Death by Delusion
A Musketeers story by Deana
My entry in the October Fete des Mousquetaires contest!
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In the end, what it took was a well-placed rock to fell him. One second Aramis was riding, and the next he was lying in the grass in pain, blinking up at three men who were pointing pistols at him.
"I think you have something for me," one of the men said.
"What?" Aramis answered, confused.
"Don't try to fool us, we were told you'd be passing this way," said the same man.
Aramis wondered if he was dreaming. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Go check his saddlebags," the man told one of the others.
Aramis tried to sit up, but the leader stepped closer with his pistol, so Aramis had no choice but to lie there on the ground and wait.
"He doesn't have it!" the man exclaimed.
The leader frowned. "Where is it?" he asked.
"I don't have 'it'," Aramis told him. "And even if I did, I wouldn't give it to you."
"Who are you?" the leader asked.
"Aramis of the King's Musketeers," Aramis told him. "You have the wrong man."
The three men looked at each other before the leader said, "Then there's only one thing we can do, since we obviously can't let you live." He stuck a hand in his pocket and took something out. "These were meant for the man we took you for." He looked at the others. "Open his mouth."
The two henchmen grabbed Aramis and pulled him into a sitting position, with one of them yanking his arms behind his back while the other grabbed his head.
Aramis fought them and struggled to get free, but was punched in the stomach for it. The breath was knocked from his lungs and he gave a desperate gasp, accidentally enabling his enemy to shove something into his mouth and push his jaw closed.
Berries.
It was obvious that they were poisonous, so Aramis fought the men even harder, desperate to spit them out. Pushing his jaw closed had made him chew them, and he knew that he would likely die if he didn't get them out of his mouth. He was suddenly kicked over his right kidney, which made him gasp again and inhale some of the berries. He started to choke and the men let go of him, assuming that he'd swallowed them.
Aramis fell forward onto his hands, holding himself upright as he spit out the rest and choked again on what he'd inhaled. He accidentally swallowed when he felt them move into his throat, and knew that he was in big trouble.
"You're going to die now, musketeer," he heard, as he tried to breathe. "At least we'll get some entertainment out of watching your end. You know what those were, I assume?"
Aramis could easily guess and closed his eyes when he started to feel lightheaded. "Belladonna."
"That's right! Three berries can kill. Do you know how many you just ate?"
Aramis waited for his answer, not surprised when his enemy purposely made him wait.
"Six," he finally said. "Or was it seven?"
Two, Aramis guessed. Though chewing seven and swallowing two could still prove deadly.
"How long do you think you have before you die in agony, musketeer?"
The 'in agony' part was correct. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up as the substance invaded his bloodstream, and his surroundings started taking on an eerie look and feel.
"Look, it's starting already!" one of the men exclaimed.
Aramis wondered what they saw in his face that made it so obvious to them. He noticed strange noises coming out of the woods, and blinked at the leaves swaying in the breeze, confused to see that they were blue, not green. The darkening evening seem to grow lighter, and he scrambled back off his hands, sitting on the ground as he rubbed at his eyes.
Suddenly, a bizarre feeling spread through his hands and he pulled them away from his face to find them covered with blood. It was all over them, dripping from his fingertips and landing on his pants.
The sight filled him with horror and he shook his hands to get rid of the blood. He watched the bright red drops fly into the air, but it remained on his hands despite it. Rubbing them on his pants increased the stains on the fabric, but didn't decrease the amount of blood on his skin.
Sudden noises came out of the woods again and Aramis lifted his head to look. The blue leaves swayed in the breeze, which Aramis realized he could actually see: lines of air ran parallel to the ground, fast or slow depending on the speed of the wind, and they knocked loose some of the blue leaves, which flew towards him and landed in his lap.
Aramis picked one up to study it. The bright red blood from the stains on his pants colored the blue leaf and turned it purple in spots. He studied it so intently that he didn't even realize that there was no more blood on his hands.
The visible air plucked the leaf out of his hand and carried it off, and as Aramis watched it fly, the scenery tilted and everything turned into water.
With a gasp, Aramis lurched backwards, irrationally thinking that he couldn't swim, even though he could. In an instant, the water vanished and everything went back to how it should be...except for the birds that flew out of the woods.
An impossible amount of crows flew towards him, flying low and brushing his head and body as they passed him. His hands, which had no longer been covered with blood, suddenly were once again, and the biggest crow landed on his leg. It stood in the wet, red stain and poked at his hands.
