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The Plot
A Musketeers story by Deana
Takes place during season 1

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The day had started out normal, as most days did.

It was an unexpectedly chilly day in autumn, three days after King Louis had dragged his Musketeers and closest courtiers on a hunting trip. The previous night had been colder than usual, and Louis had yet to come out of his tent.

Aramis sighed as he stood before the river that they'd camped at. It looked like it was going to rain, which would spoil the King's plans. The scenery was still beautiful though, with bright colors on the trees. Aramis dreaded the coming winter, but he always enjoyed the autumn season. The sky was cloudy and a gust of wind suddenly blew, making him shiver as the river raged. The water rushed quickly downstream, flowing around large boulders. He wondered how cold the water was, and unconsciously took a step back.

To his surprise, Aramis felt something at his back, and had no time to react before he was unexpectedly shoved into the river. The cold water was such a shock that he gasped and inhaled water. Choking and sputtering, he broke the surface and flailed in an attempt to swim, but the water was so rough that it quickly washed him downstream.

Aramis tried to yell for help, but he couldn't take an adequate breath. He kept getting dunked under and tried to avoid the rocks, but it was impossible. After careening into too many small ones to count, he finally smacked chest-first into one that was large enough to cling to, and cling he did, eyes closed as he fought to breathe. Just hold on; just hold on, he told himself. Someone will see me. Just hold on…

Aramis eventually heard shouts, and relief washed over him. He continued to cling to the rock, his entire body throbbing with pain and shaking from the cold. He felt one of his hands start to slip and tried to readjust his grip, but his hand was numb from the freezing water and didn't obey him easily.

"Aramis!" he heard. "Hold on!"

What does it look like I'm doing? he said to himself. He had no breath to answer, so he didn't.

The men on the shore were forming a human chain, wading into the water and getting closer and closer to him. Finally, someone's hands touched Aramis and he gasped, which only made him start choking again.

"I have you, Aramis," someone said. "Let go of the rock!"

Without even hearing the voice, he knew that it was Porthos. Of course: Porthos was known as being the strongest Musketeer. Whether he was Aramis' best friend or not, he would be the one making the rescue, without question.

Aramis suddenly realized that Porthos' arms had snaked around his body and were holding him in a death-grip. He was suddenly tugged away from the rock, flailing again when he and Porthos were nearly washed away.

"Pull us in!" Porthos exclaimed.

His shout was unnecessary, because they quickly started moving sideways towards the bank as the men quickly obeyed.

Aramis couldn't offer any help keeping his head above the water, as cold and numb as he was, and water sloshed over his face again just as he took a breath.

"Sorry, Aramis!" Porthos said. "Sorry!"

Aramis couldn't answer; that last mouthful of water seemed to do him in and his consciousness wavered. He vaguely felt himself being dragged onto land and heard the words 'not breathing'. Something abruptly impacted with his back and he gasped, coughing up water. A moment later, he noticed that a hand was rubbing his back, and it brought him a small measure of comfort as his brain finally realized that he was no longer in the river.

Hands started to quickly remove his belt, sash, and jacket, and blankets were suddenly thrown over him where he lay still coughing and choking. The hand went back into place rubbing his back while another set of hands brushed the hair away from his face and someone else tightly squeezed his arm. Aramis was still too numb mentally to know whose hands belonged to who, but he knew which of his friends were there…he always knew that.

"Aramis," said a voice. It took him a few seconds to realize that it belonged to Treville and that it was coming from behind him…so that's who was rubbing his back. "Aramis," he repeated. "We don't want to move you until we know what your injuries are. Where is the pain?"

Aramis didn't answer, and someone suddenly tapped his face. The contact seemed to slap some of the fog away from his brain, and Aramis blearily opened his eyes.

The first face he saw was Athos, who looked nervous, but gave a relieved smile to see the sign of life. "Where are you hurt?" he asked.

Aramis blinked. He shifted slightly, which set off another round of coughing. He could feel the water in his lungs, and winced.

"Say somethin', will ya?" came Porthos' anxious voice. The hand on his arm squeezed tighter.

"I'm…fine," Aramis raggedly gasped. "Just…bruised."

"Are you sure?" d'Artagnan skeptically asked.

Aramis was still very numb, and still shaking from the cold. He thought he was sure. He started coughing again.

