I'm going to apologize in advance for extending yesterday's cliffhanger as this chapter has us back with Porthos and Athos while d'Artagnan languishes in his captors' hands. (Ducks now to avoid rotten fruit.) Hope you enjoy regardless!
As the day progressed through morning and then lengthened into afternoon, Athos continued to fight against the illness that was slowly constricting his chest, making him pant for every shallow inhale as his body grew more fevered in its attempt to rid itself of whatever was making him sick. He'd begun the journey gently bracing himself against Porthos, but as the ride wore on, he found himself more and more disconnected, barely able to discern his surroundings through his fevered and confused state, his body weakening to leave him slumped heavily against his friend.
Porthos had been anxiously on the lookout for any signs of life but the two small villages they'd passed were nothing more than sad groupings consisting of a handful of homes, leaving him no choice but to press on in search of aid. He knew that Athos would disagree, should he still be aware enough to do so at this point, but the heat that emanated from the man's body was enough to have Porthos' heart in fits as he listened to each hard-fought inhale and exhale, interspersed with increasingly wetter sounding coughs. If things progressed in this fashion for much longer, he feared that Athos would be beyond help and he would be burying the man somewhere along the road they now travelled.
The thought brought forth a fresh surge of panic and Porthos gritted his teeth at their slow pace, desperately wanting to push the horse to go faster, but now just as fearful that Athos would fall if they sped up at all. As it was, he was beginning to wonder if they needed to change positions, despite the additional pressure it would place on his broken arm. The reminder of his injured limb pulled a wince from him, Porthos carefully silencing his own sounds of pain lest his stubborn friend begin to worry about him rather than about his own welfare. He knew that being on a horse so soon after his injury was a poor idea, the bone jostled with each jarring step the horse took, but they had no choice and he promised himself that if they found a physician, he would gladly accept whatever pain relief the man offered.
Athos' coughing pulled him from his thoughts and Porthos found himself once again holding his breath as he waited for his friend's fit to end and for him to draw his first few shaky inhales, as had become the pattern over the past few hours. He waited and waited, realizing only when his own body screamed for air that he hadn't yet heard Athos breathe and the man was now completely limp against his back. The realization lasted for only a moment as the warm weight of Athos' body shifted and then disappeared, the older man falling from the horse unconscious and landing on the ground beneath the horse's feet.
Porthos pulled up on the reins immediately, the concern for his friend spiking as he clumsily dropped from the horse, swaying a moment with the sudden throb of his arm as his feet jarringly hit the ground. Seconds later he was kneeling at Athos' side, rolling him slightly to ease the man onto his back. Athos' normally pale complexion had incredibly faded further, giving him the appearance of being almost gray, except for the two patches of red high on his cheeks, visible proof of the illness that ravaged his body.
Awkwardly, Porthos leaned forward, placing an ear to the older man's chest, relieved to find both a heartbeat and the stuttering rise and fall of Athos' ribs as he fought for air. Pulling the glove off his hand with his teeth, Porthos placed it against his friend's forehead, frowning deeply at the heat that emanated from him. Athos needed medical attention and soon, and the large man surveyed the emptiness around them, cursing softly at the circumstances that had placed them alone and injured so far away from help.
He allowed himself only a moment of self-pity before shaking himself from his fugue, his normal determination reasserting itself as he considered how he would get Athos back onto their horse with only one functioning arm. Coming to the realization that thinking about it too long wouldn't solve anything, he freed his arm from its sling and then pulled Athos' torso upright, allowing it to rest for a moment against his broad shoulders as he readied himself for the next step.
"Hold on, Athos, I'll get us out of here," he whispered lowly in his friend's ear. Wrapping his arms firmly around Athos' boneless form, he pushed himself upwards, grunting softly at the stress on his splinted arm. He dragged Athos the two steps to the horse, praying that the animal would stay calm while he tried to manhandle his friend's limp body onto its back.
Drawing a steadying breath, Porthos released his hold and bent his knees, allowing Athos to fall forward across the shoulder of his broken arm, with the limb wrapping around his friend to keep him from falling. The added pressure as the older man's body pushed on the break brought tears of pain to Porthos' eyes and he breathed heavily for several moments until he'd could move again. Blinking to clear his vision, he raised his head to look at his objective, wondering if he had enough strength left to lift them both into the saddle. Placing a hand on the saddle he managed to get a foot into the stirrup before gritting his teeth and pushing off the ground. The muscles of his back and shoulders rippled with the strain of the added weight and he grunted as he swung a leg over the horse, moving quickly to steady Athos' body where it swayed alarmingly across his shoulder.
