Chapter Six

The door to Lemay's rooms at the Palace was ajar. The court physician was sat at his desk pouring over an assortment of papers. Aramis could see the man from some distance as he walked along the corridor. Lemay seemed oblivious to his approach.

Aramis had been fortunate when he arrived at the Palace to not run into any of his fellow Musketeers. He was in no mood to speak to the other men, as he would have had to tell them about Athos' condition. Aramis was not ready to share the information, it would feel too real if he were to tell anyone else. He knew he was going to find talking to Lemay difficult, but at least he might be able to help or offer them some advice.

Aramis was also pleased not to be intercepted by Marguerite, the woman would have wanted to spend some time with him. Particularly after such a long time apart. And whilst Aramis yearned to see his son, and seeing Marguerite generally guaranteed a chance for that to happen, he knew that baby Louis was in safe hands. Athos, however, had a very uncertain future.

He reached the door, Lemay was still looking closely at his papers. The room was cluttered, with open books spread across his desk. Lemay appeared to be making notes on a piece of paper which was smudged with ink stains. The doctors swooping handwriting was already scrawled across several sheets. The cuff of his white shirt was stained with the ink. Several candles were lit and scattered across the desk haphazardly throwing extra light onto his work. For a man who worked methodically and apparently with order, his office was anything but.

Aramis knocked lightly on the slightly open door. The doctor looked up.

'Aramis,' he said, surprise evident in his voice, 'is anything wrong? Am I needed?'

Lemay pushed his chair back and stood up. Aramis raised his hand and shook his head, urging the man to retake his seat.

'No one is in urgent need of your assistance...at least I don't think you can cure this quickly,' said Aramis.

Lemay slowly retook his seat looking at Aramis with curiosity.

'Then what can I help you with?'

'It's Athos,' said Aramis, 'he was injured yesterday in a skirmish. He took a nasty blow to the head and he…' Aramis paused for a moment.

Aramis realised he did not want to say the words. Did not want to make the situation a reality.

Lemay furrowed his brow. He rose from his seat again and after walking around his desk he pulled up a chair and indicated for Aramis to sit. Aramis did so, realising he needed to. Lemay pulled a second chair across the room and sat opposite him.

'His memory?' Lemay asked.

Aramis nodded, looked at his hat which he was holding on his lap.

Lemay seemed to realise that Aramis was struggling to contain himself, to keep his emotions in check. The toll of the last day catching up with him, now that he was away from his brothers, away from Athos.

'Can he remember anything?'

Aramis looked up, 'he's made new memories, but he didn't know any of us. Or himself.'

Lemay thought for a moment, 'I have read about differing levels of amnesia, but I have never dealt with one of this severity. How is he otherwise? Is the head injury all he sustained?'

'A few bumps and bruises, but we all got knocked about a little...he knew how to ride...but knows nothing of life as a soldier.'

Aramis watched Lemay as the doctor again thought about what he had been told.

'Did any of you know Athos before he became a soldier? Is it possible he has reverted back to how he was a few years ago?'

Aramis shook his head, he could only think of one person who knew Athos before he was a soldier and he had no intention of talking to her.

'A shame,' said Lemay, 'what have you tried so far? I've heard that visiting places that the afflicted person will be familiar with can help to jog the memories.'

'He's at the garrison now with Porthos and d'Artagnan. He has no recollection of the place or the people he has met so far. We intend to take him out into the city tomorrow, show him his rooms and various places.'

Lemay nodded, 'I think that would be a good start...I've also heard that giving the afflicted person a nasty shock can work, but I don't know what kind of shock.'

Aramis was slightly taken aback by the suggestion, 'I'm not sure I want to try that, at least not to start with.'

Lemay smiled, 'I agree, but it might be worth keeping in mind. Would you like me to see him?'

'If you don't mind, I'd like to wait a couple of days for that.'

'Of course, my door is always open for you and your friends,' said Lemay, 'let me know how you get on.'

As they both stood up, Lemay reached across and squeezed Aramis arm, a simple act of solidarity welcomed by the marksman.

