It is decided that Porthos and Athos will deliver the letter, as Reims is less then a days ride from the village. Aramis will stay with d'Artagnan to aid his recovery and then when the others return they will all ride back to Paris together.
During the time that Porthos and Athos are gone d'Artagnan sleeps often, resting and mending. Whenever he wakes though Aramis is there, sitting by his bed, sharpening his sword at the table, or mixing herbs to help numb the pain of the wound. His presence unassuming and undemanding and yet comforting in its constancy and the simple companionship it offers. He says nothing when d'Artagnan grows frustrated with his inability to stand by himself, says nothing when he cries out in his sleep even though d'Artagnan knows there is now way he did not hear, he simply offers a soft smile and gentle hands.
It is a strange thing, to feel so trapped in his own body. All his life d'Artagnan has been strong, first from long days in the fields beside his father that hardened his muscles and gave sharp angles to the boyish curves of his face, and later from his months spent sparring and wrestling in the courtyard of the garrison that had honed that raw power into a weapon. Always he has had control of himself, has had his own two hands to trust and now he does not have even that and it leaves him feeling vulnerable and exposed. Aramis seems to sense that and leaves the subject untouched, quietly assisting d'Artagnan when he cannot do something by himself but making no mention of it otherwise.
He finally takes action after a particularly frustrated d'Artagnan sends a cup flying across the room, trailing drops of water as it arcs through the air to collide with the opposite wall and rolls to a stop a few feet from where Aramis is standing. He doesn't say anything, just patiently stands and retrieves the cup before setting it on the table and returning to his seat by d'Artagnan's side. He crosses his arms and sits silently for a while and d'Artagnan looks away, suddenly ashamed of himself. He's acting like a brat, he knows, and he doesn't understand why Aramis is being so patient with him. He's startled by Aramis starting to speak, tone light and conversational.
"Once, many years ago, I took a musket ball to the leg during a border skirmish near Tréves."
D'Artagnan looks back to Aramis, confused as to why he's suddenly decided to tell bring up the past unannounced. Aramis just continues on, undeterred by d'Artagnan's questioning gaze.
"It was a flesh wound, but one that kept me off my feet and from my duties for nearly two months. During that time I was… I was not very pleasant company."
He pauses then, wincing good naturedly at his own remembered actions. When he continues his words are more somber,
"It was…difficult for me to not be able to do the things I normally could. It was difficult for me to be still and sit by the sidelines. I was unpleasant because I was angry, and I was angry because I was afraid."
Aramis sighs then, a gentle exhale of air, and d'Artagnan sits quiet and attentive. Of all of them Aramis is among the most willing to regale d'Artagnan with stories of the past, of battles won and tales of danger and friendship and heroism and d'Artagnan sits rapt and listens to them all, but he does not speak of this past like this. Not this personally or intimately or plainly and it is rare that d'Artagnan sees this side of his friend. Despite his seemingly open manner and quick tongue Aramis is perhaps the most closely guarded of them all, more so then even Athos, his true feelings hidden beneath layers of mirth and pretense and slippery deflections. Athos, for all his brooding and desperately held secrets wears his heart on his sleeve if you know where to look. If something is bothering Athos you will know, he cannot hide it, no matter how hard he tries. Aramis is trickier, his secrets are not hidden behind long silences and drunken nights and barely concealed rage. Aramis' are hidden in the gentle curve of a woman's back, the scars d'Artagnan sometimes catches glimpses of that he will not talk about, or the way his eyes go dark and flat when he sees snow. They are hidden in a smile that never quite reaches his eyes and that makes them all the more difficult to know, all the more dangerous. And so on the rare occasions Aramis does open up d'Artagnan listens without question. Serious, Aramis continues,
"I was afraid because, however briefly, I had lost my purpose. And for men such as us, that is a terrifying thing to lose, because without it what are we? It drives us, defines us, gives worth to the wrongs we have done. Let's us forgive ourselves for our sins, real or imagined."
Reaching out he rests a hand on d'Artagnan's leg, giving it a comforting squeeze.
