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The Silence of the Dead
A Musketeers story by Deana

A big thank you to Snow-glory for the title!

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March 28th, 1626

Treville lay sprawled in his bed, after hardly sleeping all night. Today was the first anniversary of the Savoy massacre, and the last thing he wanted to do was get up and face the day.

Twenty-two of his musketeers had gone on that mission, and only one had returned.

Aramis...

Treville put a hand over his eyes. If the situation was affecting him so badly, how was it affecting Aramis, the lone survivor besides Marsac, who had abandoned Aramis to die. With a sigh, he got up from bed and shuffled out his door, heading to the banister and looking out on the garrison. It was freezing outside with snow gently falling, and he wrapped his arms around himself in a meager attempt to stave off the cold.

He suddenly spotted Aramis sitting at the table with his cloak wrapped around himself. He wasn't wearing his hat, and from the fit of the cloak, he wasn't wearing his leathers under it.

Treville frowned and leaned over the banister. "Aramis?" he called.

The young musketeer didn't react.

Treville went back inside and pulled on his boots before quickly donning his own cloak. He went back outside and hurried down the stairs before approaching Aramis and grabbing him by the shoulder.

Aramis was shivering in the freezing cold, his face pale as he stared at nothing. Snow had turned his hair white and it was wet, showing that Aramis had been out there for a long time.

"Aramis," Treville said again, grabbing him by both shoulders. "Come inside; it's too cold out here."

Aramis gave no answer.

Treville tightened his grip and pulled Aramis upright, wrapping an arm around him and guiding him towards the stairs. He was relieved when Aramis cooperated, and once they'd made it up the stairs—Aramis very stiffly, thanks to sitting out in the cold for what Treville suspected was hours—they headed inside and down the hall.

Someone came out of Aramis' room ahead of them, and Treville saw that it was Porthos, just the man he wanted to see.

Porthos looked nervous until he saw them, and he walked over. "What happened?"

"I found him sitting outside," Treville told you. "You know..." he cut himself off before saying 'what today is'.

Porthos nodded and took hold of his friend, who was still staring at nothing, his mind seemingly locked in a memory. "I know...I had a feeling somethin' was wrong and went to check on him." He wrapped an arm around the shivering Aramis and guided him towards his room. "I'll take care of him."

"Should I fetch Athos?" Treville asked.

"Please," Porthos answered.

Treville nodded and headed past them to the other door beside Aramis' room, but it opened before Treville could knock.

"Aramis?" Athos asked.

Treville nodded, amazed how in-tune the two men were to their traumatized friend. "Been sitting outside for hours. Porthos is with him."

Athos nodded and passed him, opening Aramis' door and heading inside.

Aramis was sitting on his bed wrapped in blankets, with Porthos sitting beside him running his hands up and down his arms to warm him. The bigger man looked up when he saw Athos. "Can you put some bricks in the fire?"

Athos obeyed, before heading to sit on Aramis' other side, ducking his head to look into Aramis' face.

Porthos started vigorously rubbing a towel over Aramis' head to dry his hair, which seemed to bring their frozen friend out of his blank stupor.

"I'm sorry," Aramis suddenly whispered.

"For what?" Athos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes and shivered, prompting Athos to pull the blanket tighter around him. "I don't wish to be a burden," Aramis answered.

Porthos frowned. "You think you're a burden? Do you really? After how many times you've taken care of us?"

Aramis lowered his head. "I don't deserve it."

Athos couldn't've been more surprised. "What?" he said.

"I should've done something," Aramis said.

"There was nothing you could've done," Athos told him, squeezing his arm through the blanket. "Nothing at all. You could not have known what was going to happen in Savoy."

"And what could you have done while unconscious?" Porthos said. "We saw you after Savoy, Aramis. I know that you can't remember much of those first few days but I'm tellin' you, I've never seen someone survive such a bad head injury before...not without permanent damage. Your recovery was a miracle."

Aramis sighed.

"There was nothing you could've done, Aramis," Athos said again.

"I could've buried them," Aramis said, his voice strained. "Instead of…of letting the…the crows…"

"No, Aramis," said Porthos.

"I just sat there," Aramis continued. "I just sat there against a tree and did nothing."

"You 'just sat there' because you were bleedin' to death!" Porthos exclaimed. "You had no ability to do anything in your condition."

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut. "I've often wondered if any of them were alive," he whispered. "While I sat there, while I watched Marsac walk away…was anyone alive? Could I have saved someone's life?"

Porthos grabbed his friend by the arms and turned him to face him. "Listen to me," he said. "Your head was nearly bashed in and you had a stab wound in your side. You were wearin' no jacket or cloak when we found you in the snow. If there was anythin' you could've done, you would've done it! It's not your fault that those men died…and it's not your fault that Marsac left you there."

