Aramis

Silence slowly penetrated his soul. A silence broken only by Treville's labored breathing. Aramis knew all too well how painful it was to breathe with broken ribs. He adjusted the Captain into a more upright position, then cursed when he realized that his commander's skin was warmer.

He checked on the wound. At this stage, it was impossible to tell if the swelling and redness around the wound were due to infection or merely to the rough handling that been necessary to dig out the bullet. The marksman applied another portion of the poultice, then put a cold rag on the Captain's forehead and neck. He hated feeling so helpless. His brothers had left him behind, entrusting him with their leader's life. He could not fail them...and he could not fail Treville.

Cold water from the wet cloth trickled down Treville's face. He shivered, then sluggishly tried to lick the moisture from his lips. The medic took advantage of the opportunity, and tried to coax his commander into drinking the bitter tea which would help fight off infection.

Captain took a sip, and winced. His eyelids fluttered, and he whispered a word or two. Aramis leaned towards him.

"Please, drink, sir. I know it tastes terrible, but it will help you."

Treville took another sip. Then he slowly opened his eyes. They were bright with fever, his gaze unfocused.

"Don't waste your time," he muttered, his voice low and hoarse.

Where else would I be? Saving my Anne. But no-I am not wasting my time!

"Caring for you is not a waste of time," Aramis replied calmly, willing himself to rein in his anxiety and fury.

"I saw him. I saw his wounds… those empty eye sockets… I can't forget them."

Aramis took in a deep breath. He did not doubt that his Captain had seen many atrocities. It was not surprising that the memories would haunt him in the guise of his fevered dreams. Still he was astonished, and somewhat worried, to hear Treville talking about his nightmares. This was not the first time he had tended to his commander. Usually when he ran a high fever, Treville merely mumbled incoherently.

"They took his eyes…"

His eyes. His. Not their. Not the crows pecking out their eyes. Not Savoy.

"Sir, don't think about it now. You are injured. You have a fever. When you feel better, the ghosts will return to where they belong- in the past." The marksman was relieved that his voice sounded normal. His tone, soft and low, was the one he reserved for the wounded he cared for, but was otherwise normal.

"How can you be so forgiving?!"

"You are a great commander, and a good man. I know there are things you have done-or failed to do-that you regret. But now is not the time to think about that."

"I've failed him. I… can still see him lying there, with the bloody hole in his head…"

"Sir, if you are intent upon discussing your memories, may I suggest another topic? Perhaps you can describe what you recall about the men who took the Queen?"

The Captain did not reply, and seemed to have fallen asleep. Aramis observed him for a while with concern, and a troubling thought suddenly came to him. The Queen's captors could be searching for Treville at this very moment. He had seen the faces of the traitors, so he could easily be perceived as a threat which had to be eliminated.

Aramis cast one more quick glance at the wounded man, then rushed to his room to gather his weapons. After that, he went to the dining room, and seized the Captain's musket and pistols.

As he laid the pile of weapons on the floor, he was relieved to see that his patient seemed to be sleeping peacefully. The marksman primed the guns, then carefully positioned them out of the reach of the wounded man. If Treville's hands started to wander during his hallucinations, the medic did not want them to find.a firearm.

What if their aim was to kidnap Anne and kill Treville? The Captain has proved his undying loyalty to the King, and that could be enough to sentence him to death…although the True Musketeers seemed to be against Anne, not the King. However, their leader had changed recently, and even his own men were questioning his cruelty.

"Who are you?" Aramis murmured, watching the shadows play on the walls. With only a wounded Treville by his side, they would be easy targets for their enemies...but it could not be helped. In order to rescue Anne, Athos needed Porthos and d'Artagnan's help...and it was vital that Constance take the message to the garrison.

My nerves are getting to me. Am I really fit for duty?

Aramis forced himself to take in a deep breath. His fingers ghosted over his favorite pistol as he tried to stay calm.

If Anne was in the hands of the True Musketeers… Why had they taken her? They had stated that their goal was to kill her. So why take her alive?! What did their leader really want from her?!

To humiliate her. To break her.

NO!

He could not allow her to be hurt. But he was stuck here, tending to his wounded Captain, while Anne was somewhere else, defenceless in the hands of her captors.

Even if they succeeded in rescuing her, would the King accept her back at his side, or would he banish her to a cell in a convent?! Among the nobility, it was not unheard of to do such a thing in order to dispose of a woman who carried the taint of possible abuse.