"I understand what it feels like to be trapped in your own body, understand the frustration and fear and uncertainty and the sense of loss. It will pass. You will heal, just give it time, d'Artagnan. All you need is time."
D'Artagnan looks away and clasps his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. He feels bare and raw and exposed because in a few words Aramis had torn away the anger and the frustration and revealed what hid beneath it all, in a few words he has torn away the walls d'Artagnan was building around his fear. Because Aramis is right, if he loses the musketeers, he loses everything. He has no blood family left alive, no home to return to, no purpose in this world without the lose them would be to lose himself and that is a though terrifying to imagine. He had wanted this so badly and for so long and now he has it in his grasp and he's afraid to lose it all again would be the end of him, he had nothing left to give.
"What if… what if this has broken me?"
Aramis just sighs, and it is a sigh that is filled with years of loss and grief and weathered heavy and grey by the world.
"We all break, my friend, you must learn to become strong in the broken places."
There is something different after that night, between him and Aramis. There is a sense of understanding, of respect. Aramis had shared a piece of himself with d'Artagnan, a piece he had never seen before, and in doing so exposed himself. Aramis has allowed himself to be vulnerable and d'Artagnan knows what that must have cost him and understands the weight of it.
By the time Athos and Porthos return two days later d'Artagnan can walk around the room unaided and his hands no longer shake when he holds something heavier then a glass. They set off for Paris the next morning, all of them more then ready to leave this nightmare of a mission behind them.
D'Artagnan manages to convince Aramis to let him ride on his own, practically begging him. It's one thing to ride with someone when you're bleeding and half conscious but d'Artagnan feels he's recovered quite well and tells all of them so. He does feel a little warm, not from too many layers of clothing but from an internal heat inside but he knows if tells Aramis that he will be forced to share a mount with one of his friends so he does not mention it. Finally Aramis acquiesces, but warns that he'll be watching closely and as soon as d'Artagnan gives him a reason he's forcing him onto a horse with someone else. D'Artagnan assures him he will be giving him no reason.
It's a beautiful day when they set out for Paris, the air is crisp and chilly but the sun is shining bright in the sky. There is no rain, for which d'Artagnan is grateful, he already has enough bad memories associated with rain and does not need to add more to them. At first the journey goes well, Aramis keeps to his word and his eyes are sharp and watchful on d'Artagnan but he simply waves away the concern with a smile, settling deeper into his saddle, and Aramis seems appeased. Soon, though, sweat begins to bead on d'Artagnan's brow and he can feel his cheeks flush with heat. Looking to his companions he hopes to see them similarly afflicted but they all look comfortable as they ride, Aramis even drawing his cloak a little closer to combat the fall chill. Shivering despite the heat that grows in him he wipes away the sweat that drips down his forehead and grits his teeth, urging his horse to keep up with the others. Porthos who is riding nearest to him observes him with a creased brow,
"You feeling alright lad? You look pale, should we stop?"
D'Artagnan just shakes his head, not wanting to delay their arrival in Paris any further. All he wants at the moment is a soft bed and to sleep till this journey is nothing more then a bad dream, and the sooner he can do that the better. Porthos looks suspicious but he doesn't press the issue and for that d'Artagnan is grateful.
The further they travel the worse it gets. He can feel that his undershirt is damp with sweat and yet still he shivers, hands shaking on the reigns. His head feels strange, like he's underwater, floating and disconnected from what his body is doing and the wound in his stomach throbs in time with each beat of his heart. There's something wrong, something terribly wrong, and he realizes he needs to tell Aramis that he's burning. He tries to kick his mount forward but his legs are too weak and the horse refuses to move. Spots dance and spin in front of his vision and he calls out Aramis' name, he turns to look back towards d'Artagnan, and suddenly everything's in slow motion. He feels himself start to slide from the saddle and though he tells himself to reach for the pommel, the reigns, anything to keep him from slipping his hands do not obey his command. The world blurs into indistinct patterns of brown and green and blue as he falls, the last thing he sees is his name on Aramis' lips. He is gone before he hits the ground.
I borrowed some words from a quote of Ernest Hemingway's, "The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places"