It seems that the general consensus on the last chapter is that it was the calm before the storm, since there's no way for our boys to stay out of trouble. So, here's the start of the storm. Enjoy!
In the coming days, the two men fell into a routine with d'Artagnan rising early to collect their breakfast, having convinced the Captain after a couple days that he was capable of walking the short distance to the garrison and back. Treville had been unhappy about the Gascon's desire for exercise so they had compromised, agreeing that the young man could visit the garrison in the mornings but their dinner would still be delivered to them in the evenings. When d'Artagnan returned with breakfast, he would help Athos with his morning ablutions and then the two would eat, the Gascon placing a chair next to his mentor's bed so they could converse.
The surgeon came daily around mid-day to check on both men, although there was really little he could do other than adjust Athos' pain medication, a process that d'Artagnan was happy to help with, ensuring that the man continued to take a potent enough mix to keep him comfortable. His own wound was healing well and the only requirement was for a clean bandage, a chore he managed himself. Evenings would bring someone from the garrison with their evening meal, and both men had been pleasantly surprised when Treville had undertaken the task himself one night, joining them and enjoying their company for several hours.
It was nearing the end of the week and Athos showed increasing signs of boredom, his level of patience decreasing as the days wore on. Both men were hopeful that either the surgeon or Aramis would approve Athos' use of crutches at the week's end, allowing the man to at least have a change of scenery and regain some of his lost independence. Evening was approaching and d'Artagnan sat at the table, cleaning his pistol while Athos sat reading in bed. A short rap on the door had both men's heads turning toward it, d'Artagnan moving to place his pistol on the table so he could see who was there. Before the young man had a chance to do more than stand, the door swung open and revealed Aramis and Porthos, large grins on both men's faces at seeing their friends. The two crossed the room quickly to set down the items in their hands before embracing d'Artagnan. Porthos held the young Gascon at arm's length, eying him critically while Aramis moved to examine Athos.
"You look tired," Porthos announced, earning an eye roll from the younger man.
"I'm fine, Porthos, and so is Athos," he stated, looking over at where Aramis sat next to Athos' bed. "The only thing you have to worry about is us dying of boredom."
Porthos leaned forward conspiratorially, pitching his voice lower, "Has it gotten to that point?"
Athos answered, having clearly heard Porthos' exaggerated whisper, "It's gotten to that point and if you don't let me out of this bed soon, I cannot be held responsible for my actions."
Aramis grinned at Porthos who released the Gascon's arms and ducked back outside for a moment, bringing with him a set of crutches. "Guess it's a good thing we brought these along," he said, grinning widely. He moved across the room to hand them to Aramis and a grateful Athos who was already attempting to manoeuver himself out of bed. Taking the crutches from Porthos, Aramis placed a hand on Athos' chest, cautioning him, "You can have these on two conditions. One, you do not attempt any long journeys. That means anything further than across the room is off limits for now." Athos gave a put-upon sigh, but motioned with his hand for Aramis to continue. "And, two, you make sure you prop that leg up whether it's on a chair or while in bed; I won't have you undoing all the progress you've made so far."
Athos nodded and raised a hand, requesting help in moving from the bed. Aramis glanced in Porthos' direction and the two men worked together to first reposition the older man so that his legs hung off the side of the bed and then raised him upright, holding him there until the dizziness from his new position abated. With a nod from Athos, Aramis handed him first one and then the other crutch, still holding onto him until he was steady. The two friends took a step back and Athos crutched forward slowly, making his way to the table where d'Artagnan had pulled a chair out for him. Athos fell into the chair gratefully, tired from the short trip but lips quirking at the joy of finally leaving his bed. His three friends wore identical grins on their faces as they joined him at the table for dinner.
"I trust your mission was uneventful?" Athos asked around a spoonful of stew.
"Yeah, had to escort some second cousin of the Queen's on a short trip. The most excitement we had was Aramis warding off the affections of one of the ladies," Porthos stated, mirth in his eyes.
Aramis sputtered at the comment, turning to face the larger man, "Now that's not fair. She isn't the first to be smitten by my charm and handsome features."