Aramis gave an exclamation of shock and tried to push it off himself. The blood on his hands got all over the black feathers, but the bird was too heavy for Aramis to move. He desperately looked for something that he could use for a weapon and spotted a rock. Grabbing it, he hit the bird over and over, but it had no effect.
"GET...OFF...ME!" Aramis shouted. He could say nothing else as his racing heart made it difficult to breathe, and he hit the crow one more time, giving a cry of shock when it exploded like glass.
Aramis' captors quietly watched the hallucinating musketeer. They'd stopped laughing a while ago and quietly stared in shocked fascination as the innocent surroundings appeared to torment him.
Aramis quickly covered his face, feeling the glass slice into his arms even though he was wearing his leather doublet. Once he was sure that the crow was gone, he glanced around, seeing the scenery as if looking at a child's drawing; everything was the wrong shape and color.
Unexpectedly, a gunshot pierced the air.
Aramis looked towards the sound, watching as three men appeared and attacked his friends.
Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan were taken by surprise and didn't stand a chance; the fight didn't last long before they were slaughtered right before his eyes.
"NO!" Aramis shouted. He climbed to his feet and lurched towards his enemies, feeling like he was trying to breathe underwater.
Hands grabbed him, easily deflecting his attack. They held him tightly, stopping him from doing them any damage and trying to sit him down.
"NO!" he shouted. "You will pay for this!"
Voices spoke to him...too many of them. He couldn't make sense of the words and covered his ears with his bloody hands. "No! No! No!" he kept shouting.
Someone shook him…someone with the strength of Porthos. "Stop it!" he exclaimed to the man. "You're going to die…I'll kill you for what you've done!" His breathing came faster and he felt like he couldn't pull in enough air. His heart was beating so fast that he could feel it inside his chest seemingly trying to burst out.
"Aramis?!" came Porthos' voice. "What's wrong with you?!"
Aramis refused to answer, keeping his hands over his ears.
D'Artagnan watched helplessly, unsure of what to do.
Athos suddenly grabbed Aramis' wrists and pulled his hands away from his head. "Aramis!" he exclaimed. "What did they do to you?!"
"You won't…get anything…out of me!" Aramis answered, eyes still closed.
"Look at me, Aramis!" Athos said.
"No!" Aramis exclaimed.
"They drugged 'im with somethin'!" Porthos exclaimed.
"I think I know what," d'Artagnan nervously said.
Looking up, they saw the young musketeer picking something up off the ground, before looking around and shaking his head. "Belladonna," he told them, holding out two berries. "It's growing over there."
The other two saw the bushes that d'Artagnan pointed out, and their own heartbeats quickened with fear.
"We gotta get 'im outta here!" said Porthos, still holding Aramis tightly as he squirmed with more strength than they expected.
"No!" Aramis said, opening his eyes. His pupils were too large, his eyes glassy. "Don't take me away from my friends!" he closed his eyes again with an expression of grief. "You killed them…you killed them…"
D'Artagnan looked over at the three dead men. "He thinks they're us…?"
"And we're them," Athos finished.
Porthos growled. "Aramis! We're right here! We saved you, you idiot!" He shook him again and Aramis reopened his eyes, staring at nothing, breathing as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs.
Aramis suddenly looked at his hands, and started frantically wiping them on his pants.
D'Artagnan grabbed both of his hands, trying to see what was wrong with them, but found nothing. He suddenly felt a throbbing sensation through Aramis' skin, and shifted his grip to the pulse on his wrist. "His heart is beating like a racehorse!"
Athos placed his hand over Aramis' heart with a frown. "We need to calm him down!"
"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed again, as their poisoned friend violently tried to pull his hands out of d'Artagnan's grasp. "Aramis, you stop this right now!" He tightened his hold around his friend's upper body and lowered him to the ground.
"I'll kill you all!" Aramis exclaimed. "You won't get…get away with…with…" He never finished his sentence, for his eyes suddenly slid shut and his body started to tremble.
"He's having a fit!" Athos realized. "Hold onto him, Porthos!"
"What do ya think I'm doin'?!" Porthos exclaimed, hugging their friend to his chest as Aramis violently shook.
Ten seconds later, he went completely limp.
"Aramis!" said Porthos.
Athos checked his pulse and found it still racing. "He's alive." With that, he whistled for his horse, which trotted over to them. "Build a fire," he told d'Artagnan.
