Porthos and Aramis were heading to Arras in a troop of the Musketeers; there had been reports of bandits attacking the town and stealing money and food. Porthos was brimming with excitement; this would be the first big fight he would be getting involved in. He hadn't done anything yet as a member of a troop. Aramis, who was riding beside him, gave him a side glance and smirked, he knew what Porthos was thinking. In the year since Porthos had saved Aramis, they had become more than friends, even more than best friends. They were brothers in all but blood. There was nothing they wouldn't do for each other. Porthos shot Aramis a toothy grin and Aramis grew serious for a moment.
"I know you are excited at the prospect of fighting. But be careful and watch yourself. Things can get messy in a fight like the one we are bound to have. You think being surrounded by fellow Musketeers you would be safe. But things happen quickly. One minute you have two friends either side of you and the next you are standing alone" Aramis gave Porthos a steady stare, empathising his point.
Porthos sobered and thought about how he didn't like the look currently in Aramis' eyes. "That sounds like the voice of experience" he commented.
Aramis nodded and sighed, "I have been in my fair share of fights, you can plan for every eventuality but something always happens. Something you hadn't considered and your plans are worth nothing. That is why thinking on your feet is a must in battle. But since becoming a Musketeer my fortunes in battle have been much improved"
Porthos frowned at Aramis' last words. Aramis had talked to Porthos very little about his life prior to joining the Musketeers. Porthos knew Aramis' mother and father, Rosaline and Colbert, were still living in the village near Le Mans where Aramis grew up. Aramis had even promised to take him there once they had some long leave. But other than Aramis' parents and his year in the Musketeers without Porthos, Porthos knew very little about Aramis.
"So you were a soldier before joining the Musketeers?" asked Porthos, he leaned forward slightly in his saddle he really hoped Aramis wouldn't change the subject as he was prone to do.
"Yes" admitted Aramis; he blinked and turned his head so he was looking straight ahead. "I became a soldier in 1620. The first year was amazing, I loved it and that's when I started to work on my shooting."
"And the second year?" questioned Porthos softly, he watched as Aramis temporarily shut his eyes.
"Not so good" whispered Aramis. His eyes flickered over to Porthos and then back to in front of him.
"Aramis?" Porthos pushed his horse on so he was just a little ahead of Aramis and could look his brother in the eye.
Aramis sighed, "I managed to join the same Regiment as my older cousin Victor. He wasn't pleased when he saw me; he was always like my older brother and hadn't wanted a soldier's life for me. But I was never contented to just live the life of a simple farmer. He was the one who taught me how to use a musket." Aramis smiled softly at the memory of Victor's gentle teaching and Victor's smile when Aramis continuously hit the centre of the target. "But in 1621 we were involved in the Siege of Montauban. I was injured and Victor protected me. He was killed" Aramis bowed his head and tried to keep the memories away.
Porthos sat wide eyed and stared at his friend. He had heard stories of that battle, in the Court wounded soldiers had lived there and told him the horrors of the battle and how the Huguenots defeated them. Seeing the look on Aramis' face he knew what Aramis was thinking and said, "It wasn't your fault"
Aramis slowly looked up and met Porthos' steady gaze, "After that I neither cared if I lived or died. At the Siege of Royan I came across Treville and he offered me a place in a new Regiment, The Musketeers. I accepted because I'd lost Victor and most of my friends and so had no reason to stay in my first Regiment. I went home and told my parents. My mother tried to convince me to give up the life of a soldier, I think seeing the scar of my injury frightened her. Especially when she realized Victor died saving me, without him I would have died. But my father, he looked me straight in the eye and asked if this was what I really wanted. I said yes and then he let me go. That was the last time I was home"
Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' arm, "You miss them" it wasn't even a question.
"Yes" breathed Aramis, "I wish they lived closer so I could see them more, the occasional letter can only do so much. But I will not ask them to leave the village. My father spent his whole life there and my mother would not want to move a long distance again"
"They would not do that for you?" asked Porthos in confusion,
"Oh they would" assured Aramis, "But I know they wouldn't be happy and so I would not ask it of them. And the thought of them living anywhere else does not seem right"
Before Porthos could comment one of the leading Musketeers shouted out an alarm as a huge number of bandits came pouring down the road from both directions.
"And so it begins" commented Aramis as he turned his horse sharply to meet the half of the bandits who were coming behind them. Porthos followed him; the thought that without Victor he would never have met Aramis unsettled him. He wanted to stay close to Aramis the thought of living life without his brother was just wrong. Aramis cantered his horse until he was in front and shouted orders at the half of the troop of Musketeers who were near to the bandits coming from behind.
Time stood still for Porthos; he was shocked at the sounds of clashing metal, muskets being fired and men shouting. He tried to keep an eye on Aramis but it was becoming difficult. He was moving his sword left and right over his horse's neck to kill any bandits that came too close. He constantly flickered his gaze over to Aramis who was still shouting the occasional order. The bandits seemed to realize that Aramis was the leader of this group of Musketeers and most of them converged on Aramis and pulled him from his horse.
"Aramis!" yelled Porthos as he tried to push his horse through the mass of bandits. But he didn't get any closer to his fallen brother.