Porthos snorted as d'Artagnan looked between the two men in confusion, "So what was the problem, then?"
Aramis looked quite uncomfortable as he searched for the right words, "Her looks were somewhat…disagreeable."
This drew a huff of laughter from Porthos who added, "That's an understatement if I ever heard one."
d'Artagnan and Porthos chuckled at their friend's embarrassment and Athos watched them all with amusement. The past weeks had been difficult and he knew that this evening was exactly what all of them needed.
When they'd finished their meal and consumed several bottles of wine, Aramis and Porthos stood to leave. Clasping Athos' shoulder, Aramis explained, "It was an early morning and a long ride today."
The friends nodded in understanding, knowing well the fatigue that came from a hard day's ride as well as the constant vigilance that was required when on escort duty. "Join us for breakfast at the garrison tomorrow?" Porthos asked. Throwing a glance at Aramis, he said, "I can come by with a horse so you can ride over in the morning."
Aramis nodded, comfortable with the idea of the man riding as long as he kept his weight off the leg. Both of the injured men agreed and bid their friends good night. d'Artagnan moved to clean up from dinner, removing the dirty dishes and then getting Athos' bed ready for him.
"There's no need for that, d'Artagnan," Athos told him.
The Gascon merely shrugged, "I don't mind." When he had everything sorted to his satisfaction, he returned to help Athos to his feet.
"I can manage," Athos advised him, struggling to stand and hold onto the crutches at the same time. Neither man would be able to explain later how things had ended so badly, but in his haste to help Athos, d'Artagnan inadvertently managed to trip him with one of the crutches instead. As Athos tried to find his balance with only one foot, the young man again moved in an unexpected fashion, tangling the two together and bringing them down to the floor.
The impact of the fall took Athos' breath away, likely the only reason why a shout of pain wasn't pulled from his throat. As he lay panting, waiting for the white spots to disappear from his vision, he was vaguely aware of movement around him. d'Artagnan had scrambled to his feet as soon as he'd been able and words of apology now fell from his lips as he collected the discarded crutches and straightened the chair that had fallen over. Sitting on his haunches, he placed a hand on Athos' chest, "Athos, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"
Taking a shaky breath, Athos' awareness returned enough to recognize the boy's words. "I'm fine," he breathed out.
d'Artagnan reached for him, pulling his shoulders up, eliciting a grunt from his mentor as he was shifted. "Just leave me, d'Artagnan, I can manage on my own."
But the boy was not to be dissuaded and he continued to tug on his friend, leaning to position a shoulder under the older man's arm and dragging him to his feet. This time a yelp escaped, pulling another stream of apologies from the Gascon as he positioned Athos in the chair he'd righted earlier. When he was done, both men were breathing heavily, d'Artagnan from exertion and Athos from the pain of having his leg jarred. Reaching down to hold his leg, Athos gritted out, "I'll be fine from here. Just hand me my crutches."
d'Artagnan looked at Athos disbelievingly, "What?"
Athos pinned his protégé with a stern gaze, "Just give me the crutches and then go."
"But, I'm supposed to stay with you," the Gascon stammered.
Massaging his leg to try and alleviate some of his pain, Athos was beginning to lose patience, "That was only while Aramis and Porthos were away. Now that I have crutches, I don't need you to stay here."
"Maybe I should just stay the night and we can discuss it with Aramis tomorrow," the young man suggested.
Athos narrowed his eyes, in too much pain and relishing some privacy after too many days spent relying on others, "Just go, d'Artagnan. I'll see you in the morning."
"But," d'Artagnan began again, only to be cut off by the other man.
"Go!" Athos repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I have no need for a nursemaid."
The Gascon nodded numbly, glancing around at the few belongings he'd brought back with him and deciding to just take his doublet and weapons before making his way out. He paused at the door, turning to look at Athos who was still bent over his broken leg, then exited, pulling the door closed behind him.
