To Wait

By: Musketeer Adventure

Summary: As his body jerked sideways and hit the ground, he thought, "What of d'Artagnan?" and began to slip into unconsciousness.

Chapter 2

Everything started off well enough.

The mission to Cherbourg as explained to them would be somewhat dangerous and tense. The ride would be long, hard and tiresome; sprinkled with tedium. This was what was expected of a musketeer. A soldier's life of sensing disaster around every corner, mixed with the pride of duty for King and country. Above all a soldier knows that death waits patiently for each of them, and would make himself known at any hour.

They packed up provisions, readied their mounts, and Athos left instructions for d'Artagnan, who had been on his own mission at the time, to stay out of trouble and to be here when they returned. He added with some mirth that Aramis would be paying for drinks. He made it clear to Treville that he was to watch over d'Artagnan with a look of flinty steel; and felt comfortable that he was in good hands while they would be away.

So they left without their fourth, and felt his absence keenly.

They missed his zeal in finding adventure at riding alongside them; at hearing their tall tales of wildness, and his yearning to learn everything they had to teach him. They even missed his mooning over "the love of his life" to hear him tell it.

Traveling without him, made the journey seem longer than the miles would indicate.

In good time they made it to Cherbourg without much incident. They were able to meet up with their contact, infiltrate the ring of smugglers, and capture without too much blood shed and injury the leader of the operation to smuggle gun powder out of France and into the hands of her enemies.

They were efficient; and methodical.

Gun powder recovered; and turned into the local magistrate; the smugglers arrested and jailed – the three set off with their prisoner, the ring leader, and began the return trip back to Paris.

"It will be good to be home." Porthos declared thinking of his bed; the city he loved to roam; and a certain young man.

"Agreed," Aramis nodded, rubbing his crucifix as it dangled around his neck, thinking of his love, his child, and a certain young man.

Athos merely patted his horse's neck, dug his heels into his flank and began the pace as quick. His mind falling to thoughts of his favorite tavern; his prisoner who he guided on horseback beside him and of a certain young man he would be glad to see.

After two days on the road back, the mundane tasks had our musketeers missing d'Artagnan all the more.

It was usual to say, "d'Artagnan brush down the horses; fetch us some water or find wood for the fire."

His youthful energy was greatly missed for these daily chores.

But it was also usual to see him at his happiest on such journeys. To hear him bellow, "Practice with me Athos", and hear the clanking of swords as dusk turned into night. It was also usual to hear his laughter as Porthos wrestled him to the ground, penning him without mercy; or to hear him sigh in disbelief at Aramis' tales of womanly misadventure.

"We should be in Paris by tomorrow if we move swiftly and eat in the saddle," Athos determined as they planned the next day's ride. Around the fire, that night, they speak of home and making their way back to d'Artagnan, who they feared may have found a way to make mischief.

Their prisoner sat ever so quiet – sullen – and tired of hearing musketeer tales and being tied to trees. He looked forward to prison, as travel with this lot had been relentless and unforgiving on his body.

As the morning came upon them, the three gathered their belongings, mounted their horses and began the swift ride back to Paris with their prisoner secured and in tow.

And though everything had gone according to plan - with their mission complete and somewhat successful – bad luck befell them as a random group of bandits and thieves came riding toward them at full force; believing they could overpower the three with one of their number trussed up and defenseless.

There were six of them with their weapons raised and fire arms pointed right at them.

The first to go down was the prisoner – who flew over the head of his horse after stopping short in fright. Unable to use his hands to help brace for a fall, as they were tied tightly in front of him, his neck broke angrily as he hit a nearby tree. He felt nothing.

Aramis, thinking quickly pulled his musket and shot dead a bandit, at a full gallop, as he came screaming toward him with his own weapon aimed for his heart. The shot went wild and kicked up dirt, and the bandit was yanked back from his horse by the force of the bullet. A stain of red blood spread across his forehead, into his eyes and down his throat.

Aramis then leapt from his horse and found cover among a clump of trees – looking to see how his brother's fared – as he made to reload his weapon.

Porthos had already leapt form his horse, and in a full run, reached up and pulled a bandit passing by from his saddle, knocking him to the ground. He raised his knife to do damage, and saw that the man's eyes were sightless – the force of his fall taking his life.

Porthos moved on to the next assailant, who attempted to catch him unawares from behind, and hit him with the butt of his rifle. Instead, Porthos grabbed the front end of the rifle, pulled him off his mount and dispatched him with his knife, quick and painless.

