Hey everyone! The hospital let me leave last Saturday afternoon after being there since before dawn. They thought I had a kidney infection as well as a kidney stone because my white blood count was 20, (it should be 4-11). My count went down to 16.9 a few hours after I arrived, so they assumed that the count being so high was my body's reaction to the agonizing pain. As of today, the count is 9, which is normal, confirming that there is no infection! I still have the stone though, which is being stubborn, and have an ultrasound scheduled for next Friday. Keep praying for me that I pass the stone, so I can avoid surgery! Thanks! :-)
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Aramis was silent, not resisting the arm around his stomach that anchored him to the horse. "Athos?" he eventually said.
"Yes?"
Aramis was quiet for a moment, as if he'd forgotten what he was going to say. "What happened?"
Athos inwardly sighed, though he was glad that Aramis finally knew who they were. "You were poisoned."
Aramis gave no reply at first, eyes closed with his head resting back on Athos' shoulder. Finally, he said, "By the cardinal."
Athos nearly stopped his horse, surprised by those words. "No, why would you think that?"
"Because of Adele," Aramis replied. "But she was mine first."
Athos sighed. "I know."
"She was," Aramis continued, opening his eyes and suddenly trying to sit up. "She was my woman! The cardinal stole her from me!"
Porthos and d'Artagnan watched with alarm.
"Calm down," Athos told him, tightening the grip around his friend. "We know, Aramis, you were with Adele for months before the cardinal spotted her."
"He had no right!" Aramis said. "And now she's gone. She chose him over me and didn't even say goodbye. How could she do that, Athos? I'm the handsome one...he looks like a bird!" Suddenly, he laughed. "And he's a 'cardinal'!"
Everyone else smiled at the jest, glad at least that Aramis wasn't upset anymore.
Aramis quickly stopped laughing with a groan, closing his eyes and holding a hand to his head.
"Be still," Athos told him. "Just rest."
Aramis gave no answer to that, saying instead, "Are we stopping?"
Athos frowned. "Not unless you need to."
Aramis fought to sit up again, and Athos let him without letting go. The look of shock that Aramis sent him over his shoulder had Athos frown again.
"You mean we're just going to ride right by?" Aramis asked.
Everyone looked ahead, seeing nothing but trees, grass, and the sunny sky.
"Ride by what?" Porthos asked.
Aramis looked at him, and nearly tipped sideways off the horse. Athos let go of the reins and grabbed him with both hands.
"That castle!" Aramis exclaimed, gesturing to a large oak tree. He started to shiver. "Why ride in the snow when we can go inside to get warm?!"
"Aramis," said Athos. "Listen to me; you have been poisoned with belladonna and are seeing things that are not truly there."
"I am?"
"Yes...there's no castle, and it's not snowing."
Aramis frowned, before silently holding up a shaking hand. A few seconds later, he looked at the palm of his glove before shifting it so everyone else could see. "So these aren't snowflakes?" he challenged.
There was, of course, nothing there.
"No, Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "We're sorry."
Aramis looked at him and Porthos, before glancing at Athos over his shoulder again and jumping like someone startled out of his skin. He dove off the horse so fast that no one had time to stop him.
"Whoa!" Porthos yelled, in shock.
Aramis was uncoordinated, weak, and off-balance, and stumbled back a step before falling onto his rear. He gave a gasp of pain and closed his eyes, raising a hand to his head before changing his mind and holding the stitched wound on his arm instead. He eyes snapped open when he heard the others dismount, and he pointed a shaking finger at them. "Stay away!" he exclaimed.
Everyone stopped, watching with concern as Aramis winced and closed his eyes again.
Porthos instantly crouched and held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Take it easy, Aramis...we're your friends."
"Then why would you lie to me?" Aramis replied, his voice full of pain. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and lowered his throbbing head.
"I didn't lie," Athos told him. "Open your eyes, Aramis...where is the castle?"
It took a few seconds, but Aramis did, before pointing.
"Then lead us to it," said Athos.
Aramis looked at him with surprise, before glancing at the others. He seemed wary, as if unsure that he could trust them.
"Remember what I said before, Aramis?" Porthos said. "Hear my voice? Who am I?"
"Porthos," said Aramis.
Porthos grinned and nodded. "That's right. Now let's go...show us the castle." He held out his hand, and they all waited.
Aramis looked at each one of them again before letting go of his wounded arm and stretching out his own hand. It was still shaking.
Porthos slowly stood and walked over to him, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet with Athos on the other side.
