Chapter 8

"Maman," Aramis began as Catherine separated him from the crowd spilling out onto the porch.

"You will humor me in this," his mother commanded, drawing him back into the house.

The horses were saddled, provisions for the road stowed away, profuse gratitude and thanks repeated, goodbyes mostly said, the road beckoning. At least one of them was anxious to be off.

d'Artagnan was already on his horse. Apparently Porthos' comment had lit a fire under the youth. He was eager to be back in Paris working on earning that pauldron. He had, however, hugged everyone at least twice, including Athos, under the guise of passing out hugs without really knowing who he was hugging. Under normal circumstances, Athos would have skewered the youth. However, d'Artagnan had not been the only one to hug the comte.

Their lieutenant, much to Aramis' surprise, had born up manfully under the onslaught, though he had disappeared into the side gardens with Pére Charles. Aramis, climbing the stairs behind his mother, wondered if the pair might be transacting business involving a Bayonne brandy. The de la Fère holdings included extensive shipping operations. For the most part, Athos let the estate and its holdings run themselves, though occasionally his man of business showed up at the garrison, mincing as though stepping in horseshit even when there were no steaming piles decorating the courtyard.

Aramis ducked under the low lintel of the door to the attic stairs. "What does père want with Athos?"

"Business of course." Even Catherine had to duck as she opened the door to her work space. "He is obsessed with making a name for himself among the vintners."

"What does he think Athos can do for him?"

"Connections among the nobility."

Aramis stifled a snort. "He's barking up the wrong tree there. If Athos ever had connections, he has not maintained them. He's a Musketeer through and through."

"So d'Artagnan said." Catherine picked up the leather bag she had packed and turned to her son. "I've been working on this since your last visit home." She caressed the bag with a soft smile. "There are some things in here that will require careful handling, potions and cures commensurate with your new abilities. I've included written instructions, but you must also spend time studying and working with the ingredients in order to understand their properties and to know how they will best suit a patient."

Aramis nearly dropped it when she put it into the keeping of his hands. It's weight had not appeared so great in his mother's hands. He lifted it as if to inspect the contents, then thought better of it. It would take too much time. "Did you fill it with rocks?"

Catherine smiled. "I've included a box of crystals and stones in a special compartment inside. They, too, will require time and experimentation before you use them on patients. I'm sure Porthos will allow you to practice on him, perhaps even d'Artagnan; the comte will likely require a bit of stealth." She reached behind to scoop up a trio of colored rocks from the work counter. "These I have worked with already," she said matter-of-factly, holding out a cool, blue stone shaped like a tear and threaded through the top with a leather string. "This is lapis lazuli, it is for you. Keep it about your person at all times; the more you wear it, the more it will adapt itself to your gifts. Eventually, if you will allow it to, you may find that it helps to clarify things for you, both personally and perhaps, in time, it may help you to discern more in regards to your patients as well."

"Maman," Aramis began, trying to return the stone. His mother closed her fist around the two remaining in her hand and put both hands behind her back. "Stones are not my gift, maman, I see dead people." He set the heavy pack on the floor by his feet. He was at the same time touched that she had done this for him, and more than a bit reticent.

"The elements in things of the earth can be powerful tools for healing, René, dismissing them out of hand could mean the difference between life and death for one of your extended family."

"That's low." Aramis' fingers closed around the stone without volition. He felt the strange surge of intuition, that still small voice whispering listen to her.

"Since you will neither allow me to assess your gift nor give me the time to teach you properly-"

The marksman ran an impatient hand through his hair. "Maman, this is exactly why I did not tell you before. I'm not a healer, I'm a medic at best, a poor substitute for a doctor, useful for little more than tourniqueting severed limbs, sewing up small cuts, or salving bruises."

"Porthos says otherwise."

The scowl this provoked warned of trouble for one large Musketeer. "Porthos is fond of me, he gives me credit for far more than I deserve."

"Why are you afraid of a few stones?"

Of course her aim would be true. "Maman, I cannot be practicing sorcery in the middle of the Musketeer garrison," Aramis huffed exasperatedly.

"To be gifted, my son, is to carry an obligation. Besides, anyone can learn to use these, they will merely be more powerful tools in your hands." She reached for the hand that did not have a piece of lapis lazuli digging into the palm. "This one," Catherine deposited a piece of black rock in the cup of his hand, "I want you to put deep in a pocket in a piece of clothing the comte wears all the time, as close to his heart as possible. There is a deeply rooted grief in your friend he would not let me near enough to make any attempt to ease. This perhaps will aid him." She closed Aramis' fingers over a thumbnail-sized piece of chisel-scored stone. "Obsidian activates the root chakra and clears the aura of negative energy. I've ... suggested ... "

Aramis could not stop the amused twitch of his lips at her attempt to exculpate the stone from her witchery.

"...that once placed, it pretend it does not exist so he won't find it."

"Fine, I suppose can manage to get it in his coat without his knowledge." Capitulation was not easy, but his brothers were waiting and she would not let him go until he agreed.

"Thank you!" The beacon of a smile she bestowed on him could have lit eleventy-forty dark nights. "You must let me know if it makes any headway against his grief."

"Aye, maman, I will be sure to take notes and send you regular reports. I suppose you have a stone you wish me to place on or about d'Artagnan's person as well?"

