Thank you to everyone who continues to read and review - it was great hearing your thoughts about the last chapter's turn of events. Hope you enjoy this next one!
Sliding from his horse, he handed the reins off to the stable boy before carefully removing d'Artagnan from the mount. Carrying the boy with a hand under his knees and another at his back, he was gratified to feel the boy's breath at his neck as the young man's head lolled against his shoulder. Storming through the doors of the chateau, Porthos strode directly to the room they'd been given upon their arrival hours earlier. He stopped short when he entered the dimly lit space, shocked to see someone sitting next to Aramis' bed.
"Who're you?" he asked suspiciously.
Fontaine was just as surprised at the man now addressing him and it took him a moment to find his voice, "I am Fontaine," at Porthos' narrowed gaze, he quickly added, "the physician."
"Good," Porthos said as he moved inside with d'Artagnan, finally recalling the man from earlier, "you have another patient." The large man looked around for somewhere to lay his friend, but there was only the one bed in the room. Fontaine solved the problem for him by indicating the rug in front of the fireplace, moving to place a blanket down so Porthos could settle the Gascon there.
"What happened to him?" the physician asked as he knelt to inspect his newest patient.
"Exposure, for sure," Porthos started, "for a couple hours at least. Other than that, I'm not sure. Found 'im in the snow again."
Fontaine could hear the undercurrent of bitterness in the other man's tone and hurried to check the boy over so he might assure them both of the young man's relative well-being. "Ring for someone to bring heated water skins, will you?" the man said as he started undressing the young man. Porthos did as he'd been asked, returning to lift the Gascon's torso so they could manoeuver him out of his shirt. The physician scowled as he unwrapped and pressed on the young man's ribs, "Was he kicked?"
Porthos shrugged, leaning forward to look at the Gascon's side where Fontaine was now pointing. "I don't know," he answered slowly. The bruises there were now a couple days old and certainly not from this latest round of trouble, but Porthos could clearly make out the shape of a boot print on the young man's flank. The larger man considered what d'Artagnan had told him of his time with Aramis, but could recall no mention of being harmed by anything other than his fall down the incline. "If he was, he didn't mention it."
"His ribs are no worse than before," the physician stated, moving to remove the sling and splint from the broken arm. As soon as the bandages were removed, it became clear that the young man's arm had taken the brunt of the damage from his time with the bandits. The bones had been displaced, evidenced by the grotesque bump and swollen skin around the break. Fontaine leaned back, sighing at the damage. Making eye contact with the man across from him he stated, "I'll need to set the bone before we re-wrap it. It cannot wait and the pain will be great."
Porthos knew this already, having suffered broken bones in the past. "What do you need me to do?" he asked.
"Hold him down so that he doesn't interfere while I take care of it. With any luck he'll remain unconscious," Fontaine offered, but Porthos knew that their luck wasn't typically that good.
Positioning himself at d'Artagnan's head, Porthos leaned his weight onto the young man's shoulders, prepared to hold him if he should wake. When they were ready, Fontaine took the broken arm in his, stabilizing it near the elbow and pulling on the wrist to realign the separated bones. d'Artagnan's eyes came open with a start as the physician pulled on his arm, a guttural yell pulled from his throat. The tug on his arm was momentary, but the agony remained, and the young man could feel the bile rising as he helplessly turned his head to one side. Porthos acted quickly, correctly interpreting the signs, and rolled the boy further to his side, holding him there as d'Artagnan emptied his stomach and gagged from the pain. The Gascon whimpered in between heaves as the position he was in aggravated his broken ribs, and Porthos felt tears in his eyes at the sounds the young man was making. When it was finally over, d'Artagnan's eyes had closed and he panted weakly, grimacing with the ache in his side and arm while Porthos murmured words of comfort in his ear.
Fontaine could see the anguish in the Musketeer's face at the pain they'd caused his friend, and he moved quickly to replace the splint and bind the arm to minimize its movement. When he was finished, the physician collected a small bottle from his bag and tipped it to the young man's mouth, allowing a few drops to enter. As Porthos stroked the damp hair off the young man's brow, Fontaine watched the boy relax and he released a breath when it was evident that the boy had again fallen unconscious. "It's alright now," he said to the Musketeer, "he's sleeping."
