Guardian Angel
My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for February. The theme: fear.
Thank you Karri for the title!
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Captain Treville came down the stairs and leaned against the banister, looking out over the courtyard. He was there for no more than thirty seconds before a gunshot sounded and he fell to the ground.
Aramis heard the shot and ran over, quickly throwing himself to his knees beside him...but it was too late. "Captain!" he shouted, in shock.
With a gasp, Aramis sat up in his bed, breathing heavily. It took him a few seconds to realize that he'd been dreaming, and he sighed with relief before rising. He quickly dressed and went outside, finding his friends sitting at their usual table.
"Mornin'!" Porthos exclaimed. "Overslept?"
Aramis nodded as he sat.
Athos noticed that Aramis looked pale. "Are you well?"
Aramis nodded again. "Disturbing dream...though I can't quite recall it."
Both Porthos and Athos hoped that it wasn't about Savoy, and asked no more questions.
D'Artagnan arrived a few minutes later and breakfast was served, after which two eager recruits went into the middle of the courtyard to practice their swordplay.
Aramis was chuckling at something that Porthos had just said, before he turned his head and saw Treville leaning against the banister, watching the recruits. Instant alarm filled him as his dream rushed back into his mind. "Captain!" he exclaimed.
Treville turned and walked towards them, just before a gunshot sounded; the ball hitting the banister where he'd just been standing.
Everyone stood from the table and Treville turned, to see that one of the fencing recruits had knocked his pistol off his belt.
Aramis was beside their captain before he even had a chance to think. "Are you all right?!" he exclaimed. He grabbed Treville by the arms and looked him over, searching him for blood.
"I'm fine," Treville told him.
Aramis couldn't take his word, and turned him this way and that, before patting at his clothes looking for a wound.
"Aramis!" Treville said. "I said I'm fine!" When he still didn't stop, Treville grabbed his wrists. "Aramis!"
Breathing heavily, Aramis looked at him, pale with shock that his dream had nearly come true.
"What is it?" Treville asked.
Aramis realized that everyone in the garrison had surrounded them. "I thought the ball hit you," he explained.
"Well it didn't, as you can see," Treville said. "But if you hadn't called me just then, it would've."
Aramis felt the blood drain from his face at the realization. If not for his dream, Treville would be dead!
"Hey," said Porthos, taking his arm. "You don't look right."
Aramis realized that he'd better say something before they all thought he'd taken leave of his senses. "A headache," he lied, before realizing that it wasn't quite a lie. "I'll be fine."
Treville nodded, though he looked slightly concerned.
Porthos tugged Aramis back towards the table. "Hey, you're shakin'."
Aramis shook his head. "No I'm not."
"Yes you are," Porthos countered.
"The captain would've just been killed," Aramis defended. "If I hadn't said something."
Porthos nodded. "Yeah." He shuddered. "Crazy coincidence, you callin' him just then."
Aramis nodded as he sat. "Yes." But not a coincidence at all.
Treville held muster and handed out assignments, though he gave Aramis none, as he was still very pale and the captain feared that he was falling ill. He sent Aramis back to his room to rest, where Aramis knelt beside his bed and clutched his cross.
Lord, he prayed. No mortal can predict the future...unless you tell them something. Did you send me that dream, to save Treville's life? If so, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. If not...but there's no other explanation. It had to come from you...
Aramis reopened his eyes with a sigh, still feeling troubled at what could've happened. What if he hadn't had the dream? Treville would be dead right now, from a senseless accident.
A throb on the right side of Aramis' head caught his attention, and he raised a hand to rub it. He wasn't surprised at the pain, which sometimes showed itself during times of extreme stress. With another sigh, he stood and laid down on his bed, closing his eyes and unexpectedly falling asleep.
Constance walked through the marketplace, carrying a sack of vegetables. She headed back towards her house, just as a carriage careened around a corner and headed straight towards her…
Aramis woke with a jerk, giving a gasp when a hand touched him.
"Aramis, hey," said Porthos. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Aramis looked at him with shock, breathing heavily. "What?" he asked, confused.
