Thank you for the lovely reactions to the rescue and brotherly moments in the last chapter. Another longer chapter for you ahead!
Aramis had carefully cleaned both of Athos' wrists and wrapped them in clean linen, resting his friend's arms at his side when he was done. Athos was clearly uncomfortable, the infection in his leg driving his fever up, and Aramis continuously wiped at his friend's face, neck and upper body in an effort to cool him. He'd let Porthos sleep since he himself had slept most of the previous day, and when the larger man woke a few hours before dawn, Aramis provided him with an update on both their injured comrades.
"d'Artagnan hasn't woken yet but he seems to be resting relatively easily. I made up a pain draught for when he wakes, but for now we may as well let him be," Aramis explained, pulling Athos' blanket down a few inches lower.
"And Athos?" Porthos asked, already guessing at what his friend would say.
"His body burns with fever and so far nothing I've done has made any difference," Aramis admitted tiredly.
"What about the poultice?" Porthos questioned.
"Still working, but I'll need to replace it in the morning," the medic replied.
Aramis slumped with fatigue and worry and Porthos knew that, if left to his own devices, the man would wear himself out caring for his friends. "How 'bout you get some sleep then. I'll wake you in the morning so you can change the poultice and then you can go find more of the herbs you'll need." Aramis was loathe to close his eyes, an irrational fear tugging at his mind, suggesting that if he rested his friend's condition would worsen, but one look at Porthos' face had him nodding in agreement; he knew the larger man would never hesitate to wake him if he was needed.
One of the others had brought extra blankets in earlier and Aramis laid one down on the floor now, pulling a second over his body as he rested his weary body; seconds later he was asleep. Porthos took over tending to the older man, once more wetting the cloth that Aramis had placed on their friend's brow, before looking up at a quiet hiss from the door. Treville stood there and motioned with his head for Porthos to join him outside and, with a last look confirming that Athos would be alright for a couple minutes, he rose and followed the other man into the hallway.
"How are they?" Treville asked, pitching his voice low so neither of the two sleeping men would be disturbed.
"Athos is still burnin' up and I just got Aramis to lay down. He'll need to make another poultice and collect more herbs in the morning," Porthos advised him. "What about the boy?"
"He's been asleep this whole time; didn't even wake when I sewed him up. I'm going to try rousing him soon if he doesn't come around on his own," the Captain replied. "I've had some broth made that I'll try to get into him and when breakfast is ready, I expect both you and Aramis to eat." Treville's tone was empathetic but firm, and Porthos gave a soft nod in acknowledgement of the command. "I'll let you get back, but don't think that the two of you have to manage Athos' care on your own; let me know if you need help."
"We will, thank you, Captain," Porthos murmured, although Treville was certain that no request for assistance would be forthcoming.
He'd left Fouquet sitting with d'Artagnan so he could get a few hours' rest and he now nodded at the man as he re-entered the room, letting him know that he would once more take over. When they were alone, Treville leaned forward, placing a hand on the Gascon's arm, noting that there were very few spots on the boy's upper body that could be touched without inflicting pain. "d'Artagnan, it's time for you to wake up." His words had no effect, as he'd expected, so he wet a cloth and began to wipe it across the young man's face and neck. "d'Artagnan, I need you awake now so you can tell me how you're feeling," he called again as the Gascon began shifting weakly, trying to escape the cool cloth he was wielding. "Come now, boy, open your eyes for me."
Perhaps it was the use of the term "boy" that motivated d'Artagnan to open his eyes, but whatever the reason, Treville was grateful when a few seconds later the Gascon groaned and then his eyes fluttered open. It took several moments before he was able to focus and when he did, his brow furrowed in confusion, "C'ptain?"
"It's good to have you back, d'Artagnan," Treville said, already reaching for a cup of water. With one hand behind the young man's head, he lifted it just enough so d'Artagnan could drink without choking, replacing it gently on the pillow when he'd finished. "How are you feeling?"
d'Artagnan was quiet for nearly a minute as he considered the various aches that were now vying for his attention. His shoulders were definitely the worst, the individual injuries there painful in and of themselves, but when combined with the strained muscles caused by days of having his arms restrained behind him, they throbbed with an agony that could only be described as exquisite. Next were his ribs, sending a sharp stab of pain through his flank with every stuttering inhale that pushed against his broken bones. "I feel…awful," the Gascon finally whispered, even the act of talking wearing him out.