He waited for nearly a half minute before he felt ready to continue, leaning forward carefully to let Athos slip from his back onto the horse and then manoeuvring the man until he was resting against his chest. Porthos panted heavily with the pain and effort of his accomplishment, feeling the sweat that dampened his shirt and beaded at his hairline. He took stock of himself and knew he would never be able to manage the task again and the next time they got off the horse, there would be no getting back up. Reaching around Athos, he snuggled the man's body into his own as well as he was able, tamping down the pain that surged and forcing himself to take hold of the reins. Digging his heels into the horse's flanks, he got them moving, clamping his jaw shut as the motion of their mount pushed Athos against his broken arm with every step.
His focus narrowed to keeping them both on the horse, barely paying attention to the road ahead and trusting that the animal would continue to follow it. The sound of Athos' hoarse wheezing filled his ears and he prayed that the man continued to fight until they could reach help. He was shocked out of his pain-filled haze when the horse abruptly stopped, forcing heavy lids open to find that night had nearly fallen and they had reached a town. His dulled mind comprehended that they were standing still and his eyes drifted downwards, noticing a boy waiting patiently in front of the horse. "Wha'?" Porthos asked, still trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain.
"Take your horse, sir?" the young man asked, waiting expectantly to receive the reins that lay in Porthos' hand.
Porthos gave himself a small shake, eyes moving to take in their surroundings before answering. "Where are we?"
The young man gave him an odd look but replied, "You're in Bouquelon." He motioned to the building behind him. "I'll take care of your horse if you're taking a room for the night."
Porthos' gaze moved to the building and a ghost of a grin curved his lips as he realized they'd arrived at an inn. Eyes clearing with renewed energy, he asked, "Do you have physician in town?"
The boy hesitated for a moment and then nodded, his eyes moving to where Athos still sat slumped and unaware. "Good. Send someone for him before you take care of the horse." Another nod from the young man had Porthos considering how he would get them both down but the stable boy seemed to sense his dilemma.
He turned on his heel and ran toward the inn, disappearing inside and reappearing several seconds later with a man bustling behind. The two arrived at the horse's side and the man examined the two Musketeers warily, uncertain of the danger they might have brought.
Sensing the man's discomfort, Porthos explained, "We're King's Musketeers and my friend was hurt when we were attacked by bandits. We need a room and medical help." He waited for a few heartbeats as the man considered the words and then nodded to Porthos.
"Alright. Nicolas, go fetch the healer and then take care of the horse." Turning back to the two men who still sat astride the horse he said, "I'm Jérôme Gagnon and I will help you and your friend to a room."
Porthos gave a nod of gratitude. "I'm Porthos and this is Athos. If I tip him towards you, do you think you can catch him?" he asked Gagnon. After receiving a nod in reply, Porthos worked to slowly lower Athos sideways into Jérôme's waiting arms, watching as the man gently lowered Athos to the ground. When he was satisfied that Athos had made it down safely, he slid from the saddle, grunting as his arm was jostled. Gagnon was observing him and when Porthos met his gaze he stated, "You're hurt too."
Porthos grunted noncommittally in reply, his sole focus on getting help for Athos. With a man under each shoulder, the two carried Athos inside and into a room, laying him carefully on one of the two narrow beds. "Thank you," the Musketeer said as he slumped tiredly at the edge of the bed, bracing his injured limb in an effort to still the dull ache that seemed to have taken up residence there.
"I will have the healer sent in as soon as she arrives and will bring you something to eat and drink," Gagnon stated as he retreated from the room. Porthos nodded numbly, his attention back on his ailing friend, noting the still sallow complexion and how difficult each shallow inhale seemed to be. Recalling others who had fallen ill with breathing problems, he brought over the pillows from the second bed and managed to manhandle Athos upwards enough to lodge the extra pillows behind the man's back. The result had Athos reclining at a forty-five degree angle and hopefully breathing easier. When he'd finished, Porthos returned to his seat at the man's side, staring at him as though worried that each breath might be his last, completely losing track of time as his own fatigue overwhelmed him.
A knock at the door startled him and he hadn't even managed to stand before the innkeeper returned, an older woman following in his wake. The woman's eyes darted perceptively over Porthos and then moved to Athos and she made a beeline for the bed, issuing orders as she moved. "Jérôme, I'll need water and clean cloths and your assistance to get both these men out of their leathers." Eyes narrowing at the way that Porthos held his injured arm protectively to his side had her continuing. "Also, an old pillowcase or sheet that I can use as a sling along with some warm food and wine."
Gagnon only nodded, seemingly unperturbed at the woman who'd swept in and acted like she owned the place. Porthos had just managed to gain his feet when the woman arrived at the side of the bed and he positioned himself between her and Athos. She stopped, allowing him to assess her as her eyes softened at the lines of pain and fatigue she saw on the large Musketeer's face. Without waiting for him to ask, she introduced herself, "I'm Madame Fontaine and I've come to care for your friend." She pointedly did not say you and your friend, sensing the man's protective nature and that the best way to get past his guard was to focus on the prone man on the bed.
