Aramis continued to be utterly still and unresponsive throughout the next day.

His brothers kept a close eye on the wound, and his body temperature. His wound showed no sign of infection yet, but they all knew that sometimes, infection showed up later. His skin continued to be icy cold, even with all of their blankets tucked around him.

Through everything, little Emile watched, scared for the nice man who lay on the ground. He saw how much these other men loved him, too.

At one point, d'Artagnan, concerned that the boy didn't understand what was going on, knelt on one knee to get down to his level, and spent several minutes explaining in a way he thought the boy would understand. From that point on Emile became a shadow to d'Artagnan, following him everywhere,his little eyes taking in everything very solemnly.

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It was in the middle of the next night that Aramis began to become restless, his head tossing from side to side, and his arms and legs twitching.

Porthos hurriedly gathered his upper body securely against his chest, then gave reassurances to him, hoping to calm him down.

But Aramis couldn't hear him, his movements attempting to continue. He began to murmur, his voice barely audible and filled with the pain his body was going through.

"I..I d..don't want…t..to die," he whispered, anguish filling every syllable he was able to say.

Porthos' heart clenched when he heard this. "Aramis, mon ami, you're not gonna die. Not on my watch," echoed by his brothers, who had silently joined him.

But Aramis was unable to hear them, lost in his world on pain.

Tossing his head weakly, he spoke in the same scratchy whisper, "*Re..requiem aeternam d..dona eis, D..domine," before falling silent and utterly still.

His brothers, stunned and nearly as still as Aramis prayed the prayer of the dying-into Your hands I commend my spirit- shook themselves, as Athos once again reached to check his brother's pulse. Porthos and d'Artagnan, hearts nearly stopping at the shock, waited uneasily until Athos, with his eyes still on Aramis, told them the words they wanted desperately to hear, "He is still alive. He is unconscious once more."

They all knew it was not a good situation if a patient had already resigned himself to dying. If any fight left in him ceased, it could quite possibly happen.

"We need, at every moment, to let him know, let him feel, that we are here. We need to talk to him, encourage him. It is the only way to show him we do not believe he is dying," seeing their slow nods of agreement.

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They each, on their shifts, lifted his upper body against their chests. Speaking softly, they would recount past missions, lighthearted happenings around garrison life. But especially, they would talk about the future. Even though he never showed any signs that he heard them, they would share possible mission assignments with him, asking him how it might be carried out, what precautions to take, if he thought the ideas they had would work.

Athos, watching d'Artagnan, with Emile close beside him as he sat with Aramis, realized that had one idea that he just couldn't share with Aramis around his brothers. It was too dangerous. Unless

"Porthos, could you and d'Artagnan go down to that stand of trees over there," gesturing towards some spreading oaks a short distance away. "Yes, Emile, you may go, too. We need more kindling for the fire. Aramis' skin is still far too cold. I will stay with him."

Reluctantly relinquishing his brother to Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos, followed by Emile, headed off in the direction had pointed out talking together over more ideas to use with Aramis.

Athos, settling Aramis against him, began gently, rhythmically stroking his hair. Then, he began to speak in the same quiet tones they had all been using with him.

"Aramis, brother, I hope you can hear me. Mon ami, we need you to fight for your life. For us. For the Queen. For your son, Aramis. We all need you. I…we need our brother to come back to us."

Glancing down at where he had directed Porthos and d'Artagnan to go, he focused his gaze back on Aramis' face.

"Aramis, you know I did not approve of what happened at the convent. It could have endangered your life. The Queen's life. But brother, I know in my heart that you do indeed love her, and she you. I can see it every time you are in a room together. I worry for the safety of both of you.

Aramis, she and your son need you to fight to live. Fight for the love I know you have for her. For your son.

"We will be here for you, Aramis. You are not alone. Fight for us, too. We love you, and it will tear at our hearts if we lose you. Fight, Aramis, mon ami," stopping as he heard his brothers' voices approaching.

At the same time, he felt a slight tremor of movement against his chest. Scarcely dating to hope, he took a deep breath to steady himself, then looked down.

He could see a slight movement under Aramis' eyelids, barely enough to notice unless you were a Musketeer who dreaded never seeing them open again.

"Aramis, you can do it. Open your eyes, please," came straight from the heart that some had said didn't exist in the stoic, taciturn Musketeer.

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Porthos and d'Artgnan, with Emile close on their heels, came into the camp, noticing immediately the look on Athos face and his intent attention upon Aramis.

Dropping their kindling like so much rubbish of no importance, they hurried across to where Athos sat with Aramis in his arms.

Porthos began, "What…" only for Athos to hold up a hand, never taking his eyes from Aramis' face.

"There is movement under his eyelids."

D'Artagnan saw that Emile, who was practically in his lap, looked confused at what Athos had just said.

In an undertone, he explained. "When someone is unconscious, one of the first signs that they may be regaining consciousness is their eyes moving under their eyelids, which Athos just saw. Aramis may be about to wake up soon," snd seeing the boy's forlorn little face become a little excited, he thought he had better add, "usually, that is."

The eyes of all of them were glued to Aramis' face.

His eyelids tried twice to lift, only to their intense disappointment, become still again.

But finally, they lifted to half-mast, his eyes showing exhaustion and pain. They weren't focused on anything.

"Aramis," Athos said softly, "Can you hear me, brother?"

Silence. He looked as if he had not heard a sound.

Athos tried again."Aramis?". Just the simple speaking of his name.

This time, with what looked like great effort, his eyes opened fully, shifting slightly to the left towards the voice he had heard. When his eyes beheld Athos, they opened registered what might be surprise, then relief.

"Athos?" His voice echoed the pain of his body.

"And Porthos."

D'Artagnan, enthusiastic with the happiness he felt at seeing his brother awake, chimed in, "And d'Artagnan."What they hadn't expected was that little Emile would also add, And me, Emile!"

"I..I d..didn't think…..I would ever s..see you again," Aramis spoke, voice full of emotion.

In the moment of intense emotions, he made the mistake of trying to reach out to them. His body reacted instantly, lightning bolts of agony ripping through his body badly enough to cause him to scream in pain.

In a heartbeat, Porthos had him cradled against him, soothing him.

"Aramis, it is a little early to move yet. Just lie quietly, brother. We will make sure we bring you back to full health. Let us take care of you the way you have always healed us," Athos told him.

Porthos even though he knew Aramis was, by no means, out of the woods yet, couldn't contain his joy at his best friend finally awake again, said, "You gave us quite a scare. My old heart can't that kind of a jolt, Aramis."

"Go back to sleep, mon ami," Athos told him, "We need you to let us help you, and right now, rest is the best thing in the world."

Aramis looked at his brothers, eyes filled with his love for each of them. He was too tired to stay awake any longer. His eyes were beginning to close, his mind no longer dwelling on the death he did not want.

His brothers smiled, feeling more hopeful than they had since they had found him. They knew, too, though, that with the seriousness of the wound he had sustained, they still needed to give him every ounce of care and love they had for him. But they knew now that he knew he was no longer fighting alone, that they were there for him. They had every hope that it would be enough. But they also knew it would be a long, difficult road yet.

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* Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. The ancient prayer of the dying.

One more chapter of this one-shot next week.

Easter blessings to all of you!