"Marsac!" he almost screamed the name.
Porthos hurriedly grabbed his brother, cradling him in his arms.
They had heard the whole of what had happened in the Savoy massacre from Aramis himself, months after the incident itself. For a long time directly after it, Aramis was almost nothing like the confident, even almost-cocky man they had grown to love.
He suffered from horrendous, frequent nightmares for a long time afterward, calling out as he just had done. He had barely eaten unless coaxed, and then he would consume very little.
He had blamed himself for the massacre, saying since he had been in charge, he should have had constant guards despite the fact that it had just been a training exercise.
He had gradually returned to normal, with his new-found brothers' constant companionship to help him.
The nightmares seldom came any more, five years later, allowing him to have restful nights once again. Now, of all times, was the very worst time for one to once more inflict itself on him.
Athos sat on one side of his bed, d'Artagnan occupied the other. D'Artagnan had not yet met them when Savoy happened, but he had heard about it, his heart going out to his now very much-loved brother.
Porthos had been slowly rocking his traumatized brother, slowly calming him down.
At long last, Aramis quieted, and moments afterward, exhausted brown eyes blinked open. Unseeing, he reached a hand out, groping. Athos grabbed it quickly, realizing his brother needed to feel the warmth of touch to ground him.
'He may not remember who he is,' Athos thought, 'but his instincts are still true.' He still needs touch to ground him. He took comfort in that thought, hoping it would bring him back when nothing else so far had.
After a few minutes, Aramis hesitantly asked, "What … what is Savoy?"
His brothers looked silently at each other over his bowed head. Sighing, Athos realized it would fall to him to be the one to explain. How he wished he didn't have the burden.
"Aramis, Savoy happened five years ago. You were appointed by the Captain to lead a training mission to Savoy. You were attacked in the middle of the night, when most of the men were asleep." He hesitated before going on. "You were the only man who survived. Somehow you stayed alive in the cold and snow of the forest even though you had been badly wounded, until our search party found you and brought you home."
There was utter silence when he finished. What must their brother be thinking of what he had just heard? They couldn't help hoping that since the nightmare had already happened, maybe there could be a silver lining of good from it if it brought any of his memory back.
Eyes closed, Aramis looked almost peacefully asleep at the moment. Then he asked another question.. "Who is Marsac?"
Their eyes once more sought each other, all three of them having felt guilt after Aramis had been forced to shoot his former good friend, because they were busy defending the Captain and thinking Aramis might be defending Marsac over Treville instead of just wanting the truth, whatever it was.
They could see, in hindsight, that Aramis just had needed desperately to know why something like Savoy ever could have occurred. Why so many men he had cared about had lost their lives.
Aramis, hearing the hesitation, asked again, his voice plaintive in his need to know.
Once again, it was Athos who took responsibility for the explanation.
"Marsac used to be a Musketeer, like ourselves Aramis. He was also your very good friend."
"Why is he not here now?"
"He…He is dead, Aramis."
"How did he die?"
They didn't know how to tell him. How could they say he had shot the man he had just learned had been a very good friend?
Aramis reached out again, this time gripping hard when he found Athos' arm. "How?"
"Marsac had found a man who told us that Treville had been involved. We did not believe it possible but you needed concrete answers, Aramis, and you kept digging. Marsac, however, believed Treville was guilty and caught him alone, intending to kill him. You had no choice, Aramis. You…."
Aramis' anguished voice interrupted. "I killed a good friend?" They could see the shock on his face.
Athos also belatedly realized that from the way he had recounted what happened, Aramis could very well believe that Marsac had been a friend of theirs, too. After all, he had been Aramis' friend, as were they, and they were all Musketeers. He might believe they were grieving the loss of a friend Aramis didn't even remember.
"Aramis, you had to shoot him. He was about to kill Treville. You and he had been very good friends before we really formed our closeness. We could '/div
div dir="auto" style="color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"not understand your loyalty to him at the time this all happened. I believe we thought you were choosing him over the Captain we all highly respect and honor.
