Title: Unsettled Confusion
Summary: Farmland surrounded him and cries taunted him on the wind. Everything hurt, ached deep down to his very bone or maybe his soul. He just wanted it to end.
Author Note: So this is my entry for September’s Fête des Mousquetaires – Confusion. Sorry this will be short but… Enjoy!
He was confused, how did he get here when he should be out past Paris? Farmland surrounded him and cries taunted him on the wind. Everything hurt, ached deep down to his very bone or maybe his soul. He just wanted it to end.
Where were his brothers?
He could have sworn they were with him, laughing by his side as they set up camp.
Etienne… wide grey eyes… awe… respect… gauche in hand…
Porthos… safety, wide smile and kind eyes… deep love and boisterous laugh.
Alain… teasing, food… here… Alain?
Athos… leader, brother… pride and pain… protection… where?
Jean… green eyes, unblinking… cross abandoned in the dirt.
Gaston… cheeky and tall… a match for Porthos… who?
Mar… the name dying on his lips.
Charles… not Charles… wide brown eyes and tight smile… not Charles… dark hair… Protect… protect… protect…
His brothers… they were hurt and injured but he could not see them as he wandered aimlessly down the dirt road with farmland surrounding him. Where was his sword? Where was his weapons, they should be strapped to his waist but they were not there.
This wasn’t right. It unsettled him so.
It should be forest, snow. His blue was no longer blue but brown and grey, mud and ash with blood upon his fingertips. The scent of fresh tilled dirt was tainted by ash and blood; no longer could he smell the crisp clean air. He could not understand, could not focus over the loud ring in his ears and the cries upon the wind taunting him.
Walk, keep walking need to find brothers before he could collapse… he needed brothers, needed clarity that his mind refuses.
Why won’t this ache stop?
He could hear his name now, someone calling for him from somewhere. It was faint but desperate, it halted his footsteps and the world tilted on its axis as he turned to see who called for him. Nausea bubbled up in his chest and in a blink of an eye he found himself on hands and knees bringing up the broth in his stomach.
He arched as he felt hands upon his back, a deep keen escaping his lips as pain radiated from the touch. He could hear words babbled, but was it him or was it the person who called his name and put hands upon him causing pain?
He was so tired, but he had to keep moving, he needed clarity.
“..OS!… AR… whe… urt?” The broken sentence broke through the cries, scattering them in the wind but replacing it with a new sensation. A deep ache that rattled around his head like a violent storm and bringing more nausea, make it stop please God, make it stop.
He didn’t know whether to be thankful or curse.
Blue sky replaced the brown dirt, then there were eyes, eyes the same colour of the dirt he lay on. No, not the same, warmer… they made him feel safe, made him think of home. Porthos.
Porthos was here… how could Porthos be here when he should be back in Paris? He was not safe here!
“Not safe!” He gasped out, his voice sounded strange to his own ears and bringing the taste of blood.
Stormy blue eyes replaced the brown, bringing a sense of foreboding and yet the sensation of safety and home did not leave with their appearance. He could see the lips above him move, concern in the depths of the eyes above. Athos…
He felt his body being jolted and then moved, a cry tearing from his lips as he was jostled into something… on something? It seemed to send all noise but his cry scattering once more until it settled into a constant ring and then silence.
How long has it been?
…Gaston? No, he was gone…
Snow covered in blood… ash raining from the burning village…
One was missing…
… brothers… where?
His eyes flickered to see he was in a cart, but the blue sky of day shifted into the tormenting darkness of night. Ash and blood still invaded his senses and he knew he should be cold, but warmth surrounded him and as he looked to his left, a tall lanky frame sat next to him.
Reds and browns mixed with blue, blood covered the worn leather and mixed with mud and ash. Panic welled within his chest as he saw it; all he could think was that this wasn’t right, that the leather should still shine new. He struggled feebly to reach the figure but only to still when the figure moved and warm hands lifted his chin.
Charles but not Charles… youth and pouts… brother… teasing… RUN!
“d’Artagnan,” He rasped out confused but earning a smile in return. “What?”
d’Artagnan smiled but it seemed strange before a cool cloth was placed upon his forehead. “Are you with us now Aramis?”
A frown marred his features. “I was gone?”
It hurt to talk but no longer did it bring the taste of blood.
“Is he awake?” Porthos’s voice called from the other side of the cart.
“Yes, finally… he doesn’t seem to remember what happened.” D’Art replied with a frown before leaning closer, his hands tenderly feeling Aramis’s head like he had been taught. When his fingers brushed over a bump he apologised as Aramis cursed violently and turned an alarming shade of green.
The cart came to a stop as he called for a halt and quickly lifted Aramis to a sitting position and depositing a large bowl that was in the cart in his lap, just in time for him to be sick.
“He has a concussion by the looks of it on top of the nasty cut on his brow.” He informed his brothers, thanking God that he had asked for Aramis to teach him about healing one sleepless night. “‘Mis do you remember what happened?”
The words sounded wrong once again, everything was wrong but he could not deny the feel of hay beneath his finger tips or the soft leather of d’Artagnan’s pants plus the warmth that seemed to radiate from his hand that rested upon his chest. It brought him comfort and chased the chill that was creeping up on him.
“Alain had set camp?” He asked, confused on the images his memory sparked and became unsettled when he saw his youngest brothers brow of confusion.
“Alain?” d’Art asked causing the two outside to still and then mutter curses.
Athos sighed and stopped the cart once more before turning and sticking his head inside the cloth that protected them from the sun. “Alain was one of our brothers who fell at Savoy.”
Images came rushing back to Aramis causing him to moan, he was not in Savoy he was near Orleans with Athos, Porthos and d’Artagnan. They had been sent out to pass along a message to Etienne who was in Orleans on a mission and they met him near a small town, they had just settled when the cry for help rose.
He remembered running towards the village with his brothers as fire began to devour the small village. He remembers running into a home when a woman cried out that her son was still trapped inside and remembered at some point being struck by a falling beam and his brothers hurt trying to get him out.
“Go… help them, I’m fine.”
Those words were the last he could remember before coming to walking down an old farm road confused.
“The Village?” He rasped smiling thankfully up at d’Artagnan as he held the waterskin to his lips, though he was sure that his smile came out more as a grimace.
“The village is gone but no one died thankfully. It was set alight by a band of bandits in hopes they could rob the surrounding homes while everyone was focused on the village.” Athos explained. “Rest Aramis, you are safe now.”
Aramis felt his eyes close and the ache settle in his soul, finally he had clarity.
Author Note: *scratches head* yeah this is what came out…