Athos bolted awake, heart lurching in his chest, and limbs fighting the grip of a heavy wool blanket. The grey of his vision defined itself as the walls and ceiling of a canvas tent, and then the fog in his mind cleared enough to remember where he was. He blew out a breath, feeling sweat cooling on his forehead. The irrational panic faded like fragments of the dream that bore them.
He huffed his irritation as he remembered how difficult it had been to fall asleep in the first place. To fall asleep slowly and to come awake so quickly… He'd been so tired the night before that one would think it should have been the reverse.
He blinked the sleep from his eyes and glanced around. It seemed he was awake before most of the men around him, Aramis included.
He took a moment to observe the sleeping marksman. The man had sprawled beneath the blanket as he slept though his hat had stayed firmly where he had placed it. Athos was relieved that he hadn't managed to toss the blanket aside in the night. It was a chill morning. Athos could feel the cold on the tip of his nose and gooseflesh dimpled over his arms the longer he sat without the benefit of a blanket or his coat.
His hand fumbled for the wineskin he had stashed beneath the head of the bedroll, and with loose detachment, he uncorked the skin and took a hearty swallow. The liquid warmed a comforting line down his throat.
With the grey light filtered through the tent canvas, Athos had no concept of time. It was morning. That was as much as he could discern. The coals in the central brazier had banked into dark ruby embers, their heat much diminished without a hand to tend them. Athos cast his gaze around and found a small stack of wood at the back of the tent. He carefully padded through the sleeping bodies and retrieved a handful of pieces to renew the flames. He churned the fresh wood through the embers, sparks spitting a moment before flames flickered back to life. The remaining coals warmed, orange heat pulsing back through the white ash layer.
Satisfied that the warmth would reach through the tent with time, Athos returned to his bedroll to dress. He leaned over to retrieve his boots and was instantly disappointed to find they were still sodden wet. His coat was in a similar state, the crumpled pile it had landed in without a care the night before now a point of sincere regret. The marksman's jacket looked to be in a similar state.
Athos sighed softly and decided that that would be the first order of business for the day regardless of how early or late it was in the morning.
He pulled on his boots, firmed the broad-brimmed hat on his head, and draped his blanket over his shoulders. He carefully bundled the wet clothing under one arm and took the wineskin with him in the other.
Leaving the subdued tent, he stepped out into the grey overcast chill of a new day, determined that this one would somehow be better than the last.
TMTMTM
Aramis rose slowly to wakefulness, the ground rolling beneath him as he fought a moment of disorientation. His whole body ached with a dull throbbing that gradually settled to a nest of fire around his shoulder. He drew a steadying breath and opened his eyes beneath the sheltering brim of his hat. There was a weighted quality to his limbs that he eventually overcame enough to push the hat back onto his head. He was awake, the desire for sleep had faded and yet he was tired beyond measure. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar, but a part of him had hoped a night spent in a dry tent would change that somehow. Perhaps he was simply too tired for it to matter.
He pushed himself upright. The straw pallet beside his was empty, and Athos was nowhere to be seen. There were still a number of men sleeping, but for all intents and purposes he was alone.
Aramis felt a frown tug at his lips. Perhaps the man had returned to the trenches early. Aramis wouldn't be surprised if he found out that was the case. The man had already proved stubborn and headstrong, capable of making his own choices. Amidst his thoughts there was a tremor of disappointment. He set the feeling aside and reached for where he'd discarded his jacket in the night and then realized it wasn't there. Nor were his boots.
Aramis grabbed his sword and surged out of the tent. He burst into a grey overcast day and lurched to a stop at the surprising tableau before him.
Athos glanced up from where he was seated on a stool by the fire. He was stripped down to his trousers in the chill morning air, a blanket draped over his shoulders and a wooden washbasin on the ground in front of him. His clothes were hanging on a makeshift clothes line, along with Aramis' jacket. The man's hat had found a home on the protruding end of a tent pole.
Athos arched an eyebrow at what must have been a stunned expression on his face. "I hung it to dry. I didn't do the washing. I'm not your laundress."
"Right. Good morning to you too."