"I brought you some soup," Porthos said. "How's your head?"
Aramis blinked, the fright from his dream slow to fade.
"Why are you so pale?" Porthos worriedly asked. "Do you need a doctor or somethin'?"
Aramis shook his head. "I'm fine."
"You really don't look it."
Aramis looked towards the window. Market day was tomorrow. Would his dream come true again? He had to figure out a way to protect Constance.
"Hey, I'm talkin' to you."
Aramis turned his head to look into Porthos' worried face. "I'm sorry, I'm not myself today."
Porthos huffed. "I noticed! Here, eat."
Aramis took the bowl and obeyed.
The four musketeers spent the evening in Aramis' room, bringing supper to him. He eventually told them that his headache was gone—even though it wasn't true—and they all headed to bed.
Aramis barely slept as fear gripped his heart for Constance. Would he be in time to save her life? Would his dream even come true? He prayed for hours until light began to shine on the earth, and then he wrote a note and slipped it under Porthos' door before quickly leaving the garrison.
It only took a few minutes to reach the Bonacieux home, and Aramis watched the house from a distance, waiting for her to leave.
A half-hour after dawn, Constance came out of her house to feed the chickens and goat, and Aramis watched, feeling relief to see her alive, even though he knew that she hadn't encountered the runaway carriage yet. Please, God, he prayed. Please help me save her life!
Eventually, Constance started crossing the street, and Aramis realized that his chance had come. "Good morning, Madame Bonacieux."
Constance turned and a smile lit up her face. "Good morning," she said. "What are you doing over here?"
"Early morning stroll," Aramis said, falling into step beside her. "Going to market, I assume?"
She nodded. "As always on a Wednesday."
"Allow me to escort you," Aramis said, sticking out his elbow.
She gave him a look before chuckling and taking his arm. "Turning on the charm already, what did I do to deserve it?"
Aramis smiled. "It is enough that you brighten the world with your presence, my lady."
Constance laughed again. "Oh, you!"
They walked into the marketplace and Aramis patiently watched as she bought the things that she needed.
Constance reached for a perfect red apple, and just as she touched it, a hand shot out and snatched it from her. "Excuse me!" she exclaimed in annoyance.
"Don't talk back to me, peasant," said the man, dressed like a noble. He raised the apple and bit it, before saying, "You should learn to defer to your betters!"
Before the shocked Constance could say anything else, Aramis reached over and knocked the apple from his hand. "Not only is she better than you could ever be, monsieur, but if she can't have that apple, then neither can you."
"You have the gall to assault me?!" the man exclaimed.
"I do," said Aramis. "Pray that I do not do it again." He said, hand on his sword.
"The king will hear about this!"
"I hope so," said Aramis. "There are enough witnesses here to tell the king that you didn't even pay for the apple that you took out of someone's hand and ate right in front of her, and the merchant. Have you lost your family's fortune somehow and are now resorting to thievery? Tsk."
The man's face turned red and he stormed off.
Everyone watched him go, and Aramis chuckled. "He really didn't pay." He took his coin purse off his belt and reached into it.
"No no, monsieur," said the merchant. "There's no need for that."
"I insist," said Aramis, handing him the coin. "For your benefit since I was involved in the incident, and my benefit also; if he does inform the king, then I can tell His Highness that I am the one who actually paid for the apple!"
The merchant laughed and accepted the coin.
Constance bought the fruit that she wanted and they walked off. "You're always eating apples," she said. "Why didn't you buy any?"
"I still have some," Aramis answered.
"Well here's another," Constance said, handing it to him. "I got an extra one just for you!"
Aramis smiled and took it with a bow.
Constance soon finished her shopping and headed towards the street.
"You're finished?" Aramis asked, a little nervously.
Constance nodded. "Yes, thank you for the escort!"
"I'm here to serve," Aramis told her.
As they left the marketplace, he hadn't even time to look around before a carriage came rushing around the corner.
Constance turned in shock, but arms suddenly wrapped themselves around her body and she was suddenly off her feet, rolling across the ground.
