Author's Note: This piece is set after Episode 5, 'The Return', in Season 2. It is a little (Ok, maybe long) tag to the end of the episode. This is my first story in this fandom so I am still feeling my way around.

I would love if you have time to leave a small review. I appreciate both good comments and constructive criticism, as that is how one grows. My only beta is me, myself and I, and sadly to say we tend to miss things; for that, I apologize.

As always, I don't own anything. I just have taken the toys off the shelf to play with for a while, and will neatly put them back when I am done.

By nearly mutual consent, the five Musketeers stopped and made camp when the weather turned horrific on their journey back to Paris. If the lone dissenter, Athos, had his way, they would have kept riding. However, when his beloved, black, Friesian slipped in the mud, and only by the grace of God failed to totally fall, Athos was forced to acquiesce to his traveling companion's demands.

The drenched men were unable to start a fire, so the best they could do to decrease their misery was roll up in their foul-weather gear and huddle under the thick canopy of the trees. It was well after midnight when the storm finally abated, but as they were already settled and the ground was still saturated and sloppy, they decided to wait until daybreak to move out.

As Aramis was getting ready to pull his grey hat brim down over his forehead to go back to sleep again, he noted Athos was not where he'd last seen him. Pushing his torso further upright, he scanned the glen but couldn't locate the missing man. Knowing Athos had been vehemently opposed to stopping, Aramis grew concerned his friend had stupidly decided to ride on alone, after the weather had broken. Unenthusiastically climbing to his feet, Aramis stumbled to where the horses were tethered and a quick head count had him relieved; all the horses were still there.

As the moon broke free from behind the fading storm clouds and flooded the glen with its' milky light, Aramis was able to discern the hunched over figure of Athos sitting in the distance. Carefully picking his way over sodden ground, Aramis joined him on the log.

Athos' hatless head was deeply bowed and his arms clasped around his knees. Aramis knew the man was aware of his presence, but was choosing not to acknowledge him.

"Nice that the monsoon has stopped," he conversationally noted. Athos continued his self-imposed silence, but that didn't stop Aramis from soldiering onward. "I'm happy all ended well in Pinon."

That got a reaction from Athos. "Did it?" he snarled as he raised his head to glare at Aramis.

It was not the first time Aramis had been on the receiving end of Athos' moodiness and he chose to ignore it. "Unless you were at a different battle than I, yes, I'd have to say it did end well. We won."

Athos deliberately turned his head to stare out into the distance, as his body dejectedly slumped. "And the price of that victory? Ten dead. The son of the Baron. More than a dozen injured. How is that a win?" he bitterly retorted.

"They knew the risk. They wanted to fight." Aramis watched as Athos shook his head before slowly lowering it towards his chest. "And they won," Aramis repeated.

Without warning, Athos sprang to his feet, angrily turned, and faced Aramis. "They shouldn't have had to fight. They shouldn't have had to win. They wouldn't have had to if..." Athos face twisted into a mask of sorrow as his voice choked up. Unable to finish, he moved a few steps away, fist clutched at his side, head hung in shame.

It was at that point Aramis recognized what this was really about and he rose to his feet, walked over and stood unobtrusively by Athos' side. "They wouldn't have had to fight if you hadn't renounced your title, hadn't run away to Paris, hadn't caused Thomas' death, hadn't married your forbidden love… did I miss anything?"

Athos rounded on him with clenched fists, almost causing Aramis to step backwards. "God damn you, Aramis."

A small smile graced Aramis' lips. "I think he already has," he replied slowly and with melancholy.

The fire and fight drained out of Athos' eyes, leaving behind sadness and sorrow. Turning away again, he pleaded, "Leave me alone."

Aramis reached out his hand and placed it gently on Athos' shoulder. "No. Not this time. Too many times in the past, Porthos, D'Artagnan, and I have left you alone and what has it led too? You, drowning your sorrows, in a wine bottle. Being dumped in the gutter. Getting into meaningless alcohol-driven brawls in hopes, I suspect, of being released from this Earth. It is only by God's good graces you haven't been killed yet."

Athos shrugged his shoulder to dislodge Aramis' hand. "I am not now, nor ever, will I be in God's good graces."

"We all make mistakes; errors in judgement. But God doesn't expect us to martyr ourselves on the cross for them." Aramis moved in front of Athos and placed both hands on the man's sunken shoulders. "You fell in love, Athos. That is not a crime."

