Apologies for the focus on just two of the guys this time around - I promise the others will be back again next time. Enjoy!


They'd been provided with a couple of blankets, which had done little to stave off the chill that had settled into their prison once night had well and truly fallen. Without straw or anything else to act as a barrier between their bodies and the cold ground, there was little they could do to stay warm.

Aramis had managed to get the groggy Gascon onto one of the blankets, but the fabric wasn't thick enough to act as a proper insulator. Next, he'd tucked himself as close as possible to d'Artagnan's body, wrapping them both in the remaining cover. The young man had slept through the majority of the night, his head wound keeping him unware despite his body's shivering. Aramis had only managed to doze fitfully, falling asleep for short periods of time when his discomfort was overwhelmed by his exhaustion.

When the first, weak rays of dawn began to shine through their barred windows, the marksman was already awake, d'Artagnan pulled close to him and practically resting his upper body on Aramis' chest. The medic acknowledged that they were currently prisoners of war, but if the Spanish commander wanted him to be in any fit state to tend to the wounded, they wouldn't be able to spend another night like this one, a point that Aramis was more than ready to make as soon as an opportunity presented itself.

Today would be their first full day in captivity, and Aramis' fertile imagination couldn't help but conjure one bad scenario after another of what might await, all of them having one common theme – that he would at some point be separated from his blind and vulnerable friend. During his periods of wakefulness, his mind had always turned to d'Artagnan's words, and each time he'd had to quell the surge of fear that welled and threatened to overtake him. If there was one thing he could not afford, it was the irrationality that accompanied panic, and as the only hale man in their partnership, Aramis would need to keep a clear head.

It had been obvious the previous night that the Gascon was not yet aware of his infirmity, and the medic prayed that it might still turn out to be a temporary condition, and one that would resolve itself with rest and time. Another part of his brain reminded him that the young man had had a pistol blow up in his face, an event that had relieved scores of men of their sight; Aramis could only hope that d'Artagnan's penchant for beating the odds would once again see him triumph. Should he remain blind, the Gascon's life would be permanently altered in too many ways to consider, the most significant of which would be his forced retirement from the regiment, an outcome which the marksman knew would forever scar the young man's soul.

Thank God d'Artagnan at least had Constance; but, Aramis considered, their union was still new and untested, the two lovers having just consummated their bond before the Gascon had departed for war. The realization had the marksman now wondering if the couple could survive such a tragic turn of events. The boy's wife seemed steady and she had already endured much; Aramis believed her to be strong enough to deal with her husband's loss of sight, but what if he was wrong. At least Constance had her post at the palace, affording the couple a means of support, since it would be difficult for a blind man to find a way of providing for not only himself but his new wife as well.

The despairing thoughts had Aramis sighing wearily as he rubbed at his gritty eyes, the orbs red and sore from the poor night he'd had. Slowly, sounds of life reached his ears, and he realized that their prison faced into the estate's courtyard. He could faintly hear voices as people began their day outside and scurried to and fro in front of their drab prison. d'Artagnan must have registered the sounds as well, as he was soon shifting in preparation of waking, and Aramis both looked forward to and dreaded the young man's coming awareness.

The marksman had shifted their positions so that d'Artagnan's head now rested against the older man's thigh, and Aramis held the boy's right hand so it couldn't go exploring once he awoke. The medic now removed the cloth from his friend's face and watched as the Gascon made several aborted attempts to open his eyes, each time settling back into sleep for several minutes before partially rousing once more. Aramis' attention was drawn to the door with the arrival of their morning meal, and he momentarily cursed his inability to rise, having to instead face their captors while seated on the ground.

Despite his position, he cleared his throat and addressed the man who stood guard by the open doorway while his companion deposited their food. "We need blankets if we're to spend our nights locked up in here," Aramis stated with authority, hoping one of the soldiers understood French. "And some clean straw wouldn't go amiss, either." The guard raised an incredulous eyebrow at his prisoner's demands and the marksman could tell his requests were about to be declined, so he hurriedly added, "Let your commander know that if I'm to tend to your injured, I can't spend all night awake and shivering due to the cold."

