Authors note: This is the same situation told four times, but with a different injured man each time. Their reactions and the reactions of the others are different each time (I have not simply changed the names around!). You can read all four, I believe they are suitably different, or just read the one(s) for the musketeer(s) you like to see hurt the most.

D'Artagnan

Porthos kicked the door open. The farmhouse had clearly been abandoned for some time, the air was musty. Dust, disturbed by his sudden entrance, floated up. The big musketeer stalked through the living area to a bedroom at the rear of the small building. He gave the small bed he found there a kick before grunting with satisfaction. The frame was not rotten, it would do for what they needed it for.

'In here,' he called over his shoulder as he straightened up the threadbare blanket that covered the lumpy old mattress.

He turned to help Aramis with d'Artagnan. The young man was pale and barely conscious, the arm of his doublet stained with blood. They manoeuvred the injured man onto the bed. Aramis began undoing the buttons on the front of his jacket.

'Let's get this off you, then we can see the extent of the damage, hey, d'Artagnan, you still with me?'

The cadet nodded slightly. He hissed with pain as Aramis began to push the leather off his shoulder and down his injured arm. Porthos steadied the young man who swayed as the garment was pulled off. He looked up at Athos who was hovering in the doorway, an unusual look of guilt about his face.

'This weren't your fault Athos,' said Porthos firmly, 'none of us saw the fifth man coming up, he could have swung at any one of us.'

Athos shook his head and turned from the room back towards the living area of the farmhouse, Porthos could hear a metallic clang and then the sound of the door opening and closing.

'He'll be fine, it's d'Artagnan I'm worried about,' said Aramis, drawing Porthos' attention back to their wounded friend.

Divested of his doublet d'Artagnan was staring at his blood-stained shirt. He winced as Aramis ripped the fabric so that he could gain access to the injury.

Porthos handed Aramis a wadded-up bandage which the field medic used to wipe away the worst of the blood.

'Have you had stitches before?'

D'Artagnan looked up at Aramis, his eyes wide, 'once, when I was a child…but I can't remember it very well.'

Porthos placed his hand on the young man's shoulder, 'Aramis is not just the best marksman I know, his stitching is the neatest I have ever had, you're in good hands.'

D'Artagnan managed a faint smile before returning his gaze to the sword wound on his bicep. He blinked a few times before swaying, Porthos helped Aramis to arrange the young man to lie on the bed.

The door to the farmhouse opened again, Athos returned to the room with a pot full of water. He set if down beside Aramis who was kneeling by the bed as he rolled out his medical kit on a small table.

Porthos noticed that Athos still looked full of guilt, he sighed knowing that the man felt responsible for their young cadet.

'Do you want to hold him,' said Porthos indicating d'Artagnan who looked a little confused at the remark, 'or assist Aramis?'

When Athos did not respond Porthos moved around to the other side of the bed and sat beside the injured man before speaking again.

'Getting stitches hurts, believe me I know, and you will probably try to push Aramis off, so I am going to have to hold you still…do you understand?'

D'Artagnan nodded slightly and did not complain as Porthos pulled him up and encircled the young man's chest with his arms, pinning his uninjured arm in the process. Porthos nodded to Aramis.

'OK, I have to clean the wound first…Athos?'

Athos handed Aramis a fresh bandage before pulling the stopper from a small bottle of alcohol. Aramis dampened the cloth he was holding and wiped it across the wound causing the injured man to hiss with pain. Porthos held him still, but d'Artagnan had not moved too much. He did however pull away when the spirit was poured over the injury.

'I know, I'm sorry, but it will limit the chance of the wound becoming infected,' said Aramis sympathetically.

D'Artagnan was breathing quickly, his eyes screwed shut, Porthos smoothed the young man's hair back, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. He watched as Aramis readied a needle and thread.

'Now, don't watch the stitches going in or it will feel worse than it is,' said Aramis keeping his voice calm he glanced up at d'Artagnan who still had his eyes shut before looking across to Porthos who was smirking.

'Don't think he intends to look anyway.'

As Aramis pushed the needle in for the first stitch the young man tensed up and moved his legs, Athos leaned over and firmly restrained him. Porthos held the injured arm still so that Aramis could work. D'Artagnan was panting and clearly struggling not to cry out in pain. As the second stitch was pushed through the skin the young man tried to pull away again, but the men holding him did not let him move too far. The third stitch proved too much for d'Artagnan, who with a strained cry passed out, his features remained pained for a few more seconds before his muscles relaxed.

Athos released his hold on the cadet's legs and sat back on his heels looking up at his fellow Musketeers, 'sorry, I should not have let him accompany us…he is not ready for this.'

'If he hadn't been with us, I doubt we would 'ave been able to win that skirmish,' said Porthos as he adjusted his hold on the unconscious man so that Aramis could access the wound with ease.

'He's a good swordsman,' said Aramis without looking up from his work, 'he'll be as good as you one day.'

'He could have been killed today.'

'Any one of us could be killed any day…Athos, he wants to be a Musketeer, he knows the risks…you will not be able to protect him forever,' admonished Aramis as he finished the final stitch and cut the remaining thread.

Athos rose to his feet, his face pensive, 'you are right,' he said, 'but I am still going to worry about him.'

'As we all will,' said Porthos.

Porthos gently moved the cadet to lie on his own on the bed whilst Aramis wrapped a clean bandage around the now stitched wound.

MMMM