Aramis stood unsteadily in their grip, his eyes repeatedly blinking. "I'm so tired," he whispered.
Porthos tightened his grip. "Once we get home, you can sleep for a week if you want to."
Aramis nodded, before starting to shakily walk.
"Wouldn't you rather ride?" d'Artagnan asked, not really knowing exactly where their hallucinating friend was heading.
Aramis said nothing, before reaching the oak tree and touching it. He blinked and continued to run his hand along it, as the others watched with confusion.
Aramis' hand moved off the tree, and he fumbled to find it again, as if he couldn't see it. "This isn't a castle," he said.
D'Artagnan opened his mouth to say 'that's what we tried to tell you', but Athos shook his head at him.
Aramis continued to touch the tree, before blinking and stepping back. He took a few stumbling steps over to the right, with Porthos grabbing his arm to assist him.
"This is the door," Aramis said, sternly. He reached out for it, but his hand met empty air. With a cry of dismay, he stumbled back again and dropped, with Porthos gently lowering him to the ground.
Athos and d'Artagnan headed over, kneeling beside their friend.
Aramis made a fist and pounded it on the ground. "I'm sitting in snow!"
Athos put a hand on his shoulder. "No you aren't, Aramis...just as there is no castle here."
Aramis lowered his head into his hand. "How can I not trust what I see?" he moaned.
"Trust us instead," Porthos told him. "We'll be your eyes."
Aramis sat there, breathing too fast and shivering, before lowering his hand again into the 'snow' and picking some of it up. "It feels cold. I'm freezing."
Athos put a hand on Aramis' forehead and felt the heat radiating from it. "Belladonna raises the body temperature, Aramis...perhaps that's why you're cold and imagining snow."
Aramis picked up more of the 'snow' and held it closer to his face. "It looks so real."
"We're sorry, Aramis," d'Artagnan said again.
Aramis sighed and turned his hand over, watching as the snow dropped to the whitened ground.
As the others watched their friend's bizarre actions, they were sure that they would never forget this day.
Aramis plopped his hand into his lap and closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling noisily. It was alarming to see him still breathing too fast, and Athos and Porthos both reached for the wrist on Aramis' uninjured arm to check his pulse.
Porthos pulled his hand back and he and d'Artagnan watched.
Athos was glad to find that Aramis' heart wasn't still trying to beat its way out of their friend's body, but it was faster than earlier, due to Aramis' anxious state. "Try to be calm, my friend. You'll feel less ill," he said.
Aramis reopened his eyes halfway. "Can I sleep?"
"If you can do it on Porthos' horse," Athos told him. "We need to get you home so you can properly rest."
Aramis nodded and they pulled him to his feet where he stood unsteadily, shivering from head to foot. They got him sideways on the horse in front of Porthos and draped a blanket around him before finally riding off again.
Aramis quietly slept for the rest of the journey, and when the musketeers rode into the garrison, each one of them could've fainted from relief.
Treville was on his balcony and dashed down the stairs when he saw them riding in. "What happened?!" he asked.
"He's been poisoned with belladonna," Athos told him as he dismounted.
That was the last thing that Treville ever expected to hear. "Get him to his room, I'll send for a doctor!"
"It's likely too late for that," Athos continued as he and d'Artagnan reached up to pull Aramis down. "It's been nearly a full day since it happened."
Treville sent for one anyway, and he shook his head with shock at Aramis' appearance; his skin was very pale and his breathing was abnormal. It wasn't encouraging that Aramis didn't wake when they pulled him down from the horse and brought him inside.
Within minutes, Aramis was in bed with a wet cloth over his forehead, and the other three told Treville what had happened.
Treville was stunned when he heard about the delusions that the poison had caused. "That's...horrifying," was all he could say.
"It took a long time for him to finally understand who we are," d'Artagnan told him.
Treville sighed and sat down, worried over whether or not Aramis would survive. He reached for Aramis' wrist and felt his pulse, his own heartbeat quickening when he felt the too fast and irregular beat.
The doctor came and told them that Athos was correct; it was too late for him to be able to do anything. "He'll either survive or he won't," the doctor said. "I'm sorry."
The others were terrified at his words.
"I will say that the fact he's still alive now is a good sign," said the doctor. "All you can do is keep him as calm and still as you can. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself...or anyone else."
"Aramis would never hurt anyone!" Porthos exclaimed.
"Forgive me," said the doctor. "I simply mean that he might not know what he's doing if he should fall into another delusion."
"We understand, doctor," Treville said. He walked the man to the door and they left together.
