Authors note: As the last chapter is quite short, I'll let you have two today. Thanks for all the comments so far. 😊

Chapter Five

Another bright day meant Treville had set himself up at a small table on the veranda outside his room. He was able to keep a subtle eye on the comings and goings within the garrison. He was expecting his four best men back at any moment. It had not been pleasant to send them on the assignment. Particularly when the political prisoner they were escorting to an almost certain execution was so polite to them all and accepting of his fate.

The long journey to the border and back would have left his men tired. Treville intended to give them a couple of days leave before he put them back to normal duties. Although he doubted the men would take the leave, they would each find themselves jobs that needed doing regardless.

He had managed to send out several of the cadets with a handful of commissioned men on a brief training exercise. But he knew that there were important visitors due at the Palace in the next couple of weeks and he would not be able to spare his men for additional training. There was a fair chance he would be required to press the cadets into patrols and guard duty. Treville sighed, he had a busy couple of weeks ahead of him.

Taking an idle moment away from the laborious paperwork Treville stood, he stretched his back for a few seconds before leaning his forearms on the balustrade. The stable boys were busy rubbing down a couple of horses across the yard. In the distance, he could hear the sound of muskets being fired, with regimented regularity. Some swords were clashing periodically out of sight. The cadets who had not gone on the training exercise were busy practising and improving. The sounds were comforting to Treville.

The sound of four horses entering the yard was also a comfort, his men had returned. With a smile, he looked down at them. His smile faltered. It was clear from the men's demeanour that something was wrong.

Athos was sporting obvious bruises to his head. He was riding alone, Treville concluded that the head wound was not causing him too much pain. But it was the swordsman's actions that drew Treville's attention.

Athos was looking around the yard. He had not led the rest of the men in as he would normally have done. He was riding next to Aramis. Porthos had led the men in. Athos did not appear to know where he was.

Treville slowly started to walk towards the stairs his eyes on his men as he went. D'Artagnan dismounted and helped Athos down, keeping a steadying hand on the man's arm for a second.

Athos continued to look about himself, looking up at the buildings around him and across the yard at the stables. He looked in the direction that the firing muskets could be heard.

With a sinking feeling, hoping that he was wrong, Treville knew what had happened to his man.

As he walked towards his men he noticed Aramis glance towards him. Subtly the marksman held up his hand, requesting Treville to stop his approach. Trusting his men to know what they were doing Treville paused.

Porthos joined Athos and d'Artagnan as they walked towards the mess. Aramis watched them go before handing his horses reins to the waiting stable boy. He sighed, looked at the ground for a few seconds before turning to Treville and closing the gap between them.

'How bad is it?' asked Treville his gaze on the door to the mess.

'Bad,' was the marksman's simple reply.

Treville looked at Aramis expectantly. Did he really want to hear the report from his field medic?

'There was a skirmish, he was kicked. He was unconscious for a while. When he came around he had no memory of us…' Aramis paused for a moment. 'He has no memory at all. He doesn't even know himself. There's been no sign of his memories coming back.'

Treville looked towards the stables for a moment.

'He seemed confident on the horse.'

'Yes, he didn't have an issue with riding, he knew how to deal with the tack...but he knows nothing of soldiering. It's...I've...I've seen memory loss before, but not to this extent. I don't know what we can do...If there is anything we can do.'

Treville had every sympathy for Aramis, 'I'm sure you did everything you should have done.'

Aramis nodded, 'I don't think there was much I could do…'

'What do you propose we do now?' asked Treville trusting that Aramis would have already been thinking ahead.

'I'd like to talk to Lemay. He's quite progressive in most of his thinking. He will know more about this than I.'

Treville nodded, the court physician was a good man who had helped them before. He knew the man would gladly help them, if he could.

Aramis had not finished, 'I have heard that taking a person who has memory loss to places that should be familiar to them can help…I have no idea if that is wishful thinking or not, but...'

Treville nodded, 'but it is worth a shot,' he said.

Aramis looked back at the door to the mess before speaking again, 'could we have a couple of days? Can you spare us?' he asked.

Treville made some mental calculations. He had planned on giving the four of them a couple of days leave anyway, he nodded.

'Do what you think will help. We can regroup in two days' time. If there is no change we will decide what to do then.'

'Thank you, Captain,' replied Aramis as he turned to go.

'And whatever happens, we will deal with it.'

Aramis nodded again as he walked from the garrison. Treville was not entirely sure that Aramis was not blaming himself, despite there clearly being nothing the man could have done. Deciding that it would be best to leave Athos in Porthos and d'Artagnan's care for the time being Treville returned up the stairs. If he was needed he would make himself available.

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Porthos knew the garrison would be quiet when they returned. It would have been difficult to deal with Athos when the garrison was full of people greeting them and asking how they were. Athos would no doubt have been overwhelmed.

They had spent the remainder of the journey back to Paris talking about general things. Aramis had said they should not bombard Athos with questions. Athos, in turn, did not ask questions about himself or them. It was obvious he was having enough trouble making sense of what he already knew. Porthos had spotted him fiddling with his pauldron a couple of times when he thought they were not looking. His weapons were carefully stowed away with d'Artagnan's kit.

