woods surrounding La Rochelle. The former priest had been desperately trying to keep D'Artagnan from bleeding out. He could still remember the litany of prayers he muttered under his breath as they carted him back to the fort. No life he'd held in his hands until that point compared to the paralyzing fear he felt that day in holding D'Artagnan's. Now, as he and Porthos ran to the fallen pair in the sand dunes, D'Artagnan and Athos painted a hauntingly familiar picture. Terror clawed around the edges of his heart, but deafening denial kept him from giving in to the agonizing despair of possibility.

They'd come so far.

To lose the boy now was not a reality any of them could face.

"Athos," Aramis called, his fear breaking the typically steady cadence of his voice.

The closer Aramis and Porthos drew to the pair, the more Aramis began to lose his calm demeanor. Athos' shoulders were shaking. He was cradling the boy in his arms. D'Artagnan had his face buried in the space between Athos' neck and shoulder. Had his headaches returned? Had they gotten worse? God forbid, but had they taken him from them a second time? The very thought sent Aramis crashing to his knees and scrambling the rest of the short distance in the sand to reach his brothers.

"Athos," Aramis begged, gripping the man's shoulder and barely restraining himself from shaking the overcome man. "Athos, what's happened? Tell me!"

But it was D'Artagnan who spoke for the both of them. He pulled a fraction away from Athos, as far as the man was willing to allow, and turned to face Aramis with a tear-stained face and a blossoming brilliant smile. "Aramis," he said.

Aramis froze when he heard D'Artagnan speak.

The way he spoke his name…

It was as if…

But it couldn't be…

And yet, as Aramis stared at the boy, gaping like a schoolboy with his mouth open, he realized that he was staring at the truth. Their D'Artagnan was staring back at him. Their D'Artagnan had returned to them. Their D'Artagnan had spoken his name with such fondness and memory. He didn't dare speak, for fear of waking up from this dream, but he needn't have feared the paralyzing fear that came back full force to possess his body. D'Artagnan launched himself at Aramis and the shock of the force woke Aramis from his stupor. He wrapped his arms about the boy and felt D'Artagnan wrap him in an iron grip. He repeated his name over and over and Aramis was briefly overcome.

Tears streamed down his face as he gasped out, "Thank you, Lord! Thank you, thank you!"

"Porthos," D'Artagnan said, reaching arms out past Aramis' back.

Not even a second later, Aramis felt Porthos wrap his big arms about them both. It was only then that Aramis noted that Athos had never let go of the boy when he had launched himself into the former priest's arms. He also realized Athos had not been crying. Their Athos, their brooding drunk, their sharp-tongued miser, and dearest and occasionally depressed brother had been laughing. He had miraculously been crying tears of joy. Porthos echoed the same sentiment, booming triumphant laughter that thudded through all their chests. The feeling was so warming and complete that Aramis thought this must be what heaven felt like.

It was all a surreal thing, even when the boy pulled away a little bit after a long while for some room to properly breathe. Porthos then took the boy into his own arms, complaining that Aramis and Athos had both had their time to be selfish, and that he was happily claiming his. D'Artagnan, to his credit, did not protest, and was happy to have the bigger man cling to him like a protective bear of an older brother.

"You've been sorely missed, lad," Porthos said, a bit misty eyed.

"You've all been missed so much more," the boy said in a weak voice. "I'm sorry I couldn't remember-"

"Oi," Porthos interrupted. "That was nothing you could help lad. No more of that bloody nonsense. Don't think any of us could take it."

Athos huffed out quiet laughter, but remained quiet and didn't take his soft eyes from the boy for a second.

"I have prayed for this moment every night since," Aramis said. "I never knew if I was heard, but I had fervently hoped."

D'Artagnan reached out a hand to Aramis, which the former priest took. He squeezed that hand and felt himself finally become grounded again, after months of turmoil, not just since D'Artagnan's memory loss, but since his injury at La Rochelle. Things had not been the same amongst them since then and now, he could finally feel the bond between them all beginning to reform. It brought more tears to his eyes, but he stubbornly wiped them dry before they could fall.

"What was it," Aramis asked Athos. "What was the catalyst? What brought him back to us?"

Athos shook his head. "I know not," he said, breathless. "Nor do I care."

"Nor I," Porthos added, shaking his head.

Though they meant to cover several more miles before sunset, none of them had the heart to rise and leave. That first night they made camp in the woods just off the road, and at a short distance from the shore. It had taken a sharp reprimand of the likes Aramis, Athos, and Porthos remembered from their early days with D'Artagnan to give him back the independence of a young man his age instead of the confused young boy they thought he still was. They, of course, made hasty apologies, but forgiveness thankfully was quick and swift. Dinner was a small and quiet affair. Aramis made D'Artagnan drink more water than was truly necessary when he couldn't hide a wince of pain and had to close his eyes against the firelight. Aramis suspected another headache but didn't voice such for fear of breaking the light mood.

