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Tag to S2E10: Trial and Punishment

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The four musketeers walked out of the palace, each of them with their minds in a whirl; Rochefort had just been defeated and was finally dead. His body had just been removed and the king had thanked them profusely for saving the queen's life. He'd immediately declared both she and Aramis to be innocent and sent the musketeers on their way.

Treville left with them, as the king wanted to speak with Anne. He smiled as he watched the four younger men, who were all so full of relief.

Aramis, though, was quiet and appeared in an exhausted daze; his face was pale with shadows under his eyes and his steps were slow, making him fall slightly behind the others. He had his left hand clamped to his right arm, and Treville frowned when he spotted a bloodstain. He hadn't noticed it until now, and realized that Aramis must've been wounded during his fight with Rochefort.

As Treville watched him, he realized that they had no idea what Aramis had gone through in the prison; there was no doubt that Rochefort had withheld food, possibly even water. For all they knew, he could've been tortured and was hiding other wounds under his uniform. He frowned when he noticed that Aramis was growing paler and he stepped closer to him. "Aramis," he said, taking him by his uninjured arm. "You aren't planning to faint, are you?"

Aramis turned his head slightly, before blinking rapidly. "That's never something that I plan to do."

Treville was surprised by two things: first, that Aramis hadn't corrected him with 'pass out', which he jokingly did every time someone mentioned him fainting, and second: that he hadn't said no.

Aramis swayed on his next step. "It's…entirely possible," he said.

Each of the other three musketeers turned to look at Aramis when they saw that he wasn't beside them anymore, but when they saw the captain speaking with him, they assumed that everything was fine.

Treville wrapped an arm around Aramis' back in support. "Your arm: is it bad?"

"No, but it requires needlework."

"Any other wounds?"

Aramis sighed. "Bumps and bruises."

"What about your wrists?" Treville asked.

Aramis raised his arms and looked at them. His wrists were surrounded with an angry red color and multiple scratches, rubbed raw from trying to get free of the shackles. "Oh," he said, absentmindedly. "And those."

Treville sighed. It was obvious that whatever was keeping Aramis' body going was quickly wearing off, now that the situation was finally over. "When did you last eat?"

Aramis thought for a minute. "I don't know." He shook his head. "Before the arrest."

Days. Treville sighed, before having to grab Aramis quickly when he suddenly lost his balance, probably from shaking his head. "Water?"

"Once a day," Aramis said, grabbing the captain's arm to steady himself. "Just enough…" he had to pause to take a breath. "…to survive."

They reached the horses, and the other three looked back at them just in time to see Aramis stumble.

Porthos ran over and grabbed his other arm. "Hey!"

"He'll be all right," said Treville, as the others watched with alarm. "He needs water, food, and rest, in that order."

"And stitchin'," said Porthos, getting blood on his hand after grabbing his friend's arm.

Dizziness abruptly washed over Aramis, and he closed his eyes. "I need to sit," he announced.

Hands tightened themselves on his arms, and Aramis felt himself carefully lowered to sit on the ground. His brain felt like it was spinning and his head fell forward on its own accord. There was a flurry of activity around him, but he barely heard it through the sudden buzzing in his ears.

A pair of hands clamped around the wound in his arm and a wet cloth was suddenly patting over his face. Someone lifted his head and a waterskin touched his lips.

Aramis drank thirstily, but the water was quickly pulled away.

"You know better than that," Athos scolded. "Slowly!"

Aramis barely had time to register his words before a cramp seized his empty stomach and he winced.

"Oh no," said Porthos, assuming that the water Aramis had drank was about to make a reappearance.

Another set of hands grasped his shoulders from behind, to brace him in case he became ill, but Aramis thankfully didn't.

After a couple of minutes, they let him drink a little more. "Slowly," Athos repeated.

Aramis obeyed, taking small sips.

D'Artagnan eventually stopped putting pressure on Aramis' wound and tied a bandage around it, taken from Aramis' saddlebag.

"Can you go on, now?" Treville asked.

