Athos watched the young King as he described the scene of the ambush to both himself and the Queen, who looked like she wasn't sure whether to be concerned for your son, or whether to laugh at his adrenaline fuelled excitement.
He turned to catch d'Artagnan's eye, but found the man's eyes closed, his drink titling dangerously in his hand. He reached across to rescue it and placed his other hand on the Gascon's knee.
He didn't stir.
"D'Artagnan?"
Anne and Louis turned as Athos called to his man.
"D'Artagnan?" he asked again, louder his time. D'Artagnan's eyelids fluttered, but couldn't seem to open fully. Athos was out of his seat in seconds, and Louis was now standing.
Athos called to his brother again and again, checking his friend's body until his hand came away bloody.
Behind him Louis swore and Anne called from the servants to fetch the physician.
D'Artagnan was completely insensate so Louis and Athos took an arm each and pulled the man towards the King's own chambers, with Anne following quickly behind.
As they travelled the hallways both Athos and Louis kept up a litany, pleading for their mutual friend to stay with them. The physician met them as they arrived in the King's rooms.
"Excuse me, Majesty," Doctor Bernard ducked past the two men to get to his patient. He pulled away d'Artagnan's doublet and shirt to find the spatter of buck shot shrapnel stuck in the musketeer's back and blood pulsing from the wound.
"Why did he not say anything?!" Louis cried in despair as he watched his friend and brother bleed.
"He probably didn't realise he was badly injured, your Majesty," the Doctor explained. "His doublet was pulled tight, and he was probably feeling the effects of adrenaline, which can sometimes hide or disguise feelings of pain."
"Come on, Majesty," Athos pulled Louis back a bit. "Let's give the Doctor room to work."
/\/\/\/\
Louis sat at d'Artagnan's bedside and prayed that his friend would survive the results of his blood loss and the resultant fever that now ferociously burned through the musketeer's body.
They had figured out that the injury must have occurred when d'Artagnan had first pulled the King from his horse, and that the shot had not merely hit the animal, but his rider as well.
After the doctor had finished in his work and wrapped the injury tightly, he had left clear instructions on which medicine to give and then left. Athos had paced the room for some time before leaving to take a report from Henri and review the threat to the King. Louis had eventually been called away to meet with Athos to hear the facts of the matter: a group of anarchist rebels from Italy had mounted an attack, and while there was no further imminent threat, they must keep a wary eye out. In fact, at the end of the meeting, Louis had dispatched a message to his ambassador in Rome.
When he'd finally been able to return to d'Artagnan's side, the fever was already raging and Porthos had been sitting at the man's side. Constance had also been located by then and was sitting with her husband also. When Louis arrived, Porthos, who was always somewhat shy around the King, smiled kindly and took his leave. Constance had risen and hugged Louis and kissed his forehead, before guiding him to sit beside her.
It was odd really. Constance had been his governess in his youth, so while d'Artagnan was like his brother, she was very much his aunt, if not a second mother. It was never an idea that particularly troubled him, for their love and kindness was granted in equal measure, but it was an unusual bundle of relationships that he had made for himself.
As the night drew on, Anne had come to pull Constance away, taking d'Artagnan's wife to the Queen's rooms to rest.
Louis then sat alone with his friend, rinsing cold water over his friend's brow.
As the early hours of the morning began to pass, and the first light began to filter in, d'Artagnan's eyes drifted open. They were covered in a film of fever induced haze but Louis smiled nonetheless.
"Hello there my friend," the King said.
"Louis…" D'Artagnan spoke softly and breathlessly.
"I'm here," Louis reassured him. "You have a fever, but you'll be okay."
"Ummmm."
Louis looked down at his friend as d'Artagnan's brow creased and the musketeer shifted his head slightly to stare at his King through glazed eyes.
"You're so much like you're father," d'Artagnan said softly… almost in a conspirator's whisper.
"You think so?" Louis asked. "I've never really thought so, but I guess I never got to know him as well as you."
D'Artagnan didn't say anything to that. His eyes slipped sideways and he appeared to lose his train of thought. Louis placed another wet towel on d'Artagnan's burning forehead.
"It's a pity…" d'Artagnan began to speak but his voice petered out.
"What's a pity?" Louis asked curiously. "D'Artagnan? What's a pity?"
D'Artagnan didn't reply though… he appeared to have drifted back off. Louis frowned, and turned back to the basin of water.
"You should have met him," d'Artagnan whispered, suddenly.
"Met who?" Louis asked. An odd feeling, as if a cold hand was crawling up his back, came over him. "Who should I have met? D'Artagnan?"
"Your father…"
The words were breathless and practically incognizant as d'Artagnan now truly did fall back into slumber, his head lolling back on the pillow. On auto-pilot Louis retrieved the damp towel and re-applied it.
"But I knew my father…" he whispered almost to himself. But as he sat there in the early morning light, and his friend struggling for purchase before him, he couldn't shake the feeling… a feeling he'd supressed for quite some years.
He looked at d'Artagnan with an almost fearful expression on his face. Before him lay his trusted Captain, his big brother, and his friend… but now, for the first time in years, he felt that trust slip away…
