Shot with an Arrow
"Get...it...out," D'Artagnan pushed the words through gritted teeth.
"I will, I will," Aramis reassured him, gripping tightly to D'Artagnan's wrist and pressing it hard into the wall, "Just stay still. We have to do this carefully. Athos!" Aramis called over his shoulder. '
D'Artagnan grunted in pain, balling his left hand and slamming it into the wall behind him. His right leg ached and he knew he was wounded there too, but his left hand felt like it was on fire. His head was hanging to his chest as he leaned heavily against the wall taking gasping breaths trying to fight the agony. He forced his eyes open and swung his head slightly to the right to see it again. Yes, that was a crossbow bolt through his palm, impaling him to the wall.
It was terrifying to see the bolt through his flesh, piercing the center of his palm like it was nothing more than a straw target. When he was first hit, he was so startled he had stood stock still against the wall, unable for a moment to even move. . D'Artagnan was frozen, momentarily mesmerized by the length of steel rod protruding from his flesh as his brain tried to figure out what had happened. He had never been in a battle with crossbows before, had never seen the damage those deadly weapons could do. And then fire bloomed in his palm and engulfed his hand and he let out an agonizing scream. He shifted to take up the bolt with his left hand and yank the demon-steel from his flesh but then Aramis was there, shoulder pressed into his chest, blocking his left hand from reaching his right and pushing him against the wall.
The marksman had circled his wrist with his hand and gripped it so tightly D'Artagnan could feel that pain too, inside the fiery burn of his aching hand. As he was jostled by the marksman, D'Artagnan realized there was a leg wound too as his right leg throbbed and and pulsed below him. He wanted to bend and see that too, but Aramis's body pressed into his side prevented him from moving or from seeing what was happening to his leg.
"Athos!" Aramis called out again and D'Artagnan thought there was more urgency in his voice this time. D'Artagnan felt fear now with the pain. If Aramis was worried, this had to be really bad. It needed to be out. It had to be out now. Why didn't he just do it? D'Artagnan got his left arm between himself and Aramis and tried to shove the marksman off of him.
"No! D'Artagnan, no!" Aramis shifted his position, getting one of his legs between D'Artagnan's and leaning his full body weight into D'Artagnan's chest. With only the leverage of his left hand, trying to move Aramis away was like trying to move the boulder from the very tomb of Christ himself. D'Artagnan called out in agony.
"Take it out!" he demanded, "For the love of God, Aramis!" D'Artagnan closed his eyes, slamming his head back against the wall.
"You must stay still," Aramis demanded again, "Or this will be beyond repair. Are you listening to me?" Aramis said with a small shove of his shoulder into D'Artagnan's chest. The young swordsman grunted.
"Gods, Aramis! You as bad as the bolt,"he spat between gritted teeth.
"Just don't pass out," Aramis said sternly, "I can't hold up your entire body weight in this position."
"If you took it out, your won't have to hold anything," D'Artagnan argued. He'd strike a bargain with the devil himself if only that thing was out of his hand.
"Athos!" And Aramis's voice now held a ring of command that D'Artagnan rarely heard coming from him, 'Now, please."
"You're going to make Athos do it?" D'Artagnan squeaked out in a panic.
"Only if you want to be maimed for life," Aramis chided him, "Someone needs to hold you down while I take this out. The pain is going to be quite intense."
"It's already intense!" D'Artagnan shouted as he tried even more ineffectually than last time to push Aramis off of him. The marksman didn't budge. D'Artagnan banged his back against the wall again in frustration, eyes pressed closed as he groaned in pain.
"Took you long enough," Aramis said. D'Artagnan forced his eyes open to see Athos standing in front of them.
"There were three of them," Athos said with a shrug as he sheathed his blades.
"Hold this please," Aramis said politely but it was a demand, not a request. D'Artagnan wondered what he wanted Athos to do and then there was a quick shift in weight and pressure and D'Artagnan realized they had changed places. Athos now pressed up against him, an iron grip on his right wrist and his other hand shoving D'Artagnan's shoulder against the wall. Athos tucked his right leg between D'Artagnan's knees and pushed slightly, causing D'Artagnan to lean heavily on his uninjured leg. Not that he'd had much weight on the injured one to begin with but off-balance and chest to chest with Athos, D'Artagnan was even more immobilized than he had been with Aramis.
He felt something bump against his wounded hand and he howled. He could have used some kind words from Aramis but the marksman seemed intent on just causing him more agony.