You can plan for every eventuality but something always happens. Something you hadn't considered and your plans are worth nothing.
Porthos shuddered at Aramis' words from not that long ago. Aramis was right. Porthos had planned to stick close to Aramis, but that plan had fallen through. Then he remembered something else Aramis had said.
That is why thinking on your feet is a must in battle.
Porthos then had an idea. He kicked his horse in a way that encouraged it to rear. Its flailing front hoofs caused the bandits to move back or face getting hit in the head with a hoof and getting killed. A gap was created and Porthos moved his horse forward. It was then he managed to catch a glimpse of Aramis.
Aramis was fighting alongside Alexandre, who had also been pulled from his horse. Aramis had blood on his forehead from when his head had connected with the ground, his hat was off his head and his face was darkened with mud but otherwise was unharmed.
Porthos breathed a sigh of relief and then became engrossed in the fight again; he looked for Aramis again but couldn't see him anywhere. That doesn't mean anything. That doesn't mean he is lying on the ground injured or worse. He's fine.
Once the fight had ended with the majority of the bandits killed and the others taken in for questioning. It was learned that there were no more bandits so once the wounded had been taken care of, the Musketeers could return to Paris.
Porthos was searching everywhere for Aramis and the more time he went without seeing his friend he began to worry. Just when he despaired of finding Aramis alive he found him tending to the wounded. The tension bled out of Porthos and he leaned against a post thankful that he had found Aramis alive. But then he looked closer and saw Aramis was limping. He looked closer still and saw Aramis had tied his blue sash around his left leg just above his knee.
Porthos stood and waited and watched. Aramis continued to ignore his own injury and cared for the other wounded Musketeers. Alexandre tried to get Aramis to at least sit down but Aramis brushed him off. Porthos then moved forward and grasped Aramis' arm. Aramis spun around in shock; he would have fallen over if it wasn't for the grip Porthos had on his arm.
"Porthos? Are you hurt?" questioned Aramis as he tried to assess Porthos' state.
"No" replied Porthos, "But you are"
"I'll be fine" shrugged Aramis as he attempted to pull his arm from Porthos' grip.
"Aramis" growled Porthos, "You need to sit down and let Alexandre take a look at your leg"
"No I'm fine" protested Aramis, he turned sharply and the movement caused pain to flare up his leg. All the colour drained from his face and he began to fall. Porthos caught Aramis and gently laid him down on a spare stretcher that was lying nearby.
Porthos rested a hand on Aramis' forehead and pulled it back quickly in shock. He tentively replaced his hand and was dismayed to feel Aramis had a fever.
"Alexandre!" called Porthos, "Aramis has a fever!"
Alexandre rushed over and pulled back the sash on Aramis' leg. Porthos shuddered, Aramis had been shot in the leg and the musket ball was still in the wound, which also had dirt surrounding it. Porthos cursed, he may not be as good as Aramis when it came to injuries. But even he knew dirt in a wound could lead to infections, which led to fevers. Which in some cases led to death.
Alexandre looked up at Porthos seriously, "We need to get him inside now and remove the musket ball and clean this wound out before things get any worse".
Porthos nodded and between them they carried Aramis over to a cart which had been brought up from the nearby village. Porthos climbed in next to Aramis, when Alexandre mounted his horse and lead Porthos' along. Porthos sat by Aramis' head and was dismayed to see sweat already forming across Aramis' brow.
"Why did you leave this wound so long without cleaning it Aramis?" whispered Porthos, he did not expect an answer, but he got one.
"Wasn't that bad" murmured Aramis, "Others were worse"
"Yours has become worse! Because you did nothing!" snapped Porthos. Aramis flinched, and Porthos soothed him by running his hands through Aramis' hair. "It's alright brother, it's going to be alright".
"'M sorr' Portho' but I didn' wan' other Muskete'rs to die becaus' I hadn' tended to them" slurred Aramis.
Porthos held one of Aramis' hands and shushed him. He tried not to dwell on the slurring of Aramis' voice because he knew that wasn't good. Aramis then fell into an uneasy sleep, he twitched and moaned and muttered panicky words in Spanish. All Porthos could do was soothe him the best he could, all the while blinking back tears.
Soon Alexandre, Porthos and Aramis were in an upstairs room of the nearest Inn. The local physician had arrived and was helping Alexandre with the wounded Aramis. Porthos was still sat by his friend's head offering comfort when Aramis became distressed within his fever dreams.
Alexandre looked over at Porthos and nodded, telling Porthos that they were about to take out the musket ball and clean the wound. Something that was going to be very painful for Aramis, especially as he had not been conscious enough to drink some wine to take the edge off things.
While Porthos had been prepared for Aramis' reaction, nothing could have made him prepare for the scream that came out of Aramis. Porthos clenched his eyes shut and held down on Aramis' shoulders. He hated it, he was a part of something that was causing his best friend and brother pain and he wanted to stop it. Soon Aramis' screams merged into words.
"Make it stop! Please Victor! Make it stop!"
Porthos folded into himself more, Aramis was calling for his dead cousin who had been like an older brother to him. That was enough for Porthos.