The honest answer brought a gentle smile to the Captain's lips, pleased that d'Artagnan had not tried to disguise how poorly he was feeling. "Then you're in luck," Treville answered, reaching now for the pain draught that Aramis had left. "Aramis made this for you earlier, expecting that you'd be somewhat uncomfortable."
d'Artagnan latched onto the man's words, ignoring the cup that Treville held, his eyes darting around the room to realize what was missing. "Aramis! Are the others alright? What happened?" The young man had moved quickly from lethargic to agitated and the Captain placed a restraining hand on the boy's chest to keep him from trying to sit up.
"Calm yourself, d'Artagnan, everyone is alive," he began, knowing he'd need to tread carefully as he explained the extent of Athos' injuries. "Do you remember Athos being captured?" The Gascon bit his lip as he thought back, giving a short nod when the memory of Athos sharing his cell returned. "He was shot in the leg during the first rescue attempt." This drew a confused look followed by a slow nod from the young man, prompting him to continue. "The ball was still in his thigh and the wound became infected. Aramis has tended it but he's still fevered. He and Porthos are with Athos in the other room."
Treville watched the Gascon carefully, hand still on the boy's chest, gauging the young man's reaction by the beat of his heart. Finally, d'Artagnan spoke, "He'll be alright?"
The Captain nodded, "The biggest concern now is the fever. Once that breaks, he should recover well."
The young man slumped back, the tension from before draining out of him as quickly as it had appeared, his limbs falling slack in relief. He had no memory of Athos being injured, either during the rescue attempt or during their time in the Baron's prison. Sadly, his memory of the past couple of days had more than a few gaps in it, his body having been weakened by his poor treatment and his mind having withdrawn as a way of blocking out the pain. He did remember Athos being with him, although he couldn't recall much of their time together. All that stood out were the conflicting feelings of safety and disillusionment, two emotions that seemed so at odds with each other that he questioned their validity. He had no memory beyond the Baron's last visit, when he'd been stabbed, and now looked to his Captain to fill in the missing pieces. "What happened, exactly?" the Gascon looked self-consciously down at his lap. "I really don't remember much after the first couple of days in the Baron's prison."
Treville gave him a supportive smile as he explained, "After the three of them returned from their mission, they came to me to inquire about your whereabouts. I got the feeling that they were quite disappointed not to have accompanied you." He paused, waiting to see what reaction his words would garner, but d'Artagnan stayed silent, still looking downwards. "They set out immediately and I followed a day later, sensing that you might need help. By the time I arrived, you and Athos were both in the Baron's hands so we made plans to rescue you last night. As you can tell, we were successful and you've been asleep most of the night."
He stopped, not wanting to go into great detail, but waiting instead to see what questions the Gascon would have for him. "What of the Baron and his men?"
"It was not our intention to engage them directly last night, but we did so anyway when the alarm was sounded. The Baron was one of the casualties and I would expect that what few men remained alive, will have scattered," Treville assured him.
d'Artagnan looked up and gave a small nod, unable to hide the grimace that the action provoked. "You are in pain," the Captain stated. "Both of your shoulders are hurt and Aramis believes that the muscles may be damaged from the position you were forced to maintain. If we strap your arms, you're likely to find some relief from the pain."
"No," the young man protested at once. Seeing the startled reaction on Treville's face, he explained. "After what happened, I don't like the idea of having both arms bound." d'Artagnan's eyes pooled with desperation at the thought of being helpless once more and the older man found himself acquiescing, unwilling to be the cause of the boy's anguish.
"Very well, how about we strap the one that's dislocated, but we'll leave the other free for now?" Treville compromised. The Gascon's relief was almost palpable and the Captain knew he'd done the right thing. "We'll bind your ribs as well before we take care of that arm. Would you like to try some broth first?"
d'Artagnan had little appetite, the ache from his injuries unrelenting, but he felt uncomfortable turning down the Captain's offer so he agreed to try. Treville gave him an encouraging smile as he reached first for some extra pillows, which he placed behind the young man's back, and then gathered the waiting cup from the small table next to him. As he brought it closer, d'Artagnan attempted to reach for it, causing his left hand to lift momentarily from his side before falling back to the mattress, pulling a moan of pain from his throat. He stared down at the traitorous limb as if willing it to move would make it so, embarrassed to be showing such weakness in front of his commanding officer.
