The King of Spain

2 - 𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑆𝑂𝑁

D'Artagnan offered to bring Aramis to his late father's room for him to rest which the other two agreed was a good idea. None of them had visited their friend's room since he died. It was still a fresh wound for them and none was willing to probe that yet except for D'Artagnan who took it upon himself to show the boy a place to rest. Porthos and Athos sat there, under the moonlight on their usual table. They were dazed, as if they couldn't believe what just happened.

It was huge news which they knew they had to tell Treville. Firstly, they had to know the true story and what caused them to run to the garrison now. It seemed like the boy had no idea as to why they were being chased as well, their information relied on the unconscious woman in the infirmary.

"Aramis' son." Porthos at long last uttered out loud, "Our brother's son who looks and acts too much like him. How are we supposed to handle that? Is this his way of bringing himself back to us? Is this the way of Aramis' God bringing our brother back to us? I'm confused, Athos."

The swordsman grabbed the skin of wine on the table which they used for Aramis' wound and drank it all, "I am too, Porthos. That boy, that Aramis, he makes my heart clench. I don't know whether to be sad or happy by his presence, to feel thankful or mad. Everyone who knew Aramis mourned for too long and then his son appears out of nowhere and reopens it all. For us it is fine because that wound will never close, his absence will always be felt, but what about the others?"

Athos leaned back on the table before throwing the skin away and continuing, "Treville, The Queen, Constance, the Musketeers, the commoners who looked up to him. How will they take this boy's presence? Some people here have grown and witnessed how Aramis grew up. They all knew what he looked like in this boy's age and this, this boy is exactly like him. Some might even mistake him for a ghost or claim that he has risen from the dead."

At this, Porthos huffed, "If only he could then he would've. But this boy, he's Aramis' son. I don't believe in God but Aramis does, and I believe in Aramis. If this is his God's way of giving us a second chance and soothe this ache in our hearts then I say we take it. Wherever our brother is, I think he's had enough of our sulking and pain and sent us this Aramis to relieve us of that and tell us to keep going."

They both sat in silence as the swordsman absorbed everything Porthos said. From behind them, D'Artagnan managed to hear it too and couldn't agree more. If this is a second chance then they would take it. The Gascon's heart felt lighter than before as he managed to hug the little Aramis, it felt like he was hugging their marksman and he was sure the others felt it too. For a moment, D'Artagnan felt like there was a God after all.

"Whatever they came here for then we should help them. It's the least we can do for Aramis." D'Artagnan spoke out to inform them of his presence before sitting next to Athos, "We'll talk to this Julia and ask just what brought them here. I believe we should inform Treville and the Queen of this too."

"Not the queen." Athos instantly restricted, "Not yet. Just Treville and Constance since I know you can't lie to her."

They knew how much Queen Anne loved Aramis too and they didn't know what her reaction would be to his unknown son who happens to have the exact face of his late father. There was also the matter of the woman saying something that included 'Spain'. Their queen was Spanish and figured that she should know but again, she's been a French queen a lot more.

"I'll be the one to inform Treville tomorrow." Athos added since it would be less suspicious, "You should both wait for Julia to wake up and tend to Aramis, of course."

"Will it be alright to have him walk around the garrison then?" Porthos asked, "He looks too much like our brother. There are older musketeers here who have seen Aramis back when he was young, they would either be terrified or overjoyed. I'd prefer the latter, of course."

Athos sighed since it was true. There have been talks of people with witchcraft and upon seeing the carbon copied son of their brother, they might think it has to do with that, "I have no choice but to explain it to them in the morning muster and make them swear to secrecy. Musketeers, unlike those filthy Red Guards, are honorable men and all of us are family."

"And the regiment loves Aramis, they will honor him and his legacy." D'Artagnan nodded in assurance as he remembered the whole regiment's mourning.

For at least a month, every Musketeer barely smiled or mentioned Aramis' name. Those who slandered the late soldier's name barely lived to breathe the other day, and that was from an ordinary Musketeer. God forbid who spoke ill of their brother in front of the Inseparables. Shooting practice was even stopped for months as no one could teach it better than the marksman himself. Porthos was the one who took over but he lost patience too easily, wondering how his brother had managed to become so patient all this time. None of them could teach the way Aramis did, none of them had his patience, technique, and his charm.

"We protect the boy then," Porthos decided as he glanced at his two brothers, "For Aramis."

"For Aramis." The other two repeated with sincerity and passion.

After a few moments of silence and another bottle of wine, the three figured it best to retire and just let everything that happened sink in. Aramis, who was sleeping in his father's room, slowly woke up in the middle of the night. He stared at the ceiling for a couple of minutes before standing up and looking around. It's his first time in the place but he felt like he's been there all his life.

On the wooden chair beside the cabinet, his eyes found a couple of clothes, pauldron, hat, scarf, and pistols. Two rapiers also hung on the chair which he slowly unsheathed. He wasn't the best when it came to sword fighting but if taught, he knew he would excel in it. He then sheathed it back before finally grabbing the pistol in his hands. It felt light, like it was made for him. He's shot a pistol a few times along with a bow and arrow. Hunting was his only hobby back in Spain after being cooped up most of his life. His mother and people who knew him often complimented him about his deadly accuracy, another gift from his beloved father. Growing up with memories of him made it feel like he's known him for years. Despite being raised by servants and his mother, it felt like everything about him came from his father.

Sighing, he carefully placed the pistol back where he got it and began looking around the room again. A 15-year old, living in the garrison just like his father did as such a young age, could he even be more like him than he already is? He stood up and kept roaming around thinking how he should clean the place if they end up staying here. It was untouched, probably since his father died. He couldn't blame them, he never even knew his father but his heart ached for him. He knew of the tales of the musketeers, he basically grew up with their stories and achievements. Most of it were stories about the three of them, he's only heard a few ones with D'Artagnan in it since it wasn't that long since he joined.

The servants referred to his father as the youngest of the Three Musketeers and the regiment. He was the youngest one to ever train as a musketeer, he was 16 when Captain Treville found him and by 17 he was already part of the regiment. It only strengthened his awe for his father yet also placed a lot of pressure on him. How could he even live up to his name? To his achievements? Looking and acting like him wasn't enough. He has to be him, he has to be better. It's the least he could do to honor his father's name.

As he laid down on the bed, he couldn't help but think and talk to his father wherever he was.

"I will do my best to honor your name, Father. Wherever you are, you will not be forgotten. I promise you that 'til I draw my last breath. "