Next day when he awoke, they coaxed him into having some chicken broth, and were very pleased when he finished almost half the small bowl.
Over the next couple of days, he awoke once or twice each day, but was mostly quiet. They didn't press him to speak, as letting him heal was most important . Each time, he ate some of what Serge had prepared for him.
The nightmares weren't as frequent, but still occurred. They wondered if he would remember them as he gradually stayed awake longer. They really needed to figure out why he was having them, with the very uncharacteristic fear they caused.
Finally, after about a week, Athos asked him how he was feeling, and if anything was disturbing him.
Aramis told him that he was still in pain, which Athos had already noticed, as his brother winced whenever he tried to shift his position.
"Your sleep...you do not have dreams, Aramis?"
Aramis was silent. Athos gently prompted him, and finally the marksman said softly, "Eyes. I see eyes."
Athos could tell that Aramis was very uncomfortable talking about the subject, so he dropped it.
He changed the subject entirely, asking Aramis if he would like dessert with his evening meal. He knew Aramis was getting better, when he said, "If Porthos does not eat it first," with a little smile, and the way he looked at Athos told him he knew he was changing the subject.
Athos was amazed sometimes with Aramis' ability to know what his brothers were thinking.
That same innate sense also came in a different way sometimes when the marksman sensed danger near them, and had probably saved one or more of their lives countless times.
It didn't always happen, though. Nothing had warned him an enemy was near with a dagger. He had not known, or he might have been able to prevent it, instead of nearly dying.
Aramis closed his eyes in sleep again, and Athos, watching him slumber, gave profound thanks that his brother had survived.
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Porthos was on duty with Aramis much later that evening. He was so thankful his brother appeared to be pulling through. They had already seen him go through so much, he just wanted him to enjoy as many restful hours as possible to recuperate.
His musings were interrupted a little later. He heard a knocking on the door.. He knew it wasn't Athos and d'Artagnan, because they had gone to see if they could find some treats for Aramis in Serge's kitchen. Porthos walked over to the door, opening it to look out. He didn't see anyone, and turned around to go back in, when something slammed into the side of his head, and he dropped heavily to the ground in the doorway.
A figure moved swiftly, stepping over Porthos' prone body and moving to the bed. Leaning over, a dagger in his hand, he clamped one hand over the marksman's mouth, whispering, "I always get my man," moving the pistol to point at the side of Aramis' head, just as the marksman began to wake up.
Aramis' eyes fluttered open to a scene straight out of a nightmare. A man was grinning down at him, while pointing a pistol to his head.
He felt the cold metal against his skin. But that didn't unnerve him. It was the eyes staring at him through the mask covering most of his face.
Aramis' heart nearly stopped at the sight. His whole body froze.
The masked man watched his victim's reactions with a grin still on his face.
"You, my friend, are looking at death," he said. "Someone has paid me extremely well to take care of you. It was so easy for my comrades to create a diversion while I came in here."
He seemed to enjoy taunting his victim, and continued.
"I am the highest-paid assassin in France, maybe the highest-paid on the continent," he boasted.
"Do you realize I have never failed to execute a job?" he said, cocking the pistol now.
A pistol shot blasted then, and the braggart collapsed against the bed, clutching at his chest as blood flowed rapidly. His eyes closed as a voice behind him said, "Until now," as Athos stepped around the body and reached Aramis' bed, a still-smoking pistol in his hand.
Reaching Aramis, he could see that he was trembling very badly, eyes wide and staring at the body.
Athos, looking down now at the face he couldn't see before, knew why Aramis was reacting the way he was, and sitting down on the bed, gently pulled his brother's upper body against him to comfort him.
Aramis couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the man, though, staring at the mask-covered face.
He whispered briefly, "Eyes!"
"Aramis," Athos softly spoke to his brother. "He is dead, Aramis. He can never hurt you or anyone else again."
He could tell, though, that he wasn't being heard.
Trying again, this time using a voice of command, he said, "Aramis! Sharply.
Startled, the soldier in Aramis responded instantly, looking at Athos's face.
"He is dead, Aramis. See my pistol? It is still smoking from being fired."
Realizing what might reach the marksman, he bent down as Aramis watched, and pulled the mask off. It revealed an ordinary man's face, bearded and just beginning to go bald. The eyes were closed in death.
Athos took the mask, and crumpled it with his hands, twisting it until it looked like just a rag.
Aramis, watching him, slowly looked up at Athos' face, saying, "It is over," emphasizing 'is', his voice just beginning to sound relieved.
Athos, watching him, heaved a sigh of relief. They were getting their brother back. Aramis had not been himself since the whole episode had started, and Porthos and d'Artagnan were going to be so happy when he told them.
He asked Aramis if he would like all of his brothers to come have the evening meal with him, and his face lit up, nodding yes.
Athos stood and reached down, grabbing hold of the dead man. He dragged the body to the door, then around the corner, so Aramis didn't have the body next to his bed. He then called a couple of the cadets to dispose of it for him.
Leaning back around the door, he told Aramis he would be right back with their other brothers.
Aramis, looking so much like his old self, just smiled.
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That evening, there was much rejoicing among the brothers. Aramis enjoyed every moment. They all did.
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The Comtesse exploded at the servant who came to tell her that Jacques was dead, killed by a Musketeer before he had been able to carry out her wishes.
"We will see about that," she hissed, ordering the servant with the bad news from her presence.