Athos waited several minutes before leaning back in his chair, welcoming the opportunity to be alone for the first time in days. It was not that he minded the company of his fellow Musketeers, but being in such close quarters for such a long period of time, coupled with a need to hide the amount of pain he was in grew tiring, and he'd longed for the opportunity to simply be by himself. He was not angry with d'Artagnan for what had happened, but had been unable to hold his words when the pain of his fall had combined with fraying nerves at having someone constantly in his space. The morning walks d'Artagnan had taken had offered him an hour or so each day to be alone with his thoughts, but it was too little and Athos had found his patience waning as the week had progressed.
Athos knew the boy had been hurt by his words, but the young man also had a capacity for forgiveness that the older man had never seen in others; Athos was confident that the boy would accept his apology in the morning, especially after both spent the night apart, allowing their heated emotions to cool. He looked over at the bed, part of him wishing he'd allowed the boy to stay at least long enough to help him get settled, but the feelings of helplessness he'd been dealing with over the past week had only contributed to his brash words tonight. With a sigh, Athos grasped hold of his crutches with one hand, placing the other on the back of the chair, and pulled himself carefully upright. When he'd made it to the bed and was seated at its edge, he found himself smiling at having accomplished the task on his own. With a sense of satisfaction he turned and lifted his broken leg up, propping it onto the pile of blankets that lay at the foot of his bed, and then relaxed back into his pillows, comfortable that he didn't need anything else to help him fall asleep.
d'Artagnan kept a hand on his side, bracing the wound that still ached dully, the pain having flared at his exertions when lifting Athos from the floor. He shook his head angrily as he replayed the events in his head, cursing himself for his clumsiness that had caused his mentor such pain when they'd ended up in a heap on the floor. Athos' words had been stern but the Gascon didn't think they'd contained any real heat, the lack of patience likely resulting from the fire that had erupted in his broken leg from the fall. If d'Artagnan was honest with himself, that wasn't the real reason for his now troubled mind; in fact, his reasons were somewhat more selfish as the thought of spending the night alone made him consider a detour to a tavern rather than returning to his room at the garrison.
It had been comforting to know that his friend was nearby and d'Artagnan had felt safe in his presence. Even though he'd kept a candle lit throughout the night – ostensibly so that he could come to Athos' aid if he was needed – he'd slept poorly and was usually awake before dawn, chafing for the morning light to dispel the darkness and chase away his fears.
He had little memory of what had transpired when he and Athos were trapped, especially of the night they'd spent underground, Aramis suggesting that he'd been too far gone at that point from blood loss and infection-induced fever, but each day's setting sun brought a band of steel that gripped his heart tightly, causing his hands to tremble and his breaths to quicken. He'd been fortunate that Aramis and Porthos had been called away, for he was certain there was no way he could have kept the signs hidden from his friends. Athos, for his part, had been consumed by both boredom and pain, and d'Artagnan had been able to find excuses to leave his company and compose himself when things got too bad. Now that they would be spending time as a foursome, it would be harder to keep his friends from noticing and he promised himself that he would find a way to get a proper night's rest that night, lest the deepening circles under his eyes betrayed his secret.
He was surprised to find himself already stepping through the garrison gates, nodding in greeting to the two Musketeers who guarded it that night. He knew that both Aramis and Porthos would be in their beds by now and he forced himself to follow the path to his room. As he opened the door, the darkness of the room reached out to him as though it was a living thing that wanted to trap him. d'Artagnan stumbled against the doorframe, his breathing quick and harsh as he revelled in the light from the hallway. A minute passed before he swung the door open fully, illuminating the space closest to the entrance. With a deep breath he lunged into the room, crossing the few steps to his table where he knew a candle sat, grabbing it and hastening back outside as quickly as he could. Leaning against the wall, head thrown back, he took several moments to calm his breathing before moving to one of the lanterns on the wall to light the candle in his hand.
He studiously ignored the way his hand shook as he lifted the candle to the flame of the lantern and then turned back to his room, sliding just inside the door and pulling it closed behind him. Using the dim candlelight, he found a second candle near his bed and promptly lit it as well, before falling to his knees in front of his chest where he kept his extra supplies. Moments later he had the lid propped open and was scrambling inside to find four new candles, all of which he lit in rapid succession, placing them around the room to dispel all of the shadows that lay there.
