This story takes place early in season one, sometime after the events of episode 2, 'Sleight of Hand'. As always, a huge thank you to my illustrious beta, Sharlot, who always makes things so much better. :) Couldn't survive without ya!

The Merit of All Things

Chapter 1

The fire raced up his side and he braced himself, trying to breathe through the pain. He became abstractedly aware of the clip-clop of the horse's hooves echoing against the cobbles of the street, a rhythm discordant with the pounding pulse inside his head. The city was quiet and oddly deserted at this hour; dawn had yet to break, the silence of Paris unnerving as he wandered slowly, methodically past the closed shops and homes of its denizens.

His vision blurred – not for the first time – and he thanked God his horse needed little guidance to find its way home.

Home.

The garrison.

The one place he knew he could find help.

Help he desperately needed for…

His thoughts clouded by pain, Aramis clutched at his side, moaning low in his throat as the action set the fire alight again. He knew he was bleeding. He'd been bleeding for some time, although he could not recall the actual circumstance leading to his current condition.

The only thought in his head – besides the all-encompassing ache – was that he had to get home. He had to get to Treville. He had to tell him…

The thought floated away in a haze of pain and dizziness. He forced himself to take a deep breath as spots began to coalesce in his vision, eliciting another moan and something he might have considered a whimper if it had come from anyone else.

God, it hurt.

He closed his eyes, unconcerned with the tears that leaked from beneath his lashes as he squeezed the lids tight, panting through his mouth, gripping the reins with all the strength he could muster. Through a disorienting haze, he became aware the horse had stopped, and he lifted his head, cracking his eyes open. To his relief, the familiar courtyard of the garrison wavered in his vision, and he slumped in the saddle, chuckling low in his throat, giddy with relief.

He could hear footsteps and turned to see Treville and three other men rushing toward him, concern written on their faces. He swallowed hard, knowing his strength was at an end. As his resolve ebbed and his blood flowed down his side, he felt himself tilt, praying with his last coherent thought that someone was close enough to catch him.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"I don't care, Treville, I want to know what happened to that book, and I want to know now!"

Aramis frowned as the familiar voice seeped into his consciousness. It wasn't as if the Cardinal found his way into his dreams often, but it was disturbing as well as disorienting to have him there now.

"As you can see, Aramis is in no condition to tell us anything."

Treville? Aramis relaxed. If the Captain was also in the dream… unless… he swallowed, a low moan rumbling from his throat as he turned his head toward the voices.

"There," Richelieu again. "He's awake. Now get me some answers."

Aramis felt a presence near him, a cool hand suddenly pressing against his cheek.

"Aramis?" Definitely Treville. The Captain's voice was low and unusually soft. "Aramis? Can you hear me?"

The Musketeer took a deep breath, wincing as the pain in his side flared to life. He rolled his head, feeling a tender bump on the back of his skull scrape against the soft cushion beneath it.

"Captain?" Air passed through his voiceless throat. He cleared it, coughing at the dry scratch created by long disuse.

The hand on his cheek disappeared only to return moments later to slide beneath his neck and raise it up marginally. A cup was placed to his lips, and he sipped at the cool water offered, sighing in pleasure as the liquid tempered his parched throat.

When the cup was withdrawn and his head gently repositioned on the pillow, he forced his eyes open a crack, squinting against the light as the concerned face of Captain Treville coalesced before him.

"Welcome back," Treville smiled. "How are you feeling?"

Aramis raised a trembling hand to his head, squeezing his eyes shut against the ache that had taken up residence behind his eyes. "I've been better," he answered, pain and fatigue coloring his honesty. "What happened?"

Treville sighed, bringing the Musketeer's attention back to his superior. "We were hoping you could tell us."

Us? Oh, right. Aramis' eyes slid to the left, widening upon seeing the impatient scowl of Cardinal Richelieu watching him intently. The man sat in a chair near the small table, his presence making Aramis' breath quicken nervously. A quick glance told him he was in a bed in the large community room they used as an infirmary. A breeze blew from an open window behind him and he shivered, realizing he was clad only in his breeches and boots.

His hand moved to his side, tentatively touching the stained bandage bound around his torso. "I was shot?"

Treville nodded. "The ball creased your side – painful but not lethal. You lost quite a bit of blood."

