I must take a moment to credit Machaggis for part of this chapter. She told me of a dream she had and graciously allowed me to use it. I hope I did it justice. :)

Fortuitous Tragedies

Chapter 4

Athos, as it turned out, was not much for idle conversation – or any kind of conversation save for that which pertained to their given task and their execution of it. And even that was little more than terse commands and abrupt nods ordering them to maintain their diligence, their attention focused on the surrounding terrain.

Aramis and Porthos were riding behind their new lieutenant, giving the marksman an opportunity to study the man. Athos held himself rigid in the saddle, although the bearing of nobility was impossible to miss. Mounted on the large animal, his posture was formal yet comfortable, giving the appearance of a man having been born in the saddle. He kept his attention fixed upon the road before them, but Aramis had no doubt Athos was fully aware of his scrutiny, just as he knew that observance was returned.

This new officer was no soldier; the way he wore his weapons spoke of gentlemanly duels, not battles. While his sword looked well worn, his pistol was hardly scuffed, and Aramis found himself wondering if the weapon had ever been fired at anything other than a stationary target. But while the weapons showed a lack of military experience, Aramis couldn't help but wonder what Treville had seen that had made him accept the man's commission and hand him the authority of command. Aramis had no doubt the Captain had his reasons – and he trusted Treville's judgment more than any commander he had served under – but what those reasons were had yet to be revealed.

It certainly wasn't Athos' warm disposition.

They had been riding most of the morning when Athos called a halt, pointing out a flowing stream that ran near the road at the edge of a small thicket where they could water the horses. Aramis dismounted, still deep in thought, unaware of Porthos' approach until the other man spoke.

"What's wrong?"

Aramis shook his head, not wanting to give voice to his wandering thoughts. "Why should anything be wrong?"

Porthos chuckled. "Because you're normally not this quiet, that's why."

Aramis smiled, patting his horse on its quivering withers. "My apologies, my friend. I've merely been considering our new lieutenant."

Porthos turned back and glanced at Athos as he squatted down near his horse, his attention focused on the map he held in his hands.

"Yeah? Considering what?"

Aramis shrugged, sighing. "I've just never heard of Treville commissioning an officer before. He has always promoted from within the ranks."

"You feelin' slighted?"

Aramis looked up, surprised at the sound of concern in his friend's voice. He shook his head, quickly dispelling the notion. "Hardly. I have no wish to be burdened by command."

Porthos nodded, accepting the admission. "So what's the problem?"

"No problem. I've just been trying to fathom how much experience our officer has. "

"And?"

"He's not military."

Porthos peeked around his horse again and frowned. "How do you know?"

"The way he sits his horse," Aramis explained. "And his harquebus. It's not easily accessible. A soldier would keep it within reach."

Porthos pursed his lips in agreement. "Maybe he's not much of a shot, prefers to use a sword. He looks pretty capable."

"Perhaps. But I think there is more to our new friend than a simple Musketeer."

"Who're you callin' simple?" Porthos nudged him in jest, eliciting a grin from the contemplative marksman.

"Very true, Porthos. There is nothing simple about being a Musketeer."

They led their horses back to the road, mounting and reining in beside Athos.

"Most of the attacks have been reported in this general area," their leader informed them.

Aramis studied the terrain, noting the slight rise of the land and the thickening of the trees to the left of the road. The stream running along the right widened, and he could hear the sounds of water rushing over rocks up ahead, indicating it widened and deepened, the current gaining strength as it wandered its way back into the distant woods.

"Seems a rather nice place for an ambush," he observed.

Athos grunted his agreement. "One would not be aware of anyone lying in wait until they topped that rise."

"And by then it'd be too late," Porthos added. "They'd already be on you." He turned to his companions, one brow raised in question. "You think anyone is waiting for us?"

Aramis grinned and a glint of mischief shone in his eyes. "Perhaps we should find out."

Before either of them could say a word, Aramis spurred his horse past them and galloped up and over the rise.

"Shoulda known that would happen." Porthos mumbled, turning his horse to follow. He looked toward Athos, noting his angry frown and shrugged apologetically. "I should've warned you about Aramis. He tends to be…"

"Reckless?"