"Just stop, please!" D'Artagnan begged.
"I thought you wanted it out," Aramis snapped back, but the added misery stopped only to be replaced a moment later with blossoming of pain in his thigh. D'Artagnan let out an anguished cry rolling his head against the wall.
"Why is he trying to kill me?" D'Artagnan nearly whimpered.
"He's saving your life," Athos's hold on him was like steel clamped over his limbs but the swordsman's voice was reassuring, "Try to stay calm."
"Easy for you to say," D'Artagnan said between clenched teeth, "You're not shot up like a turkey on the King's hunt."
"You are in a bit of a foul situation," Athos said, deadpan as ever. D'Artagnan opened his eyes and blinked owlishly at the swordsman. Athos's expression had not changed but his blue-grey eyes had a twinkle. He was fully aware of the terrible pun he had just made. Despite himself, D'Artagnan's lips twitched up in a smile even as he panted through the pain coursing in his limbs.
"Hold him still," Aramis said from below them. He was still working at the wound on D'Artagnan's thigh. He felt something around his upper leg and then it began to tighten, causing a new agony to flare in his leg even as the fire in his palm began to pulse in time with his heartbeats.
"What are you doing," D'Artagnan had little breath left with which to speak as the agony began to take hold of his body.
"A tourniquet," The marksman explained, "This will stop the bleeding on the sword wound until we can get you unpinned from the wall."
"Just pull the thing out already, please Aramis," D'Artagnan begged.
The pressure around his thigh was becoming nearly as unbearable as all the rest of the pain in his tortured body. He was sweating now with the strain of trying to stay still through all of the pain and felt the fatigue that was starting to claim his muscles. Suddenly he was grateful for Athos's strength and the swordsman's unflagging grip.
Aramis came into his line of vision, reaching over Athos's shoulder to grip D'Artagnan's neck. "The thigh wound can kill you, it must be dealt with first. The one in your hand, that is causing you much pain but no risk to your life," D'Artagnan nodded his understanding, "But if I do not not remove the bolt carefully, or if you pull further on it, you could be maimed for life. You must stay still, alright?" Aramis's eyes were full of worry but also love, Despite his agony, it was impossible to deny him. D'Artagnan nodded his understanding and appreciated the warm smile the marksman had to offer. Then he disappeared from his line of sight. Athos gave the Gascon's should a reassuring squeeze.
"Don't let his dramatics get to you," he said softly, "Aramis will not let you die."
"Porthos, the wine please," Aramis gave the big man a cheerful command. Porthos appeared on the other side of Aramis, a big grin on his face. D'Artagnan looked at him in confusion, wondering why he seemed so happy. The brawler gave him a friendly wink, which D'Artagnan decided to interpret as an attempt to be reassuring.
"This will need to be slow and he might not be able to take the pain," D'Artagnan did not like the sound of that. Porthos grunted in acknowledgement. It was no secret the big man did not like blood but yet he was probably standing in a pool of it now to help D'Artagnan. The young swordsman wanted to weep in gratitude.
"Now gently, grip here and here. Try not to jostle the bolt," D'Artagnan moaned as Porthos followed the instructions and pressed his wrist and thumb to the wall. Despite the attempt to be gentle, the slight shift of the bolt sent tendrils of pain throughout his hand. His legs started to tremble, the muscles exhausted.
"Can you wiggle your fingers?" Aramis asked.
"You told me not to move it," D'Artagnan huffed out.
"I need to know if there has already been damage before I shift this further," Aramis said, "Gently now, just let me see." D'Artagnan rotated his head toward his injured hand and pushed his eyes open. Seeing the bolt in his palm immediately made the throbbing wound even more intense. But he had to know now if indeed he had lost the use of his fingers. With a deep grunt to the effort D'Artagnan curled his fingers downward. He watched the digits shift long enough to know that they could move and then squeezed his eyes shut, unwilling to look further at the horror that was his ruined hand.
"That's good, that's very good," Aramis reassured him, "If I can pull straight, there should be no lasting damage." Aramis reached over and patted the young swordsman's cheek, his voice soothing, "Alright, D'Artagnan, I'm going to pull the bolt," Aramis explained, "Then douse it with wine, then bandage you quickly." D'Artagnan nodded into Aramis's palm, afraid to speak for whatever pitiful sound would come out of his mouth. "Stay as still as you can now, if you pull on that hand you might lose the use of it, " Aramis ordered as he released his hand from D'Artagnan's face. He immediately missed the comforting warmth. Athos shifted his grip on D'Artagnan, pressing his full body against his young friend knowing what was to come next.
