Glad to see that so many folks were happy to have all of the boys together again. Continued thanks go to AZGirl for her suggestions which helped improve this story.
d'Artagnan's collapse may have been expected for Aramis, but Athos was shocked enough to spring from his chair, crossing swiftly to the young man's side before the stunned Gascon could get his wits about him enough to protest his wellness. One look at his mentor's expression and d'Artagnan swallowed the words that had been on the tip of his tongue, resigning himself to admitting the truth of his injury since he could see no way of convincing his friends of his good health. "Let me know how he is," Aramis ordered, his attention focused back on Treville's infected wound, reasoning that the young man could not be critically hurt if he'd remained on his feet for so long. Additionally, he suspected he already knew the reason for the Gascon's fall and was simply waiting for Athos to confirm it.
Normally, d'Artagnan's expression would have been sheepish at having been found out, but now it conveyed only pain and exhaustion. When Athos saw how miserably the young man was feeling, he held back his desire to scold the Gascon for hiding his injury. Crouching down beside him, he asked, "Is it your hip?" Like Aramis, the older man had guessed that it was the half-healed hurt that had been aggravated by recent events, and which had caused the boy's leg to fold.
Unconsciously, d'Artagnan's hand drifted to the throbbing spot, hovering over it briefly before changing his mind and letting it fall onto his upper thigh instead where he squeezed, as though attempting to push the pain away. "Yes," he replied softly, his attention still on the sore joint.
"Come on," Athos said, reaching for the Gascon's arm and tugging gently until the young man began to coordinate his efforts with his mentor's and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. The older man kept a firm grip on d'Artagnan's upper arm as his protégé balanced the majority of his weight on his left leg. "Do you think you can walk?" Athos queried, his tone still low and even, allowing none of his concern and frustration to bleed through.
At the young man's nod, Athos slipped under d'Artagnan's right shoulder, guiding him slowly to the nearest chair where he deposited the boy. The Gascon's breathing was somewhat fast, a normal reaction to the pain he'd been experiencing. Athos moved two steps away to sit in the other chair, patiently watching while the aching abated before he spoke again. "Do you need help with your breeches?"
d'Artagnan's face reddened, and Athos had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes when the boy began to stutter, "There's no need….I mean, I'm fine…"
"d'Artagnan," the older man interrupted. "Aramis will need to check and, in any event, those will need to be cleaned. May as well take care of two birds with one stone." As much as the Gascon dreaded revealing his bruised hip, he knew that his friends would not rest until they'd confirmed for themselves that he was well enough.
Sighing softly, he gave a small dip of his head as he mumbled, "Yes, please." Not wanting the young man to feel like he was the centre of attention, Aramis rose from where he'd been tending to Treville, moving about the room with practiced ease as he gathered the supplies needed for a poultice. By the time he'd measured and poured all the ingredients, the Gascon was seated again with his braies unlaced and hanging loosely underneath his right hip.
Bringing the bowl of herbs over and placing it into Athos' hands, the medic directed, "Grind these into a fine powder and then add sufficient water to make a thick paste." The older man took the items he'd been handed back to the chair that Aramis had vacated, allowing d'Artagnan some semblance of privacy while he was examined.
Pressing his fingers gently against the bruised and swollen skin around the Gascon's hip, the medic asked, "When did it get this bad?" It was easy to see that something had happened to worsen the healing injury, and Aramis hoped the young man would be forthcoming for once.
Hesitating for a moment until the marksman looked up, staring at his patient intently with an expression that dared retribution if he was anything less than honest, d'Artagnan sighed and said, "It was after we fell into the river." Aramis raised an eyebrow at that, and he could see they had Athos' attention as well, even though the older man diligently continued his task. "I struck something in the water. It didn't hurt too much at the time, but it's been feeling steadily worse since then."
"Hmm," Aramis hummed, returning his attention for several seconds to the hip, pushing more firmly until the young man gasped with pain. Withdrawing his hands, the medic went on, "How was it when you left the garrison?"
The Gascon seemed uncomfortable answering and looked away as he said, "It was fine." A quick glance at Athos' hard stare had him wetting his lips and adding, "It was sore and a bit stiff after a day of riding, but nothing of consequence." Aramis held d'Artagnan's gaze for a moment before confirming for himself that he'd heard the truth. "And after the river?"
"Bad," the young man confessed. "Almost as bad as when I first got shot."