Porthos looked up at the man's words and realized that his friend had indeed fallen asleep, and he closed his own eyes for a moment to calm himself from the ordeal of having to hold the young man down while Fontaine had caused him pain. When he'd sufficiently collected himself, Porthos addressed the physician, "Will he be alright?"
Fontaine nodded, understanding that this man desperately needed some good news about his two injured brothers. "We'll need to warm him up again and he'll need to rest for several days before moving, but he's young and I expect he'll recover." Porthos tipped his head in gratitude. "Your other friend,"
"Aramis," Porthos reminded him.
"Yes, Aramis, he woke earlier," he paused at the Musketeer's expectant look, "I'm sure he's only confused because of the head wound, but he was quite agitated."
"What do mean, agitated?" Porthos prompted.
Fontaine looked apologetic as he explained, "He rolled off the bed and ended up in the corner of the room. He seemed quite beside himself when I told him you were gone and he was here alone. I never would have said anything if I'd known he'd react so badly."
Porthos processed the man's words, taking a steadying breath, "You told him his friends were gone?" At Fontaine's nod, he went on, "Several years ago, Aramis was part of a group that was attacked in Savoy. He was the only survivor and was alone for several days, in the snow and cold, before we found him. He'd suffered a head wound then as well. Sometimes, being in the woods in wintertime reminds him of what he endured."
"Ah," the physician's face held nothing but sympathy. "Then we must work to reassure him that his friends are alive and well, and that this is not Savoy."
Fontaine's words seemed to prod Porthos' memory and he moved to stand as he realized how much time he'd already lost. "I know this is a lot to ask, but can you stay and look after them for me?" The physician was clearly taken aback by the request, especially given the bond he'd observed between these men. "Athos, our other friend, has gone after the men who did this. I have to ride after him."
Fontaine could see how torn the man was and didn't want to make things any more difficult for him. "Of course, I promise you I will not leave their sides. But," he paused, "do you really believe that is the best course of action given Aramis' disoriented state?"
Porthos bit his lip as he admitted, "No, probably not, but if anything happens to Athos, Aramis will never forgive either of us."
It was clear to Fontaine that Porthos would have to go after his friend and he accepted the other man's words with a tilt of his head. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two servants bearing water skins filled with warm water. As the physician placed the water skins next to d'Artagnan's cold skin, Porthos took one of the men aside asking, "Is there someone who can take a message to Paris?" At the man's affirmative reply, he turned to address Fontaine, "I'm going to send a message to Paris to advise our Captain of the situation and I'll leave word with the Comte, requesting you be allowed to stay with our friends for the next few days. One way or the other, you'll have Musketeers with you within three days." With that, Porthos followed the servant from the room to do as he'd explained before returning to his horse to follow Athos.
A less experienced tracker would have missed the change in direction the four men had taken, but Athos had grown up being tutored in a variety of skills required of a nobleman, including those needed to track and hunt one's prey; the animal being sought might be different, but the skills translated nicely. Removing a flask from his hip, he poured a wine-colored arrow in the snow for Porthos to indicate his new direction.
Grateful for the moonlight that illuminated the snowy road to the west, Athos maintained his vigilance as he continuously scanned the path ahead of him, as well as to both sides, paying special attention to those sections where an ambush might be mounted. When he heard voices ahead, he slowed his pace further, straining his ears to discern what was being said. He caught snatches of the conversation, including the words "Comte", "Paris", "Daumont", and "Musketeers".
Satisfied that he'd successfully located his prey, Athos pulled both pistols, allowing the horse's reins to go slack and trusting that it would continue to move forward without his guidance. Catching his first glimpse of the men ahead, he lined up his first shot, scoring a hit as his intended target fell with a cry. Wasting no time, he followed immediately with a second successful shot, before allowing both pistols to drop from his hands and retaking the reins, spurring the horse forward at the two remaining men.