"A nice clean, straight pull. LIke a smooth draw on a bowstring. And, go...," and then D'Artagnan felt a rending, tearing, slicing pain that seemed to go on forever. His thigh muscles clenched and his body went rigid as if it refused to give up the bolt. The process of taking it out was far more painful than it having gone in. He couldn't help it, D'Artagnan screamed.
Then it was out, replaced with a deep, agonizing feeling of burning that made D'Artagnan wonder if his flesh was truly scorched. He tried to push himself forward, to wriggle out of Athos's hold, but the swordsman was unrelenting as D'Artagnan pushed against him. As quickly as it had begun the burning receded and panting in pain and exhaustion, D'Artagnan let his head fall forward onto Athos's shoulder. His vision grayed and his head swam and perhaps he did pass out for he came back to his senses with Athos murmuring low words of comfort, his right arm snugged up under D'Artagnan's arm and around his back, pressing him to his chest. D'Artagnan could barely stand but Athos held him tightly, not letting him fall as his right hand was still pressed to the wall.
"...take this," Aramis was speaking, "And now the bandage."
"Yer not gonna sew it?" Porthos asked softly.
"Not yet," Aramis said he pressed something soft into D'Artagnan's palm, "This will take time and good lighting or the scars that set will impede the motion. Hold him still, I have to do the back," D'Artagnan felt his hand shift and then another wave of burning pain streaked over his hand. He was coherent enough to recognize the feeling as the burn of alcohol in a wound, but that didn't make it any less painful.
"Constance . . ." D'Artagnan whimpered, he couldn't help it. He tried to keep the tears brewing in his eyes from falling, squeezing them tight, but still he felt the dampness on his cheek and embarrassingly realized he was weeping into Athos's shoulder.
"There, almost done," Aramis cooed beside him, "Just the bandage now."
D'Artagnan's arm was finally shifted and he felt the strips of linen gently wrapping over and around his hand. Something soft, cotton wadding perhaps, had been pressed to the palm and back of his hand and the snug of the bandage actually felt reassuring, like he might hold together after all. The bandaging finally done, Aramis gently laid D'Artagnan's hand on Athos's shoulder. The swordsman slipped his other arm up behind D'Artagnan's back and the young musketeer all but fell into his Lieutenant's embrace.
"Well that's cozy," Aramis gently mocked.
"Aramis," the singular word held all the warning Athos needed.
"Ah, right," Aramis said, all back to business, "Can you get him by the fire? We need to see to that leg before he can ride."
"Can you stand?" Athos asked as he gently rocked D'Artagnan back onto his feet. D'Artagnan felt soft and unsteady but locked his knees and managed to take his own weight again. Athos shifted beside him, the injured hand still over his shoulder, but then gripped his waist with his other hand. "Just a few steps to the fire," he said and he helped the Gascon, wobbly as a new colt, move to the bench by the fire.
"I'm sorry," D'Artagnan said sheepishly as Athos eased him to sit on the floor and slid off his cloak. Athos paused and looked at him confusion in his steel blue eyes.
"I . . . Back there . . ." D'Artagnan trailed off, unable to name his shame as a hot blush overtook his face.
"Oh, I see," Athos said with understanding. "You are not the first man to weep in my arms because of an injury," the swordsman said as he rolled his cloak into a tidy packet and placed it carefully under the knee of D'Artagnan's injured leg. "Nor the first to call out for his mother or his lover," Athos said, his steady tone making it sound common place.
"We are all the comfort we have sometimes," Athos explained, "And if it helps you to swoon in my arms to bear the pain, I will offer you my body again and again. That is what soldiers do."
"I swooned?" D'Artagnan said weakly.
"Yes, and it was quite lovely," Aramis said, kneeling down to poke at D'Artagnan's leg.
"Aramis, stop!" D'Artagnan said, but against the pain he was inflicting or the teasing no one was sure.
"Never," Aramis smiled and he upended the bottle of wine over the bleeding sword cut. D'Artagnan howled before swooning prettily into Porthos's waiting arms.
"At least he's predictable," Athos said wearily, but Aramis did not miss the fond gaze that lingered on Athos's face as they knelt together to knit their youngest brother back together.