Porthos hrumphed and sat on the side of the bed, looking down at their friend.
Aramis was motionless, face much too pale and his breathing still an effort.
Treville came back in and said nothing to Porthos about his outburst, understanding how he felt. He stood beside the bed and sighed.
Aramis was unconscious for another hour before he suddenly started moving slightly, rolling his head to the left, where Treville was sitting in a chair.
Treville stood and sat on the bed before any of the others had a chance, putting a hand on Aramis' arm and hoping that he could soothe him before he could grow agitated. "Aramis?" he whispered.
Aramis made a soft sound of distress, eyes still closed.
Treville squeezed his arm. "Aramis? You're safe."
It took a few more seconds before Aramis half-opened bleary eyes. He stared blinking as Treville rewet the cloth.
"How are you feeling?" Treville asked, patting the cloth over Aramis' face before laying it over his forehead.
Aramis just stared, seeming unable to speak. Suddenly, and to Treville's utter shock, Aramis' eyes filled with tears.
"I'm sorry," Aramis said, his voice full of regret.
Treville's eyebrows shot up. "For what?"
"I wasn't supposed to go," Aramis told him, closing his eyes. The motion made the tears escape.
"Go where, Aramis?" Treville said, taking out his handkerchief to wipe them away.
"You told me to stay where I was and I didn't listen," Aramis continued, breathing too fast. "It's my fault, papa, I'm sorry!"
The other three musketeers glanced at each other before staring at their captain.
Treville was shocked, and laid a hand on Aramis' head, smoothing back his hair. He opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn't his father, but changed his mind when he wondered if that would make the situation worse. "It's all right; you have nothing to apologize for."
"But it's my fault!" Aramis told him, sluggishly raising his right arm and placing his hand over his eyes.
It was obvious that Aramis was reliving some childhood incident, and Treville was at a loss of what to do. He smoothed back Aramis' hair again as he tried to figure out what to say. "Nothing is your fault; things are not as they seem, Aramis. You've done very well and I'm proud of you."
It took a few seconds for those words to sink in, and Aramis moved his hand away from his eyes. "You are?"
Treville smiled. "Yes; you're honorable, clever, compassionate…any man would be proud to have you for a son."
Aramis smiled back before his eyes blinked themselves closed. He lay quietly, still awake, as they could tell from his breathing.
Treville stood and walked away from the bed, putting a hand over his mouth as he digested what had just occurred. It was very unsettling to see Aramis not only unable to recognize him, but to think him someone else.
"You should take that as a compliment," Athos' voice suddenly said.
Treville turned to find him standing behind him.
"Aramis thought that we were his enemies, and that we'd killed his friends," Athos went on. "He kept telling Porthos that he was not Porthos."
Treville shook his head, wondering how they'd dealt with it. He went back to the bed and looked down at the sick musketeer, feeling touched that Aramis had thought him to be his father. He looked at Athos and Porthos, who were watching Aramis sadly. "Why don't the three of you go clean up and get something to eat," he said. "I won't leave his side."
Porthos' stomach growled at the thought of food. All three of them were ready to refuse though, not wanting to leave their friend, but Athos suddenly took Porthos and d'Artagnan by an arm and pulled them towards the door.
Treville gave a heavy sigh once they were gone, and he looked at Aramis, whose eyes were closed as he lay still, though his breathing was still too fast. "I remember the day that you first came to the garrison," he suddenly said. "I hadn't even chosen anyone yet to join the musketeers, and you walked right in and became the very first one." He smiled. "At first I thought you were too young and inexperienced, but I quickly found out just how exceptionally skilled you were in swordsmanship and shooting; I could scarcely believe the shots you made if I hadn't seen them with my own eyes." He chuckled. "I remember thinking at first that you were over-eager and it would likely wear off as time passed, but no, you were always there when something needed to be done and you always completed your missions successfully...and many times nearly at the cost of your life." He stopped as he thought of all the serious wounds and injuries that Aramis had obtained through the years. "I always said that you would be the one to turn my hair gray."
"I can...see them."
Treville blinked at the soft, weak voice that he hadn't expected to hear. "Aramis?"
Chocolate brown eyes opened slightly, and Aramis smiled slightly. "Knew the grays were...my fault."
Treville smiled and reached over to squeeze his shoulder, overjoyed to see Aramis coherent. "How do you feel?"
Aramis weakly blinked. "Like Porthos...fell on me."
Treville squeezed his shoulder again. "Just rest. I don't know how much you remember, but you were poisoned with belladonna berries. How many did they give you?"
