Dear all, profuse apologies for keeping you waiting and for missing both Friday and yesterday. Real life still manages to get in the way. How on earth did I find the time to go to work? Saturday and Sunday, I was with my support bubble; I seriously don't know what I would have done without them over the past 11 months, especially as I have yet to see family. That will happen at the beginning of June, all things being well. Other than that, I am running (metaphorically) to keep up with myself. Time and the muses willing, I shall try to upload three slghtly shorter chapters this week, starting today. As always, thank you for your forbearance, for reading and for leaving comments.

CHAPTER 50

Aramis had only been asleep for about an hour when he stirred again, driven by his instinct of care. Lying on his back, he looked up in the dimly lit infirmary to see a pair of focused green eyes peering at him over the side of the bed.

"Are you comfortable down there?" Athos asked, sotto voce.

Grinning broadly, Aramis hastily sat up, bringing their heads level, although not at the same angle so he tilted his, all the better for seeing his friend clearly.

""Hello! How long have you been awake?" he asked, the delight at seeing Athos more alert than before imbuing him with a new-found energy.

"Not too long."

"You should have prodded me or something," Aramis gently chided him.

"You looked peaceful, and I dare say you have worn yourself out."

Aramis regarded Athos thoughtfully. "You look and sound much better. How's the head."

"I have a pounding headache, but I believe that I will survive."

"I'll get you something to ease that," and Aramis made to move.

"There is no rush." Athos gestured towards the empty bowl on the floor by a corner of the pallet. "Are you feeling unwell?"

Aramis chuckled softly. "No, you fool. It's there for you, should you need it. You have a head injury, remember? It's usually accompanied by some unpleasant side-effects. Do you feel sick at all?"

Athos thought for a moment. "No."

"That's good then," Aramis said cheerily. He took a deep breath, mindful of his next question and wondering if he would have an answer. "What do you remember?"

There was a pause and he feared that Athos' silence was indicative of the events remaining blank in his mind.

"There was a bomb," Athos said slowly, "during the procession to Notre Dame."

"And?" Aramis probed gently. He had yet to determine whether Athos was remembering of his own volition or just repeating what had been said to him earlier and now dredged from the dark recesses of his subconscious.

Athos frowned. "We had reached the narrowest part of the route when, for some reason, we slowed to a halt. Something had happened up ahead, and I heard the Captain shouting."

Aramis could hardly conceal his delight, especially when his brother drew breath and continued his account.

"I saw a man, a scarred man in the crowd." Athos' brow furrowed in deep concentration. "I knew him, but I can't recall why. I saw him throw something and saw that it was a bomb. I yelled a warning and….. I had to do something but …." His voice trailed away with the fading memory and his face creased in anguish.

Aramis rested a hand comfortingly upon his arm. "Well done! You have remembered more than you did before."

"Before?" Athos looked puzzled for his prior moments of consciousness had been all too brief to stay with him.

"This is not the first time you have woken but you have now recalled events of your own accord. That is good and shows that you will probably recall it all before too long."

The words were meant to reassure and encourage, and Aramis strove to contain his lingering doubt. He resolved not to press his brother too hard for more information.

Athos began to push himself up from the pillows, causing Aramis to scramble to his knees.

"What are you doing? You have to stay still."

"I have to …. get up," Athos insisted through gritted teeth.

"No, you must stay there. It is too soon for you to think about leaving here."

Athos stilled and gazed at him, a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "Now who's the fool?" he asked fondly, turning Aramis' words on him. "I need to use the pot."

"Ah! Wait a minute," Aramis laughed as, realising his error, he stood. He pulled his pallet out from between the cots to give Athos room to stand and, placing a chair beside him, he retrieved the required pot from beneath the cot and set it on the seat for the injured man.

"Now we're ready. Let's get you up," and Aramis leaned in to offer his assistance.

It was a slow, laborious process to get Athos on his feet and it was not achieved without the occasional hiss of pain as his bruised and battered body complained. Clad only in his braies and standing with his bare feet on the cold floor, he swayed dangerously at being vertical for the first time in many hours.

"I'll stand behind you and support you," Aramis stated, not prepared to take any nonsense from his fiercely independent brother. To his surprise, there was no opposition and he stored away the information as a valid indication as to how Athos was really feeling.

He removed the pot for emptying whilst Athos remained standing, hanging onto the chair back to steady himself as he got used to the sense of being on his feet. It also afforded him the opportunity to look around the infirmary, taking in the occupied beds and the Musketeers who moved quietly between the patients, tending to their every need.

"How many?" he asked as he resisted Aramis' efforts to lower him back to the cot.

"What?" Aramis was not following the train of thought, nor did he see the haunted expression on the other man's face as he bent to straighten the bedding.

"Dead and injured. How many?" Athos demanded, his face and tone bleak.

Aramis caught him by the elbow. "We don't have to do this now," he said gently.

"How many?" Athos repeated.