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D'Artagnan looked out of the small window down towards the garrison yard. Some of the men were returning. He watched them walking or riding through the gate in small groups. He wondered if word was getting around that Athos had been injured. He wondered if they knew that Athos, as they had known him, was gone. D'Artagnan wanted to remain positive, as Aramis at least appeared to be, but he was finding it difficult. Outwardly he had tried to be supportive to Athos, but it was difficult. Athos was now a stranger to them. The man sleeping on the spare bed behind him was not Athos. D'Artagnan did not know the man.

With a sigh, he turned from the window and looked back at Athos. He had taken his pauldron and doublet off, along with his boots before stretching out on the bed. The man had been asleep within a few minutes. D'artagnan had stepped outside of the room for a few minutes to get some air but otherwise had remained by his side. He did not want the man to awaken alone.

D'Artagnan looked around his friend's room, the room was uncluttered, soldiers had few belongings. Furnished in a similar fashion to the one he shared with two of the other Musketeer; two large trunks sat along one wall, with a chest of drawers between them. A small table with chairs, along with the three beds the only other furniture. The only indication as to which bed belonged to Aramis was the simple wooden cross above it. A well-read book sat on the small table beside Porthos' bed.

When he had stepped out of the room two hours before Treville had wandered over to him. D'Artagnan had explained that Athos was sleeping. Treville had sensed the despondency in d'Artagnan and urged him not to give up hope yet.

Afterwards, d'Artagnan had thought about his Captains words; not to give up hope, yet.

Yet.

Would there come a time when they would have to give up, to accept that Athos was gone. D'Artagnan suspected he would spend much of the next few days wondering if his friend was gone?

'I suspect,' said Athos quietly, 'that you are hoping I will be back to normal each time I wake up?'

D'Artagnan found it difficult not to react to the question. He had not realised Athos was awake and watching him, he had become lost in thought.

'Sorry,' he replied, 'but yes, I am, we are, hoping it.'

'I think I'd like it as well.'

Athos sat up swinging his legs off the bed, he grabbed his boots and pulled them on.

'How are you feeling now?' asked d'Artagnan.

'A lot better, thank you,' replied Athos with a smile.

D'Artagnan still found it odd to see Athos smile so brightly, it was not as if the man did not smile, it just did not happen often. Athos was a quiet, brooding type. He always seemed to have more on his mind than most. Over the time he had known the man, he had gradually learned some of the things that troubled him. This Athos, the one that was looking at him now, did not have those memories to bring him down. This man was empty of the memories that troubled him.

'How long have you been a Musketeer for?' asked Athos. 'I don't know how long I may be like this for, I may be like this forever...so I should probably get to know you and,' he paused for a moment looking off into the distance, trying to find the words, 'Aramis and Porthos.'

D'Artagnan smiled back, this Athos was far friendlier than he was used to.

'It's quite a long story, but I will tell you...you never know it may help you remember…'

Athos nodded, 'it might.'

D'Artagnan grabbed one of the chairs from the table and pulled it over to the bed, he sat down. After taking a few seconds to gather his thoughts he told Athos how they had met. How he had challenged him to a duel. How Athos had been arrested and condemned to die for crimes he had nothing to do with.

Athos listened attentively, but as before, showed no sign of recognition.

As d'Artagnan finished, Athos looked at him quizzically, 'am I really considered one of the best swordsmen in the Musketeers?'

'Yes,' replied d'Artagnan with a nod.

Athos looked a little confused, 'I can't even imagine doing things like that. When Porthos had talked me through the skirmish you,' he corrected himself, 'we, had yesterday I couldn't believe that I had done those things.'

D'Artagnan stood and moved the chair to the wall, he drew his sword and held it out, grip first, to Athos. It took him a few seconds, but Athos stood and slowly reached for the offered weapon. As he closed his hand around the grip, d'Artagnan released the sword. It was obvious that Athos did not know what he was doing, he had not taken the sword with a firm grip. The sword looked oddly wrong in his hand. Athos lifted his hand up and down slightly, trying to assess the weapons weight, he looked quite uncomfortable holding it.

'I have no idea what I am doing with it,' he said, looking up at d'Artagnan.