Aramis blinked for a few seconds before saying, "Don't know."
Treville nodded with a sigh. "All right, just rest. The others will be right back."
Aramis closed his eyes again. "I miss them...they've been gone for so long."
Treville frowned. "No, Aramis, they only left a few minutes ago on my orders."
"Are you sure?" Aramis suddenly shivered. "I'm cold."
Treville nodded, even though Aramis couldn't see it with his eyes closed. "Yes," he replied, pulling the blanket up to Aramis' chin.
"All right," Aramis whispered as sleep pulled at him.
Less than ten minutes later, Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan came back inside, having washed up and shed their doublets. Porthos had a mug in his hand and d'Artagnan carried a small pot, which he brought towards the fire.
"I thought I told you to eat," Treville whispered.
"We did," said Porthos. "And Serge gave us some soup for Aramis," he said, gesturing over his shoulder at d'Artagnan.
Treville inwardly sighed, knowing that they'd probably shoved the first thing they'd found down their throats, grabbed the soup, and hurried back. He couldn't blame them though...with the stories they'd told him of Aramis' irrational behavior, they must've been terrified. "He woke a short time ago and was lucid for a moment."
The others looked at him with shock.
Treville nodded. "I'd just said to him that he was giving me gray hairs, and he suddenly answered that he could see them." He smiled.
"Is that all he said?" Porthos asked, sitting on the side of the bed and putting the mug on the nightstand.
"I asked how he felt..."
"And what was his answer?" asked Athos.
"He said 'as if Porthos fell on me'."
All three of them smiled for a second at their friend's humor before sobering, wishing that Aramis wasn't so ill.
"He also told me that he's cold," Treville said. "That will do wonders for him," he said, gesturing to the cup.
Porthos reached over and gently put a hand on the side of their friend's face. "Aramis?" he whispered. "We have some broth for you."
Aramis gave no reaction.
"Aramis," Porthos repeated. "Hey, I have something that'll warm you up."
A soft noise was the response that time, and Aramis' eyebrows furrowed a little.
"Come on," Porthos said. "You can go back to sleep after you drink this. It's nice and hot."
The word 'hot' got through to Aramis, and he opened his eyes slightly. "What's it?" he slurred.
"Serge's special broth, your favorite," Porthos said.
Athos went to the other side of the bed and gently pulled Aramis upright a little as Porthos held the cup, and they slowly fed it to him, suddenly realizing that Aramis' breathing wasn't wild and gasping as it had been. It was still too fast, but no longer to the point of choking him when he drank.
Some color came back to Aramis' face, and he made a sound of pleasure as the wonderful heat spread through his chest and stomach. When he finished, he made everyone happy by saying, "More?"
"Broth, or can you eat actual soup?" Porthos asked.
Aramis frowned, as if he didn't understand the difference.
D'Artagnan took the cup over to the fire, filling it with soup and bringing it and a spoon back. "Aramis," he said. "Do you know who we are?"
"Yes," Aramis answered.
"Do you know where you are?" Porthos asked, taking the cup and spoon.
"Yes," Aramis repeated.
Everyone glanced at each other for a second.
"And that is...?" said Treville.
"Right here."
On an ordinary day, that answer would've either gotten a laugh or rolled eyes in response, but not that day.
"And where is 'right here'?" asked Porthos, dipping the spoon into the cup and bringing it to Aramis' lips.
"Italy," said Aramis, eating the soup off the spoon without protest.
Porthos almost dropped the cup. He opened his mouth to react, but stopped when Treville held out a hand to stop him.
"Why are we in Italy, Aramis?" Treville asked.
"The cardinal's robes are too big," Aramis said, eating another spoonful. "He sent us here to bring back the pope's tailor."
Porthos had to hold his breath and bite his lip to avoid an outward reaction.
Athos remained impassive, d'Artagnan had to cover his mouth with one hand, and Treville wasn't sure what to say. "How is the soup?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Delicious," said Aramis. "The pope's cook must've gotten the recipe from Serge."
A strangled sound emitted from Porthos, and he covered it up by clearing his throat. "Feeling better?" he asked, before Aramis could say anything else that would make him lose control and laugh.
Aramis swallowed before nodding.
Porthos fed him the whole cup of soup, and they laid Aramis flat again so he could go back to sleep.
After they were sure he was out, Porthos looked at the others. "The pope's tailor! Serge's recipe!" he whispered. "I almost died when he said that!"
Treville shook his head, d'Artagnan grinned, and even Athos cracked a slight smile. "That was quite unexpected."