"Stop! Just stop!" he ordered, but Alexandre and the physician continued their work. "Can't you see it's too painful for him?! At least give him a rest! Stop!"
Alexandre then shared a look with the physician and then moved so he was beside Porthos. He pulled Porthos away.
"What are you doing?!" growled Porthos,
"You're not helping Porthos!" retorted Alexandre, "I want to give Aramis a rest but we can't! If we don't care for his wound as quickly as possible he is going to die!"
Porthos looked back down at his friend. Aramis was sweating and clenching and unclenching his hands while pleading for Victor and Porthos to make the pain stop. Porthos clenched his eyes shut and was torn, on the one hand he knew this needed to be done to save Aramis' life, but on the other hand Aramis was begging for him to make it stop.
"Go Porthos" ordered Alexandre,
"But-" started Porthos wide eyed,
"I know you want to be here for him, but this needs to be done and at this rate you're going to stop us from working and it will only cause harm. Go" Alexandre commented, "I will come and get you once we're finished"
Porthos looked back at Aramis and then let Alexandre push him out of the door. Porthos stumbled out of the Inn and slid down the wall and rested his head on his knees with his arms wrapped around his legs. He stayed like that for a while, trying to get Aramis' screams out of his head. When a hat was dropped onto his feet. He peeked over his knees to see Aramis' hat perched on his feet; he looked up to see Marsac looking down at him.
"When I found this lying in the middle of the road I knew something had gone wrong. Seeing you like this has only proven it" commented Marsac. The unspoken question is he still alive? Was still heard by Porthos.
"Alexandre is seeing to him. He says he'll be fine eventually. But I couldn't stand hearing Aramis scream in pure agony anymore" Porthos softly said.
"Screaming?" asked Marsac as he stood more alert, "Whenever he's been wounded in the past Aramis has never screamed"
"He has a fever and was barely conscious, we couldn't give him any wine for the fear of him choking on it" replied Porthos.
Marsac nodded and then patted Porthos' shoulder before he turned to go and help the other wounded. Soon after Alexandre came and found Porthos, he smiled and nodded. Porthos rushed to his feet and picked up the hat and hastily ran up the stairs to Aramis' room.
He slowly entered the room and made his way over to the bed. Aramis was still pale with sweat sticking to his forehead, his hands were still tightly clutching the bed sheets and he was still muttering under his breath.
Porthos got a chair and moved it so he was sat close to Aramis' head, he placed Aramis' hat on a bedside table where a bowl of water and a cloth was. Porthos dipped the cloth in the water and placed it on Aramis' forehead.
Aramis blinked his eyes open and looked up at Porthos in wonder, "You're here"
"Where else would I be?" asked Porthos as he tried to not cry in relief of seeing Aramis awake and talking.
"Everyone who helps me ends up getting hurt" mumbled Aramis, "Didn't want you getting hurt. That's why I did nothing about my wound"
"Oh Aramis" sighed Porthos, "What happened to Victor wasn't your fault. It wasn't your injury that led to his death." Aramis closed his eyes and turned his head away, Porthos held it firmly, but gently. "Look at me Aramis" he softly ordered, slowly Aramis reopened his eyes. "It wasn't your fault. Promise me something"
Aramis nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak.
"Never hide or leave a wound unchecked. Clear?" ordered Porthos. Aramis nodded again and Porthos relaxed, he never wanted to see Aramis in this state again. Seeing Aramis' eyes beginning to droop Porthos smiled and said, "Go to sleep, you need to rest".
Porthos continued his vigil beside Aramis' bed for three more days until Aramis' fever broke; Porthos was relieved because Aramis no longer had to be forced to relive Victor's death in his fever dreams. He knew sometimes he replaced Victor and it would take him longer to soothe Aramis and prove that his dreams weren't real. Two days after that Alexandre deemed Aramis well enough to travel back to Paris, but in a cart. Aramis hadn't been too happy about that.
So Porthos had tethered his and Aramis' horses to the back of the cart and sat beside Aramis the whole way back to Paris to keep him company.
Once they were back in Paris Porthos stayed with Aramis until he was sure that his friend wouldn't try and walk down the stairs before he was ready and fall and break his neck. He also stayed to make sure Aramis wouldn't attempt to walk to the garrison, because Aramis had a week's leave to rest and heal.
"If I have leave because I was wounded" frowned a frustrated Aramis, "Then why do you also have a week's leave?"
Porthos leaned back in his chair and smiled, "Technically I don't have a week's leave"
"Then why are you here?" snapped Aramis, Porthos wasn't taking his bad mood personally, Aramis hated being cooped up inside and in his frustration lashed out at the nearest person.
"Treville put me on a certain duty called, 'make sure Aramis doesn't kill himself trying to do something while his leg is still healing'" stated Porthos. He burst out laughing when Aramis growled in frustration and slid further into his chair pulling his hat over his eyes with his arms crossed. Aramis didn't need to ask if Treville had really called Porthos' 'duty' that name, because he knew the man well enough to know Treville would have said that. And Aramis intended Treville to pay for it.
TBC