Weeeeeellllllllll. One out of two... (praise the leap day)
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Enjoy
"What happened?" Athos asked with a raised eyebrow as he returned to the room. His bored tone betrayed by the red marks left on his palms by his nails.
"Aramis woke up." D'Artagnan happily reported. "He's going to be alright."
"Athos." Porthos said in a warning tone. "He didn't even know his own name, didn't recognise me."
"Pretre."
Porthos nodded.
"We shall wait until he next wakes. Perhaps then he will be more lucid."
Porthos nodded again.
"Yeah." He agreed. "Just the shock is all. He'll be fine."
"Of course."
"Got anything to say this time, D'Artagnan?" Porthos snapped.
"No... I... apologise. I merely thought we should be... realistic."
"If that's your idea of reality count me out."
"I'm sorry. What more do you want me to say?"
There was an uncomfortable silence for a heartbeat to long before it was interrupted by Athos.
"D'Artagnan. It is time you thought about your own injuries."
"There's not much you can do for them."
"Is that a way of avoiding the inevitable, D'Artagnan? That broken arm has been left too long – it may have to be re-broken to be set correctly."
"Hm. Alright. Do it."
"Now?"
"Just get it over with."
"Porthos?"
Porthos wandered up behind D'Artagnan and grabbed his shoulders, gently steering him towards a chair.
"Alright."
Athos took a deep breath before utilizing the tried and tested method of yank, and snap.
He winced heavily at D'Artagnan's scream but managed to dodge the kick aimed at his face.
"We just need to set that properly, and then we can check that your back is not infected."
D'Artagnan looked up at incredulously at Athos' casual tone.
"There there." Porthos teased, patting D'Artagnan's good shoulder.
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D'Artagnan shuffled uncomfortable in his seat. His arm still throbbed, though it was properly set and supported in a neatly tied sling, and the dressings on his back made it near impossible to find an agreeable seating position.
Athos and Porthos had gone out together to fetch more water, after all Xavier's men could still be out there, so D'Artagnan was alone with the still unconscious Aramis.
"What?"
The again.
"Aramis, you're safe. Athos and Porthos found us – everything's fine."
"Who're you?"
"It's D'Artagnan... Aramis – what do you remember?"
"I don't..."
"It's alright, take your time."
"Where?"
"Still at the cottage, but it's alright."
"What? I don't..."
"If you want water you'll have to wait – Porthos and Athos have gone to get some."
"Who?"
D'Artagnan didn't know what to say, or do. This was completely different to Athos – he thought that only head injuries could cause loss of memory like this but Athos had awoken completely aware and Aramis didn't even seem to know his own name.
"D'Artagnan?" Porthos entered the room with Athos – carrying the bucket of water between them.
"Aramis – you're awake!"
"Why're you calling me that?"
Athos and Porthos looked at each other briefly, put down the water and moved to Aramis' bedside.
"Rene." Athos tried.
"How do you know me? Who are you?"
"We are the king's Musketeers."
"What?"
"Soldiers." Porthos explained.
"You were injured. But you're safe now, Rene."
"Isabelle?"
"I'm sorry?"
"I was with a girl – is she safe?"
"Yes she's fine." Athos clenched his teeth at the lie. Aramis obviously had cared deeply about this girl. "We sent her home."
"Good."
"Rene, what is the last thing you remember?"
"I was with Isabelle. She... she had to tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. That's all I remember."
"Thank you, Rene. You can sleep now but drink some water first."
Aramis did so, taking the offered cup of water that D'Artagnan had filled from the bucket.
"Why were you calling me Aramis, before?"
Athos stumbled at this and looked to Porthos for help, but found none.
It didn't matter, however, because Aramis was asleep again - the empty cup clattering to the floor.
"Why did you lie to him?" D'Artagnan asked.
"He's forgotten a considerable amount. He wasn't ready to hear the truth and would likely have not believed us."
"He'll be fine soon. Just needs time." Porthos insisted for what felt like the hundredth time.
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"Aramis?" Athos asked tentatively upon seeing Aramis' eyes open again.
"That name again?"
"You remember when you last woke?"
"Yes, why?"
"Aramis, - "
"My name is Rene."
"It was."
"What?"
"Aramis... You've lost your memories."
"That is not my name, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Yes I know, your name is Rene D'Herblay – but you are now known as Aramis of the king's Musketeers."