"I can't wait until he's back in his right mind so we can tell him what he said!" Porthos told them.
Everyone thought about that statement for a moment, with all of them all just wishing that Aramis would come back to his right mind.
The night passed slowly as Aramis slept. None of the other four men left the room, taking turns watching over him while the others tried—and failed—to sleep.
A few hours after midnight, Aramis suddenly became restless, making soft noises and shifting under the blankets. Everyone came closer, but they weren't sure if they should wake him, not knowing how he would react.
Treville, remembering how Aramis had thought him to be his father, reached out to gently smooth back Aramis' hair, hoping that it would soothe him.
Eyes still closed, Aramis turned his head towards him, but his eyebrows were furrowed and he was breathing heavier. "Don't do it," he suddenly said.
"Be calm, Aramis," Treville risked saying. "You're safe."
Aramis appeared to settle for a few seconds, before his eyes popped open and he shouted, "Athos!"
Everyone was taken by surprise, and Athos reached out to touch his arm.
Aramis looked at him and dove out of the bed, grabbing Athos by his shirt and looking into his face. "Spit them out, Athos! They're poison!" With that, he shook him, as if Athos was deliberately disobeying.
"I haven't been poisoned, Aramis!" Athos said, reaching up to grab his friend's arms. "You have!"
"But I saw what they did to you!" Aramis exclaimed, breathing heavily. He shook him again, but there wasn't much strength behind it.
Treville, Porthos, and d'Artagnan stood by helplessly, afraid that interfering would make the situation worse.
"Listen to me, Athos, or you're going to die!" Aramis told him, before trying to pull him towards the window.
Athos submitted, following Aramis' stumbling gait and holding him up without Aramis even realizing. Once they reached the window, Aramis let go of Athos with one hand to push the shutters open, but all he succeeded in was leaning against the wall.
Athos knew what Aramis was trying to do and opened the shutters, before leaning out the window and spitting. "There, Aramis, I'm fine now."
Aramis closed his eyes for a moment and leaned his head against the wall, practically gasping as his body protested the exertion that he wasn't fit for. He eyes suddenly opened and he grabbed Athos again. "No, it's too late! I was too late!" His body started to visibly shake.
Athos wrapped his arms around Aramis to keep him upright, wincing when he felt how fast his heart was beating again. "No you weren't, Aramis, I'm fine, look at me."
Aramis did, but his eyes looked glassy and dazed. He appeared confused for few seconds before saying, "Where's Porthos, did he catch them?"
"I caught them," Porthos spoke up. "They're dead, Aramis, they can't hurt anyone every again."
At the word 'hurt', Aramis tightened his grip on Athos' shirt. "You ate poison!"
"No I didn't, Aramis!" Athos insisted. "Do you think Porthos, d'Artagnan, and the captain would just be standing here if I'd been poisoned?"
Aramis blinked. "No, they wouldn't."
Athos nodded. "That's right. Now come, you need to rest." He gently tugged him towards the bed, and Aramis submitted...at first.
"No," Aramis repeated. "They wouldn't." With that, he grabbed Treville's pistol, which the captain had foolishly placed on the nightstand hours earlier after removing his weapons to get comfortable for the night.
The others didn't expect it, and Aramis yanked on Athos, pulling him away from the bed as he pointed the pistol at the others.
"Who are you?!" Aramis exclaimed. "What have you done with my friends?!"
Treville, Porthos, and d'Artagnan all raised their arms.
"Aramis!" said Athos, reaching for the gun.
Aramis stepped to the side, almost tripping himself. "No, they've fooled you, Athos! Get behind me!" With that, he tried to push him behind himself.
Athos let him, intending to reach over Aramis' shoulder to grab the gun, but before he had a chance, Aramis turned and pushed him again. "Over there, near the window! Get as far away from them as possible!"
Athos took a step closer to him. "But Aramis—"
"GO!" Aramis shouted. Sweat appeared on his face and he hunched over a little as he suddenly had to fight to breathe.
Athos moved a few feet away, looking at the others as if to say, 'distract him!'
"Let's talk about this, Aramis," said Treville, as Athos quietly crept closer again.
"What's to...talk about?" Aramis struggled to say. "You hurt my friends...my brothers. I can't...can't let you...live." He raised the gun higher and it shook in his grasp.
"Aramis, help!" Athos suddenly said.
At that, Aramis turned, just as Athos reached for the gun.