Over to the side was Athos – taking on two bandits in a magnificent display of swordsmanship. If things were not so dire, Porthos would stand and watch. A bloody and costly lesson was being given. Gracefully, he caught one bandit through the heart; spun and slit the throat of the other. Beads of sweat covered his forehead, plastering his hair to his face. His breath quickened with exertion as he watched both men hit the ground at the same time.

Porthos raised his hand to him and smiled.

Athos saluted back, and then Aramis screamed, "Get down!"

Porthos turned toward the frantic scream and trusting Aramis, fell to his knees.

Athos did not have time. The shot rang out, hit him at his side, and blood blossomed bright red on his leather coat.

As his body jerked to the side and hit the ground, he thought, "What of d'Artagnan," and slipped into unconsciousness.

At that same time Aramis took aim with his reloaded weapon, and shot the bandit between the eyes, reproaching himself, and thinking his brother dead. He sprang from his position and ran to Athos' side.

Porthos reached him first, and it seemed all was lost. His dismay at seeing Athos down almost overpowered him. He fell to his knees and placed a hand at Athos' mouth and felt a faint puff of air.

As Aramis reached them, he yelled, "He breathes."

With quick decision making as his strong suit, Aramis pulled open his friend's coat – lifted up his shirt and reached the scored wound on his side. Blood immediately coated his hands as he probed to see its extent.

"I feel no bullet in this wound. We should move him over to those trees – out of the sun and heat. Clean this, and cauterize. Then find somewhere to rest."

Porthos nodded and by instinct moved to gather their horses and tether them to the nearby trees.

With great effort they were able to place Athos in a comfortable spot, and administer to his needs.

While his wound was cleaned, Athos did not move or make a sound. Only when Aramis took the heated knife from Porthos and placed it across the score did he moan, catch his breath, and open his eyes to see his friends watching him with worry.

Seeing their faces –he briefly smiled – looked about his surroundings and asked, "Where is d'Artagnan?" Aramis grabbed his hand and before he could answer, Athos had returned to unconsciousness.

"It is done. Now we find shelter and rest."

Porthos looked about him and corrected Aramis, "Now, we bury these dead Aramis." Aramis looked to him, bowed his head, and followed his friend to complete the solemn work of collecting the bodies and laying them to rest.

By the next day, having spent the night in the elements, Aramis began to grow concerned, for Athos had taken to a fevered state. Waking every so often, he seemed lucid one moment and then incoherent the next – always asking at some point where their d'Artagnan could be.

Each time, Porthos remarked, "Don't you remember Athos? He waits for us back at the garrison. Your instructions were clear, yeah? He's there waiting."

Athos would then seem satisfied with the answer and return to sleep. But not much later it would begin again.

The heat form his body radiating, Aramis shook his head and admitted to Porthos, "I believe his wound is infected and he grows worse the longer we stay out in the open."

At that moment, luck changed for our three. Crashing through the trees on horseback charged Roland. As he approached them he noted with his hands raised in surrender, that two muskets were trained to take aim at his heart and his head

"Thank the lord I have found you!" he exclaimed. "We have been searching for two days."

"How go the musketeers," Porthos said in greeting.

"We fare well, and are now the better that you are found."

"And d'Artagnan?"

Roland answered carefully, "He waits."

Aramis interjected that Athos was injured and a plan was needed to get him to shelter. Roland had recently passed a small dwelling, and would go back to procure a cart to carry Athos back there to be tended.

He promptly took off and within half a day, they were all at the home with Athos under the watchful eye of Aramis, and the family who inhabited there. The children were doe eyed and curious, unable to keep from underfoot.

During the rest of the day and night, Athos showed no improvement. His fever rose. He would not take drink unless forced, and he shook with chills so strong, Porthos had to hold him still. Remedies – herbs- and poultices seemed to have no effect. Aramis feared the worse, while Porthos spoke softly to him to keep him grounded.

When awake, Athos' most constant thought was for the whereabouts of d'Artagnan. Once again his friends reminded him that he waited for them in Paris. On one occasion, with eyes clear he answered, "Then we must go home."

So on the next day, with the blessing of the dear family, they borrowed the cart and began the trip home.

Roland rode ahead to bring the news of their coming.

As the cart rattled slowly down the road, Athos became aware, and took hold of Aramis' hand in a firm grip. "I fear my life will end today my friend." He looked fondly at his brother, and his gaze spoke of love and gratitude. Aramis squeezed back and could not answer around the constriction in his throat.

Startled by his disclosure, Porthos spoke from the seat – as he guided the horse and cart as carefully as he could, so as not to cause him undue pain – "Not today Athos. d'Artagnan waits for you at the garrison, and Aramis must buy the drinks."

To be continued.

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