Treville didn't expect Aramis to suddenly pass out, but he was holding onto him tightly enough to prevent Aramis from hitting the floor.

Porthos quickly grabbed their friend and easily swung him into his arms before carrying him to a nearby settee. He sat Aramis down carefully and Treville pulled his head up, finding him unconscious. He sighed and looked at the others.

"I should have somehow delayed the king again," Treville said.

Athos shook his head. "Today or next week likely would've made no difference; he still has fainting spells either way."

"Don't let him hear you call it that," said Porthos, sitting next to Aramis and holding onto his arm to keep him upright.

"How long do they usually last?" Treville asked, staring at Aramis' pale face and noticing that his breathing was shallow.

"Sometimes seconds, others as long as ten minutes," Athos told him.

"After what he just went through in there, who knows this time," said Porthos.

Treville sighed again. "Let's get him back to the garrison."

"Can we wait a while to see if he wakes?" Athos asked. "He'll be mortified to hear that he was carried through the palace."

Treville didn't blame him, and nodded.

Seven or eight minutes later, just when Treville was about to tell Porthos to carry him out, Aramis' eyes suddenly fluttered and he made a soft sound.

"Aramis?" said Porthos, putting a hand on the side of his face.

They received no reply and Aramis didn't stir again for twenty or thirty seconds, though his breathing wasn't as shallow. He suddenly scrunched his eyes shut tighter and pulled in a sharp breath.

"That's right, Aramis," Porthos said. "Keep wakin', we're right here."

Ever so slowly, Aramis' eyes opened, stopping halfway and blinking a few times. His eyes looked glazed and lacked recognition.

"Does this happen every time?" Treville asked, alarmed to see how long it was taking for Aramis to become responsive.

"The longer he's out, the longer it takes for him to recover from it," Athos told him.

Treville shook his head and reached out to squeeze Aramis' arm in sympathy. "Aramis," he said. "Can you hear me?"

It took a few more seconds, but Aramis sluggishly shifted his gaze to look at him. "Cap'n?" he slurred.

Treville smiled. "That's right. Are you with us?"

Aramis continued to blink, before looking at Athos and Porthos. "Yes," he whispered.

All three of them gave a collective sigh of relief.

"Do you think you can stand?" Treville asked.

Aramis gave no answer, remaining slumped where he was, offering no comment on his own condition. He continued to dazedly blink.

"He can't," said Athos. "Not yet."

"Does alcohol help to revive him?" Treville asked, not wanting to assume.

"Sometimes," Athos said.

Treville stood and headed into the nearby library where there was a decanter of brandy. He poured some into a cup and brought it back. "Here, Aramis," he said, holding it to his lips.

Aramis obediently sipped it until Treville pulled it away. Aramis blinked a few more times before suddenly looking at them with more clarity. "What happened?" he asked.

Treville gave him a smile, hoping to never see the young musketeer go through that ever again. "You passed out."

"I did?"

Treville nodded.

Aramis shifted slightly, raising a shaky hand to his aching head. He looked around and when he realized where they were, he startled.

Porthos and Athos tightened their hold on him.

"It's over, Aramis," Treville told him. "You did just fine."

Aramis said nothing, breathing heavily as he tried to compose himself. "Let's go," he suddenly said, obviously wanting to get away.

Porthos stood and gently pulled him to his feet, holding onto him tightly when he took a step and stumbled on wobbly legs.

"Take it easy, Aramis," Athos said. "Slow down."

Aramis obeyed, stopping and taking a deep breath as he tried to ward off the lightheadedness that gripped his brain.

They all waited until he was ready, and then they slowly walked off, watching to make sure that Aramis was capable of walking.

The wounded musketeer was quiet, letting them lead him. The lightheadedness didn't go away and his legs felt shaky. When they got to the stairs, his knee buckled on the first step and almost sent him tumbling down them. His friends managed to catch him and they helped him carefully down one step at a time.

Once they got to the bottom, they stopped to give Aramis a moment, and it was a good thing, for his head suddenly lolled and dropped forwards. They didn't expect that, and Treville raised his chin to find Aramis' eyes open.

"Sorry," Aramis mumbled. "Dizzy."

"Maybe I should carry 'im," said Porthos.

Aramis managed to slowly turn his head and give him what they assumed was supposed to be a glare. He took a step and they resumed helping him out of the palace.

Getting Aramis mounted on his horse was a team effort, as his ordeal with the king and subsequent faint had sapped away his strength. Once mounted, Aramis' head was throbbing and still dizzy, and he had no idea how he was expected to stay up there. Somehow, he managed to hide it, and was grateful for their slow pace.

As they rode, Aramis had time to think, and found himself reeling from his experience in the throne room. He barely remembered explaining what had happened to him…he felt like he'd actually relived it all, as he often did in his dreams. Even now, he felt jumpy and nervous, almost expecting to ride around a corner and find the ground littered with bodies being eaten by crows…while Marsac walked away and left him there to die.

Aramis' head suddenly starting spinning worse, and he closed his eyes, not even realizing that they'd arrived back at the garrison.

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, rushing to catch Aramis when he suddenly tipped over the side of his horse. He barely made it in time, diving to the ground and succeeding in stopping Aramis' head from bouncing off the dirt.

The others were stunned and rushed over to kneel beside them. "Did he hit his head?!" Treville exclaimed.

"No," Porthos answered, with relief. "Just the rest of himself."

Athos and Treville checked their unconscious friend for injuries and found nothing broken, though they were sure that Aramis would likely be covered in bruises soon.