When he'd finished, he slumped down to sit on the edge of his bed, head hanging as he endeavored to calm himself. He stayed that way for several minutes until his racing heart had slowed and he scrubbed a trembling hand through his hair. Remembering his plan to get a proper night's rest, he leaned forward to pull off his boots, shrugged out of his doublet and sagged sideways to lay on the bed. As his eyes closed, he prayed for a peaceful night, free from the nightmares that had plagued his sleep since their rescue.
Morning found d'Artagnan pressed into a corner of the room, his knees tucked into his chest with his arms encircling his legs. His eyes were wide as he forced himself to stay awake, unwilling to return to the darkness of his dreams. He'd fallen asleep twice and woken twice, each time finding himself sweat-covered and feeling panicked, his heart and breaths racing as his eyes darted about the candlelit room in search of some unseen danger. When the first rays of dawn appeared, the Gascon moved himself stiffly to regain his feet, stifling a moan as the motion pulled at his side. He crossed to a small table that sat underneath his window, pouring a measure of water from a pitcher into the basin so he could wash his face. As he looked up, his face still dripping, he could make out the light from the Captain's office which sat across the courtyard from his room. Quickly grabbing a towel, he wiped the remaining moisture from his face and sat down to pull on his boots. He strode confidently from the room, his course of action becoming clear when he'd realized Treville was already awake. It took only a minute for him to make his way across the deserted courtyard, the hour too early for anyone else to be about. He knocked softly on the Captain's door, grateful when he received permission to enter from within. Stepping across the threshold he presented himself to Treville, the older man looking up at him inquiringly from his desk.
"Good morning, Captain," d'Artagnan greeted him.
"Good morning, d'Artagnan," the Captain returned, one brow raised slightly.
Reading the signs correctly, the Gascon dipped his head slightly, a shy smile on his face. Lifting his eyes to meet the Captain's the young man explained, "I know it's early." Treville's brow climbed higher at the boy's understatement. "Alright, it's barely dawn, but I was wondering," he trailed off for a moment. "I was hoping you might have some use for me today." The Captain leaned back in his chair, waiting for the young man to continue.
"Aramis and Porthos are back and Athos is able to use crutches to move around so there's no need for me to stay with him anymore. My wound has healed well and I need to get out and do something." Treville stayed silent, prompting d'Artagnan to continue. "The surgeon already released me to light duty and I thought, since we've been shorthanded, perhaps there was something that could keep me occupied for a few days."
The Captain scrutinized the man in front of him, not missing the still pale features and the overall weariness that his stance conveyed, but he also recognized the pent-up energy that came from long periods of inactivity, something that would have been even harder to bear by someone like d'Artagnan who seemed to be perpetually in motion. Taking another moment to consider, Treville finally leaned forward, placing an arm on his desk, and picked up a stack of letters bound by string.
"Actually, I may have just the thing," he stated. "I was summoned to the palace earlier by the Cardinal who needs these letters delivered to the Abbey at St. Remi. The majority of his regiment is ill and he's adamant these must be delivered immediately." Pausing, he watched as the boy's eyes lit up. "It should be an easy three day's ride out and I'm sure you'll be invited to stay the night before heading back. Interested?"
The Gascon was nodding even before the Captain had finished speaking, the idea of being away for a week overwhelmingly appealing. He had a hand extended for the letters before he realized it and the Captain held onto them for a moment longer, "You're certain you are fit to make the journey?"
d'Artagnan's gaze shifted from the letters to the Captain's face, seeing nothing but compassion there, and he nodded, answering softly, "Yes, I just need some time outside, away from the walls of the city."
Treville inclined his head as he handed over the bundle he'd been holding. "Take care, d'Argagnan. Just because this is a simple mission doesn't mean the roads are safe."
The Gascon gave a smile of understanding as he gave a wave of his hand and turned to leave, Treville watching him go, hoping that the time away would provide whatever the young man was in search of.