It was Porthos who suggested D'Artagnan lay down and rest his eyes, and Aramis suspected it was because Porthos made the suggestion that D'Artagnan didn't put up a fight about it. It was no secret that when one of them was injured or sick, Aramis was the mother hen, but since La Rochelle, Athos had given Aramis a good run for his money when it came to the boy. Aramis could tell within the span of half a day that D'Artagnan was already growing tired of both mother hens that saw fit to cluck at every little ache and discomfort, but he could no more help the sentiment than voluntarily stop breathing.

With their charge comfortably nestled on the ground with a cloak pillowed under his head, the rest went about their nightly routine of cleaning up and making themselves comfortable for the night. While they weren't that far from the fort, they were still closer to La Rochelle than Aramis knew Athos would have liked to be, so they decided to take turns keeping watch throughout the night. Who got to take first watch, however, was starting to turn into a bit of an argument, since all of them were unfortunately wide-awake.

"I am well rested, I assure you, and the least injured of any of you," Aramis argued. "Porthos still has a head wound of his own and I know your leg is beginning to bother you, Athos, don't deny it."

"I am perfectly fine," Athos argued back. "The pain will even keep me awake for some hours yet, as you know-"

"I pity whichever one of you thinks he can wake me in the middle of the night," Porthos pointed out. "I always take first watch. Why should tonight be any different?"

"I'm still here, you know" D'Artagnan called from his position on the ground, eyes not only still closed, but his arm thrown over them as well. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Not while you can barely open your eyes," Athos drawled. "You of all of us need the most rest and that is not up for debate."

"Good Lord," the boy muttered. "I'm back not even half a day and already we can't agree."

"You missed it," Porthos accused.

"I suppose I did," D'Artagnan sighed. "But honestly, I'm perfectly capable of helping with the watch-"

"You're three against one, D'Artagnan," Aramis chided. "Give it up."

The boy scoffed. "Wouldn't be the first time."

Porthos chuckled.

Athos shook his head.

"To bed with the lot of you," Aramis said, standing up and putting his metaphorical foot down by adopting his 'medic' hat. "And that is final! I shall take first, Athos second after he's given his leg the rest it needs, and Porthos last that he might have a steady length of rest before the morning. D'Artagnan, if all three of us agree on the morrow, you may take a shift tomorrow night."

D'Artagnan frowned. "We'll likely be at an inn tomorrow!"

"Quite possibly," Aramis admitted with a non-apologetic smile. He draped his blanket over the boy and bid him a pleasant good night as he went to walk the perimeter of their cozy camp. Though experience bid him venture farther out and for longer, his heart simply wasn't in it. All he wanted for the foreseeable future was the comfort and security of his brothers, now that they were whole again. Aramis fingered the rosary in his pocket as he went, intent on praying as many as he possibly could while his brothers slept.

He had so much to give thanks for.


Half an hour into Athos' shift, when Aramis had finally let sleep claim him, D'Artagnan huffed, tossed the blanket from himself, and joined Athos at his grassy spot under the oak tree.

Athos frowned. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I would say helping you with your watch, but you'll glare at me and tell me I'm an idiot and make me go back to bed like a child."

Athos tried to hide his wince with an eye roll, but managed a poor job of it. "I wouldn't."

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow and frowned at him.

"Not quite as harshly as you describe, at any rate," Athos amended.

That answer seemed to satisfy the boy more, but it didn't calm him. "I can't sleep."

"Is the light disturbing you?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Not anymore."

"Headache?" Though he feared even ask it.

But thankfully the boy shook his head again. "No."

Athos discreetly let out a deep breath of relief. "Then what prevents you?"

"I'm…" the boy started, running a hand through his hair. "Afraid. Afraid I won't wake up and be myself again. Like before. After that night, that is. I'm afraid I'll wake up and you'll all be strangers to me again. You fear that too, Athos. I know you do."

"I do," Athos softly admitted, grabbing the boy's shoulder for his own comfort. "Head wounds are unpredictable. But I can hardly see the point of returning you to us only to take you away again. Unless I am to face punishment for the guilt that still weighs heavy on my soul."

D'Artagnan turned to him in confusion. "Guilt from what?

Athos closed his eyes, leaned back against the tree, and gathered his thoughts for a few moments. When he opened them and gazed at the boy beside him, D'Artagnan was clearly wrestling with himself to hold his tongue. The sight pulled a short-lived smile from Athos, because it had been too long since he'd seen that dual look of respect and impatience that he'd grown so fond of. The lost insecure boy they'd all gotten used to was gone. Their confident if needlessly reckless boy had returned. Part of Athos was strangely sad as the loss of the former, though he suspected if he ever used the word 'insecure' to describe D'Artagnan's character he'd sooner find himself with his hands full of the boy's infamous Gascon temper.

