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Aramis lay in a heap for quite some time. It was night when he began slowly coming to again. He moaned as his head was throbbing in pain. It took several tries before he could open his eyes, opening them to darkness. Blinking rapidly, his heart rate slowed a little as he realized he could see, that it was just nighttime. He moved his head up a little to look around, but very quickly laid it back down again as the dizziness caused by his movement almost overwhelmed him in its intensity. Slowly lifting a shaky hand to the back of his head, he winced in pain as it encountered a large bump. His hand came away soaked in blood. The rest of his body felt almost as badly as his head did.
Once more trying to lift himself up, the darkness consumed him, and he fell back on the rocks once again.
The next time he awoke, it was daylight. He looked around, not recognizing where he was. He looked down at himself, finding he was covered with dirt, leaves and dried blood. His shirt was almost torn from his back, and what was left hung in tatters. He was at the very edge of a river, lying on the rocks edging the swiftly-moving water. The rocks nearest him were bloody, and he figured he hit them, causing his injuries.
What happened, he wondered. Confused and disoriented, he slowly sat up, waiting for the dizziness to calm down. Then, pushing against a rock, he was able to get to his feet, swaying as the wound made him dizzy and nauseous with every movement. He knew he needed to find a village or at least a farm where he might get some assistance. He got about two steps, swaying like a reed in the wind, when his knees buckled and he found himself once more on the ground.
He heard a voice nearby, a man's voice. He called out, his voice a weak croak, "Please help me."
An elderly man came from the trees nearby, stopping when he saw a young man standing near the water, with his head dripping with blood and his clothed ripped and bloody.
"Who might you be, young man?", he asked.
"Is there a village near here where I might get some help for an injury, please?", Aramis asked.
The man replied, "I live in the village a short distance from here. Come with me, and I will show you", turning and heading east.
Aramis shakily got back to his feet, trying his best to follow the old man. He was stumbling as his head protested the movements. He didn't get very far before the dizziness overtook him. He fell and couldn't get up again.
The old man came back, leaning over him, and saying, "Wait here. I will get a couple of our young men to carry you into the village. There is a woman there who can help you with your injury." He took off at a much faster pace than before.
Aramis rolled over on his back, his head and body protesting his movements ferociously. He lay still, and prayed that the stranger was indeed coming back. He wasn't likely to run into strangers with bloody heads very often in this remote area, and might have decided to stay well away from what he might perceive as trouble.
Aramis gave a sigh of relief a short while later, when the stranger did come back with two well-built young men accompanying him.
The older man leaned down and gently touched his shoulder, saying, "Sir, I have brought back some help to carry you into the village."
Aramis didn't answer. The head wound was still sluggishly bleeding, and the old man felt bad that he hadn't thought to wrap a cloth around it before he left him. He did so now, and the young men lifted him up between them. Then, they set off for their village. Partway there, Aramis again lost his battle with consciousness.
When Aramis regained his senses, there was a middle-aged woman leaning over him, cleaning the wound on his head. She had slightly greying hair pulled on top of her head in a bun, and a kindly face. He didn't recognize her, and looking around, he didn't recognize his surroundings, either.
Confused, he asked, "Who are you?"
She smiled at him, saying, "My name is Amelie. And just whom do I have the pleasure of assisting today?"
Aramis opened his mouth to answer, then stopped with a frown forming on his face. Confusion engulfed him as he said very slowly, "I...I do not know, Madame."
"You do not know your name, monsieur? Do you know where you are from, or where you were going when your accident happened?"
Aramis was silent for several moments, then responded in a heartbreakingly confused voice, "I don't know. I cannot remember anything. What is wrong with me, please?", hoping she had some medical knowledge that could help him.
"I am afraid I just have experience in helping women during childbirth, monsieur. You have a nasty bump on your head. That might have caused you to forget. I think you should just rest a bit, and maybe when you awaken again, your memory will return."
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The next morning, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan awoke wondering just what had happened that Aramis had not rejoined them.
Athos was concerned. "It isn't that far to the village I told him about. He had plenty of time to get his horse reshod, and catch up with us."
D'Artagnan spoke up, saying, "A woman, perhaps? This is Aramis we are talking about."
Porthos replied, defending his best friend, "Aramis doesn't neglect his duty, d'Artagnan. You know that."
Athos ended the discussion by saying, "It could be somthing as simple as the blacksmith being away for the day on business. We have finished our duty for the King. Let us now see about finding Aramis." Saddling up, they set off at a gallop, hoping to get to the village Athos had directed him to, find Aramis safe, sound and probably grumbling about no blacksmith and missing Paris.
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Aramis had awakened the next morning in a good deal of pain. His head throbbed unmercifully, and his body's bruises were making themselves felt, as well. He lay there as still as possible, hoping the pain would die down, but it didn't make any difference at all, as far as he could tell.
Then, he remembered his conversation with the woman who had been taking care of him-Amelie. She had said maybe when he woke up again, he might remember more. But he didn't remember. And how could he call her name after only hearing it once, when he couldn't think of his own, the name he would have been known by since he was born? And where was he from? The old gentleman and Amelie hadn't known him, so it was likely he wasn't from the village or outlying area he was now in.
Maybe his clothes might give him a clue. He carefully moved enough to pull the blanket down and looked at himself, but realized with embarrassment that all he had on were his braies, and saw no other clothes in sight.
It was starting to really frighten him, not knowing who he was, where he was from, what he did for a living, how he got here. There were so many questions he needed answers to, but didn't know how to go about finding them.
The door opened and Amelie came in, carrying a large tray and cheerfully wishing him a good morning. She set the tray down on the table next to his bed, and helped him to sit up enough to eat. Even elevated that little caused his head to feel like it was doing cartwheels.
When he saw her reaching for the spoon, he told her, "Please, I can feed myself."
She smiled at him, and said in reply, "I very much doubt it, monsieur. Would you please humor me this morning, and let me do this for you?"
Seeing that she really wished to assist him, he sighed and nodded. Her smile broadened, dipping the spoon into the warm porridge sweetened with apples and honey and feeding him. He sighed in contentment at the warm, rich taste. It was very good. Someone here knew how to cook!
Finishing the porridge, Amelie got him to drink down a full goblet of water. By this time, even this little exertion had tired him out. His eyelids began to close, so Amelie eased him back down on the pillow, and turned to leave.
Aramis surprised her by smiling and saying, "Thank you for your care of me, are an angel."
He slept for most of the day, exhausted still from his fall. Waking again near suppertime, he again was disappointed that he still could not remember anything. When Amelie came in, he asked her, "Do you still have the clothes I was wearing when I came here?",still hoping maybe the sight of them might spark a memory.
Amelie crossed to the chest of drawers near the window, and opening a drawer, brought out some clothes. She hesitantly brought them to him, seeing how eager he was to look at them, and knowing why.
But when he saw them, he stared, not realizing the clothes would be in the shape they were in. The shirt was just tatters, useless to wear and even more useless to recognize. The breeches were,surprisingly, leather, and aside from a few scrapes, still in good shape. Had he really worn leather? What did he do for a living that he wore leather? The boots were of leather, but that was common for boot material, so no surprise there.
He asked Amelie, "Is this all? Did I have a doublet or a hat? Any jewelry?"
She just shook her head, saying, "Not when you arrived on my doorstep, monsieur."
Aramis was so dejected he hardly knew what to say. He was at his wit's end to know where or how to learn his identity. And how did he end up at the bottom of a steep embankment, lying on the river's rocks? His life was a mystery that he didn't know how to solve.