The carriage shot past and didn't stop.
Constance gasped, nearly unable to breathe because of how tightly she was being held. "Aramis!" she shouted, struggling.
Aramis loosened his hold, rolling onto his back and closing his eyes, breathing heavily. "Thank God!" he said. "Thank God!"
Constance sat up as dozens of people surrounded them. "Aramis! Are you all right!"
"Of course," he lied, his headache throbbing worse after their dive to the ground. "You're not hurt?"
"No, thanks to you!" She tugged on his arm and pulled him into a sitting position. "It was the man with the apple!"
"I know," Aramis answered. He took a deep breath and looked Constance over, relieved to see no sign of injury.
Constance let out a breath. "If you hadn't been here, I might've been killed! Thank you, Aramis, you were my guardian angel today!"
Aramis quickly stood and held out a hand to assist her to her feet. "No need to thank me, I'll always protect you."
She gave him a grateful look, and they headed back towards her house.
Soon after, Aramis headed back into the marketplace, and suddenly heard a familiar shout.
"Aramis!"
He turned to see Porthos heading towards him. "What's goin' on? The whole marketplace is talking about the heroic musketeer who saved a woman from a runaway carriage!"
Aramis sighed; he'd hoped to keep the secret from his friends. "Yes…I did."
"Why did you come here so early in the first place?" Porthos asked, taking his friend's arm and leading him away, most likely to meet up with the others.
"I…couldn't sleep," said Aramis.
Porthos shot him a sympathetic look, assuming he'd had a dream about Savoy. "Did you get hurt?"
"No."
"Headache gone?" Porthos asked.
"Yes."
"Liar."
Aramis sighed. "It's nothing; barely there."
Porthos wasn't sure whether to believe him, but then he spotted Athos and waved him over. "Hey, I found 'im."
Athos studied Aramis with a concerned expression. "Injured?"
"No," Aramis told him.
Athos was relieved and they eventually regrouped with d'Artagnan.
"Quite a story everyone is telling," d'Artagnan said. "How you defended a woman to a rude noble who then tried to run you both over."
At those words, Aramis stopped walking.
"What's wrong?" Porthos asked.
"N-nothing," Aramis uncharacteristically stuttered. He suddenly felt cold at the thought that the man had tried to kill them because he'd stood up to him. Constance could've been killed because of him!
"Aramis," Porthos said. "What is it?"
Aramis saw that all three of his friends were staring at him.
"You have been acting very strange since yesterday," said Athos.
"I'm fine," said Aramis. "My head still aches," he realized he had to tell them, as a way of hopefully explaining his odd behavior.
"Let's go back to the garrison," said Porthos. "You not only missed muster, but breakfast too. Maybe you'll feel better after you eat."
Aramis closed his eyes for a moment. In his quest to save Constance, he'd forgotten all about muster!
As they walked, d'Artagnan suddenly spoke. "Was the woman someone you know?"
Aramis had hoped that no one would ask that. "Yes."
Everyone waited for more, but he said nothing else.
"Someone you really know?" Porthos said with a grin, his meaning very clear.
Aramis opened his mouth to say 'yes', hoping that it would prevent further questions, but if they did find out, the last thing he wanted them to think was that he was having an affair with her, of all people. "No…it was Constance," he said, realizing that she'd probably mention it to d'Artagnan anyway.
"What?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed. With that one word, he ran off towards her home.
Aramis sighed at the looks on the others' faces.
"First you save the captain's life, and now Constance," said Porthos. "You're quite the hero!"
Aramis smiled.
After arriving at the garrison, Aramis apologized to Treville for missing muster, giving him the same 'reason' that he'd told the others; he couldn't sleep and went for a walk. "I lost track of time after that," he said.
"And saved Constance's life!" said Porthos.
Treville was relieved after hearing the story. "Perhaps it was divine intervention," he said. "Including my incident yesterday."
Aramis nodded. "I have no doubt."
