Thanks for the continued interest in this story and d'Artagnan's situation. Just one more chapter to go after this one and I promise things will be resolved somehow by the end. Enjoy!
It was the unrelenting ache that brought him back to awareness, his entire left side feeling heavy and throbbing cruelly in time with his heart. He moaned at the sensation, unknowingly tossing his head on his pillow as he tried to escape the pain. Moments later, his cheek was cupped in someone's warm palm, and he unconsciously leaned into the comforting grip, bringing a smile to the face above him.
Aramis was pleased to see the young man waking, and the fact that his touch stilled d'Artagnan's movements warmed his heart. The thought triggered a memory of Athos sitting next to the Gascon's side in a similar fashion, and the medic's smile slipped as he turned his head to search the room for their wayward Captain. Porthos had departed only minutes before, ostensibly to find Athos and bring him back. Now that d'Artagnan was waking, Aramis felt impatient about the men's return in order to ease the young man's transition to awareness.
The image of the Gascon's keening form was still at the forefront of his thoughts, and he couldn't help but believe that d'Artagnan would need all of his friends at his side as he came to terms with everything that had happened. It would have been one thing if the young man had been able to see with his own eyes that his brothers were alive and well, but with that option unavailable to him, it would require the presence of all three of them to finally ease some of their blind friend's fears.
d'Artagnan groaned again, bringing Aramis' attention back to his patient, and the medic cradled his tender side as he bent closer, stabilizing the broken rib that stabbed at his flank with every breath. "It's alright, d'Artagnan," he soothed. "Everyone's safe."
He cursed the bandage that covered the Gascon's eyes, preventing him from seeing the one clear sign that his friend was awake. Instead, he watched for other indications that the young man was aware: the shift in his breathing, the tension in his limbs, and the slow dawning that something covered the upper part of his face.
When comprehension arrived, it happened quickly, and d'Artagnan's right hand was suddenly at his eyes, attempting to remove whatever sat there. Aramis' hand followed a second later, gripping the young man's fingers and pulling them away. "No, d'Artagnan, you need to leave that alone. The doctor has wrapped your eyes so they can heal."
Several long moments passed as the Gascon processed what he'd heard. "Aramis?" he eventually mumbled when he'd recognized the speaker's voice.
"Yes, d'Artagnan, I'm right here. You're going to be fine, but you need to leave that alone," the medic repeated, wanting to ensure that the young man had registered his earlier admonishment.
"Why?" the young man asked, still confused and his mind somewhat dulled by the remnants of the pain draught he'd consumed.
"Why?" Aramis repeated, for a moment wondering what his friend meant. "Oh, the bandage. Dr. Pernet believes that your sight may return if your eyes have the opportunity to rest. That means they need to stay wrapped for the next week."
Above the linen that covered his eyes, d'Artagnan's brow furrowed, but he didn't say any more about the bandage. Privately, he'd already resigned himself to the fact that he was blind, but the hope in Aramis' voice suggested that his friend needed to believe there was still a possibility the he'd regain his sight. Given everything they'd endured, the Gascon decided not to argue the point. Instead, he turned his mind to other matters, needing to know that everyone else was alright. "Athos and Porthos?"
"Both doing well and should be back shortly," Aramis replied, his eyes once more drifting towards the room's entrance. As if beckoned, the two men appeared, and the medic couldn't help the quirking of his lips at his friends' approach. Both were still moving stiffly, and even from a distance Aramis could see the telltale signs of pain on the older man's face. The marksman wasn't sure exactly how long it had been since Athos had left the infirmary, but from the looks of him, it had been too long ago.
Without thought, Aramis shifted and began pushing himself upwards, his right leg stiff and slow to move as he attempted to stand. He couldn't prevent the gasp that emerged at the fire that spiked in his thigh as he heavily fell back onto the stool he'd been sitting on. Moaning lowly, he bent over the injured limb, his hands gripping it on either side of the wound he'd sustained as he tried to push back the pain. Seconds later he could feel Porthos' hand on the nape of his neck as the larger man coaxed him to relax and slow his breathing, which had turned to shallow pants with his pain.