The others rushed over and all five of them ended up on the floor. The gun was knocked away where it slid across the room, and Aramis was left fighting them as he tried to get away from who he thought were his enemies. His struggles were weak and ineffective, and he was soon pinned to the floor where he lay gasping.
"Aramis!" said Athos. "They're gone; you saved us. We're all here and fine."
Aramis looked up at them, saying nothing as he tried to catch his breath. Suddenly he closed his eyes and the tension left his body. Everyone frowned when he suddenly winced, and quickly loosened their hold on him.
Porthos suddenly realized that there was something wet on his hand, and he let go of Aramis' arm to find that blood had seeped through his friend's sleeve and was all over his palm. "No," he gasped, realizing that he'd been gripping the bullet graze on his friend's arm.
Treville quickly took charge. "Get him back in bed," he said, before crossing over to the shelf where Aramis kept his medical supplies.
Athos and Porthos carefully pulled an unresisting Aramis off the floor, who was completely limp, his head tiredly falling forward. He gave no reaction as he was laid down, eyes closed as he continued to breathe heavily.
Treville returned as Athos ripped a hole in the now-ruined shirt, displaying the row of torn stitches. Treville looked at Porthos, who stared hauntedly at the blood on his hand—blood that he had accidentally drawn from his closest friend. Looking at Athos, Treville's gaze was met by emotion that he rarely saw in the other man's eyes. D'Artagnan looked stunned at the entire incident, and it was obvious that the situation was greatly taxing all three of them. Treville realized that what had just happened with Aramis was only one of the harrowing incidents that the others had been dealing with for nearly thirty-six hours. He wet a cloth in the basin of water and handed it to Athos, gesturing towards Porthos.
Athos took it and wordlessly headed over to him.
Treville looked at Aramis' face, relieved to see that his breathing had slowed down a little. "Aramis?" he said. "I'm going to replace the torn stitches in your arm. Is that all right?"
Aramis nodded, to his surprise, and Treville took the tweezers and started picking out the broken threads. He spared a glance to the others, seeing Porthos wiping the blood off his hand while d'Artagnan laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was obvious to Treville that they'd had as much of this situation as they could take.
Porthos sighed and sat on the bed beside Aramis, laying a hand on his good arm.
Aramis remained mostly still as his arm was restitched, flinching from the pain, but never opening his eyes or speaking. After Treville was finished and his arm was rebandaged, Aramis finally looked at them.
The others stared back, searching for any indication that their friend was coherent.
"Aramis?" Treville finally said. "Are you with us?"
It took a few agonizing seconds before Aramis nodded slightly, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. He was still breathing heavily, his body shaking.
Athos headed over to the dresser and took out one of Aramis' shirts. He and Porthos gently dressed him with it before piling blankets over him, giving him time to get his bearings.
"What—what happened?" Aramis suddenly asked.
Considering the circumstances, that was the best question he could've asked them.
Porthos, sitting on the bed, gave a wide smile. "You're back, Aramis? Really back?"
Aramis blinked at that, looking confused. "Where've I been?"
Athos frowned; perhaps Aramis wasn't as coherent as they thought. "Locked away in your mind after being poisoned with belladonna."
Aramis suddenly startled and tried to sit up, pulling his arms out from under the blankets and wincing from moving his injured one. "They thought I was someone else and wanted something from me!"
"You shouldn't move, Aramis," said Treville, covering him up.
Aramis was breathing too fast again, resisting lying flat.
"Sit 'im up," Porthos said, moving to pull Aramis upright while d'Artagnan stood the pillows up behind his back.
Aramis submitted, and was calmer once Porthos leaned him back against them. He was still shaking, whether an effect of the poison or feeling cold, they weren't sure.
Treville again made sure that Aramis was completely covered. "What did the men want?" he asked, not sure if it was true or another hallucination.
"I don't know," Aramis answered. "They never said."
"How many berries did they make you eat?" Athos asked.
At that, Aramis frowned. "Berries?" he echoed, his lucidity waning.
"There were bushes everywhere," said d'Artagnan. "And I found berries on the ground near you."
Aramis said nothing, looking confused.
Porthos sighed; disappointed that Aramis' mind was still suffering the effects. "That's all right, Aramis, just rest. If you remember the berries, you tell us, all right?"
Aramis nodded, before closing his eyes with another sigh. "I'm cold," he said, shivering harder.
Treville felt his forehead and found that he still had a fever. "Sleep," he said, brushing Aramis' hair away from his face. "You'll be fine, I promise you."
Aramis said nothing else, and his body relaxed into slumber a few minutes later.
TBC