The day passed too slowly for Aramis, who wanted nothing more than to go to his room and pray. When night finally fell and he found himself in his room, he quickly removed his weapons and doublet before falling to his knees beside his bed and clasping his hands.
"Lord," he prayed. "Both of my dreams came true, despite the impossibility of such a thing, so I have no choice but to believe that You sent the dreams. Will there be more?" He sighed. "Also, I realized something terrible…that man attacked Constance and I with the carriage because of what I said to him. Does that mean that I was not supposed to go after Constance at all, which would've prevented the confrontation altogether?" He sighed again. "Although, I did nothing to cause the captain's near death…that was caused by the recruit's pistol falling off his belt…"
Aramis suddenly realized that he had the responsibility of preparing firearms for new recruits. His eyes popped open. "Unless I didn't properly prepare that pistol before it was issued to him…?" A chill of fear filled Aramis. Was he really at fault for these near-deaths?
"Oh Lord," he prayed. "Please help me!" He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned his elbows against the bed, his head propped in his hands. "Please Lord," he said. "Please keep sending the dreams; I can't bear for someone to die because of me." With a sigh, he closed his eyes remaining in that position until he nearly dozed-off a few minutes later.
Aramis stood and climbed onto his bed, closing his eyes again as he continued to pray.
The night passed very slowly for Aramis, who couldn't sleep again as fear gripped his heart. What if he failed to save someone? He tried his best to calm himself, knowing that God couldn't send him another dream if he didn't sleep…
"Hey, you gettin' up today?"
The sudden voice had Aramis' eyes pop open, and he was surprised to see Porthos peering into his face. "I didn't dream!" he realized aloud.
Porthos frowned. "Is that surprisin'? You've never had a dreamless sleep?"
Aramis sat up, finding his eyes gritty and heavy. He hadn't slept much, as his aching head informed him.
"Your head still hurt?" Porthos asked.
Aramis sighed. "Yes."
Porthos wasn't very surprised. Everyone knew that Aramis frequently suffered headaches after Savoy. They were often severe enough to keep him in bed needing peace and quiet in the dark, but sometimes he got the kind that wasn't bad but continued for a few days.
"Muster is soon," said Porthos. "You're missin' breakfast."
Aramis sighed and stood, quickly grabbing his clothes as he mulled over the fact that he'd had no dreams. Lord, he prayed. Please tell me that you didn't send me a dream that I forget! The notion nearly took his breath away until he realized that his brain wasn't more powerful than God; if He sent him a dream, there was no chance of forgetting it.
A few minutes later, they were outside sitting at the table with Porthos and d'Artagnan. Everyone stared at him as he ate.
"Is something wrong?" d'Artagnan asked. "You seem…nervous. Something I'm not use to seeing!"
Aramis didn't want to tell them what was happening. They didn't have the knowledge of God that he had, so they wouldn't easily understand the possibility of God sending him prophetic dreams. "I'm just out of sorts," Aramis answered. "Still have a headache."
D'Artagnan nodded. "That's too bad," he said. "Maybe you should see a doctor."
Aramis shook his head. "No need; we know what causes it, and there's no solution. It's preventing me from sleeping well, but it'll pass."
D'Artagnan looked the others as if unsure whether to drop the subject, but understood when Porthos mouthed the word 'Savoy' and nonchalantly pointed at the right side of his head, where Aramis' wound had been.
Treville held muster and sent the four musketeers to patrol the marketplace.
Porthos kept glued to Aramis' side, watching his friend, who was uncharacteristically quiet. "D'Artagnan is right," he said. "You're actin' very different the last few days. Is it really just the headache?"
Aramis glanced at him with a sigh, wishing that he could tell someone. If not Porthos, his closest friend, then who else? "I've been…having dreams."
"Oh," Porthos said, assuming he meant Savoy.
Aramis opened his mouth to continue, but changed his mind. If Porthos easily accepted that for an answer, then he'd rather not tell his friend something that might make him think he'd lost his mind.
Nothing went amiss during their patrol, but throughout the day, Aramis grew more and more exhausted. His two nights of lost sleep were catching up to him quickly, and when the others decided to go to the tavern that night, he sighed with dismay.