D'Artagnan had talked generally about the farming land they passed; Athos had been interested but had shown no knowledge. Porthos had briefly talked about the Court of Miracles and some of the other less salubrious areas of Paris; Athos had made it quite clear he had no intention of going near such places. Aramis had talked about the weapons they each carried, and the others they used, even going through the steps of loading and firing a musket; Athos had listened, but his expression had shown no comprehension of the weapon Aramis had described.

As they had entered Paris, Porthos had moved ahead of the others as Aramis and d'Artagnan closed ranks beside their injured brother. Aramis was close enough to take the reins and lead Athos' horse if needs be. They did not want Athos to become startled and veer off with the horse.

Porthos had been relieved when they turned into the garrison gateway.

D'Artagnan led them into the mess. Athos held the door for Porthos before turning to look at the room properly. Fortunately, it was empty apart from Serge pottering around at the back, laying out some food for any men who required a midday meal. Athos stood a few feet from the door looking around, taking in the tables and shelves, the wear and tear. Porthos watched him for a second, trying to see any hint of recognition.

Athos made eye contact with him, Porthos almost looked away feeling ashamed for staring at his friend.

'I'm sorry, Porthos,' said Athos, 'I don't know this place.'

Porthos managed a smile, 'that's alright.'

'You lot are early,' moaned Serge, from across the room.

Athos took a step back as the older man advanced towards them, a hefty knife held in his hand. Serge was pointing the knife at them as he spoke. D'Artagnan intercepted the former soldier and turned him around leading him back a few paces talking to him quietly. Porthos saw the change in the man's demeanour, the arm holding the knife dropped, his shoulders slumped slightly.

As the quiet conversation continued Porthos led Athos to a table and pulled out a chair for him. Obediently Athos sat down. He sat neatly with his hands in his lap and continued to look around the room. Porthos wondered if Athos' new personality was anything like he had been in his younger days? Or was it a defence mechanism, to remain quiet and watchful of everything?

'That's Serge, our cook. He's a bit brusque occasionally but he has a good heart and he looks out for us all,' said Porthos, finding it odd having to introduce a man that Athos had known for years.

Serge looked over at Athos and smiled, he put the knife down on the nearest table and walked over. He wiped his hands on his apron, which already bore the marks of the days food preparation.

'He says,' said Serge pointing back at d'Artagnan, 'that you've 'ad a bump on the head.'

Athos nodded slowly and glanced at d'Artagnan who smiled reassuringly.

'I've heard that people who are struggling to remember things should be reminded of things they like...so I'm gonna make your favourite meal.'

Athos nodded again, 'what's my favourite meal?'

Serge, who had been leaning forward slightly, stood up straight, 'you've always been partial to my mutton stew.'

Serge spoke with a confidence that Porthos did not share. Athos was not a lover of food, he was a lover of wine. Serge was, perhaps, a little deluded as to what Athos liked. Porthos wondered if Athos had complimented their cook at some point out of genial politeness and Serge had taken it to mean that the swordsman had enjoyed the food. Either way, Serge was doing what he could.

'But for now, there's bread and cheese and a few bits of leftover meat,' he said nodding toward the table at the back of the room. 'I need to get some bits for the stew.'

Serge bustled out of the room muttering to himself about out of season vegetables. As he closed the door d'Artagnan pulled out a chair to join Athos and Porthos at the table.

'Sorry,' said the young Musketeer, 'he means well.'

'I'm sure he does,' remarked Athos, 'but I have no idea what mutton tastes like, will I remember it when I eat it?'

Porthos sighed, 'that's the problem, ain't it,' he said, 'we don't know.'

Athos blinked a few times and tried to stifle a yawn. Porthos glanced at d'Artagnan who looked concerned.

'Sorry,' Athos said, 'I...feel tired again. The ride and... all this...it's...quite a lot to take in. The city, it's very busy…'

'You need to rest,' said Porthos.

As he spoke he realised that they now faced the problem of where to let Athos sleep. It was not really appropriate to take him to the infirmary, the room could be needed for an emergency, which would do nothing for the slightly on edge state that Athos was constantly in. Athos' own rooms were too far from the garrison, the thought of making the poor man walk through the city again so soon felt cruel to Porthos.

'There's a spare bed in your room, isn't there?' said d'Artagnan who must have been thinking along the same lines.

'Well really it's his bed,' replied Porthos.

Athos looked confused when Porthos had indicated him.

'You used to share a room with Aramis and me. But you took rooms in the city...you...er...wanted some space.'

Athos looked a little surprised, 'didn't we get on very well?'

D'Artagnan smiled, 'yes we all get on very well, but sometimes people need a little time to themselves. You're the sort of person who enjoys a little solitude.'

'Why?'

D'Artagnan looked at Porthos. Porthos did not know how to respond either. To explain the reasons for Athos' need for space would take a while, and even then, they did not know all the details.

Athos sensed the unease his question had created.

'It's alright. I'm sure there will be time to explain what I'm like...to me,' he paused, smiling, 'it must be difficult for you all. You've lost your friend and you're stuck with a stranger...who can't even look after himself.'

Athos smiled. Porthos was still struggling to come to terms with the potential loss of their brother. And this stranger in his friend's body was smiling at him.

'I'll take you up there,' said d'Artagnan rising from the table, 'you can sleep for a few hours, and then you can try the delights of Serge's mutton stew.'

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