The admission was startling and Athos almost commented, but a sideways glance from the medic had him once more holding his words. "Alright, d'Artagnan. You've clearly reinjured it, but only time will tell how badly. We'll use cold compresses to bring the pain and swelling down, and you'll have to stay off your feet." He glanced around the room then, wishing they'd gotten one with a second bed.
As if reading his thoughts, Athos offered, "I'll speak to the innkeeper about a second room."
"No," d'Artagnan quickly interjected. He had no idea yet about what had happened to Porthos and was in no way ready to be separated from his brothers after just having been reunited. "I'll be fine on the floor." Aramis and Athos exchanged looks, the former man giving a slight shake of his head.
Holding the Gascon's gaze for a moment, the older man stated, "No. You need to rest in a proper bed so that you'll be able to make the trip back once Porthos and the Captain have recovered." The look of deep sadness he received in reply almost had him relenting, but he stood firm, reminding himself that it was in the young man's best interests.
d'Artagnan despised the idea of being in a different room, but he recognized the determination in his friends' faces and knew they would not be swayed. Resisting the urge to sigh and appear even more like a petulant child, he gave a small nod in defeat. As he dropped his eyes to the ground, he missed the silent communication that passed between the two Musketeers, expressing their regret at the decision, but recognizing it was the most sensible course of action.
The older man crossed the room and placed the bowl with its thick, healing paste on the table at Aramis' elbow, making his way to the door next to go in search of the innkeeper. The medic, in the meantime, reached into his bag and withdrew a small jar, which he opened before scooping out a healthy dollop. Looking meaningfully at the Gascon's hip he explained, "This will help." d'Artagnan gave a slight inclination of his head to communicate his acceptance and Aramis leaned forward, gently rubbing the salve into the darkest bruises. "Let this soak in for a half hour and then apply a cold compress for the same amount of time. It will hurt, at first," Aramis cautioned, looking up to catch the Gascon's eye as he nodded. d'Artagnan recalled with vivid clarity the deep ache that the cold ignited in his hip and was already dreading its onset.
By the time that Athos had returned after successfully securing a second room, d'Artagnan was dressed in one of Aramis' clean shirts, the medic having found and tended to the two cuts on the young man's left arm that he'd gained in his last skirmish. As the former comte helped his protégé to his feet, he said, "The other room is two doors down from this one, on the left."
The Gascon remained quiet, silently cursing the fact that he'd not only be in a different room, but it was not even directly beside or across from the one that his friends currently occupied. He hoped that Athos or Aramis might join him when they decided to sleep, or would maybe even consider moving one of the injured men in with him; a glance at Aramis' serious face told him that was unlikely, it being easier to care for the two together rather than apart.
Suppressing another sigh, he allowed himself to be helped down the hall and settled into bed, doing his best not to appear outwardly resentful at being treated like a child. When the door closed behind Athos, leaving d'Artagnan to his own thoughts, he had to swipe angrily at the moisture that pooled in his eyes, shocked at the deep loneliness that filled the room and was his only companion. His body had been desperately craving rest, and his thoughts had been consumed by the idea of sleep for so long that he was stunned to now find himself fully awake.
He considered the idea of getting up and returning to the other room, seeking the comforting presence of his brothers, but then dismissed the idea in the belief that the men would only be annoyed with him, and he'd once more find himself escorted back to bed. Finally permitting the sigh he'd been withholding earlier to escape, he looked around the room, his eyes landing on his doublet and weapons, and contemplated using his time to clean them. Realizing he had nothing with which to complete the task, he swiftly dismissed the idea. Athos had provided a small basin of cold water and a cloth next to the bed so that he could numb his hip, but there was little else in the room.
Another long exhale of breath brought forth a new thought and he began to push himself up so he could get out of bed, intending to find Athos so he could properly report. Surely, the experienced soldier would see the validity of his reasoning and appreciate his desire to fulfill his duty. Before he could more than position himself at the side of the mattress, his bare feet touching the floor, the door opened. He startled as it unexpectedly swung inwards, seeing his mentor framed in its outline.
As Athos stepped inside and closed the door behind him, he threw the Gascon an inquiring look, moving toward him as he said, "Surely you weren't planning on incurring Aramis' wrath at discovering you out of bed?"
d'Artagnan felt his face flushing as he replied, "No." There was no believable excuse he could offer so he simply pulled his legs back onto the bed, wincing as the movement jarred his hip.
