Just a heads up. I do not write death fics.

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Aramis automatically tensed up on hearing someone nearby.

"Who's there?" he called, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

No reply.

There was nothing he could do. His body wouldn't allow him to move.

Then, a small, young voice asked, "Are you going to die, Monsieur?"

The young boy from the family he had attempted to help bent down over him, face scrunched up in fear and confusion as he looked down at Aramis' face.

Aramis could feel his cramped muscles relaxing as he beheld the boy.

He spoke quickly to allay the boy's fears.

"I hope not, young man."

He asked him, "What happened..to your mother and f..father?" realizing belatedly that he probably shouldn't have asked, considering what was happening when he had seen them. His breath hitched as he spoke, despite his efforts to prevent it. He really didn't want to scare this young boy.

But the boy was already answering, tears now dripping down his face.

"They took them away. I don't know where they are. I'm afraid, Monsieur," his voice now shaking with emotion as he spoke. "The bad men said I couldn't come."

"It's.. all right," Aramis said, wishing he could wipe the tears away and give him some comfort, and hoping his parents had come to no harm. "M..maybe my friends will come, and they w..will get your p..parents back."

The boy looked at him for a long moment, hope mixing with sorrow.

Then, realizing that this could be the answer to his unspoken prayers, Aramis continued. "You c..could help me a little while you're w..waiting for them to return."

The boy answered, "How could I help a Musketeer? You are all strong. And smart. And..."

Aramis gently interrupted, realizing the boy's father must have told his son about his coming for a visit.

Smiling through his pain, Aramis asked, "Do you think…" stopping when a particularly vicious stab of pain shot through him, causing him to gasp from it.

"Monsieur?" the boy said, worry filling his little face even more.

"It's.. all right," Aramis breathed out the words slowly. "It just h..hurts," wishing the boy didn't have to see the blood all over him, his clothes and the ground.

Trying now to divert the boy's attention a little, he asked him his name.

"Emile," the boy told him, "and you're Aramis. My papa told me."

"Emile, I w..wouldn't ask this of you if I d..didn't have to. But I am unable to m..move myself right now."

"I want to help," Emile replied, with the usual eagerness of children when an adult gave them responsibilities.

"The..that's good, Emile," Aramis said. "Now, l..listen carefully. C..could you go t..to your farm, and g..get an old sh..shirt of your p..Papa's maybe. I c..can tear f..for bandages. And a sm..small bucket of w..water? C..can you do that?"

Emile nodded his head, unconsciously straightening with pride that he could be a help to a grown man, and not just any grown man, but an actual Musketeer!

"I can do it! I'll be right back!" he said, turning and running back towards his farm as he spoke.

Aramis figured the men probably wouldn't return, even if they let Emile's parents go. They wouldn't know but what more Musketeers might show up. But just in case he was very wrong with his hunch, he began to pray for Emile-and himself.

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With all the energy of a typical young boy, it didn't take long for Emile to reach his family's house.

Going inside, he raced into his patients' bedroom, and straight to the old rickety chest-of-drawers their clothes were in.

Flinging them out of the drawers in his hurry, he soon found an old shirt of his papa's. Clutching it to his chest, he ran back out of the house, leaving the mess he had made on the floor.

He headed for the well. His mama sent him to get her extra water sometimes, when his papa was out in the field, do he was familiar with how it was so done.

Laying the shirt on the ground, he lowered the bucket down the well.

He was just about to pull it back up again, when he heard horses approaching. He froze.

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Aramis was still unable to move without racheting up the pain. He had tried. Once Emile had left on the errand he had sent him on, he had felt guilty for asking a young boy to go and do it.

So, he had once more attempted to get to his knees, hoping that if he did, he could somehow reach his feet. But the agony it gave him caused him to pass out after only two tries.

He lay there, looking up at the puffy white clouds drifting across a brilliant blue sky, around him a beautiful green landscape of trees and grass. Ordinarily, he delighted in the beauty of nature, but at the moment, it only reminded him that he was alone and in danger of possibly succumbing to his injury, with only a young boy to help.

But still, he prayed fervently for the boy's safety. Help him to return to me safely, Lord. Don't let anything happen to him.

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Emile saw horses approaching him, and shrunk back, afraid they were more of the bad men who took his mama and papa, and shot the Musketeer, Aramis.

They came across towards the well, silent. They had a lot of weapons on them, he thought, the thought scaring him even more.

The youngest one of them saw his fear, and said, "We are not here to harm you."

The boy looked at the other two.

One of them looked down upon him with a stern face partially hidden by his hat, which had been tilted downwards.

The other one was a giant of a man, and he, too, was silent.

The youngest dismounted, hands held away from his body to show the boy he meant no harm.

"Are your parents here?" he asked, looking around him as he spoke.

"Bad men took them," the boy replied.

"What bad men? How long ago?"

"D'Artagnan," admonished Athos, "one question at a time. He is frightened."

"D'Artagnan knelt down in the dust to come down to the boy's level, saying softly, "It's all right. We are the King's Musketeers, and…."

The boy, now excited, said, "Are you looking for Aramis?" causing all three of them to look at each other.

Athos now took over. "We are his brother's. He failed to return when we expected. Is he here?"

"He's hurt bad! He asked me to come get some water and one of my papa's old shirts."

Alarm registered on all three of them's faces.

"Show us where he is," Porthos told the boy.

The boy started to turn around to lead them to Aramis, when he suddenly stopped.

"He needs water!" the boy cried, going towards the well.

"We will get the water," d'Artagnan said, beginning to pull the rope holding the bucket up. D'Artagnan remounted, the boy handing up the now-filled bucket.

Once the water was collected, the boy turned and practically ran in the direction from which he had left Aramis.

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Coming over a gentle rise, they were horrified to see their brother lying motionless in a wide expanse of grass, totally motionless, eyes closed, and blood on his clothing, his hands, and the grass beneath him.

TBC