The bandits had been caught unaware and one man sat in his saddle, staring dumbly at his two fallen comrades. The other pulled his sword in anticipation of the Musketeer's arrival, prepared to cross blades as soon as the man was within striking distance. Athos understood that the advantage of fighting on horseback was in the speed of the attack, which magnified one's hit. As such, he pulled his sword and raised his arm in preparation, slashing at the man as he passed by, managing to avoid the man's own clumsy blow and knocking him from his horse. As soon as he'd ridden past, Athos brought the horse up short and into a tight turn, circling back to deal with the last man who was still mounted. Corneul, Athos' brain supplied, was preparing to fire his pistol as Athos bore down on him and a quick flip of the Musketeer's wrist had the weapon flying out of the bandit's hand. He followed this disarming move with a well-placed thrust, embedding his blade in the man's chest. As Corneul fell back off his horse, Athos gripped his sword tightly, allowing the bandit's weight to slide the body off his blade.
A graceful dismount followed, placing Athos in front of the stunned bandit he'd unbalanced enough to remove from his horse. Faulcon looked up at him from the ground, weighing his options. Deciding that the man in front of him would not needlessly kill an unarmed man, he raised himself slowly to his feet, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
"Pick up your sword, Monsieur," Athos ordered.
"And if I decline?" Faulcon countered.
"It is no matter; you are a wanted criminal in possession of the Comte's property. No one will question if you do not return to face justice," Athos informed him darkly. Raising an eyebrow, he offered, "Unless you're surrendering to me, instead?"
Recognizing he had little choice, Faulcon picked up his blade from where it had fallen and prepared to defend himself. Athos moved with patience and skill, waiting for Faulcon to lunge at him and blocking his thrusts with relative ease. After the fourth such unsuccessful strike, Athos could see his opponent becoming frustrated, sacrificing any form he may have had for brute force. The two men's swords clanged as they hit, Athos blocking yet another strike and then moving swiftly to land one of his own across the man's back, making the bandit stumble forward several steps before he could regain his balance.
"Finish this!" Faulcon roared, fully aware that he was being toyed with.
"As you wish," Athos stated agreeably. With a speed born of both natural talent and years of practice, Athos feinted left and then pulled his strike, bringing the pommel of his sword across the man's face instead, knocking him senseless. As he looked down at the bandit, he declared, "I will see you hang for your crimes."
He moved quickly to check on the other three men, confirming that none of them had survived. Unwilling to leave their bodies to the snow, he hefted each one in turn onto their horses before doing the same with Faulcon, binding the man's arms and legs to the horse for good measure. When he'd finished, he tied the horses together, attaching another length of rope to the lead horse so that he could guide them back, single file. Pressing heels to his horse's flanks he moved them back towards the Comte's chateau, anxious to know how his friends were faring.
Fontaine had finished his examination of the Gascon after the other Musketeer had left, checking his head, arms, back and legs for any further injury. He was pleased to find nothing more than some painful looking bruising to the man's left shoulder, guessing that he'd fallen on it at some point. When he had finished, he bundled the young man firmly in several blankets, ensuring that the warm water skins rested against the cold skin. Soon after, he was rewarded when the boy began to shiver uncontrollably, a positive sign that meant he was beginning to regain some warmth. There was nothing more that could be done for either man, other than to continue to change the water skins out for warm ones once they'd cooled and to watch over both men as they slept.
Many hours passed and the physician finally reached a point where he was comfortable allowing the Gascon's body to finish warming on its own. The shivers had stopped and, while the man's face was still exceptionally cool and pale, it was obvious that he would recover from his winter ordeal. Succumbing to his own exhaustion, Fontaine settled into a chair and allowed his eyes to close, confident that he would awake with the slightest sounds from either patient. As he'd predicted, when Aramis began thrashing in his sleep, Fontaine came alert immediately, and he moved swiftly to the man's side to reassure him. His presence had the opposite effect, however, when Aramis' eyes focused on his unfamiliar face.
A hoarse yell was pulled from Aramis as he struggled to differentiate between the images from his nightmares and his foreign surroundings. Immediately, he began scrambling to get out of bed, fighting with the blankets that covered him as his natural coordination abandoned him in his panic. Uncertain of what to do but unwilling to allow the man out of bed again, Fontaine threw his body forward, attempting to pin the man to the bed. A mournful keening erupted from his patient as he continued to fight weakly to make his escape.
