A/N: Thank you to everyone continuing to read and review this story. I hope you enjoy this next chapter.
The trip to Orleans should have taken less than two hours, but the sun had descended before they had travelled very far, leaving Porthos to struggle with both the unfamiliar road and the need to avoid the frequent ruts which caused d'Artagnan to whimper in pain, despite the fact the he was deeply unconscious. Before they had lost the light, Aramis had briefly cleaned and dressed the infected wound on d'Artagnan's side, but there was little else he could do until they reached Orleans. Looking up at the night sky, Aramis clasped the rosary around his neck, sending a quick prayer of thanks for the bright moon that now illuminated their path. His attention then shifted to Athos who sat with his back against the wagon, holding d'Artagnan against his chest. The wagon's jostling had been difficult for the Gascon to bear so once Aramis was finished with the boy's side, he had helped Athos manoeuver himself into a position where he could stabilize and comfort the boy during their journey. The older man now sat with one arm around the boy's chest, while his other carded repetitively through his hair, an action that Aramis was sure brought as much comfort to Athos as it to the boy.
Four hours after they'd started out, Porthos tiredly drew the horses to a stop outside a small inn. He handed the reins to the stable boy without a word, and turned in his seat to look back at his friends. They were all weary from hours spent worrying about their youngest brother and yet the real work of tending to the young man was just beginning. In a well-practiced dance, Athos sorted their rooms, Aramis gathered the supplies they had brought with them and Porthos brought d'Artagnan inside and laid him gently on the bed. A knock at the door signalled the arrival of two young girls bearing hot and cold water, several bottles of wine and a basket of assorted food.
Aramis started undressing the boy immediately, Porthos helping to lift the boy's upper body and hips to remove various items of clothing. When he lay only in his braies, the two men began to wash his body gently, Aramis focusing on his upper body while Porthos cleansed his legs and feet. As they worked, Athos stood watching them, stifling his horror at every new scratch and bruise that was revealed as the blood and dirt was washed away. Aramis noticed his reaction and comforted, "Apart from the wound on his side and the fever, he's in remarkably good condition."
It was difficult to know if Athos believed him as the older man turned his back to them and moved to look out the window instead. Porthos shared a knowing look with Aramis at the other man's reaction – he would be blaming himself for the situation, regardless of the fact that it had been entirely outside of his control. They knew that over the next few days Athos' wellbeing would be inextricably intertwined with the health of their young Gascon.
Aramis pulled out the torn stitches in d'Artagnan's side, scrubbing the wound with great care to remove every bit of pus and debris he could find. As he worked, the young man's brow grew damp and the occasional soft moan escaped him as his body protested what was being done to him. At d'Artagnan's sounds of pain, Athos returned at the head of the bed, opposite Aramis. There he took a cool cloth and bathed the young man's neck, shoulders and chest, offering soothing words of comfort while Aramis worked to place new stiches on the freshly cleaned cut. When Aramis had finished, he looked at Porthos, asking, "Have you found anything more that needs to be sewn?"
Porthos shook his head and Aramis released a large breath in relief. Having tended to the young man's most obvious wound, Aramis began to examine d'Artagnan again, this time pressing his hands and fingers to the young man's head and face, moving downwards to examine his arms, chest and stomach, eventually ending with the bottom of both feet. When he was finished, he motioned to Porthos, "Help me roll him to his side."
The two men rolled him smoothly to expose the man's unscarred back, marred only by deep bruising on his right lower back. Aramis tsked unhappily at the sight, "We'll need to keep an eye on that. Might have hurt his kidneys." Returning him onto his back, Aramis sat down again at the young man's side to address his two friends.
"The infection and fever is worrisome and needs to be our first concern. I can collect some herbs in the morning to brew a tea that will help, but for tonight we'll use cool clothes to keep it down. Two of his ribs, here," he pointed above the bandaged wound, "are broken. He'll be inclined to take shallow breaths to control the pain but we need to discourage that in order to keep his lungs clear. I doubt that our friends provided him with food or water and you can clearly see the results," he stated, referring to the ease with which they could see the young man's ribs. "Our first priority will be to get water into him, as much and as often as we can. That and proper rest should also help his kidneys heal."
Athos placed a hand on the young man's forehead, feeling the heat emanating there. "Is he in much pain?" The older man's voice almost cracked as he asked and Porthos couldn't help but lean over and place a hand on his thigh.
"No," murmured Aramis, "I believe he is deeply unconscious, getting the rest he so badly needs."
Athos nodded and looked at his weary companions. "There is food and wine and then you should sleep also. I'll look after him tonight."
Aramis and Porthos were unsurprised and moved to follow his orders without complaint. Half an hour later they had both retired to their rooms, leaving Athos sitting beside the Gascon's bed with a bottle of wine and a number of candles scattered around the room, providing a sense of warmth to chase away the gloom of the night.
Porthos shook his friend's shoulder gently, knowing that the man was still suffering from the effects of his head wound and that yesterday's events would have exhausted even a fit man, let alone one who was recovering from a serious injury. His efforts were rewarded when Aramis opened his eyes, shifting his head to one side to see daylight through the window.
"Morning already?" he asked as he stretched.
"Maybe a litter later than morning, but I know how you need your beauty sleep," Porthos teased.
Realizing that his friend had allowed him to sleep late, he sat up, asking urgently, "How is d'Artagnan?"
"Don't worry," Porthos placed a hand on Aramis' chest as the man made to stand, "he's still sleeping. Athos isn't certain, but he thinks the wound doesn't look as red today and that his fever may be a bit better."