Those last words broke Aramis' hold on his emotions, and he sucked in a gasp as the tears leaked from his eyes.

Porthos pulled him to his chest and held him tightly. "It's all right, cry it out, you'll feel better."

Athos watched with sympathy, reaching out a hand to squeeze their grieving friend's shoulder. He suddenly remembered the bricks in the fire and went to fetch them.

"How could he do that?" Aramis mumbled against Porthos' chest, his voice breaking. "He was my friend for so long..."

Porthos sighed and rubbed a hand up and down his trembling back in comfort. Aramis' body was freezing, and he hoped the bricks had heated long enough. "Marsac was a coward, Aramis. He didn't deserve to have a friend as good as you."

Aramis sniffed, trying to hold back more tears, but failing.

Athos returned with the bricks and placed them on the nightstand, before grabbing Aramis' legs and pulling them sideways up onto the bed, to keep him in his position leaned against Porthos. He arranged the bricks around their shivering friend under the blankets, before sitting again.

"At first, I thought I imagined it," Aramis told them. "I thought the concussion was making me see things. I sat there, waiting for him to appear again...but he never did." He reached a shaking hand to his face.

Athos took a handkerchief out of his pocket and stuffed it into their friend's hand.

Aramis wiped his eyes as he leaned against Porthos. "When I realized that he wasn't coming back...had really left me there to die..." He couldn't continue, the tears renewed.

Athos squeezed Aramis' shoulder again, looking at Porthos and seeing the thunderous expression on his face.

Porthos was so angry at what Aramis was suffering because of Marsac that he tightened his hold on Aramis too much.

Aramis squirmed from the pressure, but Porthos wasn't aware that he was hurting him.

Athos saw and grabbed Porthos' arm with his other hand, tugging on it sharply.

Porthos realized what he was doing and loosened his hold a little. "Sorry!" he said, mortified. "Maybe you should get mad, Aramis...it's a lot easier than being sad."

Aramis sighed, giving no answer as his tears continued to wet Porthos' shirt. "A year," he suddenly said. "It's been a whole year."

Athos sighed. "It doesn't feel as if that much time had passed."

"No," Aramis agreed. "But sometimes...it seems like a lifetime ago." He sniffed again. "I dreamed about it last night. It was like I was there all over again. When I woke, I thought I was still there...it wasn't until I was out of bed standing against the wall that I came back to myself. I put on my boots, grabbed my cloak, and went outside before I even knew what I was doing." He suddenly shifted his head to look towards the window. "It was dark out."

His two friends sighed. "You're lucky it isn't even colder," said Athos. "If the captain hadn't found you sitting out there when he did..."

"It was him?" said Aramis. "I don't remember." He wiped his eyes again with the handkerchief, the tears appearing to slow down. With a deep, shuddering sigh, he closed his eyes and covered them with the cloth. "How will I ever recover from this?" he asked.

"With our help," Athos said, squeezing his shoulder again.

Porthos patted Aramis' back, looking down to try to see his face. "That's right. We aren't going anywhere."

His words accidentally renewed the tears.

"Oh, Aramis," Porthos said, sadly, rubbing his back again and resting his chin on their grieving friend's head.

But these tears were tears of happiness. "Thank you," Aramis whispered. "I don't know what I would've done without you." He moved his head again, looking at Athos with exhausted, bleary eyes as he stretched out a hand towards him. "Both of you."

Athos gripped it. "We'll always be here, Aramis."

Aramis smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head against Porthos' chest. He suddenly winced, and Porthos somehow felt it.

"You've given yourself a headache, haven't you?" Porthos asked.

Aramis sighed. "One of the disadvantages of tears," he said, sounding slightly embarrassed.

"Cryin' doesn't make anyone less of a man," Porthos told him. "It's normal and good for us."

"Except when it causes a headache," Aramis tiredly answered, dropping the handkerchief out of his other hand and reaching up to his head. It was the throbbing type of pain that sometimes occurred on one side of his head...ever since his injury in Savoy.

"Are you seeing the sparkly colors?" Porthos asked.

"Yes."

"You should lie down," Porthos said. He gently unwrapped his arms from around his friend and they helped him get settled in his bed.

Athos put the bricks back in the fire to reheat them, and they both sat on either side of the bed, watching him.

"Do you need anything?" Athos asked.

"No," Aramis said, eyes closed.

"Sleep," Athos said. "We'll be here when you wake."

Aramis opened his eyes just long enough to smile at them before he closed them again.

A few minutes later, he was asleep, and Porthos sighed. "It isn't fair."

Athos looked at him.

"For a man as good and kind as Aramis to carry such a burden," Porthos exclaimed.