"Will it make your headache worse?" d'Artagnan asked him.
Aramis was glad at the question. The truth was yes, it would, and he said so.
"You should take yourself to bed," said Athos. "You look exhausted."
Aramis nodded. "That's my intention."
The others shot glances at each other; Aramis never agreed so easily.
"We don't have to go," Porthos suddenly said, worried for his friend.
"You may as well," said Aramis. "I just want to sleep. No one needs to sit in my room staring at me."
The others all looked at each other, unsure.
Aramis gave them a smile, though it appeared to them as a pale apparition of his usual self. "Please go, I want peace and quiet."
The others reluctantly agreed, though they secretly had Porthos mention it to Treville, who said that he would look in on him.
Aramis was relieved once again to get back to his room, and he quickly went to bed and fell right to sleep.
A few hours later, Treville quietly went into his room and crept to the bed, finding Aramis sound asleep and breathing quietly. He studied him for a minute, finding that he still looked pale. There were smudges under his eyes that spoke of his exhaustion, and Treville could see evidence of strain on his face. Was it really because of the headache he'd been suffering? Treville had seen Aramis during too many agonizing headaches after Savoy, and this time was not like that at all. Was something bothering Aramis that they didn't know about; something that he hadn't even told his three friends?
Treville decided to talk to Aramis the next day, to see if he could find out what was troubling him.
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The next morning, Aramis woke to the sound of a bird chirping. He opened his eyes and spotted it sitting on his windowsill. He drowsily watched it until it flew away, and he lay blinking for a moment before the events of the past few days came back to him and he sat straight up.
Breathing heavily, Aramis jumped out of bed and rushed to the window, seeing musketeers below lining up for muster. He quickly dressed and headed outside.
His three friends were surprised to see him. "Per Treville, you were not required to report this morning," Athos told him.
"Are you feeling better?" d'Artagnan asked.
Aramis stood next to Porthos, finding that he still had a headache and was still tired. He wasn't surprised; one night of good sleep wasn't enough to remedy three nights of hardly any. "Yes," he said, anyway.
Porthos smiled and gave him a happy clap on the back.
Treville held muster, but just as he was about to tell Aramis that he wanted to speak with him, a messenger arrived from the palace with a letter from the king, asking for his immediate presence. He looked at Aramis, who had sat at the table to eat a late breakfast, and was relieved to see that he appeared improved. Perhaps sleep was really all he needed after all?
No one noticed Treville leave, as they all sat watching Aramis eat.
"I feel like a new species of insect," Aramis remarked.
Porthos chuckled. "We're just glad to see you lookin' better."
Aramis nodded. "Sleep was all that I required." He smiled, though he was wondering at the fact that God hadn't sent him any dreams. Was it all over? The notion sent a wave of relief through him, and his mood improved as they patrolled the marketplace.
Around midday, they stopped at a bakery for some fresh bread and cheese, and Aramis sat on the outside steps as he watched Porthos and d'Artagnan get drawn into a game with three children who they'd agreed to watch as their mother shopped.
The sun was warm and comforting, and Aramis started to doze. Suddenly, he saw Porthos in his mind, chasing one of the children towards the blacksmith shop. The blacksmith didn't know that they were coming, and walked out carrying a heavy urn of molten lead…
"Porthos!" Aramis exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "Stop!"
Porthos immediately halted, grabbing the child.
Just ahead of him, the blacksmith came out with the urn.
Everyone stared in shock before turning to look at Aramis, who was standing unsteadily, with Athos grasping his arm.
Aramis dropped back down to the step, raising shaking hands to run through his hair.
"How did you know that was going to happen?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed, as he, Porthos, and the child headed over.
Aramis sat with his head bowed and his hands still in his hair. "I don't know," he said, his voice unsteady. "I mean, I do know, but..."
Athos and Porthos exchanged a look over their friend's head, concerned over his odd behavior. Before they could say anything, the childrens' mother returned for her boys, causing a momentary distraction.