"Fearless." Porthos clicked his reins and lowered his shoulders as his horse shot forward, Athos right behind him.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

As soon as they topped the rise, they were aware of the five horses bearing down on them from the trees. Aramis already had his pistol out and aimed, dropping one of the bandits before they cleared the forest. The four remaining men were surprised to see the other two Musketeers topping the rise, realizing immediately their quarry was not as helpless and alone as they'd assumed. Two of the men had pistols, but their aim was not as accurate as Aramis' and their shots went wide, one hitting a tree to Aramis left, the other flying past Porthos' ear as he reined his horse up on the far side of the road. As the men bore down, already committed to their attack, Athos calmly pulled his own pistol and fired, sending another toppling from his mount, wounded but not dead.

Porthos knew his aim was still suspect, and opted to jump from his horse, intending to take the men on hand-to-hand. Athos steered his horse toward the lead rider, drawing his sword and advancing as one of the other two galloped by, heading straight for the unsaddled Musketeer. As he drew near, the powerful animal aimed directly at Porthos, the big man stepped gracefully to the side and reached up, yanking the rider cleanly from the saddle. Before he could turn, the other rider came at his back and Aramis spurred his horse to intercept. Crashing into the bandit, both horses whinnied loudly and lost their footing, tumbling down the embankment into the rushing water, taking their riders with them.

Porthos turned to find Athos on the ground, sword flashing as he disarmed his opponent and drove his rapier through the man's chest. Footsteps behind him warned him of the other bandit's approach and he pivoted, ducking just in time to avoid the dagger that swung where his neck would have been. Pushing off his back leg, he hurled himself at the man, butting his head into his stomach and tipping him onto the ground, following with the weight of his body. As he landed on the bandit, the man's cry of surprise ended abruptly as the air was driven from his lungs. Porthos quickly divested him of the dagger, driving it through his neck in a swift move that left the man gurgling as the blood spurted from the wound.

Looking up to make sure Athos was all right, he turned toward the edge of the narrow river that he'd seen Aramis and the other bandit tumble over. Scrambling to the side, he looked down, his eyes widening in horror at the sight before him.

The bandit's unmoving body was being dragged down the stream, carried along by the current while Aramis' horse was upright and fighting its way to the other side of the wide, swiftly moving stream. The bandit's horse was on its side, its head at an odd angle, unmoving, obviously having broken its neck in the fall. But what made Porthos' blood run cold was the figure lying mostly submerged under the dead animal, dark hair flowing in the swiftly moving water.

Aramis was face down, arms extended, his body bobbing as the current tried to carry it off. Pinned by the weight of the horse, his torso was being pushed to the side as the strength of the moving water forced him to bend at the waist like a reed.

"Aramis!"

Porthos slid down the embankment, throwing himself into the shallow water. He gasped at the shock of the cold water, but didn't slow, rounding the animal and reaching for his friend's head. He pulled Aramis up, turning his face so that it was no longer submerged. The marksman's eyes were closed, his lips tinged blue and Porthos slapped his cheek, trying to get a reaction.

"I'll hold him! You need to try to shift the horse!"

Athos' words barely registered, but he felt the man move up beside him in the water, his hands coming to rest beneath Aramis' cold cheek. Relinquishing his hold on his friend, Porthos shifted, bracing his feet against some larger rocks under the water to give him leverage, and shoved a shoulder against the dead horse's flank. With a roar of desperation he pushed, the natural buoyancy of the water lending him aid, moving the animal just enough for Athos to pull Aramis' still form out from under it.

"I've got him!"

Porthos released his burden and the horse settled back into the water, this time sinking halfway down now that Aramis body was no longer beneath it. The two men grabbed the unconscious Musketeer under each arm, dragged him from the water and up the embankment, laying him flat on the dusty surface of the road. Porthos dropped to his knees beside his friend and shoved aside the wet hair that clung to his face, slapping him on the cheek hard.

"Come on, Aramis. You promised not to do this to me again."

"Is he breathing?" Athos had dropped down on the other side of the drowned man. He yanked the glove from his right hand, reaching across and laying it against Aramis' chest, searching for a sign of life.

Porthos leaned forward, placing his ear close to Aramis' mouth, listening intently, praying to feel a puff of breath against his face. He shook his head as he sat up, his misery clearly etched on his face.

"You stupid, reckless, idiot!" He slammed a fist down against Aramis' chest, his fear and grief erupting in anger. He dropped back onto his haunches in shock when the outburst caused his friend to cough violently. Porthos watched, enthralled as water bubbling from Aramis' mouth, a horrible gurgling sound emanating from his throat.

