Thank you for everyone's kind reviews, follows and faves. I hope I don't disappoint. And now... the plot unfolds...
Disclaimer: I do not own BBC'S The Musketeers
"Don't come closer," D'Artagnan repeated.
Aramis glanced at the weapon in the Gascon's hand, and then ran his inquisitive gaze over d'Artagnan's body, taking stock of the severity of the injury to his chest.
"D'Artagnan, you're seriously injured," Aramis called to his brother, pleading with him. "Please, you need to lower the weapon. I need to stop the bleeding."
D'Artagnan looked hesitant, but something like a look of hope fluttered in his eyes and the weapon dipped a little.
"Please d'Artagnan," Aramis continued. "Whatever has happened, we can rectify it, but I need to check on your wound."
"Aramis?"
"Yeah, it's me." Aramis hesitantly took a step forward. When d'Artagnan didn't make any overtly defensive move, Aramis began to move even closer.
Finally reaching him, Aramis gently prised the gun out of d'Artagnan's hands and set it beside him. He didn't like to linger on the open road when there were still too many unknown variables, but he had no other option with d'Artagnan bleeding as heavily as he was. In front of him, d'Artagnan was fading fast, his eyes fluttering a little as he struggled to breathe. Whatever damage had been done to his chest had clearly had some sort of impact on the lad's lungs.
"You're okay," d'Artagnan said softly, and Aramis thought he could detect a sound of desperation on the man's lips.
"I'm fine d'Artagnan," he said. "It's you I'm worried about."
D'Artagnan didn't say anything as Aramis inspected the wound. It looked like he had taken a shot to his upper chest, and it appeared that the ball had caught his lung before it had exited out of d'Artagnan's back. He tutted slightly, not having any real supplies to hand, and so being rather stuck about what to do other than to apply pressure and wait for help to arrive.
If help were to ever arrive. He still had no idea of what had happened, or where they were.
He hastily pulled his scarf free from his belt and pressed it firmly against d'Artagnan's open wounds. A pained gasp emitted from d'Artagnan's mouth and, in the back of his mind, Aramis worried at the fact that there was clearly enough air in his brother's lungs to cry out louder.
"I'm sorry, my friend," said Aramis as d'Artagnan heaved and gasped from the pressure he was putting on the wound.
"S'okay."
Aramis looked back behind him, seeing the blood trail but nothing else. He took stock of his own state of dress (he was armed, and clothed, but had no doublet with him, and his hat was conspicuously absent), and then at d'Artagnan, who looked dressed as if he would when setting out for a mission.
"What happened?" Aramis finally asked. "Where are we?"
"You don't remember?"
"I think I knocked my head," Aramis said. "Or someone knocked it for me. I can't recall…"
D'Artagnan shifted slightly under Aramis' hold, and the medic watched as h frowned, as if considering what to say.
"D'Artagnan?" Aramis wheedled his brother.
"We're just outside of Paris," d'Artagnan said. "I suspect the others will find us soon."
"Just outside of Paris?"
D'Artagnan's eyes slid shut momentarily as he nodded his assent.
"You walked… How did you walk his far bleeding like this?" Aramis asked.
And then he paused, truly taking in the implications of the Gascon's attempts at travel.
"D'Artagnan? Why did you… why did you walk away from me?"
D'Artagnan flinched and turned his head away.
"D'Artagnan?" Aramis was all but begging now. "D'Artagnan? You had my sword. You wouldn't let me near you… oh god… mon dieu… my pistol… I'd fired my…"
"T'wasn't yo—" d'Artagnan mumbled.
"Who was it then?" Aramis was frantic. "Stay awake d'Artagnan. You can't go to sleep."
D'Artagnan's chest fluttered as his eyes flickered back open from when they had shut.
"You di'n-t kno- what y'were do'in," d'Artagnan said softly. The words were meant to be reassuring, but spoken from d'Artagnan's blue-tinged lips they were damning to the medic.
"I shot you," Aramis whispered hollowly. "No, no, no, no… Why would I shoot you?"
"S'not y'ur fault," d'Artagnan wheezed.
"D'Artagnan…" but Aramis could think of no words as his brother lay dying by his own hands.