Alexandre Dumas and the BBC own the Musketeers, I'm just borrowing them.
Chapter One
"It's too cold for this," Porthos complained loudly as he walked into the yard at the centre of the Musketeers' garrison. The sun had barely started to lighten the sky when the messenger from Captain Treville had awoken three of his best men from their beds, requesting their immediate presence. Although when the Captain requested one's attendance, it was safe to assume that the summons was more of an order than a suggestion.
"You're getting soft in your old age," Aramis jabbed slyly.
"Oi, I'm not much older than you, friend," Porthos growled, before a slight smiled lifted the corner of his mouth. "I must say, that's an unusually colour your hair is beginning to turn at the temple there. Not a bad look. Makes you seem wiser." Porthos had to stifle a chuckle as Aramis drew a dagger and used its blade to see his reflection, checking for the grey hairs Porthos had been hinting at.
Athos kept quiet about his friends' antics, only rolling his eyes as the smallest trace of a smirk tugged at his lip. He had not been too pleased to have been woken at such an hour either, but the leader of the group reasoned that his captain would not have sent for the three best soldiers in the regiment at such an ungodly hour if it weren't important. The three of them, along with d'Artagnan, had just completed a particularly difficult mission, having tracked a suspected English spy to a small coastal town three days ride from Paris. They had only just arrived back in the city and retired to their respective lodgings hours earlier. As the three men drew closer to Treville's office the Captain himself appeared at the door.
"Follow me," was all he said before leading the way further into the maze that was the Musketeer garrison. The three men fell silently into line behind their commanding officer, curious as to what he wanted from them, but knowing from his shut off demeanour not to question him just yet. As they turned another corner, Aramis realised where they were headed.
"Why are you leading us to the infirmary?"
Treville's steps faltered slightly at the Spaniard's query. His continued silence began to worry Athos. "Captain?" A slightly frustrated sigh was all the response he received before the head of the regiment stopped outside, as Aramis had suspected, the infirmary.
"Now, I don't want you all to lose your heads at what I have to show you. Can you promise me that?" Athos didn't even bother answering his Captain's question before pushing past him and into the infirmary. The sight in front of him made the man freeze in his place.
"Athos, what..." Porthos' words died on his lips as both he and Aramis also pushed past the Captain and Athos to find a beaten, bruised and bleeding d'Artagnan lying on the surgeon's table, two other musketeers hurriedly trying to patch up his wounds. Aramis gave a quick glance back at Athos' stricken features before moving to surge forward into his role as a medic. He hurriedly took stock of the young man's wounds while asking the musketeers already assisting him what they had found so far. Porthos was about to step forward and help the marksman in patching up their comrade when he saw Athos turn on Treville out the corner of his eye.
"What happened?" He ground out through his teeth.
"Honestly? I don't know," Treville said, holding up a hand to stop either Athos or Porthos from interrupting. "I was woken about an hour ago by one of the night guards. Apparently, our young friend here stumbled up to the gates of the garrison before collapsing. The guards brought him here before fetching me and then three of you. A far as I'm aware he hasn't woken up yet." Before the two men could ask any more questions, they were interrupted by Aramis' voice.
Aramis was vaguely aware of the other men talking at the door but he only had eyes for the youngest of the group. He wasn't sure how their youngest brother had come to be in such a state but the questions of how and why could wait. Right now, he needed to put his medical knowledge to good use. Taking stock of what supplies he had around him and what the other two men tending to d'Artagnan had already done, he quickly started giving orders.
"I need warm water, this basin has gone cold," he stated after testing the liquid with his finger. "And clean bandages and a needle and thread." While the men bustled about completing his orders, Aramis started inspecting the Gascon and making a mental list of injuries. Two bleeding head wounds can't feel any break in the skull, but a few nice sized bumps. One pupil dilated too far, most likely a concussion. Bruising to the face over the right cheekbone and left side of the jaw, split lip, bruising around the throat (possibly from a strangulation attempt?). Right shoulder dislocated and right wrist sprained. Bruising appearing on left arm. Rope burns on both wrists. Three, no four broken ribs, likely more cracked and bruised. Shallow cut along left side of chest (from a sword?) will need stitches. Stab wound to the abdomen. No dark blood and from its position highly unlikely any internal organs have been hit. Will also need stitches. Musket wound to left thigh. Round went straight through missing the bone (thank God for small mercies). Will need to be stitched. Left knee severely bruised and swollen. Possibly dislocated at some point but has been put back in place. Right ankle is sprained. Doesn't seem too bad but will need to be bound and rested.
Aramis' clinical observations of the situation were interrupted by a pained groan from the man lying on the table.
"D'Artagnan?" Aramis asked, his hand going to the young man's hair to try and soothe him. "D'Artagnan, can you hear me? I need you to try and open your eyes for me." Despite his ministrations to try and calm the younger man, Aramis began to worry as d'Artagnan started to struggle.
"Athos, Porthos, I need you to hold him down while I stitch these wounds and try to calm him down. If he struggles any more he's just going to do himself further harm."
Treville and the other two musketeers in the room left quietly as the three friends all began working to heal and calm their youngest. As the Captain closed the door behind him he couldn't help but think that once those three men found out who had done harm to the youngest of their group, he would almost feel pity for the responsible party. A pained cry sounded from inside the room, interrupting his thoughts. No, the leader of the musketeers thought. I will not pity whoever did this to d'Artagnan. Whatever happens to them they will truly deserve.