"No." There was in the fathomless depths of the dark eyes, a bright twinkle. "I will give it to him myself." She opened her hand to reveal a nugget of turquoise. "You must know your baby Musketeer, as I heard Porthos call him, is conflicted about following this path. Turquoise encourages acceptance of ourselves as we are, wants and all. His desire is powerful, but so is the guilt he carries. If he does not come to understand he must integrate the darkness and pain he has experienced, with the wants and desires, he will never be whole. None of us can have one without the other, but he is young yet and does not have the experience to fully comprehend this. The turquoise will aid his grappling for an acceptable balance. All he needs to know is that it's a pretty stone I'm sending off with him as a memento of his time here with us."

"You've raided the markers from Goose."

It was Catherine's lips that twitched this time. "You thought them just pretty bits of colored glass and stone did you not?"

"How many times did we play that game?"

"And handle those stones," his mother said complacently. "Yes, I am a scheming woman." Catherine rose on tiptoe to kiss her son on the forehead. "And my scheming has paid off in spades. Just look what you've become! And the new family you're brought home to us. I do hope it will not be so long between visits now that you've reconciled yourself to your heritage."

"It was not just that issue that kept me from home." Aramis returned the kiss, along with a warm encompassing hug. "Unlike being in the army, we don't have long stretches where we're doing nothing but polishing the arsenal or counting supplies. We have far more responsibilities as the king's personal guard, but I will try to arrange to be here more often, though we were fortunate to have this long this time."

"I know. And I appreciate that you coaxed the comte into stopping here at all."

"Thank you for making him comfortable enough here to emerge from his shell a little. I've never seen Athos this relaxed."

"It was our immense pleasure to host all of you, and now you must be on your way, I've kept you long enough. Go with God's blessing, my son, and may the good Lord grant safe traveling mercies on your road back to Paris."

Aramis hefted the bag at his feet, slinging the leather strap over his shoulder before taking his mother by the arm to escort her back downstairs. "I will send word on our arrival."

Catherine snugged his arm into her side, savoring these last few minutes of physical contact with her son, absorbing the bright essence of his spirit, storing up the bergamot and citrus scent of him, the way his hair curled over his ears before he set his hat upon his head, released her and bowed over her hand, kissing the work roughened fingers lingeringly before bussing her cheek once more.

Athos and Porthos were mounted as well, when they exited through the double front doors, thrown wide open at the moment.

The twins were prancing around d'Artagnan's horse, who d'Artagnan had taught to count and bow and even dance, squealing with delight as the pair put on their little show. The girls - all of them, including tiny Catherine - were variously oo'ing and ah'ing at the brilliance of both horse and rider, while the men - most of them - were betting on how long it would take the horse to rid itself of its rider.

Last hugs were exchanged before Aramis was allowed to mount as well and in moments, the quartet was away, three blue cloaks and one battered brown one, streaming out behind as the horses moved to a canter. Three hats lifted in farewell and d'Artagnan turned in the saddle to wave, the glint of turquoise visible between gauntleted thumb and forefinger before he shoved it inside his jacket, turned forward and caught up with his brothers as the lane widened.

Catherine appropriated a seat on the stone stoop and wrapped her arms around her knees as her family in ones and twos and threes, returned to the house, laughing and lamenting the success of the week and the huge hole the quartet's departure was going to leave in the fabric of their lives for some time to come.

The hole would fill up again in time, it always did when their precious prodigal returned to the fold, then left again. This time though, a shadow on Catherine's soul had been lifted, her mothers' heart both eased and affirmed and enlarged yet again to accommodate the adoption of two more children of the heart.

Her spouse sat down beside her, the last of their offspring disappearing inside as the sound of drumming hoofbeats faded away. Charles slipped an arm around his dearly beloved, urging her head down on his shoulder. "Did you resolve things with him, my love?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. It was always like this when one of her chicks left the nest, it did not matter what errand they were off to, or where they went. Like a mother hen, she was happiest knowing they were all nearby and in her element when all were home under her roof.

"I am astonished every time he comes home, how much more like you he has become, in looks and wit and charm. He will be your legacy?"

"Aye, he will be that. You knew?"

"Knew?" Charles echoed. "Not in the way you mean, but I've suspected for a long time. He so like you, Catherine, I could not imagine the gift would not manifest in him. It took longer than I imagined it would, given the stories of your own youth, but I think for all it took its time, he will be the stronger for it, able to possess it rather than be possessed by it."

"Yes, of course you are right, I had not thought of that."

"Only because you are too overwhelmed with gratitude that it is so." Charles kissed the top of the brown head now turning to silver. "I am the most fortunate of men and grateful to know it."

"We are much blessed, are we not?" Catherine rose and shook out her skirts. "Come, I'm in the mood to celebrate, even if there will be no more babies."

The End

As always, from my heart to yours, deeply felt gratitude for every choice you've made to spend time in my corner of fan fiction. For every footprint left behind by 'favoriting' or 'following' and especially to each of you who took time to leave a review - thank you! Not one comment goes untreasured! And thank you for hanging in there with me as I finished this! Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

This has been a work of transformative fan fiction. The known characters in this story are the property of the British Broadcasting Company, its successors and assigns. The original characters, the setting, and the story itself, are the intellectual property of the author. No copyright infringement has been perpetrated for financial gain.