Knowing that Athos would not be distracted and would persist until he heard the answer, Aramis sighed. "Of the dead, four were Musketeers, five Red Guard, three of Brodante's men and the same for civilians."

Athos took a deep, shuddering breath at the news. "Which Musketeers?"

He closed his eyes as Aramis named their comrades who had been killed by the explosion. Swaying again, he swiped angrily at his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"And the injured?" he ground out, his emotions betraying him.

Aramis knew that he had to be honest, that there would be no placating Athos. "Too many to count. You were unconscious when things were at their worst in here. Every cot was filled and as many pallets covered the floor. At least now, the Red Guard have mainly been returned to their barracks and the civilians have been taken home. The walking wounded were treated in the yard. Things are much quieter now. Will you please sit down?"

But Athos was wrestling with his thoughts, trying to order the chaos inside his head as memories resurfaced in wild confusion.

He grabbed a fistful of Aramis' shirt, an abrupt action that threatened to topple him, but the marksman caught him and held him fast by the shoulders.

"Ferdinand? Was Ferdinand hurt? He was in front of me; we were running."

At that, Aramis grinned. "Only by your landing on him. The blast probably knocked you over and you both went down. He hit his head and was knocked out for a short while. Other than that, he was fine and went back to the Louvre a few hours ago."

"And the Ambassador?"

"Totally unscathed. He, too, is at the palace now, unlike his wretched interpreter who's making a nuisance of himself in the side room." Aramis glared at the door which had been left ajar so that they could hear when the little man called out. For now, though, he was silent.

"And Porthos? I have not seen him. Is he unhurt? What are you holding back? Have you told me everything?" Athos tried desperately to look around Aramis at the occupied beds to see if the big Musketeer was one of the occupants.

"Easy!" Aramis insisted as he applied pressure on Athos' shoulders to induce him to sit. "There's no need for alarm. Porthos is absolutely fine. In fact, he caught the bomber and questioned him with the Captain. If he's not guarding the prisoner right now, he will be having something to eat, which is what you should be doing."

Athos shook his head and instantly regretted it for the ensuing pain it caused; it was as if his befuddled brain were rattling around in a skull too big for it. Food was farthest from his mind as he beat his brow with the palm of a hand.

"Stop it!" Aramis berated him, catching at his wrist. "If you're trying to banish a headache, that is not the way to go about it."

"What if I am attempting to knock some sense and clarity into myself?" Athos grumbled.

"I doubt that'd work either! Why do you always have to be so hard on yourself?" Aramis knew he was asking a rhetorical question. "Memories have started to come back, which is a good sign. The rest should come back to you soon, but you must be patient."

"I cannot help feeling that whatever it is that is in my head is urgent," Athos moaned. "I have to remember what it is; something to do with the bombing."

"Well, if it's any help, the last time you woke up, you kept saying that you needed to remember something about Gallegos," Aramis offered.

"Gallegos?" Athos looked bemused, as if hearing the name for the first time.

"That's what you kept saying, although it might not be relevant." Aramis watched Athos carefully, saw him mulling over the prompts he had been given, noted when he closed his eyes to shut out his discomfort. "Your head is bothering you. I'll get you a pain draught."

Before he had even taken a step, he was surprised by Athos almost leaping to his feet again, over-balancing and grabbing wildly at him to avoid falling.

"Now what do you think you're doing? Why can't you do as you're told and just stay put for once?" Mild irritation crept into Aramis' tone as he steadied his friend again.

"I have to see the Captain," Athos insisted, pushing against Aramis' hands. "I have to tell him."

"Tell him what? Let me send for him while you get back into bed; you're hardly dressed to go after him. Besides, I know he was going to see the Cardinal and I don't know if he's returned from the palace yet. You have to rest."

The pair continued to struggle as Aramis sought to restrain Athos and prevent him from leaving but at that moment, the infirmary door opened .

"What's going on here?"

The authoritative voice stopped the two friends instantly.

"I was coming to find you," Athos declared, endeavouring to pull himself upright to a semblance of attention upon seeing the officer. He failed miserably.

Tréville's lips twitched as he fought to suppress a smile. It was difficult to take the younger man seriously dressed as he was in his undergarments, bare-footed, head bandaged, visibly swaying and peering over his brother's shoulder.

"Then it is just as well that I decided to come and see you, isn't it? Now, get back into bed this instant and then you can tell me what is so important," the Captain ordered, hands on hips as he waited to be obeyed, even though he was anxious to hear whatever it was that Athos had to say and hoping that it was something he could use.

The meeting with Richelieu had been long and difficult, especially as the Cardinal was almost apoplectic with rage at the atrocity perpetrated on the Paris street. At least he was no longer unfairly blaming the Musketeer regiment, claiming that they were negligent in their duties. It had been an instinctive reaction, but he had since taken the time to visit his regiment where he prayed for the souls of the dead and saw for himself all those who had sustained injuries.

When he had listened to what Tréville had to tell him, he was adamant about one thing.

The confrontation with the Spanish Ambassador was coming and it would be sooner rather than later.