Athos snorted. He reached beside him and drew up a waterskin. He tossed it at Aramis. "It's markedly better with this."
Aramis caught the skin and took a moment to examine the other man. He sensed a change in demeanor somehow. Perhaps the man enjoyed mornings; he was up early enough. Then again, perhaps he was the opposite and a fugue of half-sleep simply made him loose and congenial….
Aramis moved stiffly to sit across from his companion and leaned his sword against the nearest tent support. He uncorked the stopper on the waterskin and took a swallow. He was both surprised and pleased to find the skin filled with wine instead of water. He vaguely remembered that being the case from the night before, but that had felt like an age ago, shrouded as it was by a fog of half-formed recollections.
He tipped his head at the wineskin. "You know, that'll buy you time around a bracer of coals on a cold night for sure, more than that since we seem to be in one of the camp's dry spells."
"Dry spells?" Athos glanced around with a sarcastic lift to his eyebrow. "Our clothing is still wet, and I'm not holding a lot of hope this weather will change that anytime soon."
"Strange isn't it, how one can be waterlogged and thirsty in the same breath? This particular dry spell won't be fixed until the next resupply. And that's only if we're lucky. At any rate, if you save some of this, you'll have a good bit of bargaining leverage."
Athos snorted. "Supply and demand. Are you sure you're a soldier and not a merchant?"
"Sometimes I think I'm better suited to be a priest."
"Soldiering, poetry, and mercantile. Hmm, definitely a priest." Athos nodded sagely. "With your charm and ability to convert the masses, you probably would make an excellent priest. I've never met a clergyman who didn't have something to sell."
"Not a man of God, then?" Aramis set the wineskin aside and leaned his hands toward the fire to soak up the warmth of the flames.
"Not any more or less than most."
That was a brazen thing to admit. Perhaps it was a mark of privilege to be secure enough to speak one's mind in that manner. By now, Aramis was sure the man across from him was of noble birth. Though why he was here at the bottom of the trenches was another question altogether. He decided it was no skin off his nose to simply ask him.
"What are you running from, Athos?"
"I beg your pardon?" Athos leaned back in surprise.
"Well, I wager you're nobleborn and yet you take direction well and you didn't secure yourself a rank. So my question is, what are you running from?"
He frowned. "If that were true, why would I tell you?"
"This could be your last chance to talk about it. If you die out here, no one'll ever know."
"If I die, none of it will matter."
"So who is she?"
"Who?"
"This girl you don't want to marry."
Athos narrowed his eyes. "Why would that be your first guess?"
"Because it's what I would do."
"Is someone waiting for you back home?"
"The only ones waiting for me are in my future and they haven't met me yet." Aramis took off his hat and swept it in front of him in a seated bow.
Athos openly cringed at the flare of melodrama. Struggling to keep a straight face, Aramis decided he would have to remember that reaction the next time he needed to get under the man's skin.
Athos seemed to gather himself, and then he answered with forced honesty. "I admit that sounds lonely."
"Oh I have plenty of company."
"Just no company good enough to stick around for?"
"Something like that," Aramis said softly. As usual, it was far more complicated, but he let it pass.
Athos tossed the rag back into the washbasin. "Well, if we're playing a game of questions, then I want to know why you think this injury of yours is of no concern. It's clearly taxing you, even this morning after a full night's rest. So out with it."
"You're going to deflect by claiming a tit for tat? You didn't even answer my question!"
"Maybe that's because it's none of your business." Athos glared.
"I could say the same. In fact, I do say the same."
"Fine." Athos let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead with the back of one hand. "I suppose it wasn't so much a girl as it was a certain set of obligations that were weighing on me. At any rate, I'm here now."
"Ah. Sometimes we're not free to choose for ourselves, and we scrounge for our freedom in any way we can. I had half a thought you murdered someone and were escaping the noose."
"Oh good, so glad to know you think that highly of me," Athos said witheringly.
This time, Aramis couldn't hide his grin, and it twitched into a full-blown chuckle after a moment's pause.
"Well, there you have it, Aramis. Now I believe it's your turn."
"That hardly counted as an answer!"
Athos arched his eyebrow and tilted his head in the gesture that Aramis was beginning to think of as, Really, Aramis?