Athos interrupted Porthos' quiet examination of Fontaine as he started to cough and then gag, something blocking his airway and preventing him from drawing breath. The woman wasted no time and moved nimbly around the Musketeer to pull Athos upward by his shoulders, smacking his back soundly with one hand while she held him steady with the other. "Jérôme, I need those supplies now and leave my bag." For the first time, Porthos noticed the large bag Gagnon carried and now dropped on the ground next to the woman. She turned her head toward Porthos for a moment, instructing him, "There are some clean clothes inside; I need one now." Expecting that the Musketeer would do as he'd been asked, she turned her attention back to her patient who was still gagging weakly against whatever was caught in his throat and she smacked him firmly again, coaxing him to cough out whatever obstructed his airway.
Porthos did as he was asked, completely out of his element and with no further ideas about how to help his friend. Athos' face was turning an alarming shade of red as he struggled for air, his eyes partly open but unseeing as Fontaine coached him to dislodge the mass that was choking him. Porthos grabbed a cloth from the bag and thrust it forward, Fontaine nodding and directing him, "Place it in front of his mouth." He did as he was told and watched as Athos finally managed to clear his throat, a mass of something landing in the cloth he held.
Porthos' nose wrinkled in disgust but his reaction was only momentary as he returned his gaze to his ill friend who was now pulling some shallow breaths, the sound of which did little to inspire confidence but were still better than listening to the man suffocate. Fontaine held him upright for another minute before gently easing him back, Athos' eyes already closed with the exhaustion of battling for air. The woman stood and Porthos looked at her, the need in his face clear as he asked tremulously, "Will he be alright?"
She placed a hand on his bicep, her features softening again in compassion at the worry the Musketeer held for his friend. "I promise I will do everything in my power to ensure that he is. Now, tell me, how did this happen?"
Porthos would normally be far more guarded with someone he'd just met, but his relief at having help combined with his deep weariness had him relating the story of how Athos had been pushed into the Seine, his subsequent rescue, and the hours they'd spent outside in the cold. Through it all, Fontaine's hand stayed on his arm, the warmth there reminding Porthos that he was no longer alone. It wasn't until she tried to steer him away from Athos' bed that she encountered resistance, the man unwilling to leave his friend's side.
"You have hurt your arm," she stated, looking down pointedly at the splinted limb. "You have done an admirable job of caring for your friend and now I ask that you let me help – let me help both of you." Porthos seemed uncertain and his gaze drifted back to Athos, confirming that the man's chest still rose and fell with every breath. With a hint of a smile, Fontaine pressed, "Please, come sit down on the other bed before you fall down. I'm certain I haven't the strength to lift you if that happens."
Porthos picked up on the slightly teasing tone but also heard the genuine concern underneath as he allowed himself to be led to the other bed, which was only a few steps away from Athos'. Once he was seated, Fontaine kneeled in front of him, "When Jérôme returns I will ask him to help me undress your friend and I will mix some medicine that will help. Afterwards, you will let me help you and you will eat and sleep."
Porthos looked ready to disagree, his eyes drifting once more to Athos, fearful of not being at the man's side while he was so ill. "I promise I will stay and tend to your friend throughout the night. Will you let me do this for you?" Her tone was beseeching and Porthos found himself nodding, a lump of emotion in his throat at the kindness the woman was extending to them. She smiled at his response, her eyes lightening and years falling away from her face in genuine relief that the Musketeer had agreed to accept her help. Squeezing the hand of his uninjured arm, she stood and moved back to Athos' side, beginning to undo the fastenings on his doublet so she could make him more comfortable.
When Gagnon returned, it was with hot and cold water and several clean cloths. Behind him, Nicolas followed with a tray that carried a bowl of hot stew, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine with two cups. The boy brought the food over to Porthos and set it on a small table next to the bed while the innkeeper moved to help Fontaine. Porthos kept a careful eye on them as they worked to undress his friend, Nicolas standing at his side talking. "I fed and watered your horse, Monsieur, and I'll clean your tack later. Mama makes the best stew in town and she gets right upset when we don't eat. Says it's disrespectful to put all her hard work to waste." A part of Porthos' mind registered the words and he accepted the bowl being pressed into his hands, absently taking a bite and nodding appreciatively at the flavours that exploded on his tongue.
"This is really good," Porthos stated, making the boy grin widely.
