Characters: Aramis, Pauline, Helene/Isabelle, Treville, Marie de Medici, Marsac, Serge, Constance, Porthos, Athos, Adele, Richelieu, d'Artagnan
Summary: Fifteen short chapters recounting Aramis' life before the show began.
Chapter Title: Glory Be
"world without end"
----
“What have you gotten yourself into this time?”
Aramis blinked out of the bored stupor he had been in since regaining consciousness in a haphazard medic tent.
“Lieutenant Tréville?”
With an energy Aramis had not experienced for a week, he pulled himself to his feet. The last time he had seen his commanding officer was before the battle even began. Tréville pulled away his sleeve to reveal the bandages beneath.
“Someone shot you?”
“Had to happen sometime, sir.” Aramis shrugged with his good shoulder. “Now I have a blade and a pistol scar!” And all before he was 23.
“That is not exactly something to be proud of. I take it whoever did this is dead?”
Aramis nodded. “Marsac dealt with him quite thoroughly I believe.”
Tréville furrowed his brow and Aramis noticed that the older man looked oddly dower for the victory they had just gained over the Huguenots.
“Aramis…His Majesty has tasked me with creating a small cavalry regiment to operate out of Paris and defend his internal interests. Recruitment will be based on merit and merit alone. I know you have been on the front for two years but- ”
“Yes, Lieutenant Tréville! It would be an honour, sir!”
Tréville nodded. “Gather your supplies, we ride for Paris in two days. And Aramis? It’s Captain.”
----
Aramis had not realised how much he had missed Paris.
The city had changed much even in the few years he had been at war.
Perhaps his experiences have changed the way he sees it. Or perhaps the city itself has evolved.
With a permanent location for the new regiment still not confirmed, Aramis and the dozen other recruits had taken separate lodgings. Even walking between the different boarding houses Aramis frequently found himself disorientated.
He needed to relearn Paris, and what better way than an evening stroll.
Aramis always prided himself on his ability to talk with all sorts of people. And talk with them is what he did. These are the people he was here to defend, after all.
From the priest at the local church he learnt that almost everyone in Paris was Catholic, though a few Huguenots remained stubborn despite warnings. Scuffles were common, but very rarely did larger conflicts erupt. From the bartenders and tavern girls he learnt that their businesses operated all day, every day and served as gathering places for smaller groups. They provided release for the daily dissatisfaction of the common people. From the countless homeless and beggars he learnt that there were countless more French citizens that were neglected by their King. The Court of Miracles was now an independent haven for the forgotten and unwanted. And from the women he learnt of Madame Angel and her establishment and her parties.
It seemed a place he must investigate more.
----
Aramis and the other men in Tréville’s regiment had spent the day clearing out the abandoned buildings the Captain had requisitioned for them. By the time the sun began setting they had gathered around the long wooden table Bernard and the best builders had constructed. All of them had scratched their crest or initials into the underside. A marker of their hard work and many splinters earned along the way.
“Gentlemen, what do you think of our new headquarters?” The Captain asked as he returned through the tunnelled entrance.
“This is it?” Serge, a battle-hardened recruit commented as they peered around the barren courtyard. Even Aramis had to admit it was not in the best condition.
“I’m sorry?” Tréville growled. “Is this not enough for you, soldier?”
“Apologies, Captain.”
“May I remind you all that you have been handpicked to serve His Majesty directly. This is a new regiment and therefore resources are limited until we prove ourselves. These buildings will become our Garrison. You will meet here, and eat here, and train here. For those that cannot afford private lodgings, you will sleep here. And you will like it. Do I make myself clear?”
Aramis thought about what this regiment could be. What Tréville saw it to be.
Highly skilled. Loyal. Unorthodox.
In time, this place could become his home.
Hot bowls of soup were handed out by the fearsome cook, Octave, to end the night.
Beside him, Serge scoffed. “Far too much salt!”
----
“Surely this cannot be allowed?” Aramis complained. “What does the Cardinal need with a military regiment?”
Tréville sighed, no doubt as weary of the argument as Aramis was. Though he appreciated the Captain choosing to discuss the matter with him, Aramis knew he was regretting it.
“Cardinal Richelieu is forming the Red Guard under his position as First Minister. He believes Paris needs a group to counter unlawfulness and break up disorder.”
“This will not end well.” Aramis tried. “Soon enough they will be stepping on our toes.”
“Or, we could form an effective relationship and work together to make France safer.”
Aramis could not hold in his snort, and was very lucky no wine escaped through his nose.
“You cannot believe that, Captain?”
Finally Tréville broke. “No. I do not. The Cardinal has his own ambitions.”
“Then why can you not challenge this if you do not like it?!”
Aramis now remembered why the rush of battle satisfied him so. This political intrigue grated on his nerves.
“Because it is not about what I like or dislike, Aramis! I have my orders.” Tréville shook his head and drank deeply from his cup. “At least this rivalry will give the regiment more opportunities to prove our superiority.”
Suddenly Aramis’ mind buzzed with potential. He had not considered that angle at all. Tréville must have noticed something on his face because he pointed at him with authority.
“Aramis, I do not want to receive reports of any illegal duelling between the Musketeers and the Red Guard.”
“No, Captain.” Aramis agreed easily. “Of course not.”
----
Finally Aramis was to be sent on his first official mission as a King’s Musketeer. Guarding the palace and patrolling the streets was all well and good, but he was quickly growing restless.
“I have never seen this much money in my life!” Marc grinned as he helped fill Aramis’ packs with the payment for a new painting the King was to gift to some dignitary.
Aramis smiled at his friend’s excitement as he mounted, dressed in his new uniform.
The blue cloaks obtained from the local tailor were surprisingly lightweight but marked them out in the crowds of Paris. The pauldron embossed with the royal fleur-de-lys was stiff on his shoulder but at least added an extra layer of protection to his healed scar. Already Aramis felt strangely protective of the leather and imagined personalising the blank patches once he had decided on a design.
“It must be some painting!” Marc continued. “Imagine spending this much on canvas and oils!”
Aramis banished the vision of the only painting of him hanging in the d’Herblay estate, and instead forced himself to reciprocate the humour.
“I hope there will be a fancy frame included in the price!”
Aramis could feel his fingers begin to tingle with the anticipation of his next adventure. Soon, all thoughts faded into the rush of the wind as he raced out of the city.