Aramis sighed and sank back onto the bed, squeezing his lids against the dizziness he suddenly experienced. "That would explain why I am lightheaded." He opened his eyes and glanced again at the Cardinal, brow furrowing as he returned his attention to the captain.

Treville sensed his unasked question. "His Emminence is concerned about the whereabouts of the package you were sent to retrieve."

Aramis frowned. "Package?"

"Yes," Richelieu stood and crossed the room, his hands folded before him, his face a mask of impatience. "The package. You were to retrieve it from the Abbé of La Trinité in Vendôme. I must know what happened to it."

Aramis stared at the man, searching his memory for any recollection of the mission the Cardinal was alluding to. After a moment he shook his head, his eyes returning to meet Treville's.

"I…" he swallowed, his breathing rapid, the ache behind his eyes building. "I don't…" He squeezed his eyes against the pain.

"Easy, Aramis."

"Don't coddle him, Treville."

He sensed the captain rising from his position on the edge of the cot, heard the scuffle of footsteps and the door opening. He felt the light of the sun against his lids and whimpered softly as the ache notched up at the intrusion.

"He is wounded," he heard Treville's harsh whisper. "As soon as I know anything, I will come to you directly. Now, if you don't mind, Cardinal, I would like to take care of my man."

Aramis heard the Cardinal huff in annoyance, but the man apparently was smart enough not to test Treville's protective nature.

"I expect to hear from you within the hour."

Treville must have agreed because the next sound Aramis heard was the retreating footsteps of the Cardinal. After a few moments the door closed softly, and he felt Treville once again perch on the edge of the bed.

Aramis, noting the fireworks behind his lids had momentarily subsided, cracked open his eyes to find the captain watching him patiently.

"My apologies, Captain."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Aramis."

His dark eyes drifted to the door. "Apparently the Cardinal feels quite differently."

Treville chuckled. "The Cardinal is hardly a patient man," he noted. "But even his Emminence cannot force information that is unavailable."

At Aramis' look of confusion, Treville continued. "You don't remember what happened to you?"

Aramis took a deep breath and forced himself to think around the pain. He remembered returning to the garrison, but to his alarm, there was nothing beyond that hazy memory. Slowly he shook his head. "I'm… no." He returned his troubled gaze to the captain as he recalled the Cardinal's words. "I was sent to Vendôme?"

Treville nodded. "You, Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan."

Aramis looked around, his anxiety growing as he realized they were alone. "The others?"

Treville sighed and pursed his lips. He leaned forward, his hand on Aramis arm. "You alone returned. There has been no word of the others."

Aramis took a deep, shaking breath and released it slowly. His eyes losing focus as he considered the implications. "We were attacked?"

"We have no way of knowing." Treville shrugged. "You truly don't remember?"

Aramis shook his head. "No. Nothing."

"There is a large lump on the back of your head. You were obviously struck, or struck something. That could explain your lack of memory."

Aramis lifted a hand and tentatively touched the back of his head, wincing as his fingers found the lump Treville described. While the pressure on the wound was painful, it couldn't equal the pain in his heart concerning the unknown fate of his friends.

"What was this package?"

Aramis pushed himself into a sitting position against the wall, breathing heavily through his nose as his stomach protested the change in elevation. Swallowing against the sudden nausea, he leaned back as Treville shifted the pillow higher to support his back. After a few moments, he smiled his thanks to the captain and let a soft breath escape between his lips.

Treville rose and stepped across the wooden floor. He positioned the chair the Cardinal had vacated next to the bed and sat wearily upon it.

"Four days ago, the four of you set out on a mission of some importance at the request of the Cardinal," Treville explained. "You were to retrieve a package – a rare book – from the Abbey at La Trinité in Vendôme. You returned early this evening, alone and wounded. That is all I know."

Aramis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes as the ache in his head continued to fluctuate. "And I'm afraid I can offer nothing more." He opened his eyes and searched the ceiling, striving to master the agony in his head and his heart. "I can't help thinking they're –"

"Don't," Treville ordered, his voice soft yet imposing. "We don't know anything yet, let's not make assumptions."

"They would have returned with me if they'd been able," Aramis countered, his chest aching at the thought.

Treville nodded, reluctant.

Aramis shifted and leaned back, ignoring the tenderness of the lump as it thudded against the wall. "I don't want to believe they are gone."

"Then don't."

Easier said than done. The ache in his head made it impossible to concentrate and he quickly grew frustrated at his incapacity to recall the events that had led to his singular return.