The food reminded his stomach how long it had been since he'd eaten a proper meal and he shovelled another spoonful into his mouth as the boy continued to chatter. "Madame Fontaine is the best healer around as well. Some people won't take her help 'cause she ain't a proper doctor." He lowered his voice and leaned in conspiratorially as he whispered, "It's 'cause she's a woman." At Porthos' nod, he continued. "But, papa says she's better than any man and she's helped more people around here than he can count."
The boy's assertion of the woman's skill eased the band of worry that constricted Porthos' chest and he gave another tilt of his head as he finished his stew. "Nicolas, go take care of the tack and then see if your mother needs help," Gagnon told his son, familiar with how the young man loved to talk. The boy scowled but did as he was told, likely preferring the excitement the Musketeers had brought over the boredom of doing chores.
Porthos poured himself a cup of wine, gulping at the thick red liquid in the hope that it would bring him some relief from the throbbing of his arm. When he'd finished the first portion, he poured himself another, drinking slower this time as he waited for Fontaine to finish with his friend. Athos had been stripped down to his braies and the healer had listened to his chest before requesting that Gagnon bring more pillows from another room. Then, she pulled several items from her bag, pouring a mixture of herbs into a cup of hot water before setting it aside to allow it to steep. A poultice came next and Porthos sniffed appreciatively at the pleasant scent of the paste that was added to linen and placed on Athos' congested lungs. Once the additional pillows had been positioned at Athos' back, Fontaine rose and moved to Porthos' side, waiting for permission to examine his arm.
"May I?" she asked, hands hovering over the splinted limb which he cradled in his other hand.
Porthos dreaded the idea of having anyone touch the broken bone but recognized the necessity and gave a tilt of his head in permission. The healer carefully unwrapped and removed the sticks they'd used as splints, tutting quietly when the red and swollen limb was exposed. "This happened when you saved your friend?" she queried.
"Yeah, Athos wasn't breathing and we got tossed against some rocks," Porthos confirmed.
She gave him another gentle smile, "Athos is indeed fortunate to have such a good friend." The Musketeer gave a small grin of his own before looking away and Fontaine returned her focus to the broken arm. With warm fingers, she pressed along the length of the limb, confirming no other breaks and that the bone had been correctly set. By the time she'd finished, Porthos' was breathing heavily and his face was covered with a sheen of sweat. Laying his forearm tenderly on his lap, she rose, stating, "I believe I have something better in my bag that we can use as a splint." She moved away to gather the items, allowing Porthos a minute to collect himself.
When she returned, she locked gazes with him for a moment to confirm that she had permission to continue. First, she helped him out of his doublet and shirt, knowing that the splinted arm would never fit into the sleeve and wanting the new bandaging to sit directly against his skin rather than around the leather of his doublet as the previous splint had. When both items had been removed, she carefully positioned two narrow lengths of wood on either side of the break, wrapping his forearm firmly with linen to keep everything in place. Once she was done, Porthos breathed out shakily. "Would you like me to help you back into your shirt?" Fontaine asked kindly.
Porthos' immediate reaction was no but he recognized the necessity and gave a nod, bracing himself for one last bit of agony as his arm was threaded into the shirtsleeve. When they'd finished, he dropped his head and closed his eyes, curling protectively over the arm that was causing him so much pain. He must have drifted off for a few moments because when he next looked up, the healer was sitting beside him with a cup of something, encouraging him to drink. "What is it?" he asked.
"Something for the pain," Fontaine replied, still waiting expectantly for him to take it.
Porthos' eyes flickered toward his friend who seemed to be resting quietly for now and he wondered whether he could afford to take the proffered cup. "As I have already explained, I will stay and care for him tonight. If you are to be well enough to take over tomorrow, you must get some rest and you cannot do that while in pain."
Sighing, Porthos took the cup from her hand. "Suppose you're right." He drained the cup quickly, making a face afterwards at the bitter taste.
His expression brought a smile to Fontaine's face, "I often believe that it would not work as well if it did not taste as bad."
Porthos gave a grin in reply as he passed the cup back, his thoughts turning to Aramis. "Yeah, I have a friend who says the same thing." The memory of his friend's words momentarily made his face light up until he remembered the current strife between them and his expression clouded instead. Fontaine watched the change in his mood and sensed that there was more to the story, but decided not to press the man tonight.
"Come," she said as she began to push gently at his upper body, encouraging him to lay down on the bed. "The draught will help you sleep." Porthos doubted he would need the help but was grateful to feel the sharp pain in his arm dulling as the brew he'd drunk began to take effect. His eyes slipped closed as soon as his head rested on the mattress and he wasn't even aware of the healer removing his boots and covering him with a blanket. The woman looked down fondly at him for a moment before moving a chair to Athos' bedside, sitting down to fulfill her promise to the large Musketeer.