The statement seemed to still whatever rebuke the guard had been about to offer, and while the man looked less than impressed, he gave a grudging nod that led Aramis to believe their requests would at least be delivered to the Spanish officer for consideration. As the men retreated, he let out a relieved sigh, his breath hitching moments later as d'Artagnan spoke, "It's morning." The young man's tone indicated that he was stating a fact, and Aramis looked into his friend's face and grinned when he saw the open eyes staring upwards.

"Yes," the marksman confirmed. "You can see." As soon as the words slipped past his lips, he regretted them, his brain processing what he was seeing, but that had initially not registered. While the Gascon's eyes were partially open, they were unfocused and stared sightlessly into the distance. There was no recognition in the young man's eyes, only unshed tears as moisture began to pool in them.

"No," d'Artagnan breathed out, his lids sliding closed, a single tear released with the action. Angrily, he raised a hand to his face to wipe it away, but was caught by Aramis who didn't want the young man to make things any worse. The marksman gently but firmly held his friend's hand while he reached over with his other, carefully wiping away the moisture from the Gascon's cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Infusing his words with as much confidence as he could muster, Aramis said, "It's alright. It's not uncommon for these types of injuries to take several days to heal."

d'Artagnan remained still with his eyes closed, but his grip tightened around the medic's hand as he softly asked, "What happened?"

Aramis bit his lower lip for a moment as he contemplated hiding the truth from his friend, but given their position as prisoners in enemy hands, he could not afford to be anything less than truthful. Inhaling deeply, he explained, "The soldier's pistol that you used misfired, and the powder burned your face. You were also struck from behind by another and rendered unconscious."

The Gascon gave a tiny tilt of his head in understanding, encouraging Aramis to continue. "I tried to come to your aid, but was prevented from doing so by a Spanish officer." Pausing, the marksman considered his words for a moment before continuing, "I agreed to tend the wounded Spanish soldiers in exchange for your life."

The room was silent for several long seconds as Aramis waited for the young man's response, surprised when d'Artagnan finally gave a small nod as he replied, "Thank you."

The marksman's brows furrowed in confusion, the young man's reaction unusually subdued and the exact opposite of the angry tirade he'd been anticipating. "For what?" he asked, not understanding why the Gascon would be thanking him.

"For saving my life," d'Artagnan replied, his tone suggesting that it should have been obvious to the other man.

"d'Artagnan, I'm not sure I did you any favours," Aramis began, certain that the Gascon misunderstood the gravity of their situation, but he was interrupted before he could say anything more.

"They would have killed me if you hadn't agreed to do this," the Gascon interjected, a questioning tone coloring his words.

The marksman nodded, and then realized that his friend couldn't see his reply. "Yes, they would have," he acknowledged hesitantly.

"And they brought me along to ensure your cooperation," d'Artagnan went on.

"Yes, that's right," Aramis concurred.

"And there's a good chance we'll be separated soon and you won't be able to protect me," the Gascon stated, resignation clear in his voice.

"Now, hold on, that's not exactly true," Aramis countered, but was again cut off.

"Aramis," d'Artagnan's voice was quiet but commanding, and the marksman gave way and allowed his friend to speak. "We're prisoners and we've both been brought here for very specific purposes. As soon as you're needed, you'll be taken from here and have no choice to do what they ask, otherwise they'll hurt me."

Stated so matter-of-factly, the words were a harsh but accurate reflection of their reality, and Aramis swallowed with difficulty. "Yes," he managed to say, his voice low with undisguised emotion.

"Then you must make me a promise, Aramis," the Gascon stated. The marksman's gaze flew back to his friend's face as the dread welled in his belly at what the man might ask of him. "If you see an opportunity to escape, you have to take it, even if it means leaving me behind."

"d'Artagnan, no," Aramis protested immediately.