Porthos was now tugging at his shoulder, and grudgingly Aramis allowed himself to be pulled upright as his friend tutted over him. "That position can't be any good for your broken rib."
With a shaky, breathless laugh, Aramis wiped an arm across his brow to remove the sweat that had collected there, before answering, "It wasn't my rib that I was focused on."
Next to him, Porthos frowned, having witnessed the marksman's ill-conceived attempt to stand. "What were you thinkin', trying to put weight on that leg?"
Giving his head a shake from where it still hung low to his chest, the medic replied, "I forgot." Lifting his gaze up to the larger man's, he wore a sheepish expression despite the deep lines of pain surrounding his eyes. "I was worried about Athos."
The statement reminded him of the initial reason for his failed attempt to rise, and Aramis now sought out the older man, finding him sitting on the edge of the cot on d'Artagnan's other side. Athos' face was pale and pinched with pain, and he cradled his injured arm in his lap while his right hand encircled d'Artagnan's wrist, having recognized the young man's need for touch to counteract the absence of sight. "You need something more for the pain," Aramis stated. "And a sling for that arm; having it loose is just pulling on your shoulder."
The medic's concern was so familiar that Athos couldn't help the ghost of a smile that graced his features. As much as he wanted to dispute his friend's words, he couldn't bring himself to do so. The truth was that his shoulder ached abominably, to the point where he was once more feeling nauseous and shaky. His earlier rest had given him sufficient energy to check on the state of his men, but when Porthos had appeared at his side, he'd happily accompanied his friend back to the infirmary, recognizing that his limited strength would soon desert him.
Glancing down at his protégé and seeing the young man in a similar sate, Athos suggested, "I believe that we could both do with a pain draught."
As if sensing that his mentor's words were directed at him, d'Artagnan was quick to reply, "I'm fine."
Porthos snorted while the other two men smiled, none of them even remotely convinced by the Gascon's assertion. "That's a hard claim to make when you're currently the only one of us flat on 'is back in bed," the larger man teased.
His lack of sight didn't diminish d'Artagnan's stubborn streak and he scowled at the men around his bed. When his attempted glare prompted the soft sounds of laughter from his friends, the young man's hard expression slipped away, and he asked instead, "Why is that exactly? I'm not the only one hurt."
The three traded contrite looks, but it was Athos who was the first to reply. "I woke some time ago, and needed to check on the regiment and the status of the chateau. I've just returned with the intention of resting."
Athos looked pointedly at Aramis, indicating that the marksman should explain himself next. "Technically, I am resting. I only decided a short time ago to get up and move to sit at your bedside." The medic wore a smug expression as he ended, certain that his explanation was sound.
d'Artagnan's body language was still expectant and Porthos realized belatedly that the Gascon was waiting to hear from him as well. "I…uh…rested earlier too," he began, at first stumbling over his words. "Afterwards, I sat with Aramis for a bit until he woke, and then went in search of our wayward Captain so he didn't overdo things."
The Gascon seemed thoughtful for several moments before he pronounced, "So it's safe to assume then, that all of you have ignored the doctor's orders by being out of bed?"
A new voice replied, confirming the young man's assertion. "I believe that is a fair statement of what has transpired," Pernet agreed, his expression somewhat amused as he met the gaze of each of the Musketeers.
"Doctor," Athos responded, nonplussed by the man's presence. "We've received orders from General de Champs and have been advised to depart tomorrow for his location. Is there anyone under your care who is unable to make the journey?" The question brought a sombre air to their gathering, and from the corner of his eye, Athos could see both Aramis and Porthos looking interestedly at Pernet as they waited for him to answer.
The physician stroked his beard for several seconds as he looked around the infirmary before replying. "There are two others whose wounds are as serious as yours, but both should be able to stand the journey well enough, assuming they are not expected to ride." At the quick shake of Athos' head, the man continued. "I can provide you with bandages and something for their pain – yours, as well," he commented, recognizing that the group before him would also need medication to bear the trip. "If you tell me what time you want to leave, I can have everything ready and waiting for you."
The Captain gave a small nod of acknowledgement as he said, "Thank you, Doctor. I'll make sure you're advised of the time, and I'll have a wagon prepared to receive the others."