Aramis growled and buried his face in his hands. "If only I could remember!"

Treville patted his leg in a gesture of comfort. "Give yourself some time, son."

"They may not have time!" Aramis hissed. His anger was not directed at the captain, but at himself, and Treville seemed to sense his self-reproach.

"Making yourself ill will not help them either," Treville chastised. "You were gravely wounded and you must rest, Aramis. Perhaps your memories will return when your mind is not clouded with pain."

The Musketeer reluctantly nodded, knowing the unrelenting ache in his head and side were only exacerbating his frustration.

"Good," Treville patted his leg as he stood, pushing the chair away and moving toward the door. "I will check on you in the morning. I will have Serge send over some stew in case you feel up to eating later."

"Thank you, Captain." Aramis let his appreciation for the Captain's understanding show in his voice.

"Rest, Aramis. Things will look better in the morning."

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Treville sighed as he stepped out, closing the door firmly behind him. He couldn't admit to Aramis how worried he was at the turn of events, knowing the marksman was right in his assessment. If they had been able, the other three would never have allowed their wounded comrade to ride alone. Which could only mean they were either wounded or incapacitated in some way, enough to leave their brother to fend for himself despite his condition.

The fact that Aramis had no recollection of what had happened was more than disconcerting. He had been unconscious for the better part of the day, the surgeon able to clean and stitch the wound in his side without him waking. Concussed, the doctor had not been able to predict what his mental state would be when he regained consciousness, but he had cautioned that severe blows to the head often resulted in confusion and disorientation and to expect the man to be a bit unsettled for a while. He had recommended complete bedrest for at least a week, but under the circumstances, Treville would be surprised if he'd be able to keep Aramis in his sick bed for the night.

He rubbed a hand across his face and looked up, not surprised to find the Cardinal sitting in his coach, watching him through the curtained window. Slowly he made his way to the courtyard, pushing down his irritation, forcing himself to remain calm.

"I believe you gave me an hour."

"What does he remember?"

"Nothing," Treville shook his head. "I'm afraid the blow to his head has left him bereft. He has no recollection of the mission nor what happened since."

Richelieu took a deep breath through his nose, his lips pressed into a tense line.

"That is not good enough, Treville," he snapped.

"I understand your impatience, your Eminence, but –"

"You understand nothing, Captain." Richelieu leaned out, his face merely inches from Treville's. "That book is of vital importance to the Church. It must not fall into the wrong hands."

Treville nodded. "I will send a detachment out to find –"

"You will go yourself," the Cardinal demanded. "You said these men were your best, but clearly they were lacking. I will not tolerate another failure, Captain."

With a snort of finality, the Cardinal ducked inside the coach and yelled for the driver to move out. Treville took a quick step back to avoid the wheels and shook his head, his glare wasted on retreating coach. He bent his neck back and searched the sky, hoping to find answers in the clouds above. If only it was so easy.

With another sigh, he turned, surprised to find Aramis slumped in the doorway, one hand bracing his side, the other white-knuckling the frame of the door.

"You should be in bed," he admonished. "I believe I told you to rest."

"I'm going with you."

Treville shook his head, letting his eyes rake over the wounded man. "You can barely stand."

"Not a requirement for riding a horse."

Treville huffed a laugh. "As if you could do that at the moment."

Aramis visibly stiffened at the rebuff and pushed himself from the door, squaring his shoulders and standing as straight as his wounds would allow.

Treville smiled softly at the show of resolve, and crossed the short distance to place a hand on the wounded man's shoulder. "I understand your need to find out what happened to your friends, Aramis, but –"

"Captain, please." The desperation in the marksman's voice was not lost on Treville. Aramis had been the sole survivor of the Savoy massacre so many years ago, and the Captain knew the ghosts of those lost comrades still haunted the Spaniard. It had been Porthos and Athos who had pulled him from his grief back then and shown him a way to move on, to find joy in life once again. The loss of these men – men he considered family – would be impossible for him to recover from. Not knowing how or why would make the loss infinitely worse. Treville could not find it in his heart to subject the younger man to such a fate.

"Rest tonight, Aramis." He held up a hand before the marksman could protest. "We leave in the morning." Treville had no idea if it was the wisest decision, but the relief and gratitude shining in the Musketeer's dark eyes assured him it was the right one.

TBC