Athos raised his tousled head, green eyes staring despairingly at Aramis. "It is when she is a murderess." Shaking free of Aramis' hold, he walked over to the nearby tree and braced his hands against it. "All the people that would still be alive, if I had not married Anne. Everyone told me not to; my parents, friends, Thomas." He raised his eyes to stare at the faint blush of the false dawn on the horizon. "But I knew best. And look where that led. And when I should have ended her reign of terror, like a coward, I left before the deed was done only to find out I had failed again." Dropping his head and staring at the ground, he ran a weary hand over his face. "The lives of every man, woman, and child she has killed since I failed to do my duty rests squarely on my shoulders. I am the murderer."

Aramis was shaken by the depth of Athos' guilt. His revelation shed much light on the man's actions, moods, and behaviors; the heavy burden Athos placed on his soul. "You fell in love, Athos. Look at the stupid things I have done in the name of love. I slept with the Cardinal's mistress. I slept with the Queen of France. For love, I might have thrown the entire country of France into chaos."

A little of Athos' dry sense of humor emerged. "And gotten me hung."

"And gotten you hung," Aramis agreed. "Though I'm not sure that threat is entirely over yet. However, my point is you have forgiven me my stupidity...

"Don't be so sure."

"…and I have forgiven myself. You, Athos, need to forgive yourself."

The broken man slid down the tree trunk to his knees, doubled over and silently sobbed. "I can't."

Aramis moved to his side and crouched next to the shaking figure. "You can. None of your friends condemn you. Stop condemning yourself."

Athos ran a desperate, trembling hand through his unruly, black, waves. "There is a part of me that I can't expunge from my soul that still loves her! She murdered innocent people. She killed my only brother. And yet I still find myself craving her. Tell me, how can anyone forgive that? How can I forgive myself? It never ends."

Siting back on his heels, Aramis listened to the sounds of the night creatures as he contemplated Athos' words. "It is a heavy burden God has called on you to bear. I can't make you forgive yourself. But I can tell you your friends will help shoulder the weight you must endure… if you'll let us. Turn to us, instead of the wine. While this wine-driven adventure at Pinon ended up with you being alive, someday, Athos, your fortune will run out."

The unspoken thoughts of Athos' mind, 'and would that be such a bad thing?' hung heavily in the damp air.

"You have lost your blood brother, but you have gained three more in his place that love you and hold you dear. Any of us would lay down our life for you, as you would for us." Aramis ascended to his feet. "I can't make you forgive yourself. I can only offer that I forgive you."

Aramis stared down at the top of Athos' head, which remained bowed. "You have much to offer this world, my friend. Don't let Milady take that away too, for if you do, then she has truly won." With that, Aramis walked back to the camp, settled down, and closed his eyes to try to get a few minutes of sleep before it was time to ride out.

At the dawn's first light, the men mounted and resumed their journey to Paris. Athos rode to the rear of the group and didn't join in any of the conversation or banter as they headed back to the garrison. Once they arrived, he handed his horse off to the stable lad and disappeared out the gate. Aramis watched with unhappy eyes, figuring his friend was off to drown his sadness in a wine bottle. With a silent sigh, he joined Porthos and D'Artagnan as they headed out to find some food.

Later that evening, when Aramis had retired to his rooms for the night, there came a quiet knock on his door. In his night clothes, Aramis padded over to the entrance, opened it, and was surprised to see Athos standing there clutching his arm, which was not encased in his leather sleeve, against his torso.

"I would be in need of your assistance, friend," Athos slowly articulated as he held forth his arm. His forearm was sporting a deep, bloody, nasty looking gash that was the work of someone's blade.

Aramis motioned him to enter and indicated he should take a seat at the wooden table. "Remove your shirt please and light the candle."

After dropping his leather jacket on the bed, he added his weapons belt then shrugged out of his linen shirt. Sitting at the table, he lit the candle before resting his injured arm on the table's wooden top. Aramis gathered up his medical supplies then took his place at the table, moving the candle closer to examine the wound. "This is a nasty wound."

Athos ran a distressed hand through his dark hair. "Yea, through the leather of my coat. Didn't see it coming."