"Let's get him inside your tent," said Treville. The four Musketeers were sharing one, which was a good thing considering that one of them was injured now.

Arms suddenly made their way under Aramis' body and he was lifted. Being moved made him feel colder and he started shivering harder. One of his friends adjusted the blankets around him, and it took quite a few minutes to get back to their tent. At the speed that Porthos was walking, Aramis realized that he'd been swept far from the camp.

Suddenly they were inside and he was being sat on the ground. The wet blankets were removed and someone started to pull his shirt over his head. Within minutes, he was changed into dry clothes and wrapped in dry blankets, comfortably laying on his bedroll. He continued to shiver and cough, and Treville, Athos, and Porthos sat there staring at him. D'Artagnan had gone to get some rocks heated in the fire outside, and when he returned, they stuck them inside Aramis' blankets, to help warm him.

Everyone was relieved and surprised that Aramis hadn't been injured worse. He was covered in bruises just like he'd told them, but his ribcage had taken the most damage, from slamming into the rock that he'd hung onto until they'd rescued him. The coughing was making the pain worse, and he felt thoroughly miserable.

"Aramis?" Porthos suddenly said.

"What?" Aramis asked, before coughing again.

"How did you end up in the river?"

Suddenly, Aramis realized what had happened, and his eyes popped open. He tried to sit up, but hands grabbed him and forced him back down.

"What are you doing?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"I was pushed!" Aramis told them. He started coughing again.

Everyone stared at him in shock.

"Someone pushed you into the river?" Treville asked.

Aramis couldn't talk, so he nodded.

"Are you sure?" Athos asked.

"Yes," Aramis gasped out, still coughing.

"You're tellin' us that someone tried to kill you?" Porthos asked.

"Pushed…in," Aramis repeated, trying to stop coughing and not succeeding.

"We need to inform the King," said Treville. "I'll be back." With that, he left.

"Do you have any idea who did it?" Athos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "No…stepped back…someone there…" He kept coughing, not able to get all of the water out of his lungs.

"Why would someone want to kill Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked the others. "And why one of these people?" They were all rich nobles.

Athos looked at their injured friend, who was practically holding his breath to avoid coughing. "Aramis, please tell me that there are no jealous husbands along on this trip."

Aramis, eyes closed, shook his head.

"That's a relief, at least," Porthos said.

Athos sighed. "We need to find out who pushed you in, Aramis. Any information you can give us would help."

"Saw nothing," Aramis said, breathing shallowly to try to prevent himself from coughing again. "Heard nothing."

"So you were just standin' there at the river's edge mindin' your own business, and someone crept up behind you and pushed you in?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," Aramis said. He started coughing again and groaned from the pain. Suddenly, he looked up. "My hat?"

"We found it snagged in a bush not far from where you were rescued," said d'Artagnan. He gestured towards a chair where the hat was sitting to dry.

Aramis was very relieved. Everyone knew how much he loved his hat.

Treville came back in a few minutes later. "I informed the King, and after he expressed shock that one of his courtiers would do such a thing, he gave me permission to investigate."

"That was gracious of him," Athos said, sarcastically.

Aramis started coughing again, and Treville walked over and knelt beside him. "Sit up a little," he said, taking Aramis' arm. "It'll be easier to breathe that way. D'Artagnan, bring all the saddlebags over here."

D'Artagnan obeyed, piling them behind Aramis as Treville helped him recline against them.

It was easier to breathe that way, and if one of the others had been in his place, that's exactly what Aramis would've done, reclined them partially upright to aid breathing. It had never crossed his mind all this time, and Aramis realized that he still was not thinking clearly.

Treville made sure that Aramis was still fully covered with the blankets before standing again. "I'm going to ask around to find out if anyone saw what happened. One of you needs to stay with Aramis at all times; if someone is trying to kill him, they might try again." On that cryptic note, he left once more.

Aramis' eyes were closed and he kept them that way. His body was aching, his head and ribs were throbbing, and his lungs were protesting every breath.

"Are you all right?" he suddenly heard.

Aramis opened his eyes to see all three of his friends watching him. Not wanting to speak and risk another coughing fit, he simply nodded and closed his eyes again, breathing shallowly.

The other three looked at each other. Who had tried to kill Aramis, and why? One thing was for sure; it wasn't going to be easy to find the answers...

TBC