"And for yourselves, too, of course," Pernet added, waiting to see if the Musketeer would attempt to dispute his own need to transported in such a fashion.
Aramis added the weight of his own stare to the doctor's, certain that Athos was nowhere near well enough to be riding. Sensing their scrutiny, Athos' gave a tilt of his head in acquiescence. "Of course, Doctor, for us too."
"Excellent," Pernet beamed at him. "Now, I suggest you take some time to rest. I'll have dinner brought up and you can eat here."
Reminded of his earlier concerns, Aramis interjected, "Perhaps another pain draught is in order for Athos and d'Artagnan to help them rest more easily?"
The doctor's gaze swept over both men and he was already nodding as he replied, "I'll have it brought over immediately." Satisfied at the status of his recalcitrant patients, the physician moved away, leaving the foursome alone once more.
This time it was d'Artagnan who broke the silence as he questioned, "What will happen after we reach the General's camp?" He already had a fairly good idea of what to expect, but now found himself dreading the idea of returning home, having prepared for the fact that he would not survive his captivity.
Athos glanced at Aramis, who licked his dry lips before answering, "We'll be returned to Paris to recover. I assume that once we're well again, we'll be deployed back to the front."
The Gascon swallowed thickly around the lump that had unexpectedly appeared in his throat. He'd suspected as much, and yet a part of him had hoped he might be sent back on his own, allowing him some time to mourn the loss of his friends during the journey. Instead, they would complete the trip together, and the men who'd become like brothers to him would be there to witness his greatest moment of weakness as he presented himself as a cripple to his new wife.
His chest flushed with shame at the thought, and he wished once again that he'd died at Peguero's hands, the idea of living without his sight suddenly so much more daunting than the idea of dying. He could feel tears welling in his eyes and was absurdly grateful for the fact that they were covered, the errant moisture escaping only to be soaked up by the linen bandage.
Around the young man's bed, his friends could see the sudden shift in d'Artagnan's demeanor, Aramis having voiced the outcome they all dreaded. It was not that they were afraid to return to the war, but the idea of doing so without one of their group seemed so foreign a concept that they were almost unable to fathom it. Despite that, there was a very real possibility it might come to pass. "d'Artagnan," Aramis began, needing to assuage some of the Gascon's worry.
The young man gave a slight shake of his head as he drew a deeper breath and said, "No, Aramis, there's no reason to say anything else. You haven't told me anything I wasn't already expecting."
The medic wanted to say more, but the doctor rejoined them at that moment, passing a cup to Athos and another to Aramis, anticipating that the latter man would ensure d'Artagnan drank it. "We'll give those a few minutes to take effect, and then I'd like to clean and redress your wounds," Pernet announced, waiting for the men to consume their medicine.
"Here, let me help," Porthos offered, already moving closer to lift the Gascon's head so that Aramis wouldn't have to bend. "d'Artagnan, I'm just going to help you sit up so you can drink."
The young man allowed himself to be raised up and drank without comment, afterwards lying listlessly as his wounds were tended. By the time the physician had finished, d'Artagnan was succumbing to the effects of the draught, and he gratefully relaxed into the mattress beneath him. He could hear the low voices of his friends, but didn't engage them in conversation, hoping instead that they would believe him to be asleep. He let his mind drift and his awareness flee, a last coherent thought following him as he planned what to do next.
He had no idea of the time, but from the sounds of deep, even breathing around him, he guessed it was still early and hopefully dark. Carefully, he angled his right arm so that it was bent beneath him, offering some support as he tried to soundlessly raise his body from the bed. His wounded shoulder throbbed in time with the beat of his heart, and d'Artagnan belatedly realized that the draught he'd consumed earlier had worn off. With that realization, he hoped the brew had been more effective on Athos, preventing the older man from realizing that the Gascon was awake and moving.
He managed to attain a seated position, with his legs over one side so that his feet rested on the floor. Remaining hunched over himself for several minutes, he breathed carefully and swallowed down his pain. When he felt like he had enough strength to stand, he pushed himself shakily to his feet, the familiar vertigo assailing him and causing him to still his actions once more as he waited to regain some sense of equilibrium.
