King Louis and Cardinal Richelieu were talking in the far corner of the throne room, and turned when they heard the musketeers come in.
"Good day, Your Highness," Treville said, as they all bowed.
"Good day," said the king. He and Richelieu walked over and looked the three musketeers over before the king said, "So, Aramis. You are the only one who survived this dreadful massacre?"
Everyone looked at their friend; Aramis' breathing was audible and his face couldn't possibly have been any paler than it was.
"No, Sire, not the only one," Aramis told him. His voice was a little shaky, but it was obvious only to his closest friends.
Louis nodded. "Well, yes, we know about the coward who deserted. He'll get what he deserves as soon as we find him."
Everyone knew that the punishment for desertion was death, but Aramis had apparently not given it much thought, for at those words, his knees buckled and Porthos and Athos grabbed him.
"Someone get this man a chair," Richelieu commanded, sounding bored.
Treville had already dashed over to the closest one and grabbed it, dragging it over as quickly as he could. Once there, they eased Aramis down into it, glad to see that his eyes were open.
"Forgive me," Aramis managed to say, lifting a hand to his spinning head as he tried to catch his breath. "I have not yet recovered...from my wounds."
King Louis, even younger than Aramis and eager to be a likable king, waved his hand. "I understand, musketeer. Now, tell us what happened, so we can work on finding those responsible."
"He is not your equal, Sire," Richelieu whispered in his ear. "You need not explain your commands."
Treville heard him and shot him a scathing look.
The king acknowledged the cardinal with a nod and sat down on his throne as he waited for Aramis to speak.
Porthos and Athos, standing beside the chair, each squeezed their friend's shoulders, reminding him of their presence and lending him the confidence that he needed.
Aramis lowered his hand and cleared his throat. "We were sent on a…a training exercise."
"Yes," said Louis. "We were aware of that."
"I was one of the senior musketeers present," Aramis continued.
"You?" said Richelieu, shocked. "How old are you, nineteen?"
Aramis looked at him and some color came back into his face at the insult. "I am twenty-three, and have served as a musketeer since the year the regiment was founded."
Louis looked at Richelieu. "Really, cardinal, his age doesn't matter; I am younger than that and I am king!" He looked at Aramis. "Go on."
It took Aramis a few seconds to speak again. "We camped in the woods. Most of us were asleep and were woken by shouts after the group of men attacked..." He paused and took a deep breath. "Whoever was on watch must've been killed before they could raise the alarm."
"How many men attacked you?" Richelieu asked.
Aramis thought for a moment before shaking his head. "I couldn't be sure in the dark..."
Aramis scrambled outside his tent, in time to shoot the intruder who came at him with a sword. Standing, he looked around with shock as his fellow musketeers were slaughtered. Sensing someone behind him, he quickly turned and deflected the sword that had been aimed at his back and sent it flying from his attacker's hand, before smashing the man on his head with his empty gun. He had nothing to reload it with so he dropped it and turned to face whoever came at him next. Aramis spotted a man with another small group, and watched as he pointed towards some musketeers who appeared to be alive and were dragging themselves towards each other. The men stalked over and killed them as they lay defenseless. Aramis couldn't believe what he was witnessing, and he rushed towards the leader, whose back was turned. Hearing him coming, the man spun and deflected his sword, just as Aramis had done to his attacker. They traded blows until the man stumbled to the right, pulling an unseen dagger from its sheath at his back. Before Aramis could blink, the dagger flew through the air and pierced his left side. Aramis gasped from the pain, stumbling back into a tree. His sword was suddenly too heavy, and nearly dropped from his hand. The leader walked over to him and savagely pulled the dagger from Aramis' side, before smashing him on the side of his head with his pistol. Stars erupted in Aramis' vision and he watched through hazy eyes as the man laughed and made the grave mistake of turning around, thinking Aramis too injured to react. With all the strength that Aramis still possessed, he raised his sword with both hands and slashed his enemy across his back. The man gave a cry of pain and fell, and Aramis' knees buckled as pain seared through his head and side. He dropped to the ground, and everything turned black.