He lowered the blade and passed the weapon back to d'Artagnan who replaced it on his belt. Athos stepped back to the bed and sat down.

'I really don't know anything do I...the only thing I've known so far is how to ride a horse.'

D'Artagnan realised he had perhaps selfishly, only really been thinking about his own reaction to Athos' memory loss. He had forgotten that the man himself was the real victim. And Athos was concerned, scared even.

'What does it feel like?' he asked tentatively.

Athos looked at him for a few seconds, furrowing his brow.

'I mean,' said d'Artagnan, 'do you really not have any other memories?'

'No,' replied Athos, who was looking increasingly upset, 'I only have the memories I have made since yesterday. There is nothing else. But I have understanding of words and I had no problem riding...it's frustrating...I'm sorry.'

D'Artagnan realised he had been a bit insensitive with the question.

'You have nothing to be sorry about, it's me who shouldn't have asked.'

Athos was quiet for a few moments before speaking again, 'could you teach me?'

'Teach you?'

'To fight, with a sword,' Athos smiled again, 'I mean, if I taught you to be as good as you seem to be, you should be able to teach me...my own style?'

D'Artagnan realised Athos was correct. Although he had been a good swordsman when he had arrived in Paris, it was under Athos' tutelage that he had improved. Porthos often commented that the two men fought with the same style.

'It would be an honour,' said d'Artagnan with a smile of his own.

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Porthos watched as Serge stood back from the table after laying the plate in front of Athos who had thanked him before picking up the fork and beginning to eat. Serge looked hopeful. Athos looked worried. D'Artagnan smiled encouragingly.

It was evident by Athos' third mouthful that as far as he knew he was eating the stew for the first time. Serge sighed, he looked at Porthos. Both men shook their heads. Serge wondered off looking a little upset that he had not helped to bring Athos back.

There were a few other men in the mess, but they had wisely steered clear of the inseparables. Porthos guessed that Treville had quietly told them as they arrived either to start or finish their day that one of their number was injured. Athos had looked a little worried as the other soldiers had filed into the mess. Porthos, who was sat next to their suffering friend had glared at any man who even looked as though they were moving towards the table.

Athos had quietly said to Porthos and d'Artagnan that he did not know any of the other men. He had sat quietly listening to the conversations around the room, but shook his head when he did not recognise any of the Musketeers or cadets.

Aramis was next to enter, he looked across to them, Porthos subtly shook his head. He knew they would be hoping every time they were apart from Athos for any length of time, that they would return to find Athos restored to them. Aramis joined them at the table.

'I still don't remember anything,' said Athos quietly, 'what did you learn from the court physician?'

D'Artagnan said to Aramis, 'he asked where you were, I didn't see the harm in telling him.'

Aramis smiled, 'of course not, we shouldn't keep things from him, we are doing all this for Athos after all.'

As Athos continued to eat his stew with Porthos tucking into his own dinner Aramis poured them each a cup of wine.

'Lemay - the court physician,' Aramis said for Athos' benefit, 'said much the same as we already knew. There isn't much really known about how to deal with this kind of injury. He could only make a few suggestions, which we have already thought of.'

'The whole taking him to places he should know in the hope that it will remind him...who he is,' said d'Artagnan.

Aramis nodded, 'he had a few other ideas, but let's start with a trip around the city.'

Athos, who had finished his plate of food, pushed it away and was about to stand.

'Where are you off to?' asked Porthos.

'To start getting my memory back,' replied Athos looking at them each.

Aramis chuckled, 'whilst we all share your enthusiasm, Athos,' he said, 'I think it is a bit late now to be taking you out there. It is dark, and we need you to see the places we will take you to.'

Athos sat back down with a sigh, 'I suppose you're right, I just want to get back to normal.'

'And we will do our best to get you there,' said Porthos.

Athos looked a little disappointed that they were not going to start working on his recovery straight away. In truth, Porthos felt the same, but Aramis was correct; they could take the whole of the following day to travel around Paris to the various places that Athos frequented often in the hope that it would help him.

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Authors note: The next few chapters will be posted in the mornings (UK time). And thank you to the people who pointed out my missing comma at the end of chapter three – I have corrected that now.