Athos' face was impassive as he stared down at the young man from beside the bed, not having missed the brief flash of pain, "There's a reason Aramis told you to rest."
d'Artagnan's expression changed to one of annoyance, but he didn't refute the older man's statement. Stepping away for a moment, Athos returned with a chair from the other side of the room, settling into it as the Gascon narrowed his eyes. "There's no need to stay; I'll stay in bed like a good patient."
Athos had to quell the urge to roll his eyes as he leaned back, "I was hoping you could tell me how you came to be alone with the Captain and how he was injured."
"Oh," the young man said, the quickly spoken word accompanied by a few coughs that escaped before he could stop himself. Without being asked, Athos stood and poured a cup of water from the pitcher that sat unnoticed on the table, handing it to the grateful Gascon who took a few short sips. Clearing his throat as he took a moment to compose his thoughts, he then proceeded to describe the attack, his rescue of both Treville and Lenoir, and the two days that he and the Captain had spent on the run.
He intentionally left out the details about his own struggles, and glossed over the part when he'd been forced to leave his wounded brother-in-arms behind, certain that the other man would understand regardless. When he'd finished, Athos sat quietly, clearly deep in thought about everything he'd just heard. d'Artagnan did his best not to fidget as he waited for some sort of reply, expecting his mentor to be critical of how poorly he'd handled things. After a long minute of silent contemplation, Athos suddenly stood, giving the Gascon a short nod as he turned to leave. d'Artagnan couldn't help himself as he blurted, "I'm sorry."
The older man turned to face him, a confused expression on his face. "There's nothing for which to apologize. Your report was complete and concise; exactly as I'd expect." Preparing again to leave, he ordered, "Get some rest."
With that, he was gone, and d'Artagnan found himself once more alone. He'd expected to feel better after sharing his story with the older man, but found his worries from earlier only exacerbated, his mentor not giving him any indication of his endorsement or censure. He was aware of his need for approval from the older man and, despite his attempts to resist, had been hoping to receive some words of comfort that would help to assuage the guilt he carried about everything that had transpired.
Instead, Athos had sat thoughtfully, his features blank and giving away nothing. It was worse than if he'd condemned the Gascon's actions – at least then d'Artagnan would have known the other man's thoughts. This transitional space, representing neither endorsement nor disapproval, offered no refuge, leaving him feeling unbalanced in a way he hadn't felt since before the receipt of his commission. He didn't know whether he should be seeking the man's forgiveness or feeling at peace with the knowledge that he'd behaved appropriately, selecting the only possible path from a slew of impossible choices. Athos' sanction would have meant more than d'Artagnan could describe, and his lack of reaction was the worst response of all.
Throwing back the covers, he found himself again sitting at the edge of the mattress in preparation to stand, intending to track down his mentor and confront him. He paused there for a moment when he realized he had no idea of what he would say. Biting his lower lip, he considered his options. He could approach the other man and ask point-blank whether Athos agreed with the way he'd handled things. In his mind he could already imagine the older Musketeer's expression hardening, his jaw firmly closed as he refused to comment, his eyes conveying disappointment that the Gascon didn't already know the answer to his question. Next, the look morphed into displeasure as Athos resigned himself to escorting the young man back to his room, blaming the boy's youth as the reason for his immaturity and apparent inability to follow orders. d'Artagnan could not bear to read that in his mentor's eyes and his plan to seek the man out evaporated in a heartbeat.
He huffed in frustration at his situation, surprised when the sharp exhale of air resulted in several, short coughs. With difficulty, he situated himself in the bed, wishing he could lay on his side and tuck into a ball, but his injured hip prevented it. Instead, he found himself tugging the blanket up tightly around his shoulders until he felt a small measure of comfort from the cocoon he'd managed to create. Closing his eyes, he decided to try falling asleep again, lying still for only a few moments before his chest spasmed again, forcing another set of irritating coughs from his chest. Suppressing the urge to cough, he sighed - apparently his entire body was conspiring against him and his desire to rest.
Athos had been shaken by d'Artagnan's description of what he'd had to endure, and it was all he could do to remain composed and make his way from the room before his emotions got the better of him. He'd thought himself prepared to hear the tale but, for some reason, hearing about the young man in harm's way always got past his carefully constructed defenses.
The information the Gascon had shared had obviously been censored, and Athos wondered if the boy had done so intentionally to protect him from the full horror of what he'd had to endure. d'Artagnan hated to be pitied and the older man would not put it past him to selectively leave out certain facts to avoid the dreaded response. Despite that, Athos had heard enough to appreciate the Gascon's courage and quick thinking, which had kept both himself and their Captain alive.