"d'Artagnan," Treville's hand was on his arm now, "this was to be expected. Your muscles have been overtaxed for far too long and they will be sore and weak for a time. It's nothing to be ashamed of." The Gascon seemed unconvinced and Treville decided it would be best to simply forge ahead and ignore the boy's discomfort, bringing the cup to his mouth and waiting for him to open. It took a second or two, but then the Gascon parted his lips, taking his first sip of the warm broth. He managed a couple of swallows before turning his head to the side, Treville reading the signs of the young man's distress as his face incredibly turned another shade paler. "That's fine, d'Artagnan," he praised, "we'll try again later. I'm going to get one of the others to help me so we can strap your arm and ribs." In reality there was little reason to seek assistance, but the Captain wanted to give the boy a few minutes to compose himself and to calm his rebelling stomach.
d'Artagnan gratefully watched the Captain leave, exhaling slowly as he closed his eyes and focused on settling his belly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten but the few sips he'd had made his stomach roil uncomfortably and he really didn't want to humiliate himself further by being sick. The fact that he couldn't lift a hand to help himself had further increased his misery and he was mortified to think that he'd be reliant on others' help until his injuries healed. It wouldn't be so bad, he thought, if he were in the care of his closest friends, but he hadn't even seen the men since they'd parted ways in Paris. Perhaps that was not wholly accurate, but he'd been nearly insensible in the Baron's cell so he didn't think the time spent with Athos should count. Being without them while convalescing was doubly strange, bringing back the feelings of abandonment that he'd struggled with on his way to Gascony as he truly couldn't remember a time since their acquaintance when he'd been hurt and without their company. It was almost an unspoken promise between them – when one is sick or injured, the others will remain to care, cajole and otherwise comfort him until he is hale and hearty once more.
But Athos was wounded as well and now suffered a fever. d'Artagnan scolded himself at his selfish thoughts; Athos' need was clearly greater and Aramis and Porthos would take care of him until he was well. That's what the inseparables did, after all. The thought raised another pang of doubt – did that mean that four were once more three? No! d'Artagnan raged at himself, disgusted at the self-centredness of his thoughts. How could he sit here worrying about his friends' absence when Athos was fighting for his life in the room next door? Surely they would be by his side if they were able and would welcome him once more into their fold once Athos' future was less uncertain. The young man found himself biting his lip, hand twitching by his side as he tried time and again to curl his fingers into a fist, failing miserably as strained muscles refused to obey while his thoughts oscillated between one extreme and the next.
"d'Artagnan?" Treville led the way into the room, Thierry following behind him. "Are you alright?" When he'd left, the Gascon looked worn and clearly aching from his wounds, but otherwise stable enough to leave alone for a few minutes. Now, his hand lay twitching, he was biting at his lip and his face was screwed up with what the Captain could only guess was extreme pain.
The other men's entrance surprised d'Artagnan, and he jumped minutely at the older man's words, causing his injuries to flare sharply. He gasped at the raw ache that coursed through him, losing his ability to keep it under control, and his faced screwed up as he battled to manage the pain. "d'Artagnan." Treville was beside him now, a hand on his as he murmured soft words of comfort until the Gascon could open his eyes again.
"M'alright now," the young man breathed out, not trusting his voice not to betray the intensity of the pain that still gripped him.
Treville hummed disbelievingly but released his hand, motioning to Thierry to pass him the half-full cup that contained Aramis' draught. Pressing it to the Gascon's lips, he ordered, "Drink, all of it." His tone left no room for argument and d'Artagnan swallowed obediently, recognizing the bitter taste from the last time he'd been hurt. After that, things seemed to turn soft and fuzzy and he vaguely remembered the Captain and Thierry efficiently binding his ribs and right arm to stabilize the broken bones and still swollen joint. By the time they'd finished, d'Artagnan was barely conscious and, as soon as Treville removed the extra pillows from behind him, he drifted off, grateful for the painlessness of sleep.