Aramis lifted his still-aching head, but still cradled it in his hands. His body was shaking and he knew that it was noticeable.
"Tell us what's goin' on," said Porthos. "You've been actin' strange for days...and you keep accidentally savin' people's lives!"
Aramis sighed and closed his eyes, lowering his head again. "You won't believe me."
"Why?" asked d'Artagnan. "We're brothers, what could you possibly say that would make us not trust your word?"
Aramis fisted his hands in his hair and gave no answer.
Athos looked at the others. "This is obviously very serious. Let's go back to the garrison."
Porthos took Aramis' arm and pulled him to his feet, keeping an arm around him as they walked. "I dunno why it's so hard for you to tell us," he said. "But you're our brother no matter what it is."
Even though Aramis knew that, he felt a little better to hear it.
Minutes later, they walked through the gate and found Treville outside.
"Aramis," he said. "I'd like to speak with you for a moment."
Aramis glanced at the others before looking at him. "And I need to speak with you; you need to hear this too."
Treville was glad to see that Aramis was ready to open up about his unknown issue, and led them all to his office. Athos produced a bottle of wine and handed Aramis the first cup.
Aramis drank half of it in one go, before looking at the others as they settled themselves in chairs around Treville's desk to listen. "I've...been...having dreams." He stopped there.
"Of Savoy?" Porthos gently asked.
Aramis shook his head. "No." He looked up at the ceiling and heaved a great sigh. "In the first dream, I was sitting at the outside table and you, captain, were standing near the steps. A gun fired and the bullet hit you...and killed you."
Everyone was quiet for a moment.
"You mean what happened the other day?" said Treville. "But the bullet missed me."
"Because Aramis called you over," Porthos realized. "And then he nearly had a fit thinkin' that you'd been hit; because you were, in his dream."
Aramis nodded. "Yes. And then the next night, I dreamed that Constance was hit by a runaway carriage outside the marketplace."
"That's why you left so early and put the message under my door," said Porthos. "To prevent it."
Aramis nodded and drank the rest of his wine.
Athos leaned over to refill his cup.
"After that, I had no more dreams," said Aramis. "But then today, I saw what was going to happen just before it did."
"You fell asleep," said Athos.
Aramis looked at him. "I did?"
Athos nodded. "After we sat on the steps. Less than two minutes later, you stood right up and shouted for Porthos to stop."
"Stop what?" Treville asked.
D'Artagnan explained, and Treville was amazed.
"Have you had anymore dreams?" Treville asked.
"No," Aramis said. "Not yet, at least."
Everyone sat quietly, mulling over the incredible story.
"I don't blame any of you for not believing it," said Aramis.
Everyone looked at him. "Of course we believe it," said Porthos. "It's you, Aramis." He looked at the others. "Right? You all believe 'im?"
Everyone nodded.
"We may not understand," said Treville. "But you are one of the most trustworthy—and sane—men that I know."
Aramis sighed with relief, drinking more of his wine.
"But how exactly is this happening?" d'Artagnan asked.
"The dreams are coming from God," said Aramis. "Which is one of the reasons why I expected you to doubt me, since that is quite a claim to make."
"You know more about God than all of us," said Porthos. "If you say they're from God, then they're from God."
Aramis was overwhelmed with relief. "Thank you."
"This is why you've been unwell," Athos stated. It wasn't a question.
Aramis nodded. "I've lost a lot of sleep over it; fearing the dreams, and their implications."
"Implications?" said Treville.
Aramis sighed and some of his nervousness returned. "I wonder if each situation is my fault."
"Why?" Porthos asked.
"The gun that went off and nearly killed you," Aramis said to Treville. "Did I not properly prepare it for the new recruit?"
Treville sighed. "Aramis, you can't blame yourself."
"And Constance," said Aramis. "The man who came at us with the carriage…he was angry at what I said to him. Perhaps God is giving me a chance to change the consequences of my own mistakes?"
