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Back from the Brink
A Musketeer story by Deana

This story is in response to a few different story prompts that I found online: 1: Aramis faints, 2: Aramis isn't eating and loses weight, and 3: Athos gives them chocolate. I decided to put all three in one story, lol!

Takes place five years before season 1, a few weeks after Savoy.

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"Aramis?"

"I got 'im."

Aramis felt hands grab his shoulders, and he opened his eyes to find himself staring at the top of a table. He was leaning against something strong, and raised his head to find Athos watching him from the chair across from his own. The thing he was leaning on moved slightly.

"Hey, you all right?" came Porthos' voice.

Aramis blinked and straightened up a little, feeling weak and lightheaded. He saw that they were sitting in a tavern, and realized that he must've passed out again.

Again.

The hands squeezed his shoulders, and Aramis turned his head slightly to look at Porthos' concerned face. "I'm fine," he said, the words coming out slowly.

Athos sighed. It'd been nearly a month since the Savoy massacre had killed twenty musketeers and left Aramis the only survivor…with Marsac having deserted and left Aramis to die. He'd obtained a head injury that had caused a severe concussion, as well as a stab wound to his left side. Outwardly, the damage was healing—stitches had been removed and bruising had faded—but they couldn't be sure about the inside…Aramis still suffered from headaches and dizzy spells, and would sometimes pass out without warning, as he had just now. He was always fine again within a few minutes, but it was very worrisome.

"Stew?" Athos asked, trying to make things seem normal to Aramis, who was usually embarrassed after regaining consciousness.

Aramis looked at him, seeming confused for a few seconds before the effects finally passed. He shrugged. "I'm not very hungry."

Porthos' hands, still holding onto his friend, tightened their grip. Aramis had never really been an over-eater, but since the massacre, his appetite had practically vanished and he was steadily losing weight. His uniform was too large on him, and it was obvious even to people who didn't know him. "You have to eat, Aramis," he said. "How will you get your strength back?"

Aramis knew that he was right. Raising a hand, he rubbed his aching forehead with a sigh.

"Don't get upset," Porthos gently said. Aramis was suffering enough; the last thing they wanted to do was add to his stress. "Just try to do better, all right? It's for your own good."

Aramis tiredly lowered his hand. "All right." He blinked slowly, feeling exhausted.

As Athos watched him, he realized that something needed to be done, fast. Aramis was hardly eating or sleeping, losing weight, and pale. He was wasting away before their eyes, and he and Porthos were determined not to let that happen.

A barmaid suddenly appeared beside their table. "Hello, handsome!" she said, targeting Aramis first, as she always did.

Aramis looked up and smiled slightly at her, though it was nothing like the usual flirtation that he always engaged in before Savoy. "Hello, Geneviève," he said.

She bent over and kissed him full on the lips, before pulling away and staring at him. "There, that put some color back in your cheeks!"

Porthos chuckled at that.

"We have a marvelous stew tonight," Geneviève continued. "Interested?"

Aramis remembered what he'd promised Porthos, and nodded.

She smiled. "Good." Standing, Geneviève looked at the others. "The same?"

"Yes," said Athos. "And wine."

"Lots of wine," Porthos added.

The barmaid nodded and walked off.

Athos and Porthos looked at Aramis, glad to see a slight smile on his face. Geneviève knew what had happened to him, and always tried whatever she could to give Aramis even just five minutes of happiness.

The food came quickly, and Aramis kept his word and ate…before visibly flagging after only three bites.

"She was right," said Porthos. "This really is marvelous."

Athos nodded. "Mmm," he agreed, as he chewed. "It is."

It was obvious to Aramis that they were saying that to entice him to eat, so he took another bite. He only managed one more before suddenly dropping the spoon into the bowl and leaning his elbow on the table with his hand over his eyes.

Porthos grabbed him again.

"I'm sorry," Aramis shakily mumbled, feeling sick. "I tried."

"That's all right; just take it easy," Porthos said, rubbing his back.

Athos stood and grabbed Geneviève, asking her for some broth. She nodded and hurried to get it, and Athos sat back down and took hold of Aramis' arm. "Be calm, it will pass," he said.

Aramis sighed. Athos was right, it always did, but it happened too often and he was so tired of it…

The barmaid returned and handed a mug to Athos, who held it under his friend's nose. "Here, Aramis; drink."

Aramis removed his hand from his eyes and inhaled the fragrant steam before taking hold of the cup and slowly drinking it.

Athos didn't let go, pulling the cup away when Aramis stopped drinking. "Better?"

Aramis took a deep breath and nodded. Warm broth always succeeded in settling his stomach and calming his nerves.

Athos looked up at the barmaid. "Thank you," he said.

Geneviève nodded with a sigh before placing a kiss on Aramis' curly head and squeezing his shoulder before leaving.

"I'm sorry," Aramis suddenly said again.

Porthos shook his head. "None of that, now. Do you wanna go back to the garrison?"

"Yes," Aramis tiredly answered.

"Can you drink anymore of this first?" Athos asked, still holding the mug.

Aramis contemplated it before reaching out to take it. He drank a little more before putting it down.

Athos placed some money on the table and stood, taking Aramis' arm and helping him slowly stand. Porthos did the same from the other side, and they waited for a few seconds to make sure that their friend wasn't going to pass out again.

"I'm all right," Aramis told them.

They took his word and slowly led him out of the tavern. The night was chilly and a sudden gust of wind blew into their faces, taking them by surprise and making Aramis shiver.

Athos pulled the scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around his friend's, before grabbing the gloves hanging over Aramis' belt and sticking them into his hands.

Aramis put his gloves on as Porthos wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm. He leaned against his friend, so grateful for their care.

They started the slow walk back to the garrison. The unexpected wind continued, and Athos regretted that they hadn't taken their horses. They'd walked to give Aramis some much-needed exercise, but it had obviously been the wrong decision to make.

Aramis tried not to shiver, but it was ridiculously difficult. Ever since Savoy, he couldn't seem to get a lingering chill out of his bones. Not for the first time, he wished for summer.

They finally made it back to the garrison and brought Aramis to his room; assisting him with his jacket and boots and helping him lie down.

Aramis sighed as his head hit the pillow, hoping that, for once, it would be a night without disturbing dreams.

Athos lifted his friend's shirt to take a look at the still-healing stab wound. Removing the bandage, he found that it still looked raw and painful, but had thankfully never grown infected. The stitches had only been removed two days prior, and Aramis was sure to be left with an impressive scar.

Porthos handed him fresh bandages, and they exchanged a worried expression over the state of their friend; a month ago, Aramis had been fighting-fit and strong, but now, he was too thin and weak. For a moment, Porthos imagined Aramis shooting a musket and falling back from the recoil.

Athos moved on to Aramis' head wound, finding that it looked better than the stab wound. The scar would be hidden by his hair, and no one else would ever know about it.

Aramis closed his eyes before tiredly reopening them.

"Sleep, Aramis," Porthos said, sitting in a chair beside the bed.

To their surprise, Aramis closed his eyes and dropped right off to sleep without a single word, likely because of the difficult evening that he'd just had.

Athos and Porthos looked at each other again. "What are we gonna do?" Porthos whispered. "He's wastin' away."

Athos sighed. "I don't know," he said. "But whatever it is, it needs to be done soon."

TBC