"No," Athos answered. "It isn't."

Aramis found himself on his knees with his hand bracing itself on a tree to his left. His vision was blurred and hazy, and he watched in shock as Marsac dropped his musketeer pauldron on the ground and walked off. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he fell against the tree, closing his eyes and pressing his right hand against the stab wound in his side.

When he reopened his eyes, all he saw were dead bodies, and he barely noticed that the falling snow had begun to accumulate. He moved his eyes without turning his aching head, searching for Marsac but not seeing him. "Marsac?" he called, his voice shaky and weak.

He received no answer.

Aramis looked around again, waiting for his friend to come out from wherever he'd gone, but he didn't. Five minutes later he still hadn't, and when another five minutes passed—not that Aramis was able to tell time in his condition—Aramis called him again.

He heard no reply...only the caws of crows.

He left me here? Aramis thought. "Marsac?" he called out. "Marsac!"

"Aramis! Wake up!"

Porthos and Athos held their friend down in the bed as he flailed in a panicked state.

"Marsac!" Aramis exclaimed, eyes open but looking at neither of them.

"Aramis!" Athos said. "It's Athos and Porthos. You are not in Savoy."

"That's right, you're not in Savoy," Porthos echoed. "You're not in Savoy!"

Aramis stopped, breathing heavily and raising a hand to his throbbing head. "Don't leave me here, Marsac," he said, closing his eyes with a wince. "Take me with you, please...I won't slow you down."

Athos grabbed Aramis' face and leaned closer. "Aramis, look at me. Open your eyes."

It took a few seconds, but Aramis did. "Marsac?" he said.

"No, Aramis, it's Athos. Listen to me: you are not in Savoy. You're in the musketeer garrison."

Aramis stared at him, showing no recognition.

"Do you hear me, Aramis?" Athos said. "You are not in Savoy. You're not. You're not."

Aramis suddenly blinked. With a soft gasp, he glanced around the room before looking at Porthos and Athos again, who was still holding his face between his hands.

"You with us now?" Porthos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes and sighed. "Yes," he whispered, before reaching up a hand to his throbbing head with a wince.

"Here," Porthos said.

Aramis opened his eyes to find a cup before his face, but before he had a chance to do anything, an arm slid under his shoulders and pulled him slightly upright and another pillow appeared behind him. The cup was placed to his lips and he found that it contained Serge's special hot broth...which the others knew was always a source of comfort to him.

"Mmm," he said, licking his lips after he'd drank it all. "Thank you." He closed his eyes before suddenly remembering his awful dream, and they snapped open again.

"Take it easy," Porthos said.

Aramis looked at them both, even as he watched Marsac walk away in his head.

A handkerchief was suddenly placed in his hand again, and he realized that his cheeks were wet.

"Calm yourself," Athos said. "Or you'll make your headache worse."

In other words, 'don't cry again'.

It took some effort, but after Aramis closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he managed to hold it back. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"Aramiiiiiis..." Porthos warned.

"No no," Aramis said, reopening his eyes and wiping away the few tears that escaped. "I'm sorry for thinking of Marsac when the two of you have proven yourselves to be such better friends than he ever was."

Athos shook his head. "It's normal to feel this way. We do not begrudge you it."

"Of course not, Aramis," Porthos agreed. "It would make no sense if you weren't upset."

Aramis sighed. "Still," he said, falling silent when he didn't know what else to say.

The others watched him as he lay propped up by his pillows. His eyes were red and bleary, his expression sad. They could see pain lines around his half-open eyes, and he looked like he needed to sleep for a week.

"I'd like to visit the cemetery," he suddenly said.

Athos frowned. "But won't that make this difficult day even harder for you?"

Aramis sighed. "I have to, I owe it to them."

"You don't owe anything to anyone," Porthos said.

"I owe it to them as their friend and comrade," Aramis explained.

The other two looked at each other, having forgotten that his grief wasn't just from being deserted by Marsac; Aramis had known all of the dead musketeers.

Athos nodded. "As you wish, though your head is not going to thank you by the time we return."

Aramis nodded, sure that he was right.

Fifteen minutes later, they were heading towards the stables, bundled up against the cold and flurries that were still falling. Treville watched them, not missing Aramis' pale face and the pinched look to his eyes that signaled a headache. He watched as Porthos kept a grip on his arm the whole way and made him sit on a bale of hay while he saddled both of their horses.

Aramis gave him a slight smile in gratitude, before lowering his head and blinking sadly at the ground.

Treville sighed, though he couldn't resist a relieved smile as he watched Porthos help Aramis mount before they slowly rode out the gate. He was so glad that Aramis had the two of them...he shuddered to think of what would've happened to Aramis by now otherwise...

TBC