While he knew there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, part of him felt the invisible pull of guilt's hand at not having been at the young man's side when he and the others had been attacked. Combined with his recent abandonment of his other two friends, the two sets of circumstances weighed heavily, and Athos wondered at the fact that the others were still willing to call him friend. As a result, it was a sombre Musketeer who made his way downstairs and made arrangements for a message to be carried to Paris, informing the King of the attack and requesting additional men to accompany them on their return journey home.
When he'd finished, he dragged himself back upstairs, taking a moment to draw a deep breath before entering the room that held the injured men. When he'd left, Aramis had been in the process of applying a poultice to Treville's wound, and he found himself eager to return, needing to get a proper update on the status of both ailing men. Pushing the door open, he followed it inside, surprised to find the medic seated at the table with his feet propped on the edge of the table, one hand clasped loosely around a glass. With a quick glance at the sleeping men, Athos trudged over quietly to take the other chair, pouring wine into Aramis' empty glass before filling another for himself.
The medic took a sip and then spoke softly, seeing the unspoken question on his friend's face, "Porthos is unchanged although one of the infected scratches seems to be improving. I'm hopeful that with time and continued care, he'll be fine." He paused, licking his lips uncertainly, eyes darting for a moment to his glass but leaving it untouched. "The Captain is very weak. I fear that the delay in treating his wound, and the time he went without food and water, will make his recovery….difficult."
It was no less than Athos had expected, and he gave a slight dip of his chin in acknowledgement. Treville's injury placed the former comte into a challenging situation, their small group now having to care for two – no three, he corrected himself – men who were hurt. In addition, the possibility of having to repel further attacks was very real, and they would be hampered both by the ailing men and the number of innocents surrounding them at the inn. Despite the poor condition of the Musketeers, it would be prudent to be away from this place as quickly as possible. Taking a drink from his glass, Athos tentatively extended the idea, "If they had to, could they travel?"
Aramis' face immediately turned surprised, and he stared at the man across from him for several long seconds before his expression turned to comprehension. Cautiously, he offered, "If they had to." Athos seemed happy with the answer, but the medic pressed on before the older man could get too comfortable with the idea, "But it would be dangerous. The pain of the journey would further weaken them and I strongly recommend against it unless absolutely necessary." His tone had softened towards the end of his statement and Athos recognized the words for what they were – an invitation to explain.
Clearing his throat, the older man replied, "Treville and those accompanying him were attacked on their way to Calais." Aramis had already figured that out and assumed the threat to be gone as he prepared to counter. Before he could say anything, Athos continued, "They proceeded to hunt the Captain, and it was only through d'Artagnan's cunning that they managed to evade their pursuers." He paused to take a drink as the marksman did the same, Aramis' mind processing what he was hearing. "I laid what false trails I could but it won't keep them away forever. If they're as determined as I believe them to be then Treville won't be safe until we're back at the garrison."
Aramis took in the magnitude of what he'd been told, unconsciously draining the last of his wine. As Captain of the Musketeers, it was not unusual for the man to be a target; what was unusual was the persistence of this group of men who had apparently slaughtered a significant number of their brothers-in-arms in pursuit of their objective. He'd been relieved when Athos had appeared with both men at his side, but realized now how incredibly lucky they'd been to ever be reunited with the two. Obviously the older man's instincts to pursue Treville had been correct, and Aramis sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the man had been unconvinced to stay at the inn. Reaching a conclusion, Aramis asked, "Do you think we'll be safe for the night?"
The older man had asked himself the same question, wondering if they should have left immediately, but rejecting the idea since they were all dead on their feet. Slowly, Athos gave a nod which Aramis mirrored as he suggested, "You should get some sleep. I know you didn't get any last night and you won't be any good if you go another without rest. I'll watch over them," he indicated toward the bed with a hand, "and doze in between."
Athos considered his friend's suggestion and thought about disagreeing, but he knew the marksman was right – he could not continue on without at least a few hours of sleep. With a dip of his chin, he agreed, "I'll arrange for a wagon and provisions in the morning, while you get them ready to depart."
Thus decided, Athos threw back the remainder of his wine, thinking absently that he should try to eat something, but deciding he was too tired to bother. Snagging an extra blanket, he toed off his boots, carefully stifling the sigh of relief that threatened as his sore feet were freed. Musketeers were not made for walking the number of miles he'd had to cover over the last twenty-four hours, he thought to himself. Settling on the floor, he pushed aside the many doubts that plagued him over his previous days' actions and the journey they were about to embark upon.