The younger D'Artagnan had needed them all in ways much different than this D'Artagnan had, and the more Athos reflected on it, the more he began to realize both boys had one thing in common. They both had needed guidance and reassurance. There was something of a haunted look about their D'Artagnan now, and Athos suspected that came from not just the return of his lost memories, but the struggle to place the memories from the time he thought he was still a farm boy under his parents' wings. And even with this internal war raging on, the boy still managed to be their brave and prideful little brother on the outside.

Compared to D'Artagnan, Athos felt like he was still in a million pieces.

"I owe you an explanation for my behavior that night in the street," Athos reluctantly began. "When you came after me and I mistook you for a stranger. Nightmares did plague me. And those nightmares were of you…that you had not lived after La Rochelle, that despite everything I could do, you had still died and saw fit to haunt me for my shortcomings."

D'Artagnan's face twisted in pity. "Athos," he began.

But Athos held up a hand to silence him. "Let me finish-"

D'Artagnan stood. "No, I won't sit here and listen to you berate yourself for a choice that I made!"

Athos said nothing and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small musket ball and offered it to D'Artagnan without another word. D'Artagnan begrudgingly took it and was on the verge of asking what was so special about it, but quickly recognized it for what it was. This was the ball that he took for Athos last winter. This was the ball that nearly killed him. And it had been in Athos possession all this time.

"You…you," D'Artagnan began. "Kept this? Why?"

"As a reminder for how close I came to losing you. I did blame myself for what had befallen you in my place, but the bigger blame that my heart wrongly placed was on you for that selfless act."

D'Artagnan drew away a fraction of an inch, but however small the movement did its damage. "That's why you avoided me? Because I saved your life?"

"Yes," Athos confessed, his voice growing thicker with each self-incriminating word he let loose. "And in one shameful moment of selfishness wished you to suffer for it, for taking what should have been mine to take. But I never meant for this to happen. I didn't… would never have wished this on anyone-not even my worst enemy!"

D'Artagnan knelt and reached for him, but the boys' hands burned like the fires of hell. "Athos, stop this-"

"Damn it, let me finish, boy," he rasped, batting those soothing hands away. "It's true. And to this very moment I am still ashamed of myself for it, but I finally understand its source. After Anne…when I first thought her dead, my faith and trust in others was lost for a long time. I threw myself into service to His Majesty and almost believed I could forge a new life and forget all my failures of before, that I could get by with less, and alone. Unattached. Not even when Aramis and Porthos took their places by my side did I feel I deserved their companionship. To this day I still am at a loss for how they put up with me all those years. When I caught sight of her for the first time since that day… It was the very same day I came home and almost threw you out the door. I, of course, am ashamed of my actions then as well-"

"You've apologized for it since then, Athos," D'Artagnan reminded him quietly. "I've forgiven you for it. What remains is your need to forgive yourself."

Athos pointed an angry finger at D'Artagnan, tears still gathered in his eyes threatening to fall. "And that is the crux. Do you not see? You look to me as if I am the better man, but it is you who is my better. I do not begrudge you that, but I have wanted to because it is you who has dragged my redemption out of the deepest depths of agony and misery in me. It is because of you that I can stand to look myself in the looking glass once more."

D'Artagnan frowned. "You… were angry at me because I cared about you?"

Athos gritted his teeth and looked away. The tears began to fall, but he just shook his head at himself. "You looked at me like someone out of a bloody fairy tale," he growled. "And the thought of disappointing you was a pain I feared worse than my own death. I haven't known that kind of affection for years and haven't deserved it since. I tried to warn you, tried to push you away and you remained, stubborn as a bloody bull-even when it would be to your own detriment-"

"Athos," D'Artagnan interrupted, taking Athos' head in his hands. "Look at me, please. Please?"

Athos knew he had been rambling and not making much sense, but it was the only way he knew to explain himself, to get the words out, to cleanse the long-standing wound his heart first suffered because of her. He had learned to trust again because of D'Artagnan, but all that had come of it was perpetual danger and endless attempts on the boy's life. How many more would it take for the boy to understand?! He needed the boy to understand. He tried to say what he couldn't vocalize through his eyes, but he'd forgotten just how strong-willed D'Artagnan was for his age.

"I don't know what Milady made you believe," D'Artagnan said. "But if I have to spend every day for the rest of our lives telling you that you are worthy of forgiveness, then I will and you will mark me on that promise. You have more honor, courage, and integrity than you give yourself credit for. It is I who should be offering apologies. I broke our promise when I ran after Lucio in Paris. I let my own anger dictate my actions and caused you all to suffer for it. I'm so sorry, Athos. But one thing I will never apologize for is taking this ball for you near La Rochelle. I would have done the same for Aramis or Porthos. You all mean far too much to me."