The sounds of struggle penetrated the Gascon's foggy mind and he opened his eyes, searching for their source. Still suffering from the effects of his ordeal but numbed by the physician's medicine, d'Artagnan rolled to his side, gasping as he put weight on his damaged ribs, and somehow managed to free his uninjured arm and torso from the blankets around him. Pushing himself to a seated position, the young man pulled desperately at the blankets at his legs, finally managing to stand and swaying dangerously as the sounds of his friend's distress beckoned. Seeing a strange man pinning Aramis to the bed, d'Artagnan used what little energy he had to shove the man aside, falling to his knees next to the Musketeer to place a soothing hand on the man's brow.
"Aramis," he forced out, his voice weak and breathy with pain, "it's alright, you're safe." d'Artagnan broke off to take another shallow breath. "Can you open your eyes for me?" The young man kept his hand on Aramis' head, pulling his fingers through the man's matted curls as he spoke. Looking around he noted his friends' absence as well as the man he'd pushed sitting on the floor, making no motions to move towards him. "Come now Aramis, Porthos will be disappointed to see you still sleeping when he returns."
For several seconds, d'Artagnan thought his words might be ignored, until he saw the man take a steadying breath before opening his eyes. The Gascon smiled weakly, doing his best to ignore the pain that was robbing him of his strength. While Aramis might have been awake, the young man was still not certain that his friend was aware and he sat quietly waiting for the other man to speak. When he didn't, d'Artagnan tried instead, "Hello, my friend, how are you feeling?" He moved his hand to grasp Aramis', noting how it trembled and willing it to still as he squeezed it around his friend's.
In his peripheral vision, d'Artagnan could see the other man beginning to move and he pinned the man with a hard stare. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Fontaine, I am the physician who's been caring for you and your friend," the man stuttered hurriedly. Pushing himself to his feet, he took a step forward hands held out placatingly, indicating to Aramis, "He had a nightmare. I was concerned that he would flee from his bed again and worsen his injuries."
Fontaine moved another step closer when d'Artagnan stopped him, "No. You had him pinned to the bed. Can you imagine what that feels like for a soldier, especially one who's already confused and in pain?"
The physician considered the young man's words, shaking his head remorsefully, "I am sorry, I meant no harm. I merely wanted to make sure he stayed safe."
d'Artagnan's glare softened, "I believe you but I think it would still be best if you let me take care him. He needs a familiar face."
Fontaine nodded and indicated the door, "I will go to the kitchen and see if I can get some broth for you and your friend."
As the man exited, d'Artagnan released a pained sigh, turning back to Aramis and dropping his head to the mattress for a moment while he gathered his strength. When he felt ready, he pulled himself off the floor and onto the bed to sit next to his friend, breathing heavily from the exertion. Aramis still watched him cautiously without recognition in his eyes, but seemed calm enough despite that fact that he didn't seem to know where he was or with whom.
"Aramis, do you remember what happened?" d'Artagnan probed. He received a slight shake of the head in reply. "We were searching for some escaped prisoners," he gritted out painfully, pausing to hunch over himself as he struggled with a wave of pain. "We were both thrown from our horses and ended up spending a night outside after we got caught in the storm." Again, the young man needed to pause to pant shallowly.
"I remember the snow," Aramis whispered and d'Artagnan nodded. "I thought I could hear their screams…and the blood…I couldn't keep the ravens away from picking at their bodies…"
"No, Aramis," d'Artagnan cried, "it was not Savoy. You're just confused because you hit your head." Aramis looked at the young man's pleading face, seeing nothing but conviction and concern in his eyes.
"Not Savoy?" Aramis said tentatively.
"Not Savoy," the young man assured him, squeezing his hand again.
Aramis seemed to be coming back to himself and noticed for the first time that the Gascon was holding his hand; frowning, he lifted their hands to look at them. "You're hands are like ice," he stated, questioningly.
The young man gave an aborted shrug with one shoulder, "I think I spent some time outside again." He looked around at the vacant room, wondering once more where their friends were, "Not really sure how I ended up here."
"And you're trembling," Aramis' concern rose.
"It's nothing, I'm fine."
Aramis squinted at his friend, still having difficulty focusing, and managed to make out the paleness of the young man's features as well as the dark bruising underneath both eyes. "You're not fine," he declared. "What's wrong with you?"
