Chapter Two - Bloody Hands
Unknown victim, but thoughts from Aramis' perspective
He stood by the side of the bed where his unconscious brother lay. The hustle and noise of a few minutes ago had abated. The others had left the room, the horses still needed to be tended to, a report needed to be made to Treville. Aramis could cope watching their brother alone for a while.
Aramis glanced at the mess they had made dealing with the injury. There was blood on the floor of the infirmary where it had dripped off the table as he had worked, stitching as quickly as he could. Had his brother already lost too much blood? Aramis hoped not, he prayed he had been quick enough.
Discarded, bloody cloths littered the ground, the water, stained red, sat on the table. His own medical bag was still on the table waiting for him to tidy it away and put it back where it belonged, where he knew to find it. Where he frequently had to retrieve it from.
Aramis lifted his hands and looked at them. His brother's blood covered them both. There had been times when each of his brothers had bled on him. There had been times when he had bled on himself as he uncomfortably dealt with his own injuries.
His hands, which he noted were shaking slightly, were what made the difference between life and death on occasion. He knew that a doctor could have been called to deal with the injury this time, but he had been there, the wound needed to be dealt with quickly and he had done what he had to do.
How many times had he been the one that had wielded the needle or set the broken bone? How many times had he been the one to inflict pain in order to save one of them?
He looked to the skies, which he knew, outside the infirmary, were now inky black, the night had overtaken them as they had carried their brother back to the garrison and into the infirmary. Aramis closed his eyes for a few seconds and recited a prayer. A thanks to God that he could help his friends and continue to do so.
He looked back at his hands and noticed they had stopped shaking. The energy he had enjoyed as he worked was fading from him and the reality was sinking in. The possibilities were beginning to make themselves known.
What if they had been too late? What if he had not been quick enough to stem the blood flow?
What if…
The sound of someone approaching stopped the whirling thoughts. There was no time for 'What if's'. His brother would be fine, he would need some time, but he would recover.
Aramis looked up as Treville entered the room. The Captain crossed the infirmary, he reached up and squeezed Aramis' arm for a few seconds before stepping away and pulling a chair up to the bed beside the unconscious man.
'You've done all that you can, son,' said Treville with a slight smile, 'go and get yourself cleaned up. I'll sit with him for a while. He'll still be here when you get back.'
Aramis hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly and turning away from his brother. He did not look back, confident that his brother was in safe hands with their Captain. They were all safe in each other's hands. For which Aramis was thankful.
The End.