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Treville clenched his jaw as he heard the meaning behind Athos' words. Marsac had abandoned Aramis. He had abandoned a friend and fellow Musketeer to die in the snow; in a wasteland of corpses.
As gently as he could Treville pulled Aramis against his chest once again, one hand rubbing circles over his back as the other held his head against his shoulder. He would do anything to save the young man any more pain.
"If Marsac ever shows his face again, I will see justice be done," Treville promised, meeting both men's eyes. "But right now, our focus is Aramis. Athos, you were making a fire. Porthos, I need you to help me check him." Athos and Porthos immediately focused on the task at hand following Treville's words. Their Captain knew how to lead his men. He knew that if there was any chance of saving Aramis, their thirst for avengement would have to wait.
Porthos pulled out his knife and cut through the shirt Aramis wore. He began to pull the fabric off his back when the shirt stuck to the marksman's side making the man whimper in pain, burying his head further into Treville's shoulder for comfort.
"Easy Aramis," Treville soothed, running his hand along the man's side to feel the wound on his chest. "The blood has dried the cloth to his skin. We'll need water to soak it loose," Treville instructed Porthos, who got to his feet. "And Porthos. When we do this, it will most likely bleed anew. I'll need the medical kit from the saddlebags."
"Sir," Porthos replied, gulping a little at the information. The marksman was too weak to lose more blood.
When he returned, Athos had a fire going and blankets laid out a few metres away. With Porthos nearby to lend a hand if he needed, Treville slowly stood; Aramis held in his arms like a babe. He walked over to the fire and gently laid Aramis down on the blanket by the flames, pleased when Aramis' head moved to face the warmth.
"I'll need you to keep him still," Treville said to both of his men. "He'll fight me with this…he always fights me," Treville whispered, both men hearing the pride within those words. Porthos knelt opposite Treville, placing his hands on Aramis' hips whilst Athos grabbed his shoulders. Nodding that they were ready, Treville poured water on the wound, making the dried blood run down. Slowly he pulled the shirt as Aramis tried to squirm away.
The wound itself was red, but no infection had set in due to the cold air. If they cleaned it and stitched it Aramis should recover. Treville threaded the needle, before grabbing a small bottle of spirit supplied in the medical bag. Taking a breath in preparation, Treville poured the liquid onto the wound, forcing himself to continue when Aramis cried out, eyes opening as his legs thrashed to remove the pain when his chest could not.
"P,,,please…sto…stop!" Aramis rasped, fighting Porthos and Athos' holds with everything he had. "Get off me! Get off me!" he cried, as Treville tried to begin the needlework; fearful eyes snapping between Treville, Porthos and Athos.
"Keep him still!" Treville shouted, pain laced in his words at the thought. Porthos reluctantly held the wounded man tighter whilst Athos bowed his head to whisper in the marksman's ear, too soft for the others to hear. Treville and Porthos watched in amazement as Aramis' fight slowly left him, the young man still tensed in pain, but allowing the treatment. Athos glanced back at Treville and nodded for the man to start stitching, before he returned to talking to Aramis when the pain grew worse.
Halfway through Aramis went limp, Athos leaning back when the eyes of the man closed.
"Unconscious," Athos assured, knowing the other two were startled by the sudden change. Porthos released his bruising grip as Treville finished the stitching quicker now Aramis was completely still. They then bandaged the Aramis' side before letting him lie peacefully on the blankets; noticing that the marksman had begun to shiver, the fire bringing him back from his frozen temperature.
"Fires gonna take too long," Porthos grunted, before he started to pull his own doublet and shirt off; goose bumps appearing instantly across his huge chest. Knowing his intention, Athos and Treville delicately turned Aramis so that he rested on his uninjured side so that Porthos could put his chest against the marksman's back; arms wrapping around the now unconscious man. Treville then pulled out the spare cloak he had packed, draping it over the two of them, so that they stayed relatively warm. "He feels like ice…and I don't like the look of that," Porthos stated, one hand stroking back some of Aramis' hair on the side of his face.
Treville instantly looked closer, noticing the bruised lump with a trail of blood running down from it.
"A pistol butt most likely," Treville stated, having seen such an injury many times before. "Enough to knock him out, but no more," he continued relieved. "We need to get him back to Paris."
"It is not safe to leave until he is warmed through," Athos replied, adding more wood to the fire.
"Then we go as soon as he is. I will speak with the coroner of the closest town and have him see to the bodies. I will then send a message back to the Garrison to organise a Musketeer escort for the cart," Treville said before he coughed and swallowed. "…the carts," he corrected; hand clenching once again.
"We won't forget them Cap'n," Porthos assured. Treville smiled sadly at the man, squeezing his shoulder before he stood; walking between the bodies of his men, closing their eyes and saying goodbye.
Athos sighed, kneeling before Porthos as he tucked the cloak tighter around Aramis.
"Athos…what did'ya say to Aramis?" Porthos asked, not understanding how the man had been able to soothe the pain filled marksman.
