Pretty short, and uneventful, chapter, but I think it's important. I hope you enjoy! Please make sure to read and review :))
Days passed, and Aramis only seemed to be getting worse. He barely talked anymore, barely let out any type of emotion. No sadness, no grief, no guilt, nothing. He never let any of it out, which worried their friends a lot. He barely ate, either, and as a result became incredibly thin and bony. His face was always pale and tired, heavy dark circles under his eyes. He never slept, either. The nightmares were too much for him. As a result, he was constantly exhausted, and was never able to do anything for a long time.
Porthos and Constance tried hard to help him, to take care of him. Everytime he had a nightmare, they would be there to fight them off. They would be the ones that forced their Aramis to eat as much as he could. But the more they did it, the more Aramis seemed to push them away.
"We have to help him," Constance said one night, after they had calmed him down from another nightmare. They were now sitting in Porthos' room, debating on what they should do. "There has to be someone we can call … What about Treville?"
The bigger man shook his head. "I tried to see him, but I was told he was busy on a diplomatic meeting of some sort and wouldn't be back for another month or two." He sighed heavily, standing up and beginning to pace. Suddenly, his eyes lit up. "The Queen," he said softly, realization washing over him. "She could help."
"I have not talked to her in ages," Constance admitted. "But I think that it will work. If we could somehow get her to visit the Garrison … I'll go to the Palace tomorrow, try to see her. Maybe she'll finally make Aramis whole again."
That next morning, Constance Bonacieux made her way to the Louvre as fast as he possibly could. She immediately called for the Queen, who, thankfully, had the time to see her. She quickly walked over to Her Majesty's room, happy that she was already there, taking off her jewelry and makeup.
"Constance!" Anne exclaimed, jumping up and running over to her friend. She embraced her in a tight hug. "It is so good to see you again. We haven't talked in so long." She pulled away, and when noticing the woman's grim expression, realized that something was terribly wrong. "What had happened."
"Anne, it is about Aramis," Constance began, holding onto both of the Queen's small hands. "He came back to Paris two weeks ago, with Porthos. Something happened while he was on the front…" She cleared her throat when her voice began to shake. Still, she continued, "He was captured, first by the enemy, and then, later, by a fellow soldier who thought that Aramis was a traitor because he was Spanish. He was tortured. Severely. He is still healing from all of the physical wounds. But lately, he just has not been acting like himself. He has not been eating, or sleeping, or doing anything, for that matter. We have been talking about it, and Porthos and I decided that maybe you could help him. I am sure he has not forgotten about you. And I am sure that he still…" She smiled weakly, hoping that Anne would understand her. "Please, Anne, come back to the Garrison with me today. Aramis needs you."
Without even hesitating, Anne agreed to go with Constance. She needed to help her former lover. In truth, she still loved him, and that is why she held herself responsible in trying to help him. She just told His Majesty that she had a small errand to run and that she may not be back until tomorrow, perhaps later. Louis found no problems with that, thankfully.
The two women arrived back at the Garrison less than an hour later. Porthos was already waiting for them, pacing. When he saw the Queen, his eyes lit up, suddenly full of hope. "Majesty," he said softly, helping Anne out of her carriage and onto the ground. "Aren't I glad to see you. 'Mis is sleeping, in his room. You can go see him, if you want."
Anne nodded her thanks and almost ran up the stairs that led to his room. She still remembered where it was, she noticed. When she opened the door, Aramis was, indeed, sleeping. It wasn't a peaceful sleep, Anne realized, and that is what made her want to cry inside.
Poor Aramis was curled up in a tight ball in the middle of his bed, slightly trembling. His face wore a pained expression, with his mouth open in a silent scream and his eyes scrunched shut. Slight gasps escaped his lips every so often, a quiet moan following right after.
Slowly, the Queen sat down beside the injured man, reaching for this hand and interlocking his fingers with her own. Oh, how good it felt to finally have his calloused hand in her's! She began running her fingers over his skin, a habit that she had acquired during their brief period of romance. She missed it so much.
His confused voice startled her, and she jumped. She then understood that while she was in her thoughts, Aramis had woken up. Quickly locking eyes with the man, she smiled, beginning to stroke his hair with a feather light touch. "Yes, Aramis, it is I," she said softly. "I am here."
Aramis shook his head, unable to believe that the woman that he loved was in the same room with her. "You can't be here," he whispered. "You should be back at the Louvre … This is a trick."
"No, Aramis," Anne assured him, pressing her lips to his hand, holding it close to her chest. "This is not a trick. I have come to help you." Carefully, she moved over to sit on Aramis' bed, letting him pillow his head on her lap. She felt him trembling against her, and couldn't help but kiss the top of his hair, caressing his face. "I am right here with you," she said softly. "Now sleep. I'm not going anywhere."