The King of Spain

1 - 𝐻𝐼𝑆 𝐿𝐸𝐺𝐴𝐶𝑌

Porthos immediately caught the woman as she lost consciousness. None of them were able to hear much about what she said except for 'Spain'. Porthos gathered her in his arms before glancing at Athos who nodded at him to take her somewhere. The dark-skinned musketeer breathed out and spared the little boy one last glance before rushing to the infirmary. D'Artagnan and Athos were quickly at the boy's side as they looked him over. The dark curly hair, big brown eyes, face structure, eyebrows, charming face. The boy could be easily mistaken for their brother.

D'Artagnan looked around for anyone who might've seen whatever happened but luckily it was nearly evening. Most of the musketeers were also in their own rooms already or the tavern and they will not be coming out soon. Porthos then came back with creased eyebrows as his eyes settled on his friends who were sitting at their usual table, along with the mysterious boy.

"Who are you?" D'Artagnan decided to ask gently as to not scare him off, "Don't worry, we're good guys, musketeers. If your mother or whoever she is that brought you here then you're safe, I promise."

The boy seemed upset as he slowly shook his head, "Ella no es mi madre."

His answer caused all three men to look at each other. None of them spoke an ounce of spanish, that was all Aramis. The memory of their brother flooded them once again even as they tried hard to push it away. Porthos couldn't help but look away from the young boy, not only did he carry his features but also his native tongue.

"She is not my mother, I said." The boy spoke once more, this time they managed to understand. His small voice with a hint of accent their brother once had only made their heart clench for him more, "She is a servant of my mother. Her name is Julia."

D'Artagnan nodded at the progress they were getting before softly laying a hand on his shoulder, "I see. Will you tell us your name then? And how old are you?"

It was a good question to start. Porthos and Athos stared at the young boy awaiting his answer. He might be lost and his name could help them bring him back to someone, or maybe he was kidnapped or being taken. Anything could be a possibility but something in their chest was screaming at them about who this boy is.

"Aramis, my name is Aramis."

All three of them froze. D'Artagnan slowly flinched as he backed away from the boy, his eyes still staring straight at him. The three looked like they saw a ghost, like their breath was just taken away and they had no idea how to get it back. The more they stared at him, the more they saw their brother. The boy just looked up at them, his eyes switching between the three men in front of him. He couldn't help but gulp and wrap his arms around him before looking down at his feet.

"And I'm 16." He decided to quietly add, "Well, turning 16, anyways."

Him speaking seemed to knock the three out of their trance as they all glanced at each other. Upon seeing how the boy was now looking down, Porthos took it upon himself to slowly sit beside him, his eyes trailed at his side profile. Oh, Aramis, have you come back to us? He silently thought.

"Aramis," Porthos started which made the boy glance at him, "That is a very lovely name."

The boy finally revealed a small smirk, one their brother has mastered doing to charm the ladies. For the first time in months, the little smirk he gave made him spare a big smile. Porthos thought he would forever lose the ability but he was wrong. This boy, whoever he is, showed him he was wrong. The other two musketeers weren't blind to the effect this boy had on their brother, they saw how an ounce of joy managed to appear on his face and it surely was intoxicating.

"Thank you," Aramis smiled before glancing up at the two others, "I would also like to ask if you have any cloth to spare, and wine."

The last request made their eyebrows quirk. Is the young boy an alcoholic at this age? All three of them began shooting each other glances which Aramis didn't fail to notice. Their confusion on the matter only made him chuckle which again caught their attention.

"It is not what you think." He assured them with a nod before slowly lifting up his sleeves revealing a bleeding cut on his arm, "There were men running after us and managed to cut me. They hit Julia on the head with a pistol that's why she lost consciousness. I need the wine to not risk infection, not to drink it, don't worry."

All of them breathed in relief upon knowing what his intentions were, but the fact that he knew how to handle injuries well at his age only made them think about their brother a lot more. D'Artagnan slowly stood up before giving him a small nod and pointing at the tavern.

"I'll go get it." He suggested before leaving the three of them

Porthos easily shook himself away from his thoughts and began assessing the boy's injuries. The big musketeer gently held his arm and surveyed it as they both began talking. Athos couldn't stop staring at the boy, at Aramis. He could very well see how him and Porthos were talking, as if they'd known each other for years. Athos met Aramis, their Aramis, at the age of 16 and so did Porthos. If only Athos believed in God, he would say the boy could be a reincarnation of their brother.

"How did you come to know about treating injuries?" Athos asked, the first time he's uttered a word making the boy look up at him with a hint of intimidation.

Aramis shrugged, "Back in Spain, I saw many people suffering because of the war. They were being brought into the house of God, begging for their lives. When me and Julia once came to pray, a man begged me to help him but I couldn't because I knew nothing. That day, I decided I wanted to help so I asked Father Pedro to teach me. He only taught me a handful of things because Mother discovered it and confined me to the house."

"And your father?" Athos dazedly inquired. It was not after he asked it that he realized what he just said. D'Artagnan then arrived with a torn piece of cloth and skin of wine in his hands.

Aramis went on to grab it from D'Artagnan but Porthos decided to instead. He shot the boy a smile and look that meant 'let me do it' so he returned it and slowly nodded. The boy breathed in deeply and hissed in pain as Porthos poured the wine on his arm as slowly as he could. His eyes were shut closed as he let the pain fade. As soon as he felt the big man wrapping his arm with the cloth he managed to breathe normally again.

"The only thing my mother told me was that my father was a womanizer, charming, reckless, and young." The boy answered which caused the brothers to tense at his words.

They weren't even sure about who his father is, but if it is who they think it is then his mother made a poor impression about what kind of man his father was, "But, she also told me he was brave, kind, religious, and honorable. Her and Julia said that he was adored by everyone, mostly women which made it hard for her to keep him in her life. They both gushed about how much I look like him, they said it was hard to deny especially when I grow up. She named me after him too. Mother told me that he didn't know about my existence but soon he would and he would be proud."

With this revelation, the Musketeers couldn't deny it any more. They had thought it was Aramis who appeared at the gates, one would not even need the confirmation, his face and everything about him screamed no other than their beloved brother. Aramis Jr. stared at the three musketeers wondering why they had gone silent again. He began to notice it upon his arrival so these men probably had a huge role in his father's life.

He was about to open his mouth to say something when he was suddenly enveloped in a hug by the large musketeer. Porthos hadn't realized what he'd done until he felt the boy's hair under his chin. He could feel the tears threatening to spill from his eyes and he didn't stop it. He buried his head on the little one's hair and sobbed at the remembrance of his brother. D'Artagnan couldn't stop it as well as he went on to rub Porthos' arms before wrapping his arms around them.

Athos stopped himself, the scene was making his heart hurt so much. He longed for Aramis and in exchange it seems like his god or Aramis himself sent this boy to them. The swordsman closed his eyes as tightly as he could but his hand unconsciously found the boy's. He hoped to feel nothing but his eyes shot open when the boy squeezed his hand back. Athos watched as Aramis looked deep into his eyes and spared that one-sided smile. It was then that the musketeer broke. His head hung forward as he held the boy's hand in his tightly as if he would run. It was as if the skies read him because rain began to pour heavily. It was enough to ease Athos and disguise the tears pouring from his face.

There, drenched in the rain, the Musketeers held in their arms their brother's memory and legacy.