It was his turn to relent.
He groaned. "Merde, you know it's cold out here, right?"
"Indeed it is. You could visit the surgeon instead…."
Aramis scoffed. "Neither of us will be visiting the surgeon if I can help it. I've never seen a worse history of success. If you want to die faster, just have him treat anything as bad as a scuffed elbow. You'll be back in ten days to have the limb removed. After that, you're in God's hands."
"Then I suggest you remove your shirt."
"You're relentless."
"And you're stubborn and foolhardy. Well…?"
"I've already told you. There's nothing to be done. In time, the injury will heal. But time is by the grace of God. It's surely not the domain of man. We're simply at its mercy."
Athos' tone softened. "I'm sure you're right, Aramis, but it will allay my concerns to know that it is so with the evidence of my own eyes."
Aramis sighed and gingerly leaned forward to pull his shirt over his head. He straightened and watched the man's sharp gaze pass over him.
He could see the man's concern shift into sympathy by the deepening frown across his forehead. He knew what Athos was seeing.
A fresh scar on his left side ran across boney ribs, but the wound that was clearly of concern was high on his right shoulder: a musket shot that was much more recent than the sword slice. The scar was red and angry, the edges puckered and raw. It was indeed healing but deep bruises radiated across his shoulder around the wound. The bruising was fresh. It was always fresh: black, blue, and angry red. The wound was right above the spot where he braced his musket against his shoulder. The recoil action of firing constantly aggravated the wound.
There was nothing to be done for it, except perhaps to bath it in cold water to reduce the pain. It would heal on its own or it wouldn't. That had been the state of things since he had arrived on the field. And it would be the state of things tomorrow.
Aramis clenched his jaw and tried hard not to fidget. The cold air prickled across his back. He wanted to say, There. Are you satisfied? But he held his tongue. No need to be more petulant than he had already managed.
Any amount of concern over his wellbeing had always made Aramis uncomfortable. He wasn't sure where that particular trait began in his childhood; it wasn't as if the women in the brothel were oblivious to him, and he had more cause than most to love his mother. Perhaps it was simply that pain was easier to ignore if you didn't stop to acknowledge the hurt. Care and concern from outside parties seemed to encourage self-pity. If he lingered too long on something like that, his mood inevitably soured. He would rather pretend that all was right with the world.
Finally, Athos gestured to Aramis' shoulder. "How old is that?"
Aramis glanced at the injury before drawing on his shirt. "Three months. Maybe four."
"That long."
"Took a bullet in the charge at L'Ile de Re. Got left behind and then reassigned to the fusiliers as soon as this mess started. I guess someone figured it was easier to convalesce in a siege camp than on the back of a horse." He grinned ruefully. "Whoever it was who made that determination doesn't know anything about sieges. Least not, undersupplied ones. Not that it really matters. Doing something is better than lying around. Unless of course the later comes with feminine company." He widened his grin.
"You were cavalry?" Athos asked in surprise.
"Before this, yes. You know, I still prefer a carbine over a musket. Range isn't as long, but the accuracy is more consistent."
Athos stood and fetched Aramis' coat from the make-shift drying rack. "Shooting from horseback… It's little wonder you're so good on solid ground."
"Huh. I suppose you're right." Aramis accepted the coat and carefully shrugged into it.
It was still a bit damp at the seams, but it was warm from the fire. He resisted the urge to close his eyes and find his way back to his bedroll. Around them the camp was beginning to rouse, and it wouldn't be long before they were called away to the front.
He pulled on his boots and stood, looping his belts into place and cinching them tight. "Come. If you're willing, I would take the last of that wine to Gerome."
"You go on ahead. I'll find my way to the jakes and meet you there. And yes, take the wine." Athos also pulled on his boots and coat, finishing the action by sweeping the broad-brimmed hat off the tent pole and setting it rakishly on his head.
Aramis frowned. "You remember the way back through the trenches?"
"Older and wiser, remember? I'm perfectly capable of asking for directions if I need them."
Aramis snorted. "And I'm sure you're stubborn enough not to ask until you're hopelessly lost."
"As if you would do any different."
"Touché."