"Aramis, stop," the Gascon interrupted, his tone steely. "It is your duty to try and get away, and provide inside intelligence about all that you've seen. We cannot afford to waste any advantage nor provide one to the enemy."

Above him, d'Artagnan could hear his friend's sigh of frustration and he waited patiently for the man to come to the conclusion that the Gascon was right. When he'd realized that he couldn't see, the young man had wanted to panic, but that desire had been tempered by Aramis' description of their current situation. d'Artagnan had recognized the need to remain calm almost immediately, followed soon after by the need to convince his friend to leave him behind.

Weak, injured and without the ability to see, he was nothing more than a liability that would eventually cost the loyal marksman his life. At some point, the medic would be asked to do something he could not, and d'Artagnan would be punished for it. No matter what, the Gascon knew that Aramis would be unable to stand by and watch, and his reaction would ultimately lead to both their deaths. Rather than waiting for that inevitable end, it would be better to convince Aramis now of the need to escape, and d'Artagnan prayed that his friend would agree.

His ears picked up the sound of Aramis sighing once more, this time sounding more resigned than upset, and seconds later he began to speak, "d'Artagnan, I cannot promise I will leave you behind, but if the opportunity for both us to get away presents itself, I will take advantage of it." The marksman paused for a moment, before he finished, "That's the best I can do."

The Gascon gave a slight tip of his head, satisfied for the moment with the commitment he'd gained, and hopeful that he could get Aramis to agree fully with his terms after a few days in captivity. Tiredly, he murmured, "Going to sleep for a while now. Wake me if anyone comes." He could hear the marksman's low hum of acknowledgement as he allowed his grasp on awareness to slip, gratefully sliding back into sleep where he could pretend that the darkness was of his own choosing.


As the morning stretched into midday, Aramis found himself unable to sit and simply wait anymore, and ended up pacing the length and breadth of their prison. He'd explored every inch of the cell's perimeter, tested the door at least a half-dozen times, and nearly memorized every crack in the stone walls. His examination had produced nothing of value, and only served to confirm that they were well-secured, with the only exit being the heavy wooden door that remained locked and barred against their attempts to flee.

The marksman now wandered somewhat aimlessly along the edges of their prison, having nothing else with which to pass the time. He'd eaten earlier and had hoped his friend would join him, but d'Artagnan had slept soundly since their morning conversation. A part of him envied the Gascon's ability to sleep through the hours of waiting and wondering, the anticipation of what would come next wearing on Aramis' nerves slowly but surely.

He was pulled from his musings by the sound of their door being once more unlocked, this time opening to admit a trio of men who refused to make eye contact, depositing large armfuls of fresh straw in one corner of the space. The same guard from before stood at the open doorway, his gaze firmly on the upright Musketeer, but Aramis made no move towards the others, recognizing that d'Artagnan would pay for any insubordination on his part. The three retreated, and seconds later, one of the men returned to deposit a pile of blankets just inside the door before scurrying away again. With a last hard look in the marksman's direction, the guard left and they were left on their own.

"Well, at least we won't freeze tonight," Aramis remarked to himself, eyeing the supplies that had been provided with a sense of satisfaction that he did, in fact, have some leverage to negotiate.

From the other side of their space, a voice replied, "Guess that means you won't have any excuse to cuddle with me tonight."

Aramis' face split with a grin as he crossed the distance between himself and the Gascon, "It's good to see you awake again. Feeling any better?"

d'Artagnan gave a lopsided shrug as he said, "I want to sit up for a while." With his statement, the young man began to put his words into action, rolling slightly to his left side and then starting to push himself upwards with his right arm.

The medic was crouching beside him in an instant, staying his movement with one hand, "I don't think that's a very good idea."

The Gascon gave a huff as he replied, "Probably not, but I can't lie here forever." As he began to make motions to rise once more, he added, "You can either help me or get out of my way."

Aramis considered his friend for a moment before shifting his grip, this time grasping the young man's upper arm and helping him to sit up. As soon as he was upright, d'Artagnan swayed and would have fallen over if not for the marksman's hold. "Dizzy," the young man gasped as his face scrunched up with pain.

