"The Comtesse is dead, Aramis," Athos told him. "It is finally over."
Aramis' eyebrows raised at this. "S...she is really d...dead finally?" his voice still barely audible, and his facial expressions letting them know it was very painful for him to try to speak.
"Yes," Athos continued emphatically. "You are finally free of her, mon ami," his eyes resting on the horrible red/black marks left by the noose on his brother's neck, and wondering how someone could ever get over the trauma it had caused.
Porthos, when silence stretched out in the room as Aramis absorbed the news, said, "Are you hungry? Would you like to try eating something? Just nod or shake your head," mindful of the soreness of his throat.
Aramis, who was starving,slowly nodded his head, not sure, though, if his throat would allow it yet.
Porthos heated up a small pot of soup over the fire, bringing it to his brother and sitting down beside him.
Realizing that the arm that he normally used to eat with was broken as and he was unable to handle a spoon, Aramis tried with the other, as he was ambidexturous and determined to feed himself.
But he was still so weak from his captivity that his hand shook. Shaking his head, he slowly handed the spoon back to Porthos, hating to have to be spoon-fed like a small child.
The big man dipped the spoon into the soup, then brought it to Aramis' mouth.
His first facial reaction reflected how good the soup tasted on his tongue. But when he tried to swallow, his expression changed to one of pain. His throat wouldn't accept the food going down.
When his face fell, Porthos knew his brother could not handle anything more than clear broth. So he removed the bowl, and carefully took the tiny bits of delicious beef and vegetables out.
Trying again, Aramis' face wore an expression almost of bliss as he was finally able to swallow it.
Sighing after being able to finish a third of the bowl, Aramis signalled to Porthos that he could not eat any more.
Within moments of finishing the soup, Aramis was asleep again, even the little activity of being fed tiring him out.
His brothers were well pleased that he finally was able to get some nourishment. They settled down to get a little more rest now that Aramis had fallen asleep.
But an hour later, the quiet and slumber were broken by an anguished scream from their brother.
Rushing to his bedside, they beheld him thrashing wildly. He had thrown off all the blankets, and was panting in the obvious throes of a nightmare.
"P..Please do n..n+ot do th..this. N..no!" reaching up to scrabble frantically at his neck. "S..stop! P..please s..sto..." his last word cut off as if he was choking wildly.
He was once again having nightmares about being hung. The near-hanging was still badly traumatizing him.
He was breathing so fast and erratically now that he couldn't take enough air in.
Porthos held him down gently but firmly to keep him from further injuring himself.
Athos knelt beside the bed. Taking one of Aramis' hands, he said softly, "Aramis, this is Athos. Porthos and d'Artagnan are here,too. You are safe. Do not be afraid, mon ami. We will not let anyone else near you. I promise."
Repeating his words moments later, and then yet again, he finally somehow reached his brother, who gradually calmed down.
Without ever opening his eyes, the marksman's body finally settled down again. But even then, his brothers stayed at his side until Aramis' breathing evened out in sleep.
"I know I said this before," Porthos growled, "but I wish I could bring that Comtesse back just so I could kill her. Aramis should not have to go through this over and over."
Surprisingly enough, Athos agreed, saying, "You and me both, Porthos," the normally level-headed and low-key ex-nobleman's face set and hard as he spoke.
Next morning, they decided to try heading back to Paris. If it was too much for Aramis yet, they could scout around for an abandoned building to stay in.
They had good luck for their journey, as Aramis, riding before Porthos on his horse, slept most of the way, his head laying on the big man's shoulder.
When they came to the top of a grass-covered hill later that day, they all smiled at the beautiful city of Paris spread out before them.
Home!
Finally riding through the gates of their garrison, Aramis limp as a rag doll being held in the saddle by Porthos,Treville, alerted by a sentry, was waiting for them.
Before they even dismounted, their eagle-eyed captain barked out, "What trouble did you uncover this time?"
"The Comtesse," Athos replied, and Treville swore.
"I am going to have a long-overdue discussion with Louis about that woman," he snapped.
Dismounting, Athos answered,
"There is no longer any need, Treville. She is dead. But not before nearly having Aramis hung," the last words causing the usually unflappable Treville's expression to register shock.
Looking up at Porthos and d'Artagnan,he said, "You two, bring Aramis to the infirmary, and I will send a cadet for Dr. Lemay. Athos, my office. Now."