Porthos watched as they both moved away. With a shaky sigh, he held onto his unconscious friend, his chin on Aramis' head. When Athos came back with his bedroll, he gently laid Aramis down on it.
The next ten minutes were spent assembling a campsite and getting rid of the three bodies. Aramis remained unconscious through it all; his heartbeat had slowed slightly now that his body was 'at rest', but it was still beating alarmingly fast, and his face looked flushed.
The other three musketeers were inwardly terrified; it was well-known that belladonna was deadly.
Nearly an hour later, Aramis suddenly twitched with a groan.
Porthos grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it. "Hey," he said. "Take it easy."
Aramis groaned again; his head was aching and it was hard to breathe.
"Aramis?" Athos said. "Open your eyes."
Aramis did, and blinked when everything he saw was blurred.
Porthos smiled. "Aramis, you scared us to death! You all right?"
Aramis said nothing at first, breathing too fast, his hands twitching.
"Aramis?" said Athos. "Do you know who we are?"
Aramis still didn't look at them. "I can see the wind," he suddenly whispered.
"The...wind?" d'Artagnan echoed.
"Blowing the blue leaves," Aramis said, his voice weak and scratchy. "Until they turn purple...when my blood gets on them."
His bizarre words sent a chill down each of their spines.
Aramis suddenly looked nervous. "Keep the crows away!" he exclaimed. "They shatter like glass!"
"Shhh," Porthos said, squeezing one of Aramis' twitching hands. "You don't have to worry, no crows'll get anywhere near you while I'm here."
"But they..." Aramis stopped in the middle of his sentence, his eyes trailing to the side as he watched some new hallucination.
The other three shared concerned looks, wondering how long the delusions caused by the poison would last. There was no guarantee yet that Aramis would even survive.
The landscape changed before Aramis' eyes and snow started to fall. "Not winter," he suddenly said, closing his eyes and shivering.
"Another fit?!" d'Artagnan nervously asked.
"He said 'not winter'," Athos replied. "He's cold."
Porthos pulled Aramis up from the bedroll and held him sideways against his chest again. "Another blanket," he requested.
D'Artagnan fetched it and they wrapped it around Aramis as he shivered against Porthos.
The imaginary snowfall abruptly halted, the flakes suspended in the air. "Time stopped," Aramis suddenly said, his voice sounding scratchier.
Hearing such bizarre things coming from Aramis was frightening, and Porthos sighed. "Time doesn't stop, Aramis," he said.
Aramis made no reply, blinking in the darkening night, his vision made sharper by his dilated eyes and the light of the fire.
"How long will this go on?" d'Artagnan asked Athos. "Have you ever seen anyone poisoned by belladonna?"
Athos sighed and shook his head. "No."
Aramis suddenly started to cough, his mouth and throat feeling impossibly dry.
Athos grabbed a canteen and opened it, holding it to Aramis' lips and hoping that he would drink it.
To their relief, Aramis did, coughing a little at first and stopping when he was finished. Suddenly he moaned and closed his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Porthos asked.
"Too much noise," Aramis said. "The wind won't stop talking." Suddenly he reopened them and looked up. "Stop it!"
"Stop what?" d'Artagnan couldn't help but ask.
"The wind's bein' mis...mispif...bein' annoyin'. She won't lemme alone," was the very slurred answer.
She?
No one knew what to say about that, and they watched Aramis as he laid his head against Porthos' chest, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing as his fast breathing suddenly hitched. His heart was racing so hard and fast that Porthos could feel it beating against his own body.
"Aramis?" Porthos said, alarmed.
Aramis moaned, his breathing hitching on every other breath as his body suddenly shuddered. "Hurts."
"What does?" Athos asked.
Aramis didn't answer, continuing to shudder and breathe irregularly.
"He's dying!" Porthos exclaimed in panic.
Athos grabbed Aramis' arm through the blanket. "Aramis, look at me," he said, using his other hand to turn Aramis' head towards him. "Aramis, you've been poisoned with belladonna. Tell us what we need to do for you!"
Aramis blinked at him, unable to understand.
Athos noticed that Aramis' face was covered with a light sheen of sweat. "Lie him down, he isn't really cold." The night was warm, and Porthos' body heat and the blanket were obviously overheating him.
Porthos was reluctant to release his friend, but he obeyed, gently laying Aramis down on the bedroll. They left the blanket off him, and d'Artagnan gently wiped the sweat away with a wet cloth.