He was usually able to focus his thoughts on an investigation, but a bedside vigil was not helping to rein in his wandering mind.

He stood up, and slowly approached the window, stealing a glance behind the thick curtains. The windows looked out on the garden. They had been careful to close all the curtains in order to keep up the appearance that the house was uninhabited. No one was likely to approach the abandoned estate, but it was better to be cautious.

A dog would be nice to have right now. The ones my father had always warned us when strangers were near.

If he were camping out in the woods, he would trust Orage to warn him. But now, even if his mare did go on the alert, he would have no way of knowing.

Aramis came back to the Captain. He checked his temperature, and cursed. Treville's fever was slowly increasing, despite the medic's best efforts. Aramis flushed the wound with copious amounts of alcohol, then put another poultice on it. He moistened the cloth once again. It was becoming dry much too fast.

"Athos?" Treville rasped.

.

"No. It's Aramis." The medic deliberately lightened his voice."Captain, you should know that Athos is not really cut out to be a nurse."

"Where is Athos?"

"He went to rescue the Queen."

Treville shivered.

"I failed her. She trusted me, and I let her be taken…"

"I'm sure you did everything you could to defend her."

But it was not enough! Not enough to save her!

Treville did not reply. He looked around the room, clearly confused. His eyes finally seemed to focus on Aramis.

"Why are you here?"

Aramis gave him a warm smile. "I am the one skilled in battle medicine."

Treville blinked. It seemed as if the medic's' words had not gotten through to him.

"Yes… I am sorry it ended like this. I should have known…"

The marksman froze. He desperately fought the panic which threatened to overwhelm him.

Why was his commander apologizing to him for the humiliation he had endured?! There was nothing he could have done to protect him...was there?!

"Athos, please, forgive me." His surprise at the Captain's words helped the medic to regain his composure.

"What for?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

.

"If I hadn't sent you away, you could have protected him. Kept him from being taken… after… he was found, there was no chance of keeping him alive. It was only a matter of time…"

I have to ask Athos about this event. It must have been occurred early in his career, before we started to befriend. Granted, we were separated for a few longer missions, but not long enough to hide an ongoing tragedy. Even if Athos was the one hiding it.

A suicide amongst the musketeers was not a rare event. Those who were traumatized by their service usually took one of two paths.

Those who could still fight in battle often sought honorable death in a fight. Through reckless action and lack of any sense of self-preservation, they usually succeeded. Through some sort of irony that was almost bitterly humorous, he and Athos had probably been the most spectacular failures of this breed.

Those who were not fit to fight often turned to their own pistol. In this way, they were finally able to to make their bodies understand what their minds already knew-their lives were over. Treville always allowed them to be buried with honors in the garrison cemetery.

"Captain, please drink." Aramis touched a cup to his commander's lips. The injured man blinked and stared at him for a moment. Recognition was absent in his gaze, but he dutifully sipped the tea. It seemed to calm him down a bit, and he finally began to succumb to sleep.

Aramis started to pray for Treville's health. Latin words easily flowed from his lips, giving him from some respite from his anguished thoughts...until unconsciously, he began to speak Anne's name instead of Treville's. Pain and fear suddenly destroyed the rhythm of his prayers. Then he heard himself repeating one phrase over and over, in all the languages he knew. "God, please, save her!"

A moan interrupted Aramis' trance. He was at the Captain's side in an instant. He cursed himself when he realized that the cloth on Treville's forehead was nearly dry.

"Captain?" he murmured..

The injured man did not reply, but merely leaned into Aramis' hand, searching for the relief of his cool touch.

"Sorry, but I have to check on your wound," the medic said apologetically. He knew it would be painful. He found it concerning that Treville did not even flinch when the wound was exposed. Aramis grimaced when he saw the angry skin.

Now he was sure. It was indeed infected. Yellow pus was gathering on the puckered edges of the wound.

"I am afraid I have to drain your wound. It will be painful," he said, his voice low. The Captain did not respond, and the medic's fear for his patient mounted. He tried to distract himself by laying out the instruments and herbs that he would need. Then he eased the wounded man onto the cot, and laid him flat. He pinned the Captain's legs under his knees. He needed both of his hands free to work on the injury.

Porthos, I need you.

He started to remove the stitches. This was the easy part, as the pain was minimal. Then he turned his attention to cleaning the wound. He was so focused on the task that he never saw the fist that struck a blow on the side of his face. An instant later, he tasted blood.

