Continuing from chapter 18.

Constance placed the basket under one arm to open the door to the infirmary with he other one. She was glad it were just washed sheets and some fresh apples in it and nothing too heavy or else the walk from her house towards the Garrison could have gotten unpleasant.
Once she got to hear what had happened she had packed the things she knew would be needed and rushed over to the Musketeers regiment.
She pushed the door open and sidestepped through, putting the basket aside before closing the door again. The air in the room was thick, but she knew it would have his reasons when Aramis or whichever doctor they had summoned had kept it closed.
She first noticed three filled beds, all three men on them in various states of health. As much as she could see they were all breathing and not battling any fevers. Then her gaze drifted to the side where a table and a shelf stood against the wall. With his back to her was Aramis. Hands placed on the wooden desk, head hanging low, she only heard his shallow breaths.
"Are you okay?" She asked quietly to not startle him as she stepped closer.
Aramis probably hadn't noticed her entering and hadn't heard her now as he didn't move an inch or gave an answer.
"Aramis. It's me, Constance." She then announced a bit louder and stepped to his side. Since she had came closer to the Musketeers regiment, especially to these four soldiers, she had seen men in shock or confusion more often than she liked.
She noticed his arms trembling, sending tremors through his whole body, while his chin rested against his chest. His eyes were closed tightly as he breathed through whatever was paining or worrying him.

"Aramis." Constance said again, now more forcefully. She didn't dare to touch him yet. She had seen him once in a similar state before. It was after all the happenings with Savoy and Marsac, who he had to kill, as he had fallen in some kind of shock. Then, she had approached him not as careful as now and he had latched out at her.

"Aramis!" She was relieved as the marksman was finally ripped out his world, his head snapping up and glassy eyes staring at her in confusion.
"Constance. When did you arrive?" He looked around the room with a frown on his face.
"A minute ago. You were somehow… gone." She gently grabbed his shaking arm and guided him towards a chair.
"Sit." She ordered but still was surprised as Aramis did as asked without discussion. He more fell onto the chair than sat down controlled, his legs stretched out. He first put his hands on his thigh, but once he saw them shaking he crossed his arms in front of chest – hoping to hide it.
"Are you injured?" Constance then asked as she filled a glass of water.
"No. Not severe at least." He answered truthfully. His bones and muscles arched and he would surely spot a few nice bruises tomorrow, but there wasn't anything dangerous.

"Where is Lemay?" She then asked after handing him the cup and examining the three sleeping men. Athos had a broken arm which had been set, d'Artagnan's head and shoulder had been wrapped in white bandages and Porthos' laid on his stomach, with his back also bound in white. This had to be a lot of work.
"Away. A journey." Aramis muttered and stared at the cup in his trembling hands. He had tried to take a gulp as Constance was otherwise occupied but had only spilled some of the content.
"Were you tending to them all alone?" She asked in shock, hands on her hips and shaking her head furiously.
"Jacque, the stable boy, had helped me." That the boy could only hold the thrashing men down and do not any more of his work stayed unspoken.
"Where are the other Musketeers?" Constance wanted to know. That couldn't be possible! They couldn't just let one man alone to tend to three injured men. Not after he had been with them on a failed mission.
"Palace. There's some feast." Aramis answered drily. He was too tired to answer all these question. Why did she have to ask so much? His brain felt as if it would jump out of his scull any moment and she wanted to know things.

Constance sighed, dragging another chair to sit on the opposite of him. "You should rest, Aramis. Have you eaten anything yet?"

He shook his head and frowned slightly. He wasn't sure when he had last eaten, it's been a while. A day? Two? He wasn't sure and didn't want to think about it, it was too exhausting. He wasn't hungry anyway.

"No wonder you're shaking. When was the last time you have slept properly?"
Aramis shrugged. It was when they had left for the mission, but right now he wasn't sure how many days it had been.
Suddenly there was movement in front of him as Constance stood up and stalked towards the basket by the door. She pulled out an apple and handed it him before she walked over to a window to open it.
"Don't. They will get cold." Aramis murmured tiredly, but nevertheless bit into the fruit. He hadn't the strength left to argue with Constance, who sighed and retreated from the window.
"Lie down after you've eaten." She then ordered and got out some of the fresh sheets she had brought with her to ready another bed for him.
She then put the other sheets over Pothos and d'Artagnan to keep them extra warm. Aramis had barely took two bites off the apple before he staggered to his feet.
Fearing that he would stumble or just fall unconscious where he stood, Constance rushed over to him and placed a arm around his waist.
"I really should stay awake. Look after them." Aramis mumbled as she guarded him to the bed.
"I will stay, alright? I wake you when something happens. Promise." She grinned triumphantly as Aramis nodded slightly. It had never been that easy before to force him to his own luck.
The marksman fumbled with the laces of his boots, but his trembling fingers wouldn't cooperate.
"Let me." Constance made quick work of the boots and then helped him put his legs onto the mattress and places a blanket over his trembling form.
"I will get a fire started." She announced, worrying about the coldness of the man's limbs she had witness as she had guided him to the bed.

But Aramis was already out cold, finally relaxing and some of the tremors lessening.