Clearly the man's second head would had left gaps in his memory and d'Artagnan considered how much to share. "Hurt my arm," Aramis continued to squint at him, seemingly unconvinced, so he added "and my side. I'll be alright," he said, dismissively.
"You should be in bed," Aramis stated.
Another shrug answered him as d'Artagnan pointed out, "There's only one bed."
Aramis' retort was interrupted by the return of the other two Musketeers who strode determinedly into the room. Fontaine followed on their heels, bearing a tray with two cups of broth and some bread and cheese. Seeing the men awake, Porthos moved forward immediately, a large grin on his face at the sight.
"Aramis," the large man placed a hand on his friend's ankle, "it's good to see you awake. Really good."
Aramis could see the worry in his friend's eyes and did his best to dispel it, "You certainly know how to make a man feel welcome. I can't recall the last time I was received so warmly by someone who was not of the fairer sex."
Porthos dipped his head slightly at his friend's teasing comment, gladdened that he was feeling well enough to attempt humour. "And how are you feeling, lad? The last time I saw you, you were half-frozen again."
The Gascon was unable to hide his wince as he turned slightly to face the larger man, saying, "Fine, I'm just glad that you're back and Aramis is awake."
Porthos nodded then glanced at the two men hovering just inside the door. His look seemed to break them both from their reverie and Fontaine moved forward with the food he'd brought. Athos hesitated before turning on his heel to exit, throwing over his shoulder, "I shall go update the Comte."
Porthos frowned but let him go as he looked at the food the physician had brought. Taking a closer look at his two friends, he noted the stiffness in d'Artagnan's back as he sat on the edge of the bed, along with the sheen of sweat that covered his face and neck. Glancing at Aramis, his evaluation of the young man's condition was confirmed as the marksman motioned with his eyes towards the Gascon.
"Lad, we need to get you settled so you can eat something. This bed's easily big enough for two and I bet Aramis would enjoy the company." Before he'd even finished speaking, Aramis was already shifting to make more room.
"No, it's fine," d'Artagnan interjected, but Porthos stopped him with a stern look.
"You were cold as ice when we found you and I know your arm and side 'ave got to be hurtin'. Besides, Aramis has been confused because of his head wound and he'll rest easier with someone next to him."
The Gascon looked at Aramis who gave a dip of his head in confirmation. "Alright," he huffed.
Porthos moved quickly to position several pillows so that d'Artagnan could sit up and then pulled the blanket back so he could lay down. Leaning down to capture the young man's gaze he ordered, "Let me do all the work."
Deftly, Porthos lifted the boy's legs onto the bed and then helped him scoot back against the pillows. Next, he recovered the blankets from the floor and covered the Gascon with them, having felt the lingering coolness of his skin. As he finished, the young man shivered at the realization of how cold he'd felt earlier when sitting next to Aramis. For his part, Aramis moved over slightly until the two men's shoulders were touching, allowing some of the heat from his body to warm the young man.
Fontaine stepped forward again, "Now, broth, it will help to warm you and you need to rebuild some strength."
Aramis looked at the cup warily, unsure of whether his stomach would accept the bland offering. "Come on Aramis, you have to at least try," Porthos urged fondly. Nodding, he accepted the cup and took a careful sip.
d'Artagnan was also given a cup and, to his consternation, found his hand still shaking. Without drawing any attention to the act, Porthos wrapped his hand around the young man's and helped guide the cup to his lips, relating the tale of how he'd gone after Athos, only to encounter the man already on his way back with Faulcon.
Unfortunately neither man managed to finish the warm offering, stomachs still sensitive from their injuries and eyes drooping with fatigue. When Porthos noticed his friends' states he nimbly removed the cups from their hands, readjusting pillows with Fontaine's help so the men could lay back and sleep. They wandered away from the bed when they'd finished, Porthos looking inquiringly at the physician.
"Aramis seemed to have his wits about him and it's a good sign that your young friend awoke from his ordeal. With some time and rest, they should both be fine.
Porthos nodded and thanked the man, allowing him to take his leave as the first rays of the sun entered the room. Scrubbing a hand across his face, the large man realized how tired he was and, while he'd prefer to wait for Athos to return, his body had different ideas. Settling on a chair next to the bed, he was snoring before the sun had fully risen.