He seized Treville's hand, and pressed it between his one of his legs and one of the Captain's. He managed to block the blow from the other hand easily, as Treville was much weaker on the wounded side. The medic pinned the arm against his patient's body, and held it in place with his knee.

Only then he could continue draining the wound. The Captain was fighting him, insensible to all of Aramis' pleas.

The medic meticulously worked on the wound. Once all the pus had been evacuated, he irrigated the wound with a large bottle of brandy. The Captain screamed in pain, and his eyes flew open. He stared at Aramis with trepidation.

"It's Aramis, Captain. You're safe. I know this is painful, but I need to tend to your wound. I am sorry."

Treville's eyes were unfocused and glassy.

"Forgive me," he rasped.

"There is nothing to forgive, sir," Aramis said softly.

He put a mixture of plantain leaves and calendula oil into the wound, and applied a fresh bandage. He would have to monitor the wound closely for bleeding, but he prefered to postpone closing it. Often such a treatment, followed by delayed closure of the wound, served to stave off infection. Finally finished, he slid a pillow behind the Captain's head.

Aramis was astonished when he realized that behind the curtains, it was well into the afternoon. He decided he needed to eat, so he took a few bites of some bread and cheese. He was not really hungry, but he knew that he needed to give his body some sustenance. Constance would likely return from the garrison tomorrow evening with reinforcements. He had to be ready to ride out immediately once they arrived.

If they arrive. If she avoided getting killed on the road, and actually got to Paris.

After an hour, Aramis removed the herbs from the wound and stitched it closed. Then he put more of the herbal mixture on it, and applied a fresh bandage.

He would never admit it to anyone but himself, but caring for a wounded, delirious man without any assistance was tiring. Perhaps he was far more less fit than he thought.

He checked on his weapons and prepared some more herbs in case he needed them. After that, only the waiting remained.

When the Captain became restless, Aramis tried to wake him. He was partially successful. Treville was not alert, but was conscious enough to drink a bit of broth, as well as some herbal tea. The medic fervently hoped that he had caught the infection fast enough. The Captain still had a fever, but it had stopped rising. Finally.

Aramis returned to his vigil. He could not deny himself a short nap, but something woke him abruptly. His fingers were resting on the Captain's wrist, and underneath them, he could feel a steady pulse. He exhaled slowly, and gazed at the injured man, who seemed to still be peacefully asleep. Aramis cocked his head, listening for a moment. A sound from outside caught his attention. He slipped to the window and cautiously peered out. In the dimming light, he was able to discern men on horseback. There were four horses, two with men in the saddle.

Everything in him screamed to shoot, but he could not risk injuring his friends. Constance should not be back yet, but still...he could not take the risk.

He opened the window.

"Athos! Ambush!" he shouted. If the men were musketeers, they would have promptly announced themselves. Instead, the riders sought cover. Unfortunately for them, Aramis' bullets hit them before they found any.

He knew now that two of his enemies were already inside. They did not make him wait long. The door suddenly flew open, and a masked man rushed inside, only to be shot dead. The second one took cover behind the door. Aramis started to hastily reload his pistol. The one that was already primed sat directly in front of him.

As an expert marksman, he could load his pistol without looking. The second the door opened, he took aim. Two shots sounded as one. One bullet hit the wall behind Aramis, while his found his enemy's heart.

The marksman knew he should check the perimeter of the estate, but he could not leave the Captain. He checked on the dead men in the room.

True Musketeers.

He collected their weapons. Apart from that, they had nothing useful on them.

"What's wrong?" Treville mumbled.

"They came for you, sir."

"Are you sure you got them all?"

"Fairly sure." Aramis was relieved that the Captain seemed somewhat lucid. He deduced that the shots must have jolted the injured man awake. He knew it wouldn't last, but he could take this opportunity to feed the Captain some broth.

A soft knock interrupted him. He placed one gun on the bed, this time making sure it was within Treville's reach, then aimed the other pistol at the door. He was careful to take up a position where he was able to shield the Captain with his body.

The door opened slowly. He waited, motionless. A slender form slipped in, using the door as a shield. He had anticipated this maneuver, and had positioned himself in just the right spot to aim his pistol. The person froze at the sight of the gun.

Milady was standing at the threshold of the door. She slowly raised her gloved hands, her palms open. A dagger clattered to the floor.

Milady was wearing men's clothes. The dirt and grime of a long journey showed on her garments.

She glanced at his pistol, and arched an eyebrow. "Can we talk?"

"Why are you here?"

He spoke coldly, and was careful to keep his gun trained on her.