Aramis lay there tiredly, his body restless as his heart continued to pound and his lungs fought for adequate air. Suddenly he startled, his eyes widening as he raised a shaking hand and pointed behind the others. "Stay away!" he exclaimed.
Everyone turned to see what he was looking at, but saw nothing.
"There's nothing there!" said Porthos.
But Aramis was seeing a tall, cloaked figure, its face hidden in the hood of black material. It walked towards them slowly—too slowly, its motion unnatural.
"No, you can not have me!" Aramis exclaimed. "I belong to God! The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
The others watched nervously, as Aramis quoted Psalm 23 to an imaginary foe.
"He maketh me to lie down...in green pastures…" Aramis paused, fighting to take a deep breath. Suddenly, his eyes rolled and his head drooped.
"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, grabbing him by the arms and giving him a shake.
Aramis lifted his head and blinked a few times before continuing. "He restoreth my soul." He paused and lay breathing heavily for a moment, before saying, "He leadeth me...in the path of...righteousness...for His name's sake..."
It was obvious that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but Aramis struggled on.
"Yea...though I walk through...the valley of...the shadow of death..." He paused again, closing his eyes as he fought to breathe. "I will fear no evil...for Thou art with me."
Porthos grabbed the cloth from d'Artagnan and wiped more sweat from Aramis' forehead and face. "Don't talk, Aramis, save your breath."
As if he didn't hear him, Aramis reopened his eyes. "I will fear no evil," he repeated. "No evil! Begone!"
D'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from turning to look behind them, as if he could see the result of Aramis' words to the hallucination that he was fighting.
Aramis' command apparently worked, for after he stared at nothing for a few seconds, he closed his eyes and his body relaxed, though a wince of pain flashed across his face a second later.
Porthos poured water from a canteen over the cloth and patted it over Aramis' face before laying it over his forehead. "Aramis?" he said.
"Shh," said Athos. "Let him quietly rest. If his eyes remain closed, he can't see things that aren't there."
He had a point, but it wasn't easy to watch Aramis lying there trying so hard to get his lungs to keep up with the wild pace of his racing heart.
D'Artagnan wrapped his fingers around their friend's wrist, before letting go in shock at what he felt. "How long can his heart handle that?" he nervously asked.
Athos felt the pulse himself, while Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' chest.
Athos sighed. "Not for very long, I'd imagine."
D'Artagnan looked at him sharply, surprised at his blunt answer.
"Don't say that!" Porthos hissed. "Aramis is gonna be fine. He's gonna be fine." His mind told him that no, Aramis was going to die, but he refused to listen.
Aramis moaned again, turning his head towards Porthos. He was gasping, his lungs unable to deal with the stress that the poison was causing to his body. His face was terribly pale, another sheen of sweat already covering his skin.
Porthos wiped the sweat away again. "Hold on, Aramis," he said. "You hear me? You gotta hold on!"
Aramis gave no answer, eyes closed.
Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' forehead in an attempt to comfort him and found heat radiating from his skin. "Belladonna causes fever?" he nervously asked.
Athos sighed. "I believe so. We must keep him cool at all costs; it could mean the difference on whether or not he survives."
Porthos started unbuckling Aramis' weapons belts, and Athos stood to see if there were any canteens on the kidnapper's horses. He came back with three of them and tossed them down with their own, in time to see Aramis start fighting Porthos' actions.
"No...stop," Aramis moaned, struggling as the bigger man got his doublet open and tried to pull it off him.
"I'm tryin' to help ya, Aramis," Porthos said.
Both Athos and d'Artagnan tried to gently hold Aramis down, and with all three of them manhandling him, he suddenly opened his eyes and tried to get away.
"You'll get nothing out of me!" he exclaimed, swinging his right arm and narrowly missing punching Athos in the face.
"Aramis!" Porthos bellowed. "Stop this right now!"
Aramis stilled, as if he'd been hit himself. "Porthos?" he whispered.
Athos and d'Artagnan succeeded in taking hold of him, relieved to finally see some recognition from Aramis.
"That's right," Porthos said, gently pulling one sleeve off their sick friend. "Just keep still, you'll be fine."
"No," Aramis said. He suddenly slumped over Athos' arm, prompting him to grab him before Aramis fell face first to the ground. "It's not you..." Aramis continued. "Porthos is dead. You all are. They killed all three of you."
"That's not true, Aramis!" d'Artagnan said, as Athos held him. "We're all alive, all three of us are here."