Athos quickly turned him onto his side as he wretched river water from his lungs, holding him with a hand on his back until he was through, once again breathing, albeit haggardly. The water mixed with bile soaked into the dirt, creating a sticky mud under Porthos' knees, but he ignored it, moving closer to the struggling man, laying a hand on his shoulder, the other on his head.

"That's it. Aramis. Get it out. You're all right. You're fine. Just breathe."

As the marksman lay panting, trying desperately to do just that, Porthos looked up, catching Athos' eyes, swallowing hard. His heart was beating hard in his chest and his breath was sawing in and out of his lungs. For a moment, he saw the relief he felt mirrored in the other man's eyes, but the emotion was quickly masked and Athos pushed himself to his feet without a word. He took a deep breath and moved toward his horse, which was still standing near the edge of the road next to Porthos' mount. He pulled a blanket from behind his saddle and moved back to the two men on the ground, shaking it out over the drenched man who had yet to open his eyes and acknowledge his rescuers. Porthos was a bit concerned at Aramis' abnormal silence, but he was breathing easier now; no longer trying to hack up a lung, so Porthos decided everything else could wait.

"We need to get him dry and warm. Can you manage him?"

Porthos nodded, frowning at Athos' crisp, dispassionate tone. He took the blanket and began to remove Aramis' belt and unfasten the bindings on his doublet. Athos moved back to the horses and pulled on the reins, leading them toward the copse of trees on the other side of the road.

"I will set up camp near the tree line. When you're ready, bring him there, I will have a fire started."

Porthos watched him walk off, wondering how anyone could so completely clamp down their emotions as quickly and completely as Athos had. His own heart was still beating fast, the rush of the fight and fear for Aramis beginning to wane, leaving him spent. But Athos seemed perfectly fine – as if nothing unusual had happened.

What kind of man could act like saving a comrade from drowning was of no importance? Aramis shifted under his hands, moaning softly, coughing as his breath caught in his throat. Athos reaction was immediately forgotten as Aramis' comfort took precedence.

"Easy, my friend. Let's get you warm, huh?"

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The fire crackled, throwing shadows against the trees, the warmth settling over them like a blanket. Porthos had managed to wrestle Aramis from his leathers, wrapping him up and laying him on a bed made of leaves and boughs from the surrounding foliage. He had rolled toward the fire, but he still shivered, his body searching for the warmth the frigid water had stolen from him.

Porthos finished up some stale bread and cheese, knowing he needed the sustenance if he was going to stay awake and watch over the marksman through the night. Athos sat on a fallen log, his arms across his thighs, his intense eyes focused on the sleeping man on the other side of the fire.

"He is brave," the older man said evenly. "And headstrong. And fearless. All good qualities for a soldier." He tilted his head, shifting his gaze to Porthos. "Though I fear his lack of discipline will get him killed."

Porthos craned his neck and glanced at his friend, buried in the blankets at his side. "It ain't a lack of discipline that's the problem."

"What then?"

Porthos looked up, but he could see nothing but genuine curiosity on Athos' face. He sighed, knowing Aramis' demons were a private matter and unsure of whether or not he would want this man privy to his secrets. After a few moments he shrugged, resigned. After everything, perhaps it would be better if Athos knew exactly what drove Aramis to recklessness.

"You heard about what happened at Savoy a few months back?"

Athos pursed his lips, nodded. "Spanish raiding party. Twenty men killed, one deserter, one survivor."

Porthos nodded, waiting for the man to put it together. It didn't take long.

"Aramis?"

"Not sure all of him truly survived."

There was a lengthy pause before Athos responded, his voice low and soft. "No man can go through something like that and come out unscathed."

"He didn't."

Athos raised his hand to his face and ribbed it along his lips, his eyes dropping to study the flames.

"How long?"

Porthos glanced up, confused.

"How long has he been trying to get himself killed?"

Oh. Porthos snorted through his nose, unsure how to answer the question. He shrugged again, something he seemed to do quite a bit when it came to trying to figure out his friend.

"I don't think he's actually trying – at least not knowingly – but he's been… reckless… ever since he returned to duty." He wrapped a hand around his neck and squeezed, hoping to alleviate the tension that had built up at the base of his skull – another hazard of being Aramis' friend.