Everyone thought about that for a minute, until Porthos spoke. "What mistake did you make to cause the blacksmith to nearly pour molten lead on me and that boy?"
Aramis caught his breath and looked at him.
Porthos shook his head. "No mistake, Aramis; you had nothin' whatsoever to do with that."
A wave of lightheaded relief swept over Aramis at that and he visibly wilted in his seat.
A hand grabbed his shoulder, and Aramis looked into the face of Captain Treville. "You need rest; you're white as a sheet," Treville said, before taking the empty cup from his hand. "And no more wine. Does your head still ache?"
Aramis sighed. "Yes."
"Back to bed with you, then," said Treville, tugging on his arm to pull him up from the chair.
Aramis wanted to lie down more than anything, but he was reluctant.
"What's wrong?" Treville asked.
Aramis sighed. "As I said, I fear the dreams. What if I fail to save someone?" He looked at the others. "What if it's one of you?"
Athos and d'Artagnan looked at each other.
"You've already saved the captain, Constance, and Porthos," said d'Artagnan. "Assuming that you might have a dream about each one of us, then that only leaves Athos and I."
Aramis felt a shock of fear rush down his spine at the thought that one of them still could die. "Oh no," he said, dropping his face into one hand.
Athos shot a look at d'Artagnan; that hadn't been the right thing to say. "There is nothing that says that each of our lives will be threatened."
Aramis reopened his eyes. That was true.
"If you have another dream, you tell us about it immediately," said Treville. "It's that simple."
Aramis nodded, before turning apologetic. "I'm sorry, this situation has rattled me."
"We don't blame you one bit," said Porthos.
"I didn't think you'd believe me," Aramis continued. "Rather, I thought you might think that I've lost my mind."
Porthos crouched beside his friend's chair and slid an arm around his shoulders. "Of course we wouldn't think that, Aramis…you can't lose what you never had!"
Everyone laughed at that, and a little bit of color came back into Aramis' face.
"Now come on," said Porthos. "You could use more sleep."
Aramis obeyed and went back to his room, falling asleep to his friend's smile above him…
…and waking to someone's hands holding him down.
"Aramis!" a voice was saying. "Calm down! Keep still!"
With a gasp, Aramis opened his eyes and found his vision locked on white ceiling tiles. White? It should be dark wood. He blinked and shifted his gaze away from the confusing sight, finding himself lying in a room that had white walls as well. "Where am I!" he exclaimed.
"In the hospital," said Treville's voice.
Aramis blinked a few more times, before finally seeing the captain, Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Dr. Harris in the room. "What am I doing here!?" he exclaimed, frightened and confused.
"Your wound grew infected," said Dr. Harris, as he shot something into the IV that lead into Aramis' left arm.
"Wound?" Aramis repeated. "I wasn't wounded! I saved the captain, Porthos, and Constance, but I wasn't wounded myself!"
"You what?" said d'Artagnan.
"You've been on some very strong drugs, Aramis," said Harris. "Take a few minutes to calm down."
Aramis obeyed, breathing heavily. He found that his head was aching and there was a bandage wrapped around it. Looking around, he realized that everything he'd experienced had been a dream. "How?" he eventually asked.
"You were fighting a suspect who had a knife," Athos explained. "He sliced the side of your head."
Aramis raised a shaking hand to touch it.
"Twenty stitches," said Harris. "You were prescribed antibiotics in case of infection, but they were meager compared to what you actually needed."
Aramis was still confused, having a hard time pulling himself back to the 21st century. "Why?"
"You developed sepsis," Treville explained. "The knife was used for many murders and was likely never cleaned."
Aramis' brain felt full of fog and he didn't quite comprehend the full meaning.
"There's no chance of HIV," said Harris. "None of the murdered victims had it, you needn't fear that."
Aramis was feeling weaker the longer he stayed awake. He relaxed his body into the mattress and closed his eyes, still having trouble processing what he was being told.
Before anyone could ask if he was all right, a nurse came into the room. "Is he awake?"
Aramis' eyes popped open. "Constance!" he said.
