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The Scare
A Musketeers story by Deana

For the 'Aramis Faints' prompt!

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One moment, Aramis was walking beside his friends, and the next moment he found himself lying on the ground.

Rather, his head and shoulders were lying on something soft while the rest of his body was lying on the ground. His head was spinning, and Aramis had a brief memory of that having happened before he unexpectedly found himself in a horizontal position.

"Aramis!" three urgent voices were saying as a hand tapped his face.

Blinking his eyes open, Aramis found his nervous friends hovering over him. "What?" he croaked.

"What's wrong with you?" Porthos asked, with fear in his voice. "What injury are you hidin' from us?"

Aramis suddenly realized that it was Porthos' lap he was laying on and he blinked again, finding that his jacket was off as Athos and d'Artagnan searched him for a wound. He was as confused as they were, and his heartbeat sped up with anxiety. "What happened?" he asked.

"We were hoping you could tell us," said d'Artagnan, as he patted his hands down Aramis' legs to see if there was a bandage hidden under the material of his pants.

"I'm not hurt," Aramis told them. Even as he said it, he discovered scattered pains throughout his body that had obviously been caused by striking the ground. Suddenly embarrassed, he looked around to see that they were outside the palace but thankfully, no one was within view.

"Men don't faint without cause," Athos said, lowering Aramis' shirt after finding no wound on his chest or stomach.

"I don't know what happened," Aramis insisted.

Everyone looked at him, puzzled and obviously fearful, for Athos was right; there had to be a reason.

Before anyone could say anything else, they heard running footsteps.

"Athos!" Treville exclaimed. "What happened?"

Aramis struggled in Porthos' hold, trying to get up before the captain saw him sprawled on the ground like a swooned maiden.

Porthos tightened his grip and didn't let him.

"We don't know," Athos said as Treville neared them and knelt beside him. "Aramis fainted. He doesn't have a fever and there are no wounds."

"Passed out," Aramis corrected, still trying to sit up. "Women faint; men pass out. Besides, I was wide awake."

"Awake?" said d'Artagnan. "You were out cold the whole time we manhandled you out of your weapons, sash, and jacket."

Aramis had no reply for that.

Treville watched him with concern. "Why did you pass out?"

Aramis shook his head; it made him dizzy. "I don't know."

Treville grasped Aramis' wrist to feel his pulse; it was fast, but not irregular. "How did you feel before it happened?" he asked.

"Fine," Aramis told him.

"Fine?" Porthos echoed. "You were walkin' next to me and then suddenly you were gone. We stopped and turned to look at you, and you were standin' there wobblin' with a hand on your head and then you dropped like a rock!"

Aramis didn't remember. "Well, I felt fine before that."

"What did you eat today?" Treville asked.

Aramis hesitated.

"He didn't eat," said d'Artagnan. "Said he wasn't hungry."

"I wasn't," Aramis replied. "And no, I didn't feel ill."

Treville sighed, studying his musketeer's pale face. "There's nothing you're hiding from us?"

"No."

"Nothing at all? Even the slightest thing?" Treville pressed.

"Nothing, I swear," Aramis said, telling the truth.

"Are you tired?" Treville asked.

Aramis had to admit to that. "Yes...being a musketeer isn't easy, you know."

His quip didn't change any of the concerned expressions.

Treville could see shadows under Aramis' eyes that spoke of lost sleep, and he realized with a pang of guilt that his four best musketeers had been working very hard lately. Treville had seen many soldiers suffer from fatigue, and skipping meals always exacerbated the effects...especially for someone like Aramis, who slept so badly since Savoy. "Take him back to the garrison and feed him," he told the others. "Then I want you to rest, Aramis."

"Shouldn't a doctor look at him?" Porthos asked.

"I've seen this happen before," Treville said, reaching out a hand to Aramis. "And you should know better than to skip breakfast, especially on days that you'll be standing for hours on guard duty. That was very foolish."