Athos studied him, and Porthos found himself fidgeting, uneasy beneath the cool blue eyes.

"He's chasing demons," the man observed.

Porthos nodded. "And he's determined to catch 'em, it seems."

"And you don't know what to do about it."

Porthos caught himself before he shrugged again. "I'm not sure there's anything I can do about it. He believes he should've died back there in that forest and he's tempting fate to right that wrong."

"He has to decide where he belongs. Whether it's here or back in that forest with his ghosts. No matter what he decides, part of him may forever be tied to them."

Aramis shifted and Porthos leaned to the side, pulling the edge of the blanket tighter around his trembling form.

"Were the two of you close? Before?"

Porthos smiled fondly. "No. Hardly knew each other. But I knew of him. Thought he was a man worth knowing. Figured there'd be plenty of time for that, and then…" Porthos shifted, poked the fire. "Since he's been back, he hasn't really wanted company."

"Yet here you are."

Porthos actually laughed out loud. "Here I am." He sighed, sobering instantly. "He needed a friend and I… I needed one, too, I suppose. Somehow, it ended up working."

"Then we shall endeavor to keep him among the living." At Athos' pronouncement, Porthos looked up, surprised. The older Musketeer let one side of his mouth curl up, as close to a grin as Porthos had seen on the man. "Ghosts cannot compete when the living hold on tightly."

"You speak from experience?"

Porthos saw the walls go up as soon as he asked the question. Athos' eyes shuttered and shifted back to the flames.

"Some ghosts are not banished so easily."

Porthos suddenly felt a need to console the man, even though he barely knew him. Maybe he was a glutton for punishment; trying to keep Aramis tethered to this world was proving daunting enough. But he'd seen something in Athos' eyes. Want? Envy? He couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling Athos was just as haunted as Aramis, and just as in need of friendship. Porthos could never have too many friends. And, he could use some help keeping Aramis grounded. Perhaps focusing on keeping another tethered to this world would give Athos something to hold onto also.

"Even if the living hold on tighter?"

Athos smiled, sad, resigned. "I would not know."

"Then perhaps we should find out."

Aramis stirred, moaning as his body began to shiver harder, his brow furrowed, his mouth turned down in a frown. Porthos had no idea if he was still cold or caught in a nightmare of another time when the frigidness of the night air and the silence of the forest had surrounded him. Scooting closer, Porthos leaned back against a tree, pulling the shaking man up into his arms. Aramis was pliant as Porthos settled his back against his chest. He shivered still, but the tremors began to lose their hold as the warmth from Porthos body seeped into his frame, defeating the cold and assuring him he was not alone.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Fortuitous Tragedies – Part 5

He was leaning against something warm. Incredibly warm. Which only served to make him realize how very cold he was. He shivered. A low moan worked its way up from his toes and he heard as well as felt a rumble emanate from whatever he was leaning against. He felt a hand, warm against his cheek and he instinctively leaned into the touch. The rumble coalesced into a voice, but the words were beyond his current level of comprehension.

"Aramis? You back with us?"

"I believe he's waking."

"I hope so. He's shivering so hard I can't see anyone sleeping through that."

Recognition seeped in.

Porthos. The voice belonged to Porthos.

But it couldn't be.

Porthos wasn't there.

He shivered again, squeezing his eyes tight, knowing that to open them would be to send himself into a waking nightmare from which there was no escape.

The faces of his brothers stared at him, accusing.

Why?

Why had he survived when they had all perished?

Why had he alone been strong enough to live when they had all succumbed?

He had no answers.

Only more questions.

Strong arms tightened around him.

Marsac?

"No, Aramis. It's me, Porthos."

Had he said that out loud? He couldn't remember. But the rumble was enticingly real, and Aramis let his body sink deeper into the warmth at his back.

"He'll probably drift in and out until his temperature is back to normal."

He frowned, trying to place the second voice.

Athos?

The voice was not as familiar as the first, but his sluggish mind put a name to it regardless.

Athos.

But he wasn't there either.

How was he hearing them if they weren't there in Savoy with him? It made little sense, and he couldn't find the strength to care. The cold finally receded and his shivers began to abate, a sense of listlessness overtaking him. He felt himself melt into the warmth, sighing as the arms around him shifted, lending comfort and support to his weary soul. As the cold leeched out, he let his head fall back and sleep overtake him.

TBC