"You wounded the leader?" Richelieu asked, sounding surprised.
His voice brought Aramis back to the present, and he blinked, feeling dizzy again as his brain tried to accept the reality that he was sitting in a chair in the palace throne room, not lying unconscious in a cold forest.
"Did you hear me, musketeer?" Richelieu asked.
"Yes," Aramis answered, still blinking. "Yes, I wounded the leader."
"How long were you unconscious?" Richelieu asked next. "Were they gone when you woke?"
Aramis realized that he was moving. His right arm had been flung around someone's shoulders and the person was dragging him. Terrible pain laced through his head and left side, and he could hardly think, nevermind walk. He was lowered to the ground and hands touched his back, but he was barely conscious and couldn't react. Sounds of battle filled his ears…swords clashing, men dying…and Aramis lost consciousness again. The next time he opened his eyes, everything was quiet and there was light. Aramis was so cold that his entire body was stiff and aching. He raised a shaking hand to his head and found that someone had tied a piece of cloth around it, and he wondered why for all of five seconds before the awful events came back to him and he quickly sat up. Pain shot through his head and side so badly that he gave a cry of pain, and his breathing quickly dissolved into gasps when he saw the bodies that littered the ground. Somehow, he struggled to his feet, belatedly realizing that snow was gently falling…snow that was red in spots…in too many places. Dazed, with his vision blurring from the concussion that afflicted his brain, Aramis stumbled around the campsite, hoping to find survivors, but not capable of helping them even if there were. He suddenly realized that he was alone; every musketeer was dead except for him. The knowledge was almost impossible for him to comprehend, and he fell to his knees. Suddenly, Aramis spotted Marsac ahead of him, alive and apparently uninjured. He watched with confusion as his friend removed his pauldron, dropped it to the ground, and walked away, never looking back. He watched him until he'd disappeared from view, wondering where he was going. He couldn't possibly have left him there; there had to be a reason why he'd dropped his pauldron. Maybe it had been damaged in the fight? Maybe he was going for help and didn't want to be recognized as a musketeer should he encounter their attackers again? Aramis found himself sitting against a tree as he waited for his friend to return. He shivered terribly, his eyes locked on the bodies that lay all around the campsite. Some of their eyes were open, some weren't. After the crows came, some of them no longer had eyes at all. Marsac never came back. Aramis remained where he was, sitting against the tree. Eventually, he stopped shivering, which he knew was a bad sign. He continued to wait for Marsac, never believing that he had left him there to die; to freeze to death, wounded and alone surrounded by twenty bodies and the crows that feasted on them. When unconsciousness came to claim him again, Aramis was glad.
Aramis startled at the king's voice, finding himself once again sitting in the throne room. He was squeezing the arms of the chair nearly tight enough to break them, and he looked around, confused. "Marsac?" he said.
Athos and Porthos were both kneeling before the chair, gripping his arms.
Aramis was breathing heavily, his mind having a hard time understanding that he wasn't in Savoy.
"Calm down," Athos was saying to him. "You're in Paris, Aramis."
Aramis looked around the room again, before staring at his two friends. "I am?" he asked.
Treville stepped in front of the chair to block Aramis from the king and cardinal. "If there is nothing else, Sire? I'd like to get Aramis back to the garrison."
The king nodded. "Yes, of course."
"I assume that he is still under a doctor's care?" Richelieu asked, condescendingly. "The boy obviously needs one…or several."
Treville shot him a glare. "Yes, he has a doctor." With that, he gave the king a bow, before turning and heading back to the chair, where Aramis was still sitting rigidly as the other two tried to bring his mind back to where it belonged. He reached down and pulled Aramis out of his seat, wrapping an arm around his back and helping him stumble out of the room with Athos and Porthos beside them.
As soon as the doors closed behind them, Aramis gasped, "I'm not in Savoy?" before passing out in Treville's arms.
TBC