Aramis sighed sheepishly at that, saying nothing as he took his hand and was pulled into a sitting position, where Athos and d'Artagnan got his jacket on him again while Porthos made sure Aramis didn't slump backwards. Finally, Aramis was helped up by all four of them, who held on tightly to ensure he had balance.

The landscape spun around Aramis, but that was normal after passing out, so he said nothing.

"All right?" Athos asked him, tightening the grip on his friend when he saw Aramis' face pale even further.

"Yes," Aramis lied, trying to blink the dizziness away.

"Don't make any stops," Treville told them. "Take him straight back to the garrison, no matter what he says."

"We will," d'Artagnan answered.

Aramis was quiet as they gently let him away. Their grips on him were painful, likely adding to the bruises that he'd sustained in the fall. "Ouch," he said.

Everyone instantly stopped walking. "What's wrong?" Porthos asked.

Aramis realized that they assumed that he had some new symptom. "You're hurting me."

Everyone quickly loosened their hold.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan said.

"I'll take 'im," said Porthos, grabbing one of Aramis' arms and pulling it over his shoulders.

Aramis winced. "I don't need that much support, Porthos. I feel fine."

"You also felt fine ten seconds before you were lying unconscious on the ground," Athos commented. "So you'll forgive us if we give little weight to the word 'fine' coming from you."

Aramis sighed at that and let Porthos help him to the palace stable, where he was forced to sit down while the horses were saddled. Once it came time to mount, Porthos assisted him and they all watched.

Aramis felt a little lightheaded, but it wasn't bad. "I'm fine," he said.

The others waited for a moment to be sure that he wouldn't fall off his horse, before mounting and riding out. They kept the pace slow and rode close to Aramis as a precaution, but he handled the ride fine and soon they'd arrived at the garrison.

Porthos helped Aramis dismount. "I'll get 'im to his room; you bring the food," he told the others.

Athos and d'Artagnan wordlessly headed for the kitchen, and Porthos wrapped an arm around Aramis and herded him along.

"I really do feel fine, Porthos," Aramis told him.

"Good," Porthos answered. "But I wanna make sure you make it to your bed without faintin'—I mean, passin' out, again."

Aramis chuckled.

Less than ten minutes later he was comfortably reclining against his pillows while Porthos brought three chairs over to the bed. He sat down and they waited for the others, who came in five minutes later with both of them carrying a tray.

"Serge made you his special broth," d'Artagnan said. "He said that if you eat everything on this tray, you can have the pastries that he's baking for you."

Aramis smiled at that, before frowning. "You told him what happened?"

"Of course," d'Artagnan answered. "How else could we have gotten him to make the pastries?"

Aramis chuckled as d'Artagnan placed the tray over his lap.

"Everything here is yours," he said

Aramis wasn't surprised; he knew that Serge must've been frightened to hear that he'd fainted. He removed the cover to find a large mug of the delicious broth as well as a bowl of hearty stew. It smelled wonderful and Aramis wondered how he hadn't been hungry that morning. There were three biscuits covered in gravy and a beautiful red apple, which Serge knew Aramis could never resist.

The others sat down and they all ate. Aramis finished the broth, stew, and one of the biscuits, but was then too full to eat the other two. Porthos gleefully claimed them and Aramis placed the apple on the nightstand to save for later.

"How are you feeling now?" Athos asked, leaning over to remove the tray from his lap.

"Much better," Aramis told him.

Athos nodded with a relieved smile. "Good; now sleep."

Aramis obeyed, lying flat and closing his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, and the others quietly watched him, noticing that the color was returning to his face.

"Looks like the captain was right," d'Artagnan whispered. "He just needed food and rest."

"It's possible," said Athos.

"You don't agree?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos sighed. "This is Aramis we're talkin' about. With him, it's always been hard to tell when he's sick because he hides it so well."

D'Artagnan nodded, not yet knowing the three of them as well as they knew each other.