Morning came far too early for the Musketeers, half of their group having gotten a few hours' sleep in the barn before rising at dawn to clean weapons, take care of the horses and make food for the ones inside. One could imagine that those inside the farmhouse were the fortunate ones, having the comfort of four walls and proper furniture through the night, but they all knew the truth of it; those inside had the unpleasant task of caring for their wounded, which resulted in hours of worry interspersed with little actual rest.
Porthos had grudgingly woken Aramis at dawn as he'd promised, although the dark smudges under both of the healer's eyes had him second-guessing the decision until he received a dark glare from his friend. "Don't, Porthos, we both know this is necessary and I'll sleep once he's out of danger." The subject of their discussion was their lieutenant who still tossed feverishly, nonsensical words occasionally punctuating his delirium as his weakened body struggled against the infection that still ravaged him. Aramis had wearily climbed to his feet and staggered to the chair at his friend's bedside, his hand automatically reaching for Athos' brow where he encountered such fierce heat that he pulled his hand away quickly, as if scalded. Unwinding and peeling back the poultice on his friend's leg revealed a red and sore-looking wound, streaks of red standing out in stark contrast to the white of his skin, marking the path of the infection that poisoned him. Removing the soiled bandage, Aramis gratefully took the clean one that Porthos handed him and placed it gently over the wound before standing to make a fresh poultice, achingly aware that he would have to leave his ailing friend's side in order to search the surrounding forest for the additional items he'd need for later in the day. When he'd done all he could and Athos' leg had been re-bandaged, he accepted Porthos' strong grip, allowing the larger man to pull him to his feet before looking around the room as if in a daze.
Porthos was just as fatigued but knew that he had the advantage of not being directly responsible for his friends' lives, the decisions that Aramis made regarding their care always weighing heavily on the man, making him appear ten years' older. Gently, he helped Aramis into his boots and doublet, handing the man his weapons belt and satchel, which he knew would be used to carry the plants he collected in the forest. Taking a quick look over his shoulder at Athos, Porthos grasped Aramis' upper arm, guiding him out of the room to seat him at the dining table, where he handed his charge over to Rideau, one of the other Musketeers who'd accompanied Treville and aided in their rescue efforts.
Catching Rideau's eye, Porthos nodded at the still quiet healer as he sat his friend down in a chair at the table. Comprehending Porthos' request, Rideau left quickly, returning a minute later with food and drink for both men. Porthos nodded in thanks to the man and leaned forward to speak softly to his friend. "Aramis, the Captain ordered us to eat this morning and when you're done," his gaze shifted to Rideau, "Rideau will go with you to find what you need for that poultice. I'm going to take my food back and sit with Athos so there's no need for you to worry while you're gone."
Aramis looked at the food in front of him and for a moment Porthos thought he might push it away, but seconds later was pleased to see the medic sigh and nod, "Alright, Porthos, don't worry, I'll eat. Go back and check on Athos and I'll be back as soon as I've found everything." The large man smiled and squeezed Aramis' shoulder, even as the latter brought the first bite of food to his mouth, Porthos picking up his own breakfast and sharing one last glance with Rideau who assured him again with another tilt of his head.
Satisfied that Aramis would eat and have someone by his side while distracted both by Athos' condition and his search for the plants he'd need, Porthos made his way back, noting as he passed the second bedroom that the occupants were quiet and likely asleep. He settled himself at Athos' side, wiping away the sheen of sweat that once more covered the man's skin and tamed his normally wild locks. Growing up in the Court, Porthos had watched many fight fevers and, like many others, had seen more than a few succumb. Each time once of them was hurt, infection was always cause for concern, and Porthos laid a hand gently over his friend's bandaged wrist, speaking lowly although he doubted the man was aware enough to hear, "Fight, Athos, you must be strong now. Don't let that bastard Baron have this last victory." Leaving the cool cloth on the man's brow and his hand on Athos' wrist, Porthos reached for his food with the other, forcing himself to eat even though his stomach churned with fear for the man lying in front of him.
Rideau had been true to his word and had bullied Aramis into eating, threatening to tell Porthos if he didn't make a good meal. He still pushed his plate away half-full, but it was better than nothing. It took over an hour for the healer to find the plants he needed for the poultice and every minute away made him itch with anxiety at being away from his very ill friend. When they returned to the farmhouse, Aramis dismounted swiftly, grabbing his bag of supplies and leaving the care of the horses to Rideau as he strode into the house, eager to see if Athos' condition had changed.