"But Marsac, because of all he had gone through from Savoy and afterwards, was no longer the man you once knew. His whole life was set on avenging the massacre. You could not talk him out of it. When he raised his pistol to shoot Treville, you had to stop what would have been a cold-blooded murder of a man you loved and respected, almost a father figure."
Athos also realized that when, not if, Aramis regained his memory, they had to let him know how wrong they had been in not supporting his search for answers. They had discussed the subject at length recently, but with his memory loss, had been forced to wait.
Aramis was exhausted, but trying to fight it to stay awake. Porthos said softly, "Rest, Aramis. We'll talk again," gently massaging his brother's tense shoulders until he finally closed his eyes.
A couple of hours later, Treville came into the infirmary, and immediately went and sat down at Aramis' side, asking, "How is he?"
He was shocked at what they told him, guilt rearing it's ugly head for him again. He had been given no other choice about Savoy, as his duty was to protect and defend the French royal family, and the King's sister had to be kept safe. But it didn't mean he liked the way he had to do it.
"I'm so sorry, Aramis," he whispered to him./div
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Aramis enjoyed another day outdoors the next day. They enjoyed watching him stop to listen to a bird singing in the tree. When the garrison's adopted mouser rubbed up against his leg begging for some attention, he bent down and took the orange tabby in his arms, stroking her furring and delighting at the purring that immediately once again spoiled his favorite Musketeer with custard,drenched in cherries and cream. All Porthos could do was drool,since Serge didn't bring more than the one serving.
They took him up to his room, hoping something might feel familiar, but although, with their assistance he wandered around running his hands across the blanket on his bed, the books on the shelf, even the windowsill, to his brothers' disappointment, nothing seemed familiar to him.
Later, they brought him back to the infirmary, where he fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. The others looked at each other in silence, each seeing the sadness in the other's eyes.
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In a tavern on the other side of Paris from the Musketeer garrison, four men sat around a table, drinks in their hands.
One seemed slightly out of place with the others, his rich clothing and haughty manner at odds with their worn clothes and rough faces.
The nobleman spoke up, laughing. "I still can't believe how easy this whole affair has gone so far. It has worked perfectly! And who would have guessed that the Musketeer's treatment at our hands would have resulted in his becoming blind and forgetting who he was? We hadn't even planned for anything like that, but it has been a very nice addition," laughing to himself.
Then he went on. "And to think everyone in that garrison thinks someone targeted him. But the object of my vengeance is suffering more this way than if I had instead taken and imprisoned him. Those four men are closer than most blood brothers. The man who incurred my wrath is being torn apart inside: his mind, his heart. This is a perfect revenge, and he doesn't even know it," another full-throated laugh came as he smiled broadly, and the four of them clinked their glasses together.
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Aramis' dreams came back to him late in the night. He saw himself collapsed against an old oak, having watched Marsac tear the pauldron off his shoulder, throw it to the ground, and leave, despite Aramis' desperate pleas not to leave him.
Aramis felt that he would probably die there. His head ached where a bullet had grazed it, and he could tell the wound in his side was bleeding. The falling snow was beginning to cover him, and he was so cold. The only companions he had were 20 dead Musketeers, lying where they had fallen.
A tear slipped down his cheek as he began to lose consciousness.
He vaguely heard a voice calling in the distance. "Aramis!"
He slowly sank further into the darkness, as the voice sounded nearer. "Aramis!" it called, sounding frantic now.
He peered through the thickening snowfall, his eyes finally taking in the two faces above him looking down at him.
They came!
He must have been restless as he slept, as he felt a hand gently jostling his shoulder to awaken him. "Aramis! Wake up! It's all right."
Slowly, his eyes opened.
"You will never desert me."
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Sorry the mystery of his attackers won't be revealed just yet.
If you have time, please review and let me know what you think. I am so grateful for each reader and for reviews.