Athos bowed his head in relief as he sat on the bed. Looking up at Porthos he asked with a glint of amusement, "In that case, where's my breakfast?"
Porthos grinned widely as he threw Aramis' shirt at him. "Come on then, we'll get something to eat and then bring something back for Athos. Then, we'll find some way force him to sleep for a few hours before we end up with two patients on our hands."
Once they had eaten, Porthos had taken food back for Athos while Aramis went in search of various healing herbs. When he returned to d'Artagnan's room he was pleased to find that Porthos had taken Athos' place and that Athos was nowhere in sight.
"How did you manage it?" he asked as he set down his purchases.
Porthos grunted, "Nearly had to threaten to beat him before he'd leave. I think when the chair jumped up and tripped him he finally realized that he'd had enough and would be of no use in his current state.
Aramis nodded approvingly. "I managed to find several things that will help." He placed a hand of d'Artagnan's brow and cheek and echoed Athos' assessment that the fever seemed to be dropping. "Do you know if he's taken any water?"
Porthos shook his head. "Then that needs to be the first thing we address." Aramis leaned over the young man and shook him gently, watching for any signs of awareness. When that didn't work, he pinched the Gascon's earlobe and was rewarded by a groan.
"d'Artagnan, open your eyes for us," Porthos coaxed a hand on the boy's cheek. Another groan followed by the fluttering of eyelids and a moment later they could just make out the boys hazel eyes beneath partly open lids. As they watched him, the Gascon's eyes moved lazily, obviously having difficulty focusing.
Aramis leaned forward and placed a hand behind d'Artagnan's head, lifting it slightly so he could drink from the cup that was brought to his lips. At first the young man seemed unaware of the water, but as his body realized its extreme thirst, he began to drink greedily until the cup was pulled away from his lips. "Slowly, d'Artagnan, otherwise it won't stay down."
Aramis lowered the boy's head back onto the pillow, watching as the Gascon's eyes closed as soon as he was lying flat. Porthos looked at him worriedly, "He didn't seem to recognize us at all. Is that normal?"
Aramis shrugged. "Who's to say what's normal when it comes to matters of medicine. For now let's take comfort in the fact that we were able to wake him and get him to drink." He turned away and brought his purchases over to the table. "I'm going to make a few things I think will help," he said, pointing to his bag. When he was finished, Aramis had ground herbs and water together into a thick paste which he applied to the wound on d'Artagnan's side. Next, he poured boiling water over several ingredients, indicating that they needed to get the young man to drink the cup's contents whenever he awoke. Lastly, he created a salve that he used on d'Artagnan's worst bruises, explaining to Porthos that it would help to alleviate the pain.
As he finished, Athos strode through the door, hair in disarray and deep circles still firmly entrenched under his eyes; the few hours of sleep had done little to overcome the stress of the last several days. Athos nodded politely in greeting to his friends, noting the mortar and pestle on the table which suggested that Aramis had been creative.
"I see that you've not been idle while I slept," he said, indicating Aramis' supplied.
"In lieu of pursuing the fairer sex, this seemed an adequate use of my time and talents," Aramis responded cheekily.
Porthos was pleased to see a smile tugging at Athos' lips, a sight that he had been concerned might not be possible given the circumstances. Athos walked to the bed and was pleased to see d'Artagnan resting more comfortably, the ever present sheen of fever sweat absent from his forehead. "Has his fever broken," he asked Porthos.
"No, but it seems to be better," Porthos offered.
Athos seemed uncertain and placed his hand on the young man's cheek, only to find it hot and dry. He looked over at Aramis, "He's not sweating."
Aramis strode over to fill a cup with water and handed it to Athos, "He's not drinking enough, that's why. If we don't get more fluids into him soon, things will get much worse."
Between the three men, they managed to rouse the Gascon enough to prop him up and get him to drink the cup of water as well as the tea that Aramis had brewed. Other than swallowing what was offered, the young man showed no other signs of awareness and returned to sleep as soon as he was allowed.
"We need to wake him every half hour to drink, "Aramis stated, "and every hour after that once he has need of the chamber pot."
"Porthos," Athos started, "you were the first one awake this morning. Why don't you check on the horses and then go eat and sleep. I have a feeling that our young friend isn't quite done making our lives difficult."
Porthos nodded wearily, massaging his still tender shoulder as he felt an uncomfortabe twinge of pain. None of them had slept well over the past week and their injuries had only depleted their reserves further. While they all wanted to stay close the Gascon's side, Porthos saw the wisdom in Athos' words and moved to do as he suggested.
Aramis moved a chair closer to the bed, placing his feet near the bottom of it, and leaning back with his eyes closed. "Wake me if you need anything."
Athos looked at the sleeping man affectionately, incredibly grateful at the family he had found among these men – even the one who was now causing him such concern. He dipped a cloth in the water bucket and wrung it out, placing it on d'Artagnan's forehead. A quiet sigh escaped the Gascon, eliciting a slight upward turn of Athos' lips in return. It was at times like these that Athos was reminded of the hours he'd spent at his brother's side when the young man was sick. When that happened, Thomas had wanted nothing more than the company of his older brother to read him stories and lie next to him as he slept, and Athos had been happy to oblige. It brought him comfort that he was the one caring for his brother, and that he was the only one who could manage to get the boy to eat, and then rest, once he was on the mend, traits that Thomas and d'Artagnan seemed to share. Taking the cloth from d'Artagnan's head, he wet it again and replaced it, earning another soft murmur of appreciation.