"Aramis," Treville called as the man passed by the other room, halting him in his tracks and bringing him back to the doorway. Peering in, the Captain motioned his head toward the bed where d'Artagnan sat, still far too pale and gaunt, but eyes open and aware.
Aramis' face broke into a soft grin as he slowly walked to the boy's bed, "d'Artagnan, it's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
The Gascon offered a tentative smile in return, the space between them laced with awkwardness despite the experiences they'd shared. The young man could feel Aramis' hesitancy and couldn't help reacting to it, assuming that things would be strained between them after the way in which they'd left things in Paris. "I'm fine, Aramis," he answered politely. "How's Athos?"
The medic's grin slipped at the question and told d'Artagnan far more that words could. "He's still fevered. I've been out this morning collecting herbs for a poultice, which should help." He lifted the bag slightly in his hand as if to emphasize his point but then ran out of words, his need to go check on the older man thwarting his normally silver tongue.
Sensing his friend's discomfort, the Gascon replied, "I'm sure the poultice will help. I'll let you go then." He received a grateful look in response and watched as Aramis hurried from the room, left once more in the Captain's company. Treville was a good man who treated his men fairly and with compassion, but d'Artagnan couldn't help but be uncomfortable in his presence; this was still his commanding officer, after all, and they had little in common beyond the missions that the Gascon participated in. Again, d'Artagnan cursed the circumstances that had placed him in such a vulnerable state, needing someone to help with even his most basic needs, and wished that Treville had at least relegated his care into the hands of one of the others. Granted, he didn't know the other men with them very well either, typically completing missions with the inseparables, but he couldn't help but think that it would be easier to ask for help from someone who was just another soldier like himself.
"d'Artagnan, are you alright?" the Captain repeated Aramis' earlier question, prompting d'Artagnan to realize that he'd fallen silent with Aramis' departure.
"I'm fine, sir, just tired." It was not an outright lie as his body had been unnaturally fatigued since he'd awoken in his uncle's farmhouse, but he'd only been awake for a short while and was not yet ready to sleep again. Yet, the prospect of closing his eyes seemed far more attractive than the idea of conversing with his Captain or, worse yet, having the man feed him or otherwise take care of him. "I think I'd just like to rest if that's alright," d'Artagnan explained.
The Captain seemed hesitant and perhaps he even had some inkling of what bothered the young man, but he nodded in acceptance before standing. "I need to check on the others. Do you need anything before I go? Do you want someone else to come sit with you?"
d'Artagnan shook his head to both questions, "No, thank you. I'm just going to sleep; there's no need for anyone else to be here with me."
Treville removed the extra pillows from behind the boy's back before helping him lay back, pulling the blanket up to cover his chest while d'Artagnan closed his eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he'd just been tucked in. "Sleep well," the Captain said before leaving the room.
d'Artagnan opened his eyes to find the room blessedly empty, finally alone with his thoughts and able to drop the pretence that everything was fine. Things were far from alright and he was shocked at the emptiness he felt at being apart from his brothers. Aramis' grin at seeing him had warmed him immensely and for a few moments he'd been able to believe that everything was well between them, but then he'd felt it, the strange sensation that reminded him more of a stilted conversation between strangers rather than friends, and the feelings of warmth turned cold. He'd seen how anxious Aramis had been to leave and, while he reasoned that it was due to Athos' fevered state, he wondered if that was all there was to it. He knew that Aramis was a loyal friend and dedicated healer, the intensity of his focus almost frightening when one of them was injured or sick, but a part of him couldn't help feeling dismayed that the man hadn't even stopped to look over his wounds before rushing away. The thought sent another chill through him and he shivered involuntarily, doing his best to shift his left arm in order to pull the blanket up higher, but the limb still trembled and refused his commands. The failed attempt drew a sigh of frustration from him as he pushed his head angrily into his pillow, eyes slipping closed as they filled with tears, which he refused to allow to fall. "Where have you gone, brothers?" he thought to himself, shuddering on a shallow inhale as a tear rolled down his cheek.
