Once up the stairs, Serge lead Aramis into his room.

"You seem more than just tired," Serge noticed. "Somethin' botherin' ya?"

Aramis sighed; he wasn't about to tell Serge about his situation with the dauphin...and not because he didn't trust him. No one else needed to share his burden, or end up in potential danger from the knowledge...although, it seemed that there was no more danger to fear, now that the dauphin was the king's son after all...

"Aramis?"

The tug on his sword belt got Aramis' attention, and he realized that he was sitting in a chair as Serge tried to get his weapons off.

"There you are," said Serge, looking worried. He got Aramis' belt undone and carefully pulled the weapons away, resting them on the small table.

"Apologies," Aramis said, remembering Serge's question. "I'm all right, considering. The war was...very hard."

Serge nodded, remembering what Aramis had gone through in Savoy. With an inward shudder, he wondered if there had been any winter battles during all that time; the last thing Aramis needed to see was dead bodies in the snow. "I woulda come with ya if I could," he said.

Aramis smiled at him. Serge was well past his prime, but he had been an excellent musketeer in his day. He suddenly realized that Serge was unbuttoning his jacket for him. "You don't have to help me, I'm fine," he said.

Serge made a face at him as if he knew that he was lying. "I may be gettin' old, but I'm not blind. How are you supposed to do all this with a broken wrist?"

That was true. Aramis realized that Serge wanted to help him, perhaps to alleviate some misguided guilt at not being able to help them fight the war. He submitted, carefully holding his bad arm while Serge took off his sling and carefully got the jacket sleeve off. Aramis tried to hold in a wince, but didn't completely succeed.

There was a sudden knock on his door, and Serge yelled, "Come in!"

A couple of boys that Aramis didn't know came in with huge buckets of water, and Aramis was puzzled.

Serge blinked. "You didn't hear me tell them to bring up bath water on our way up? You need sleep even more than I thought."

"Bath water?" Aramis echoed, watching as the boys carried them to the far side of the room behind a screen.

"There's a tub back there," said Serge. "The king really went all out for you four when he remodeled the place."

Aramis was stunned.

"No more goin' to the bath house for you," said Serge. "You get to live in the lap of luxury."

Aramis couldn't help it; he chuckled at that.

Serge smiled. "There, that's the sound I've been waitin' for."

The boys came and went as many times as they needed to in order to fill the tub, and Serge helped Aramis get his shirt off. He was surprised to see the scars that were obviously new and the still-healing gunshot wound.

Aramis said nothing about them; he simply heaved himself out of the chair—with obvious effort—and headed over to the screen. Behind it was the tub and a small armoire that contained towels and soaps.

"The king really had a lot to make up for," said Serge. "The four of you and the captain weren't treated very well thanks to Richelieu and Rochefort."

Serge would know that even without hearing of the situation regarding the dauphin's parentage, so Aramis nodded.

Serge went back around the screen so Aramis would have the privacy that he needed to remove the rest of his clothes and get into the tub, which Aramis quickly did. The hot water was like a balm to his body and mind, and he sighed and closed his eyes.

"You in?" Serge called.

"Yes," Aramis answered.

Serge came back around the screen carrying a chair, which he placed beside the tub on Aramis' left. "Rest your arm on this."

Aramis obeyed, carefully laying his splinted wrist on the chair. "Thank you," he said.

Serge nodded. "Now don't you fall asleep in there."

"I'll try not to," Aramis answered.

Serge smiled. "I'll be back to make sure."

Aramis smiled back and watched as he walked away. Closing his eyes, he felt himself start to drift off immediately, so he forced himself to one-handedly wash his hair first and soap himself up before he relaxed again. He was so tired that he could hardly think; the scene in the throne room felt like it had been a dream, not reality. He couldn't comprehend it and didn't try to; he hadn't the strength to deal with it right now, mental or physical.

A sudden knock sounded and Aramis' eyes popped open. He realized that he'd drifted off and he had no idea how much time had passed.

Serge suddenly appeared. "I told ya not to fall asleep in there."

Aramis gave him a sheepish smile. "I tried."

Serge shook his head and disappeared before returning with nightclothes, which he placed on the chair after Aramis removed his arm from it.

Aramis carefully washed what was exposed of his hand and forearm around the splint, before getting out of the tub and wrapping a towel around himself. It wasn't easy with the splint around his left wrist, but he managed. Afterwards, though, he was so exhausted that he had to sit down on the chair to try to regain some strength.

"Are you decent?" Serge's voice called.

Aramis chuckled. "You could say that."

Serge reappeared, and went *tsk tsk*. "Do I have to do everythin'?" he joked, picking up the nightclothes.

Aramis laughed again and reached out his hand to take them. "I can manage."

Serge chuckled too before leaving him to it.

A clean body and clean clothes were a relief to Aramis, and he tiredly came out from behind the screen to find Serge poking the fire that he'd lit.

Serge turned to look at him. "That's better," he said, relieved to see Aramis looking more human.

Aramis nodded and headed for the bed, climbing in and settling with a wince.

Serge came over and looked at him. "Anythin' else I can do?"

Aramis, eyes closed, shook his head. "No. Thank you for your help."

"Anytime, Aramis," Serge said. "Sleep well." He turned to go, before stopping and looking at him again. "There's somethin' that you can do for me."

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Anything."

"Stop carryin' the weight of the world on your shoulders," Serge told him.

Aramis sighed.

"We all know how skilled you are, Aramis," Serge continued. "In another life, you'd have been the world's greatest physician. You put everyone's lives before your own, and if you can't fix everyone and everything, you blame yourself."

Serge was right, and Aramis wasn't surprised at all that he'd accurately discerned one of the things that weighed heavily upon his mind.

"God gave you a natural talent that everyone else needs to be taught," Serge continued. "The soldiers that died in the war didn't do so because you weren't good enough; they died because God took them. The ones who survived did so because of you; because you used the skill that God gifted you with."

Aramis had to swallow against the lump that suddenly appeared in his throat.

Serve grasped his shoulder, careful not to put his hand near the still-healing gunshot wound in his upper arm. "I never had a son. If I did, I'd hope that he'd be like you."

Aramis was shocked at that, and almost lost the battle with his emotions. I thought I had a son, he thought.

"You should be proud of yourself, Aramis," Serge said. "Everyone else is proud."

Aramis managed to rein in his emotions, and smiled. "Thanks, Serge...that means a lot to me."

Serge smiled and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Good. Now go to sleep."

Aramis nodded, closed his eyes, and was asleep before the cook even left.

TBC