d'Artagnan had made quick work of the two bandits' bodies, watching carefully to ensure that both had rolled into the stream and were swallowed up by the water below. When he returned to the barn, Athos had located their weapons and his and Aramis' hat, and Porthos had managed to waken Aramis and move him into a semi-upright positon against the back wall of the horse stall. He made his way over to Aramis, a broad grin on his face at seeing the man showing some small signs of life. Aramis saw him coming and returned a somewhat dimmer version of his own smile, saying, "d'Artagnan, I am glad you're safe." Casting an appraising eye over the young man, he noted the swelling beginning under the man's right eye, the split lip that hadn't yet had time enough to form a proper scab, and the general weariness that seemed to hang over the young man like a cloak.
Adopting a more serious tone, Aramis asked, "Are you alright, lad?"
d'Artagnan ducked his head at the attention he was now receiving from all three of his brothers, and then looked Aramis directly in the eye, stating sincerely, "Yes, I'm fine." Aramis must have been satisfied because he broke d'Artagnan's gaze and enquired, "So, when are we getting out of here? I'm generally not one to complain, but these accommodations have been even worse than I can turn a blind eye to."
At this, Porthos snorted and Athos smiled affectionately before clapping d'Artagnan on the back. They had all missed these moments of camaraderie and sorely needed a moment of brevity before dealing with the seriousness of their situation.
Athos donned his hat, addressing first Porthos and Aramis and then turning to d'Artagnan. "Porthos, we will finish readying the horses. Please do your best to help Aramis prepare for the road ahead." They all knew that Aramis would have a difficult time remaining in the saddle, and Porthos rose to gather the rope that had bound the two of them earlier so they'd have something to tie Aramis to his horse. "d'Artagnan, please assist me with the horses." The young man nodded and fell into step behind the other man as they made their way to the occupied stalls near the back of the barn.
As the men worked in tandem to saddle three of the horses, d'Artagnan asked the question that had been plaguing him since finding his brothers in town. "How did you find me?"
"We didn't," the other man admitted. "We'd been stopping along the road to speak with locals to gather information about the bandits' whereabouts and got lucky when a merchant who'd pass through recently talked about the rough-looking men in town. It turns out he was correct that his rough-looking men were also the ones we were looking for." Changing topics, Athos questioned, "What will you tell the bandits when they return?"
d'Artagnan shrugged as he replied, "That you somehow got free of your bonds while we slept and overpowered us."
"And the two missing men?" Athos persisted.
"That you must have killed them and disposed of the bodies."
"No, better to leave them guessing. Tell them that you fell during the fight and are unaware of their fate. We'll bring along two of their horses so they may believe that the men are in pursuit. That may buy us all a bit of time."
The Gascon nodded at the sound idea, then helped Athos finish with the third horse, before taking all three of the leads and guiding the horses outside; behind him, he could hear his mentor doing the same with the two other horses which would be released somewhere along their route home. Next, d'Artagnan took several minutes to relay what he knew of the bandits, including directions from the town to their forest camp and the description of the man called Marchand. When he was finished, he returned inside to find Porthos again kneeling next to Aramis, helping him drink some water. "Perhaps it would be best if we made the trip outside in stages," d'Artagnan suggested, worried at the pallor that still showed on his friend's face. Porthos quickly saw the wisdom of the younger man's proposal and moved to place Aramis' arm over his uninjured shoulder.
Stepping forward quickly, the Gascon stopped him, gently teasing, "Why don't you let me do it…just this one time." Porthos hated that he was unable to help his friend properly, but released his hold on Aramis, who looked up at him and smiled in agreement. d'Artagnan ducked his shoulder under Aramis' arm and hooked a hand at his waist. At a short nod from Aramis, the Gascon lifted him slowly to his feet, holding him while he swayed dizzily from the change in elevation and the effects of the head wound. When the older man's breathing had returned to normal, d'Artagnan felt it safe to begin walking them forward, Aramis doing his best shuffle along beside and Porthos hovering on his other side, just in case he faltered.
Outside, Athos waited with the horses and he shared a look of concern with Porthos at seeing Aramis shuffling along, head bent low, with nearly all of his weight being support by the younger man. d'Artagnan lowered Aramis gently against the shaded wall of the barn, while Athos ripped some linen from the bottom of his shirt, wet it in the well, and returned to Aramis' side to wipe the man's face and neck. Seeing Aramis in good hands, d'Artagnan turned his attention to Porthos, who stood holding his left arm tightly to himself.
"Dislocated?" he asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Likely. It's happened a few times in the past and it just seems to pop out easier every time it happens."
d'Artagnan placed himself in front of the larger man, raising his hands and then seeking Porthos' eyes before pulling Porthos' shirt away from his shoulder. Underneath he found the grotesquely swollen and bruised joint, and had to swallow back the bile that threatened to appear at the site. "Porthos," the Gascon caught the other man's eye, "it's bad. I'm not sure it will go back in right now."
Porthos seemed unsurprised by the news, having expected this to be the case after the ill treatment the shoulder had received since being hurt. He motioned to his belt, saying, "Bind my arm tight against my body. That'll have to do until the swelling goes down enough to force it back into place."
d'Artagnan hesitated but the trust in Porthos eyes had him moving to remove the man's belt, placing the limp left arm across Porthos' chest, before binding it into place with the tightly cinched belt. "Is it too tight?" the Gascon asked as he saw the look of pain on the other man's face.
Porthos shook his head, "No, it's perfect," he swallowed, "just doesn't feel very good having my arm moved around."