"Steady," the medic softly coached, letting the Gascon lean against him until the world settled. When d'Artagnan's breathing had evened out, Aramis asked, "Better?"

The young man moved to nod, aborting the motion an instant later when his sense of vertigo returned. "Bad idea," he mumbled, his eyes firmly closed as he waited for his confusion to abate. Several seconds later, he said, "I'm good now."

Aramis retained his hold, uncertain about his friend's claim, "Are you sure?"

d'Artagnan's lips quirked slightly at the familiar overprotectiveness, even as he answered, "I'm fine, Aramis; really."

Without letting go, the medic glanced behind him at the pile of fresh straw. "If you think you'll be alright for a minute, I'll go arrange the hay and blankets into a pallet."

"Sure", the Gascon replied, already preparing himself to be without the marksman's support. Aramis released his grip slowly, watching as d'Artagnan leaned to the left and braced himself with his hands on either side of him, his head hanging low to his chest. The medic recognized the symptoms as possible signs of the young man's head injury, but it was also possible that the effects were exacerbated by his loss of sight. If that were the case, d'Artagnan would have difficulties getting around for some time as his body adjusted to the lack of visual input.

Rising, he brushed his hands against his breeches before gathering the additional blankets, and moving towards the pile of straw they'd been given. It took less than a minute to spread it out and cover it one of the blankets, the space large enough for them to both sit and, later that night, to sleep. Looking up from his task, with his hands on his hips, he looked over at his friend. d'Artagnan hadn't moved at all, but his shoulders and arms were stiff as they kept him upright. The young man's head was still tipped forward and Aramis could hear the quickened breaths that marked the boy's rising fear.

Adopting a teasing tone, the marksman stated, "Sorry to disappoint you, but there wasn't enough straw for a very large pallet so I'm afraid we'll be snuggling again after all."

With his words, he could see some of the tension bleeding from the young man's frame, and he realized with a start that the absence of his voice had likely added to his friend's disorientation and anxiety. Licking his lips he went on as he approached, "Let's get you over there, since I'm sure it'll be far more comfortable than sitting on the cold ground."

d'Artagnan's head had come up and he was facing in the direction of his friend's voice. Crouching carefully in front of the Gascon, Aramis spoke again, "We'll stand slowly so your body has time to adjust."

"Alright," the young man agreed.

Aramis reached a hand forward to grasp d'Artagnan's, noting the minor flinch at the young man's surprise at being touched. Inwardly cursing himself for not communicating his intentions more clearly, he instructed his young friend, "I'm going to put your arm over my shoulder and then help you stand."

"Alright," the Gascon repeated.

The medic repositioned himself, ducking under the young man's arm, and then lifting them both slowly until they were standing. Incredibly, d'Artagnan's face had paled further and he found himself leaning into the marksman's support, resting his head briefly on the man's shoulder. When he felt sufficiently capable of staying on his feet, the Gascon lifted his head and Aramis took his cue, beginning to move them to the pallet. "It's just five steps," he said, wanting to give his friend some semblance of control over the situation.

When they reached the edge of the straw, Aramis repositioned them again and then lowered them down, allowing d'Artagnan to sit with his legs stretched in front of him, while the wall supported his back. Tipping his head against the wall, the Gascon was quiet for over a minute as he composed himself, and then rolled his head towards his friend as he said, "Thanks."

Aramis placed a hand briefly on the young man's thigh, giving it a quick squeeze as he replied, "No thanks are necessary. You would do the same for me if our situations were reversed."

Drawing a shaky breath, d'Artagnan responded, his voice weighed down with despair, "I pray you will never experience the loss of your sight." The marksman looked sharply at the young man, but the Gascon fell quiet, and with no idea of what to say, Aramis let the silence between them stretch. It was only another minute before d'Artagnan's breathing evened out into sleep and the medic felt guilt rise at his relief.