"Stop lyin' t'me..." Aramis slurred. "Dead. All dead. Twenty men."
Everyone shared a look when they realized that Aramis' thoughts had dissolved into the Savoy massacre.
"Marsac too. An' now Porthos...Athos...d'Artagnan..." Still leaning against Athos with his forehead against his shoulder, he suddenly made a sound half like a gasp and half like a sob as his body began to shake. "All dead...there's no more reason to live."
Athos looked over Aramis' head at the stricken expressions on Porthos' and d'Artagnan's faces. He pulled Aramis away from his shoulder and tried to catch his gaze. "Aramis, look at me!"
Aramis didn't, head hanging, gasping air as if he were drowning.
"Hold his head up!" he shouted to the others.
Someone grabbed Aramis' head and pulled it up—Athos didn't bother to see who—and he could finally see his eyes.
"Aramis, look at me. Look at me!" Athos exclaimed, squeezing his arms and shaking him.
Aramis' eyes slowly tracked everywhere but at Athos. Tears had leaked from his eyes...Aramis was mourning them while they were alive.
"No one is dead, Aramis!" Athos told him.
Still breathing much too fast, Aramis suddenly licked his lips. "Water," he whispered.
Athos lifted one of the canteens and helped him drink. It was difficult for Aramis to swallow while breathing so fast, and he inhaled some of the water and choked.
Porthos lifted his hand to slap him on the back, but Athos threw out an arm to stop him. "No! Not with his heart beating like that!"
Cringing, Porthos pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned, before reaching out to gently rub Aramis' back instead.
Aramis continued to choke, leaning forward with his hands on the ground, head hanging. His arms shook, not strong enough to hold himself up, and his three friends ensured that he didn't fall.
Eventually, the choking stopped, and Aramis suddenly made another sobbing sound, apparently still thinking them dead. "Don't lemme alone," he slurred. "Please!"
With nothing else to do, Athos tightly grabbed Aramis' arms and tried to catch his gaze. "We're alive, Aramis. We're alive."
Aramis leaned forward and tiredly laid his head on Athos' shoulder. Athos could feel his heart beating wildly, and he gently ran his hand up and down Aramis' back. "Calm down, Aramis...or you'll be the one leaving us."
Porthos couldn't deal with Athos' words, and he reached over and pulled Aramis from his grasp, holding him tightly in his own arms. "Listen to me, Aramis...we're alive and we can't live without you, so you better calm down right now, you hear me? You're the medic...can't you feel how fast your heart is racin'? Breathe slower, Aramis, breathe slower!"
Aramis was completely limp in his arms, his breathing erratic. Suddenly, his body started to twitch again.
"No no no!" Porthos exclaimed, tightening his grip. "Aramis, don't do this to me again!"
Athos and d'Artagnan watched with horror as their friend's body suffered another convulsion. When it ended, he was unconscious.
Porthos was shaking so hard that he couldn't let go of Aramis after he gently laid him back down to the bedroll. D'Artagnan had to pry his hands off their friend in order for Athos to check him.
Aramis lay motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. His face was nearly as white as snow and covered again with sweat.
"Athos..." Porthos said, his voice trembling.
Laying a hand on Aramis' chest, Athos sighed. It was obvious from their friend's breathing that he was alive, but his heart was still trying to beat its way out of his chest. Frankly, he was surprised that the seizure hadn't been enough to stop his heart. "There's nothing we can do but wait."
"For him to die?" d'Artagnan couldn't stop himself from saying.
Porthos closed his eyes and lowered his head.
Athos grabbed one of the canteens, opened it, and poured water right over Aramis' body. "We need to keep the fever down," he said. "If he suffers another fit, he likely won't survive it."
"He had the first one before the fever," said d'Artagnan, as he grabbed the other canteens and pulled them closer.
Athos paused; d'Artagnan was right. It could happen again no matter what they did. "We need to keep his fever down either way. His body obviously can't take any more of this."
"We need to get him home," Porthos told him, looking up.
"He cannot be moved with his heart beating this way," said Athos. "We don't have to be physicians to understand that." He poured water onto a cloth and started wiping Aramis' forehead, face, and neck.
The three of them took turns for the rest of the evening and into the night. Aramis remained unconscious, and no one slept for more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time.
When it wasn't Porthos' turn, he laid down beside Aramis with his hand over his friend's heart. It was horrifying to feel the frantic, racing beat, but it was the best way for him to know the instant something was wrong...if something went wrong…
TBC