Though he tried to hide it, Athos kept cringing as Aramis cleaned the wound with water than alcohol. Something was nibbling at the edges of Aramis' mind but he could not quite get a grasp on it. As he picked up the needle to thread it, holding it aloft, his eyes met Athos' and finally it dawned on him what was wrong. "You're not drunk!" he blurted out in surprise.

Athos' diverted his eyes. "I don't have to be drunk to defend someone's honor."

"No, of course not. I didn't mean to imply…" Aramis stuttered. "It just, when you left the garrison, after we got home from your estate, I thought…"

Athos finished Aramis' sentence with a wry grin. "You thought I had gone off to drown in a bottle of wine or three," Glancing at this friend's eyes confirmed to Athos that had been what Aramis had thought. "And if the truth be told that was my intent."

Laying the thread and needle down on the table between them, Aramis leaned forward. "But you didn't. Why?"

Athos got to his feet and moved across the small room towards the window, his bloody forearm cradled against his chest. "Twice, in the last week, I have been told of my folly of losing myself in drink."

Aramis wondered who the second person was that made that statement besides himself.

Athos' eyes looked out the window, as if the words he sought resided out there. Not finding what he needed, he turned back and faced his friend. "What you said to me, the other night, did not go unheeded."

The light of hope glimmered in Aramis' eyes.

"And I'm not sure I can…" Athos struggled for a word, "…believe all of it. But, perhaps, I can take it under advisement." Dropping his eyes, he continued. "She has ruined so many lives and you are correct. I can't keep letting her ruin the future."

Aramis' eyes narrowed, not exactly sure what Athos was trying to convey and when the man grew silent again, the marksman resigned himself to the fact no more would be revealed tonight. "Come sit down. Let me take care of your arm," he quietly commanded.

Athos moved back to the table and sat as requested though he avoided meeting Aramis' eyes.

"Stone sober," Aramis warned, "this is going to hurt." A short nod of acknowledgment was all he received from the man across from him. "All right then. Let's begin." Aramis could see Athos biting at his lower lip, trying to remain stoic, as if the man refused to allow himself the comfort or release of crying out. To help divert his companion's mind, he asked, "So what was this non-alcohol induced brawl about?"

"A lady. Being accosted by drunken louts," Athos ground out between his clenched teeth. Unable to stop it, a small moan escaped past his lips.

Aramis continued his methodical and precise stitching. "I see. And exactly how many of these drunken louts were there?"

"Three…maybe five."

"And even sober, you didn't think those odds a bit long?" Aramis could feel the guilt his question drew out of Athos.

"It was my," Athos breath hitched in pain again, "duty."

As he was tying off the last knot, Aramis wondered if this was a new form of punishment Athos was now inflicting upon himself. "Well perhaps a better head count, in the future, will keep things like this from happening," Aramis suggested making a small gesture towards the neatly stitched wound.

"I shall consider that," Athos promised. As he rose from the table, he faltered a bit before catching his balance and Aramis moved to his side in concern.

"Since, I didn't feel the earth lurch, and you are not drunk, is it safe to assume you might have taken a blow to the head during this small altercation?"

Again, the diverted eyes told the story. "Sit," Aramis commanded. "This would be a lot more pleasant for me if you could indicate were you were hit, so I don't need to search through your mop of hair to find the wound."

From the chair, Athos replied, "My hair is shorter than yours and I dare say cleaner." However, for all his speech, he did indicate the spot on the side of his head were it had met with the pommel of his opponent's main gauche.

Aramis gently parted the hair to examine the scalp. "If you consider your hair cleaner, simply because you have a habit of dunking it in a bucket of ice water, think again." He removed his fingers and straightened up. "There is definitely an abrasion, but nothing in need of stitching. However, I you will wake up with quite a headache, as if you had been celebrating."

Carefully, Athos stood using the table for support until he was sure his equilibrium was under control. "Great," he muttered as he moved to the bed and began to slip on his coat. "No alcohol but still a headache."

"Are you well-enough to leave? You are welcome to stay the night here," Aramis offered.

Athos' shrugged his coat on the rest of the way and gathered his weapons. Meeting Aramis' eyes, he gave him a small smile. "That is kind, but my bucket of ice water awaits me at home. I fear I will need it in the morn." He started to go, and then halted. "Thank you. For being a good friend and brother." With that, he turned away and disappeared into the night.

Aramis watched as the solitary man vanished and prayed once again, as he had often in the past, that God would grant the man a measure of peace.

THE END