"You mentioned that before – what does it mean?"
"The Musketeers? It's a regiment of elite soldiers – of which you are proud to call yourself a member."
"Why would I be a soldier? I am to be married soon – my fiancé is with child."
"Yes... Things changed."
"What things? If you won't explain yourself why should I believe you?"
"Because you have to. It's your life, your story to tell. Don't make me teach you your own life."
"Who are you?"
"Your friend."
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"Aramis?" Porthos asked hopefully.
"Not my name, Porthos." Aramis muttered but only half-heartedly.
"It is."
"What've you got there, then?"
"Rabbit stew. D'Artagnan caught it."
Aramis looked at him quizzically.
"The grumpy one."
This didn't seem to clarify things much.
"The younger grumpy one."
"Right. Give it here then."
"Who said it was for you?"
"Ha ha – deprive the invalid of food why don't you?"
Porthos sighed.
"What's wrong?"
"It's just... Easy to think that's everything's back to normal – that we're friends again."
"We are friends."
"No, Aramis is my friend. I've barely known you a week."
The hurt expression on Aramis' face made Porthos instantly regret his words.
"You're the only friend I have, Porthos." He said, solemnly accepting the stew and eating in uncomfortable silence.
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"How come he always remembers your name?"
"I talk to him the most." Porthos explained, trying to keep the note of blame from his voice.
"And Athos and I are just interchangeable?"
"How's the girl?"
"Silent."
"Still?"
"Still."
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"Aramis?"
"I remember why I became a soldier..."
"Aramis?"
"Isabelle lost the child. Huh, that's an odd turn of phrase – like she was responsible for... misplacing our baby. Her father sent her to a convent and refused to tell me where she was. There was nothing left for me at home."
"What else do you remember?"
"Not much. I still don't remember any of you."
"And I thought I was so memorable." Athos quipped.
"I'm sure you are."
Aramis went silent in the contemplative, melancholy way that was so familiar to Athos, as his friend. They knew Aramis as better than they knew themselves, and he didn't even remember ever meeting them. But he would recover – that much was clear. He just needed time.
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Aramis awoke to screaming from the adjacent room. A woman.
It reminded him of a time when he was a new to the musketeers and he raced in the direction of a woman's screams – despite pleas to wait for backup from Marsac – and the attacker had jumped him as he raced down an alley. Marsac had been right, he couldn't' take the man by himself. He truly thought he was going to die. And he would have, too, if Captain Treville's newest recruit hadn't also taken the same foolish action as him, turning up a few moments after Aramis himself just in time to stop the criminal from smashing his head a third time against the wall.
Aramis ended up with a concussion, but also with his life. He found new respect for the often ostracised recruit from the Court of Miracles, and while they hadn't become true friends, they did develop a mutual trust on missions and around the garrison.
That was Porthos. Apparently they had become much closer since – he remembered Marsac had shared the rest of the garrison's wary attitude towards Porthos, maybe they fell out over that which pushed Porthos and him closer together.
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"What's wrong with her?" Porthos asked as he stared and the pale, shivering woman still tied in the corner.
"Seems like..."
"What?"
"Withdrawal."
"You think... opium?"
"Have her actions so far seemed those of a sane woman?"
"Of course not. But that can't be the only cause."
"No, I am not so naive as to think she will suddenly become a mild mannered lady when she is through this but... I do not believe her totally undeserving of our sympathy."
"Maybe you're right, Athos, but when I look at her I see he part she had in hurting Aramis, and D'Artagnan. And you think the king will show her mercy on claims of insanity?"
"No. She will be hanged for sure."
With this Athos left the room.
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"Porthos?"
"Just a second, Aramis!"
"Porthos, please. I have been lying here for too long – let me walk around the room at least."
"Aramis, we talked about this."
"I know, I know. But I'm bored, and the faster I can walk, the faster we can return to Parris."
"Aramis..."
"When D'Artagnan arrived at the garrison he challenged Athos to a duel for the murder of his father – we proved that Gaudet had been framing him to discredit the musketeers."
"Aramis..."
"The morning after your birthday you woke up next to a dead body and were kidnapped by your friends from the Court of Miracles while we worked to prove your innocence. I killed you childhood friend!"
"Aramis!"
"Just... Just let me try, please."
"Alright. Alright..."
"Porthos I'm sorry, I just can't take this anymore."
"It's fine." Porthos faked a smile.
Ta... da?