The younger man nodded and placed a hand on Porthos' back to support and comfort him as he breathed through the pain and obvious nausea it had induced, if the paleness and continual swallowing were any indication. Finally, he seemed to have things under control and d'Artagnan murmured, "Better?"
"Yeah, m'alright now. Let's go check on Athos and Aramis."
Athos sat beside Aramis against the wall of the barn; Aramis had closed his eyes after losing his own battle with his stomach and now rested with his head on Athos' shoulder. At the others' approach, Aramis slowly lifted his head and inspected the sling d'Artagnan had created for Porthos through bleary eyes. Seemingly passing inspection, Aramis expressed his approval. "You've done a fine job."
Porthos rolled his eyes at Aramis' words, wondering if Aramis could even see his arm, but he didn't say anything, seeing the grin it brought to d'Artagnan's face. Athos moved slowly from Aramis' side, taking care not to jostle the man as he stood, and motioned to the younger man to help him lift Aramis to his feet. This time with two of his brothers helping him walk, Aramis felt a little steadier, but his confidence soon disappeared when faced with the daunting task of mounting his horse.
As the two men prepared to lift Aramis into the saddle, d'Artagnan asked, "Wouldn't it be easier for one of you to sit behind him and hold him?"
Athos nodded in agreement, "Easier and probably safer as well, but we don't have the luxury of moving him between horses so they don't tire." The Gascon realized what Athos hadn't said: We're not fit enough to be able to move him between the horses ourselves.
Asking no further questions, d'Artagnan helped Athos get Aramis into the saddle, where the injured man sat slumped over, hands twisted in both the horse's reins and mane in an effort to stay seated. Next, the young man helped Porthos onto his horse, before turning to see if his mentor required assistance. He was surprised to be grasped tightly by the older man's arms in a desperate hug. When Athos released him, the young man was certain he saw an unnatural wetness in Athos' eyes, but he turned away to quickly to be sure.
Athos mounted his horse and looked down at his protégé who reminded him, "When they find you gone, they'll probably abandon this place and move back to the camp."
Athos nodded. "Give us four days, five at the outside. We'll get word to Treville to come prepared." With those words, the three men rode off, moving the horses at a fast walk in deference to their injuries. Five days, d'Artagnan repeated to himself – he could do that.
The three wounded men had ridden away taking a rather circuitous route that added many hours to their trip, but was ultimately far safer. Aramis had stayed awake for nearly a full hour before succumbing to his wound, at which point Athos tied him securely to his horse so that he didn't fall; it wasn't the most pleasant way to ride, hunched over as the man was, but it was necessary. Porthos was in constant pain from the jolting of the horse underneath him but he, like Athos, was loathe to stop before they found somewhere they could hide and attend to their wounds in relative safety. Nearing night, Athos was growing anxious that they might have to sleep outdoors when Porthos pointed out lights ahead. The lights came from a small farmhouse, where an elderly man and his wife welcomed them and offered them a hot meal and a small bedroom where they could rest for the night.
Athos was more grateful than words could express to the man and his wife, and he cautioned them strongly about the necessity to keep their presence secret, playing to the wife's notion of the romantic Musketeers' life. They settled Aramis into the sole bed in the room, removing his boots, shirt and breeches. Porthos then coaxed him into drinking a half cup of broth prepared by the lady of the house, before sitting down on the end of the bed, fatigue rolling off him in waves.
"Stay here," Athos ordered. "I'll see what food and blankets they can spare for us."
Returning several minutes later with a basket in one hand and blankets in the other, he smirked affectionately at the sight of Porthos lying partially over Aramis' legs as he snored soundly. As much as he knew that Porthos needed the rest, he also knew that their last meal had been too long ago, so after laying his things down, he proceeded to wake the other man. Porthos was as happy as Athos had expected him to be at having his sleep disturbed, but was willing to forgive Athos for waking him once directed to the basket of food. Since the room was too small for a table, the men laid a blanket on the floor next to the bed and ate on the floor, the food and a modest bottle of wine sitting between them.
When Porthos' hunger had been satisfied, he looked at their leader, eyes drifting to the man's right arm where blood had spotted the bandage. "That arm needs some needlework," he stated knowingly.
Athos looked down at his arm, seemingly uninterested, and replied, "but our resident medic is currently indisposed." It was no secret that Aramis' gift with a needle and thread was unmatched in the garrison, and neither man trusted anyone else to stitch them back together when the situation demanded.
"I could do it," Porthos offered.
"Mmm, while I appreciate the offer, my friend, I expect that you'd have nearly as hard a time with a needle as Aramis would right now." Athos knew that while Porthos was not particularly skilled at stitching, it would still be better than having to do it himself – normally. Tonight, between the exhaustion and pain he was suffering from, Athos doubted the man could even see straight.
Porthos didn't protest as he directed, "At least let me help you clean it first."
To this Athos agreed, and he collected needle and thread and some clean bandages from their hosts before allowing Porthos to unwrap his arm and scrub the wound thoroughly, first with water and then with the remains of their wine. Porthos chuckled at the look of sadness of Athos' face as he poured the wine on the wound. "Doubt you'll need it to sleep tonight, anyway."
Athos didn't argue and applied himself to stitching up his arm, allowing Porthos to rewrap it in clean linen when he was done. After cleaning up the remains of their meal, the two men forced Aramis to drink again before allowing him to slumber, and then settled on the floor next to their brother, both falling quickly into a deep sleep.