Aramis slept through the afternoon and woke near suppertime. He felt groggy and said nothing as he blinked his vision into focus.

Porthos was the first to notice. "Hey, the sleepy musketeer awakens."

Aramis replied to that with a yawn.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked.

"Fine," Aramis answered, pushing himself upright. "Perfectly fine."

Athos studied him and saw that he did look healthier after the forced rest.

"How long did I sleep?" Aramis asked, rubbing his eyes.

"Straight through to supper," d'Artagnan told him.

Aramis was surprised.

"Before you get any ideas, no," said Athos. "You aren't eating with the regiment. The captain hasn't returned yet and we don't wish him to think that we disobeyed him. You're staying right there."

Aramis saw his point.

D'Artagnan and Porthos went to get the food that time, and brought back baked chicken; Aramis' favorite meal.

"Where are the pastries?" he asked.

"Serge said that you have to eat all of this first," Porthos told him. "And then you get dessert."

Aramis mock-scowled, making d'Artagnan chuckle.

"Do you remember fainting yet?" Athos suddenly asked.

"Passing out," Aramis corrected as he chewed. "And no, I don't."

That wasn't unusual, though all of them would admit to still being concerned.

Aramis noticed how quiet his friends were. "What?" he asked.

Porthos was gulping his drink, and he set the cup on the bedside table with a *plop*. "All right, I'll say it; you scared us to death!"

Aramis frowned.

"Seein' you suddenly just drop like that...for no reason!" Porthos continued. "When we found no wound, no injury to explain it...I almost couldn't breathe. I thought your heart had given out or somethin' and you were dyin'!"

Aramis reached out a hand. "I'm so sorry!"

Porthos reached out and took it, giving it a squeeze.

Aramis looked at the others. "Forgive me."

"Of course, it wasn't your fault," d'Artagnan said.

"Though you do need to take better care of yourself," said Athos. "We all know how eager you are to help everyone else, but when it comes to your own health, you distinctly lack wisdom."

"When you aren't feelin' well, you need to tell us," Porthos said, squeezing Aramis' hand again. "When you stopped walkin' and stood there wobblin', you knew somethin' was wrong and you should've said somethin'."

Aramis sighed. "But I don't remember it happening; I was incapable of thought, it's likely that I was also incapable of speech."

The others nodded, unable to deny that possibility.

"Either way," said Athos. "We're expecting you to be more open to us about your health."

Aramis nodded. "I will, I promise."

Porthos smiled. "Good." He let go of Aramis' hand and grabbed his drink.

Less than an hour later, the door quietly opened and a head poked itself through. Treville sighed with relief when he saw Aramis sitting up awake, and he walked in. "I didn't want to knock in case you were sleeping," he said, walking over to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Perfectly fine," Aramis told him, holding a half-eaten pastry in his hand.

Treville looked at the others for their opinion.

"He appears to be well," said Athos.

"He ate and slept and got his color back," said Porthos, gesturing to Aramis' face.

Treville looked at Aramis again and sat on the bed to study him before nodding. "Good. Let that be a lesson to you to stop neglecting yourself."

Aramis nodded. "I know, I was already scolded," he said, gesturing to the other three.

Treville looked over his shoulder to see d'Artagnan nodding. "Then I'll leave you in their capable hands."

At that, Porthos gave a menacing laugh.

The others chuckled, while Aramis gave Treville a look of mock-horror. "Captain, anything but that!"

Treville smiled and stood. "Don't come down for muster in the morning. Rest."

Aramis nodded. "Yes sir."

Treville walked away from the bed, and couldn't resist saying to the others, "Keep up the good work."

"Oh, we will," Porthos replied, cracking his knuckles.

More laughter followed Treville out the door, and he could still hear them after he closed it. As he headed down the hall, Treville sighed with relief that Aramis' unexpected health scare had been only that: a scare.

THE END