"I used his own words against him," Athos said cryptically, before moving to help Treville with the bodies.
"Aramis! Someone find him! The Captain's been shot!" Luc shouted between breaths, nearly collapsing as his brother appeared from the armoury.
"Where is he?" Aramis asked, worry filling him as he grabbed his struggling comrade.
"Marsac's bringing him in now, you'll need to gather your supplies." Aramis nodded, squeezing Luc's arm before he took off to the supply room, grabbing his equipment before moving to the mess hall. A few moments after he had placed his bag down the door reopened admitting a sweating and bloody Treville supported by Marsac; followed by Luc and another Musketeer carrying a stranger between them.
"Captain," Aramis hurried over only to be met with an angry glare from Treville who shrugged out of Marsac's grip. "You're shoulder," Aramis stated, seeing the bloody white shirt covering his right upper arm.
"Its fine," Treville said sternly, trying and failing to fully support himself as Marsac and Aramis grabbed him. "See to him," Treville stated, looking at the stranger who was being laid down on the table by Luc. "That's an order Aramis," he continued, meeting the marksman's gaze.
"If you sit," the young man replied, smiling slightly as Treville reluctantly let Marsac guide him down into one of the chairs. "Put pressure on his wound," Aramis instructed passing Marsac a bandage before hurrying over to the stranger.
"Stab wound to the stomach," Luc said, pulling the man's tunic away to show Aramis.
"What happened?" Aramis asked in return as he gathered his things, immediately beginning to deal with the wound; the man was thankfully unconscious.
"We were returning from the Palace when we came across a robbery in the process. Treville got them to stop but one of them got nervous and fired. Would have killed him if this man hadn't knocked the shooter just in time. Got a stab wound for his trouble, too drunk to recover quick enough. Will he survive?"
"I believe so," Aramis replied, looking back at Treville who was waving Marsac away. "Perhaps you should leave the room with Marsac. You know how the Captain does not like witnesses when it is revealed he is merely human." Luc smiled at that, nodding his head before walking over to Marsac and pulling him out of the room behind him.
"He saved my life," Treville said, wincing as he stood and came over to the table. Aramis frowned at him, keeping his peripherals locked on his Captain as he finished stitching the stranger's wound.
"You put yourself in harm's way too much," Aramis replied, cutting the thread.
"Perhaps you should listen to your own words," Treville said, remembering the many times the young man had found himself in a bad way; gravely wounded and close to death.
"I am not the Captain of the Musketeers!" Aramis retorted. "This place would fall without you. Then what would we do? What would I do?" he continued, knowing that he always looked to Treville before doing anything. He was his leader, his role model and father figure.
"You won't need me forever son," Treville replied, "you would find your way. You always have," he continued, picturing the boy he had come across on the battlefield so long ago. Headstrong and cocky; yet loving and kind. The boy had found his calling, fighting the enemy and healing his own. Treville only needed to witness the boy's shooting talents once before he took Aramis under his wing; making him one of the first Musketeers. It was madness to think that was five years ago now.
"Let me see your wound," Aramis said, changing the subject; not willing to bring up the past. Treville sighed, taking a seat and letting the marksman deal with the bullet hole in his shoulder. Thankfully it was a through and through. "You'll live."
"A miracle," Treville replied, standing slowly, still slightly dizzy from the blood loss.
"You should rest," Aramis insisted as Treville made his way to the door; knowing the Captain was leaving to check on the Garrison.
"Call for me if he wakes," Treville replied, not promising that he would go to bed.
"Of course."
"One day you'll find you don't need me anymore Aramis," Treville said as he opened the door. "Thank-you son."
Aramis sighed as Treville left, running a hand through his hair as he turned to look at the man on the table. He was roughly his own age, but something seemed to age him immensely. Something gave him a melancholic expression.
A gasp of air suddenly came from the man as he came to, groaning.
"Easy," Aramis said, gripping his arm. The man didn't like that however. His eyes snapped open and somehow Aramis found himself pinned against the floor a moment later; hand locked on his throat. Aramis couldn't breathe, his hands desperately clawing at the tight grip on his neck as he tried to knock his attacker off. Moving his leg with force Aramis gasped for air as his knee contacted the man's wound; forcing him to let go. Without delay Aramis rolled them so that their positions were opposite; the stranger now beneath him.
"Just do it!" the man shouted, struggling still. "Kill me!" Aramis gasped at the pain and desperation he saw in those eyes. "Make it end."
"No my friend," Aramis said, pinning the arms to the floor that tried to punch him. "Your fighting me for a reason…there's still something inside of you that wants to live. Focus on it! Take a deep breath…whatever hardship you have endured God has spared you for a reason. You are not done on this earth yet," Aramis implored as the man settled beneath him, calming with the marksman's words. "You're not done yet."
Athos snapped out of his thoughts as Treville called his name.
"We are ready to leave," the Captain stated.
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