Porthos eventually lifted Aramis and carried him to his room, where they quickly put him back to bed and sat staring at him.

"I tried," Treville suddenly said. "I tried so hard to spare him from that meeting..."

"We know," Porthos said.

Athos went over to the fire, and a minute later, Treville smelled the hot chocolate again. "Is that what I think it is?" he asked.

"Chocolate," said Athos, coming back. "It's the only thing that Aramis will regularly consume."

"Three shirts under his jacket," Porthos said. "And it was still too big on 'im." He sighed and looked at Treville. "Athos brought back that chocolate stuff over a week ago and Aramis loves it."

Treville looked at Athos. "He's had it every day?"

Athos nodded.

"And it comes in solid pieces too," said Porthos.

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "Athos, I know how much chocolate costs!"

"But Aramis does not," Athos answered.

"He was wastin' away," Porthos told Treville. "We had to do somethin'. Athos won't let me help pay for it."

"You don't need to, I have an inheritance," Athos said.

"Still," said Treville. "I'd like to help. It is partly my fault that Aramis lays here wounded. I'd like to make amends in any way that I can."

"And he's my friend too," Porthos cut in.

Athos nodded his understanding. "All right."

The three of them fell quiet again, watching Aramis, seeming to realize all at once that it'd been more than ten minutes.

"This is his longest fainting spell?" asked Treville.

Porthos nodded, with a sigh.

Treville reached up a hand to scrub at his face, looking exhausted and guilty.

It was nearly a half-hour before Aramis showed signs of life, moving his head slightly.

Treville moved before either of the others had a chance, sitting on the side of the bed and grasping the wounded musketeer's shoulder. "Aramis," he said, giving it a squeeze. "Aramis?"

He received no reaction, and just like before, they had to wait and watch as Aramis ever so slowly came back to himself. Eventually, he scrunched his eyes shut tighter and winced with a soft moan.

"Here," said Athos.

Treville turned to see that he was holding out a wet towel. It was obvious what he was supposed to do with it, so he took it and laid it over Aramis' forehead, hoping that the coldness would soothe his headache.

Aramis flinched and made a soft sound of surprise at the feel of the cold—which showed them just how out-of-it Aramis still was—but the wince eventually faded and he continued to lie there quietly, eyes still closed, body motionless. It was a few minutes later when he finally opened his eyes slightly.

Treville tried to smile at him, but it wasn't easy while witnessing the poor state of Aramis' health. "Are you with us?" he asked.

Aramis blinked at him but didn't answer.

"Aramis?" Treville tried again.

"How could you?" Aramis whispered.

Treville frowned. "How could I what?"

"Leave me to die," Aramis said.

A chill shot down Treville's spine and he didn't know how to respond.

"We were brothers, Marsac," Aramis continued. "You abandoned me to die." Tears filled his eyes and he closed them.

Porthos grabbed Aramis' hand and squeezed it. "You're not in Savoy, Aramis!" he said, sounding choked up himself.

Treville had to swallow the lump in his throat before he could speak again. "Look at me, Aramis," he said, squeezing his shoulder again.

Aramis opened his eyes and the tears escaped.

Porthos made a sound of dismay and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, gently wiping them away.

"You're home," Treville said. "I'm not Marsac, and you are not in Savoy."

Aramis closed his eyes again. "Yes I am...there are bodies...and crows eating them..."

Athos, who had been quiet so far, leaned over the bed in front of Treville and grasped Aramis' shoulders. "Aramis, it's Athos. Do you know me?"

Treville stood to get out of Athos' way. He watched shakily, unable to believe that he was partly to blame for what was happening.

Aramis reopened his eyes. "Yes," he answered.

"Have you ever known me to lie?" Athos asked.

"No."

"Then believe me now when I tell you that you are home at the musketeer garrison and not in Savoy. There are no bodies, and Marsac is not here."

Aramis closed his eyes again at mention of that name. "He abandoned me," he whispered.

Athos sighed.

Porthos squeezed Aramis' hand tighter. "But we never will. Believe that too, Aramis."

Aramis reopened his eyes and looked at him. "I do," he said. He tiredly blinked for nearly a full minute before some coherence suddenly came back into his eyes, and he looked at Treville. "Captain."

Treville knelt beside the bed. "Right here."

Aramis looked at him for a few seconds. "Forgive me. I wasn't myself."

You haven't been yourself since that terrible day, Treville thought. "Don't apologize, Aramis, none of this is your fault. I'm the one who's sorry, and I will be until the end of my days."

Aramis shook his aching head slightly. "Not your fault either."

Treville sighed. None of the musketeers knew the truth of what had happened in Savoy...he himself hadn't truly known until the deed was done and he'd forced Richelieu to tell him. It was something that he'd have to keep to himself for the rest of his life, and he knew that it wasn't going to be easy.

Athos went over to the fire and brought back a cup of the hot chocolate. "Aramis?" he said. "Drink."

Porthos gently lifted their wounded friend's head as Athos put the cup to his lips, and Aramis drank it gratefully. "Mmm," he said, licking his lips as Porthos laid his head back to the pillow.

Despite everything, his reaction made Treville smile.

Aramis kept his eyes closed. "I'm tired," he suddenly said.

"Then sleep," Porthos answered, squeezing his shoulder.

Aramis said nothing else, falling quickly into slumber.

Treville looked at Athos and sighed, having no words to describe his feelings. All he could do was shake his head with dismay.

TBC