"You said didn't work with the True Musketeers."

"And that's the truth."

She cautiously edged into the room. Aramis shifted to track her movements, and she caught a glimpse of Treville.

"I see he is alive after all. So you know that the Queen has been taken."

The marksman was silent for a moment, then lowered his pistol. He did not trust her, but he could guess why the Queen's demise might not be of benefit to the King's mistress.

She cautiously dropped her arms, and gave him a thoughtful look. "And do you know that they plan to put her on board a ship at Le Havre?"

No, we didn't. Despite his attempt to disguise his fear, some degree of shock must have registered on his face.

She continued on, her voice urgent. "I'm certain Rochefort is behind this. My guess is that he wants to take her to Spain. They will say that she has made a narrow escape from horrible abuse at the hands of the French King, and her brother will declare war. Rochefort will return to the King's side after his supposed visit to his dear mother's deathbed, and will do whatever it takes to get the Spanish what they want - France on her knees. The King somehow be drugged or poisoned, so that he will be easy to influence. I believe they planned to kill Treville when they took the Queen, but failed."

Milady paused, and took a deep breath. "You can do whatever you want with this information. I would like to be able to say that I saved your life here or at Fontainebleau, and that because of that, you should trust me. However we both know that I have done no such thing. So, there is nothing I can use in my defense against any accusation of dishonesty." She sighed, and appeared uneasy. "Now that I've told you, I should go. I must be back in Paris before the King realizes that I'm gone."

"Wait!" Aramis stopped her.

I cannot leave Treville alone. Constance left only yesterday. Even if she has already reached the garrison, they won't arrive until tomorrow evening at the earliest. There is no way that my brothers would ever guess that they need to go to Le Havre.

"Sit down for a moment and eat something before you depart. I'm afraid the repast I have to offer you is rather basic, but there is some wine, bread and cheese. Serve yourself. Would you be willing to take a letter to the garrison?"

She gave him a sly smile. "I think I can accommodate you...as long as it doesn't contain an order to execute the messenger."

Aramis flashed her a grin in return. "Not this time."

He sat down at a small desk, and reached for a parchment and ink. He needed to put all the information in the note, but in such a way that it could only be understood by his brothers in arms. He recalled an old code, but was not sure if there would be anyone at the garrison who still remembered it. Milady watched him with interest. When he lifted his eyes, he met her gaze.

"What you said...it means that Rochefort works for Spain."

Milady nodded. "Yes. I think there is a reason for the Spanish ambassador's death. I believe they have lost control of him. They allowed him to escape, but I doubt he's been following their orders." She hesitated for a moment, then said carefully, "There has been some… gossip."

"What gossip?"

"Concerning his obsession with the Queen."

Aramis felt his heart almost stop.

He spoke, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

"Rochefort is notorious for his improper-some would say sadistic-treatment of women."

She averted her eyes. "I know."

The way she spoke moved him to compassion. She might be his enemy, but everything in him screamed for him to defend her. Especially against Rochefort.

She met his gaze once again, and asked, "Do you know how Richelieu died?"

"No. I never thought to ask about the details. We were on a mission."

And then I discovered that he had murdered Adele.

"I see." A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I have often wondered if there was any connection between his death and Rochefort's escape."

He shrugged. "Even if he died at the hands of the Spanish, there is no way that Rochefort killed him. We can only speculate."

He glanced at the Captain, who was still asleep. They were speaking quietly, so he had no fear that they would wake up his patient.

She finished her wine, then stood up. "Well, have you finished your letter? I don't have all night."

He shook his head, and picked his pen again. After a moment of hesitation, he coded the message in the guise of a standard patrol report. There was one person who he knew would be able to decode it...and the marksman was almost certain that he would be at the garrison.

"Give it to Serge. If Constance did not make it to Paris, you will have to tell him who was kidnapped."

She knew how delicate the matter was...at least, he hoped she did.

He finished the letter, then sealed it carefully before giving it to her.

"Stay safe," he murmured, truly meaning it. She offered him a quick smile, and he felt she understood that he was being sincere. Then she left.

He watched through the window as she took her horse and disappeared into the night.

He envied the opportunity she had to act. He felt so helpless, shut away at the estate and unable to take part in the mission to rescue the woman he loved.

He sighed heavily, then returned to his chair at the bedside. He touched the Captain's forehead in order to check his temperature. It was still too high for his liking.

"An unexpected ally."

Treville's hoarse voice surprised him.

Riversidewren, thank you!