She looked at him and smiled. "Oh, so you really were coherent that time you opened your eyes and looked at me! And you remember my name!"
Everyone looked at Aramis, realizing that she was the one who he said he'd 'saved'.
"Did you have some kind of crazy dream, Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.
Aramis closed his eyes. "You have no idea," he mumbled. "I'm almost not sure if that was reality, or if this is."
"The drugs," said Harris. "Two antibiotics, painkillers, and zofran to prevent nausea. How do you feel?"
"Weak," Aramis answered, his admission surprising them. "Headache."
"Are you hungry?" Porthos asked.
"No," Aramis answered immediately. "How long have I been here?"
"Two days," said Treville. "After collapsing"
Aramis reopened his eyes. "I did?"
Everyone nodded.
"Almost gave us heart attacks," said Porthos.
"You weren't answering our texts that morning," said Athos. "We assumed that you were sleeping and we didn't want to disturb you, but Porthos eventually went to check on you and found you passed out on the floor of your kitchen, so he called an ambulance."
Aramis didn't remember that.
"You arrived at the ER with a temperature of 103, heart rate of 125, blood pressure of 90 over 60, and a white blood count of 27, indicating sepsis," said Harris. "The normal count is 4-11."
Aramis could only say one thing. "Wow."
"Your WBC is down to 20 now," said Harris. "You'll be here for a couple more days, depending on how fast it continues to drop."
Aramis sighed at that. He hated being in the hospital!
Everyone was silent as Constance fussed around Aramis, checking his vitals and making sure he was comfortable.
"Feel like telling us that dream?" d'Artagnan asked.
"We were in Paris," Aramis said.
"Nice!" said d'Artagnan.
"But not this century," Aramis continued. "We were musketeers and I was having dreams of people being killed. The situation would happen the next day, so I was able to save them."
"Wow," said d'Artagnan.
"But it was frightening," Aramis said. "Because I thought it was my fault that the people were endangered in the first place, and I didn't know if I might fail in saving someone." He paused there, exhausted.
"I'll get you some water," Constance said, before leaving the room.
Aramis closed his eyes, nearly falling asleep before she returned.
Constance held the cup for him, sticking a straw in his mouth. "Slowly, now."
Aramis obeyed, and the liquid did wonders for his dry throat. He took a few seconds to catch his breath, before saying, "It felt so real. We were all there, brothers, just as we really are."
"That's so sweet," said Constance, checking Aramis' IV line.
"You almost got hit by a runaway carriage," Aramis told her. "But I saved you."
"My knight in shining armor!" Constance said, gently patting the side of his face.
Aramis smiled and his eyes nearly closed. "I didn't want to tell d'Artagnan," he mumbled, struggling to stay awake.
"Why?" d'Artagnan asked.
"You're in love with her," came the mumbled reply.
D'Artagnan looked at Constance with shock. "I-I only just met her after you were brought here!" he told Aramis.
Constance looked at him and blushed slightly.
Porthos and Athos shared a glance behind their backs and d'Artagnan tried to change the subject. "Did you save any of us too?"
Aramis nodded, eyes closed. "The captain…almost got shot."
"Not surprising in our line of work," said Treville.
"Porthos," Aramis said, his voice sounding dreamy as he drifted off. "Almost…melted."
"I what?" said Porthos.
Aramis forced his eyes open as he tried to stay awake. "A blacksmith nearly spilled molten lead on you."
Porthos shook his head. "Ouch. Who was next, Athos or d'Artagnan?"
Aramis closed his eyes again. "Neither…I woke up before anything else happened." He dragged up a hand and rubbed his forehead, realizing that the headache he'd had in the dream had apparently been influenced by reality.
"Go back to sleep," Harris told him. "Rest is the best thing for you."
"Mmm," Aramis said, hardly awake anymore anyway.
"And no dreams of Athos or d'Artagnan in danger," said Porthos. "Only good dreams without fear."
"No fear," Aramis mumbled. He half-opened his eyes and looked at each one of them.
Everyone smiled, and Aramis smiled back before falling asleep.
THE END