"You should have let me take it," Athos said, cradling D'Artagnan's face in his hands. "I would have!"

"I know. That's why I did it, and why I'd do it again without a second thought."

"I'm sorry," Athos gasped. "Sorry for all I said, all I did, all I thought-"

"I forgive you. I do, Athos. I forgive you. How many times do I have to say it?"

Athos gave him something between a sob and a chuckle. "I don't know," he admitted.

"Then I'll keep saying it until I see you believe me," D'Artagnan vowed. "However long it takes."

Athos pulled the boy against his chest in a fierce embrace and desperately tried to quell the sobs that were breaking forth. D'Artagnan holding onto him just a fiercely made the situation no better. "I don't deserve your friendship," he said after a long time. "Anyone's."

From across the camp, Aramis sighed heavily and turned over with misty eyes of his own. "If I was not so sleep-addled I would list every single occasion first in alphabetical and then again in numerical order in which you have proven yourself not only worthy of our friendship, but whole-heartedly deserving of it, you enormous idiot."

D'Artagnan chuckled quietly and even had the audacity to agree with Aramis. "That sounds like a valuable way to pass the time on the road tomorrow."

Athos groaned and covered his eyes with his hand, mostly to scrub his face clean, but also to give himself a modicum of privacy to try and compose himself. Not only had he been undone by one boy, but he was surrounded on all sides by those who knew his weaknesses and vulnerabilities best. Porthos snored on, completely oblivious. For now, that was to be his only blessing.

"Sorry. Not going to be sorry about it," Aramis said mid-yawn, before turning over again and falling asleep with a mumbled, "Good night, dear brother. Remind you in the morning…"

"Now it's us three against you," D'Artagnan teased.

"Wonderful," Athos pretended to grouse, sniffing and wiping his face dry with his hand. He loosened his arms around the boy, fully expecting him to voluntarily disentangle himself, but to Athos' surprise, D'Artagnan did not. Instead, D'Artagnan burrowed himself into a comfortable position against Athos' chest. Athos rolled his eyes. "Comfortable?"

D'Artagnan yawned. "I could sleep now, but that does neither of us any good."

"And why is that?"

"It's Porthos' turn for watch. One of us has to get up and try to wake him."

Athos tightened his hold on D'Artagnan's relaxed form and conspiratorially whispered in the boy's ear. "Neither of us will have to move an inch."

D'Artagnan frowned, picking up his head to give Athos a look of sleepy confusion.

Athos simply picked up a hefty stone and threw it at Porthos' back. The man groaned and sputtered indignities as he sat up looking for the culprit. It didn't help that D'Artagnan was snickering into Athos' chest, nor that when Porthos groggily looked over at them that Athos was completely unapologetic. He would pay for it tomorrow, he was certain, but to be surrounded by his brothers after the darkest of nights had passed was well worth the suffering they'd endured. Never again would he lose faith in his brothers, and never again would he give cause for his brothers to lose faith in him. He had far too much to lose this time around.


A/N: And finally the beast is done! I thought I could put a seamless insert of Ajax in at the end, but it makes no practical sense since our boys aren't going back to Paris just yet. So, I'm hoping to include him in the sequel, Sacrosanct. It'll pick up roughly a couple of weeks or so after the end here. So, keep an eye out for that next installment.

This entire story was based on the the Dictionary Challenge a few years ago. I took the challenge having no idea what the hell I could possibly write, but I knew I wanted to write something that focused on the relationship between Athos and D'Artagnan. The first word I got, 'neither', started this whole thing, which still boggles my mind. I abandoned it for a little while because I could feel myself getting lost in the murkiness of the story and the constraints of having to base a chapter around one word. So, I fudged a little bit as I was re-editing for the re-post and sort of focused parts of the story on one word and not necessarily every chapter. Here are the words in sequential order:

Neither (Chapters 1-2)

Routine (Chapters 3-5)

Heavy (Chapters 6-8)

Infusion (Chapters 9-11)

Scenery (Chapters 12-14)

Requiem (Chapter 15-16)

Thank you so much to all who read, reviewed, and supported me in this endeavor the past few years, on site and off site. Long multi-chaptered stories are still a challenge to me so it feels good to finally close the book on this one after so long. And yes, that means I can finally focus on some of the other multi-chaptered fics in other fandoms that I've started and not updated in forever. Grad school was a valid excuse for a while, but even with steady work I still miraculously have time to write, which is everything. So. On to the next and thanks again!

-Rainsaber