Aramis looked at him, feeling a little more alert thanks to the water. "Yes," he said. Whether it was true or not, he just wanted to get home to the garrison.

They carefully helped him up and onto Porthos' horse, and his friend mounted behind him. "Did you get any sleep in that prison?"

Aramis sighed; sleeping had been almost impossible. "Hardly any."

"Sleep then," Porthos said, pulling him back to rest against him. "With Rochefort dead, you're safe."

Aramis nodded, wincing at the headache caused by his body's depleted state.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep, as Porthos realized when Aramis went completely limp. "He's out," he told the others.

No one was surprised.

Once they arrived at the garrison, they quickly got Aramis down and brought him to his room. He didn't stir at all, even when they started undressing him. Aramis' torso was a mass of severe bruising; the hidden marks of Rochefort's abuse.

"If Rochefort wasn't already dead," said Porthos. "I'd be on my way to kill 'im right now."

"He can't hurt Aramis anymore," said Athos. "It's over."

Porthos nodded. "Finally."

Treville retrieved Aramis' medical kit and prepared to stitch his wound. He looked at the others to see them ready to hold Aramis down, and then he poured brandy over the sword cut.

Aramis didn't even flinch.

"He's not just asleep," d'Artagnan worriedly realized.

"He was imprisoned for a week without food," said Treville, as he threaded the needle. "Hardly any water or sleep…then he fought Rochefort with strength that he couldn't possibly have and now he's lost blood. Show me someone who wouldn't be unconscious right now."

The others nodded.

Aramis was out cold through most of the stitching, though he suddenly moved his head with a soft moan when Treville pulled the needle through the worst part of the cut.

"You're all right," Porthos said to him, putting a hand on his head. "It's just the needle that you enjoy stabbing us with!"

Aramis fell silent after that.

The others sat around his bed, wishing that he would wake so he could eat. It was very late that night when Treville put a hand on Aramis' forehead to check for fever, and was surprise when he scrunched up his eyes.

"Aramis?"

The voice sounded far away to the half-awake musketeer, and he didn't react until he felt a hand lay itself on his hair.

"Aramis."

Throbbing pain filled much of Aramis' body and he winced before opening his eyes slightly.

Treville smiled at him. "It's good to see you awake."

Aramis was momentarily confused, until he remembered the prison and Rochefort and the queen, and he automatically tried to sit up.

Treville grabbed his shoulders and held him down. "Take it easy!" he said. "You're home in the garrison."

Aramis looked around, seeing the interior of his room. His three friends were asleep in chairs. "What?"

"It's all over," said Treville. "Rochefort is dead and the queen is safe…as is your secret."

Aramis stared at him for a moment, as if not daring to believe it. The memories slowly came back to him and he closed his eyes.

"You need to eat something," said Treville.

"I'll get it," said a voice.

Treville turned to see Athos awake and standing from his chair. He headed over to the fire where they had a pot of soup at the ready, and he came back with a cup and spoon, which he handed to Treville before sliding an arm under Aramis and pulling him upright, standing up the pillows behind him so he was sitting against them.

"How long has it been?" Aramis asked.

"Too long!" came Porthos' voice.

Aramis looked at him, to find that he and d'Artagnan had also awoken. He smiled at them and they smiled back.

"You were out for nine or ten hours," said Treville, holding the cup to Aramis' lips. "Drink some broth first; make sure your stomach accepts it."

Aramis drank slowly, before giving a sound of pleasure. "How I missed Serge's soup."

"You can eat it every day," said Porthos. "Serge made enough for an army."

Aramis smiled again and drank more of it, before eating a few spoonfuls and stopping there. "I can't eat anymore."

Treville put the cup down. "You need to build back up slowly. Sleep; you'll feel better in the morning."

They helped Aramis lie down again and Aramis looked at each one of them before closing his eyes, thinking back to how they'd risked their lives to save him. "Thank you," he said. "For everything."

Everyone smiled.

"All for one, Aramis," said Treville.

THE END