Had he been thinking clearly, he never would have attempted to journey from the room, since it wasn't one that he'd spent any amount of time in. That fact robbed him of any idea of the layout of his surroundings, but those thoughts never occurred to him as he began to find his way out of the infirmary and away from his friends. When asked later, he would attribute his apparently successful escape to his heightened sense of hearing, bolstered by a great deal of luck. With some consideration, d'Artagnan would have realized that there was no way that he should have been able to exit the space without anyone noticing.
With his right hand on the wall at his side, he shuffled through what he assumed to be a hallway, and simply followed it, diverting left or right when openings presented themselves and when the sound of voices approached. He had no desire to be discovered and cared little for where he might end up – away was his only destination. At one point there were stairs, and he barely managed to catch himself and prevent a painful fall, his uninjured hand gripping the banister desperately as gravity threatened to pull him downwards. Later, he passed through a doorway, and still his progress was unimpeded, and d'Artagnan felt some of tension in his chest easing as his smelled the freshness of the air around him.
He continued to stumble forward until his body literally collapsed. Given the lack of sound around him, d'Artagnan resigned himself that he was either hidden well enough or not – his destiny was now in fate's hands. Gathering the last of his strength, he dragged himself closer to the wall and leaned against it wearily, the heaving of his chest pulling at the still-healing slices on his stomach. He welcomed the sensation. The rest of his body seemed numb, and he felt oddly disconnected from himself. The detachment was not entirely unpleasant and he wondered if this would be his new reality – sleepwalking through his days and hiding himself away to endure the nights.
He hiccupped with an unexpected sob, despair now rolling over him in waves as he wrapped his arms around himself, his right cradling his left tightly against his chest. Now that he'd allowed himself to succumb, the tears flowed from him in a tidal wave of emotion, and he mourned for everything that his lost sight represented, from his future as a Musketeer to the life he'd dreamed of building with Constance. The enormity of it overwhelmed him and there was no way he could stop himself now that his last walls had come crumbling down.
Athos watched as the young man, who he loved like a brother, fell apart before his eyes. He'd woken at the boy's fumbling attempts to leave the infirmary, and something deep within him had stopped him from calling out and preventing d'Artagnan from going. Instead, he'd followed the Gascon's uncertain footsteps, shaking his head at anyone they saw along the way to indicate that they should be left alone. The young man clearly had had no idea of his route, and Athos had nearly given away his presence when his protégé had stepped into thin air, the only thing saving him being his firm grip on the banister. Still, the older man had been unable to breathe easily until d'Artagnan had reached the bottom and descended the final step.
It took every ounce of his willpower to allow the Gascon to fall, first to his knees and then his side, as his strength finally deserted him. By then, they'd exited the chateau and followed the wall around to a more secluded part of the courtyard which boasted only dirt and weeds. Athos had paused his forward motion at that point, watching over his friend as the man struggled to drag his weakened body closer to the support at his back, all but collapsing there once he'd finished.
Now, the older man wondered if he should approach. He knew that d'Artagnan would be deeply embarrassed at having been observed while so thoroughly falling apart, and yet Athos' heart urged him forward, something stronger than logic compelling him to go to his brother's side. He crossed the space between them without being aware he'd done so, and found himself on his knees before the young man, instinctively pulling him into a tight embrace. Ignoring the pull on his wounded shoulder, Athos repositioned them both and pulled the young man to his chest. Words of comfort poured from his lips as he held d'Artagnan while he wept, his fingers at some point twining themselves into the older man's shirt.
As his shirt became damp with the young man's tears, Athos knew with certainty that he'd done the right thing by going to the lad, and he held on tightly, trying to share some of his limited strength with the Gascon. After a time, the violent storm of d'Artagnan's harsh sobs quieted to something calmer, the moisture now slowly trickling down the young man's face instead of rushing out in heavy rivers. Despite the slackening of his tears, the Gascon seemed disinclined to move and stayed closely tucked against Athos, his head cradled against his mentor's chest.
When the sounds of crying were replaced by short, shallow breaths, Athos knew d'Artagnan was spent. He carefully adjusted his grip, gingerly bringing his left hand around to cup the back of the young man's head in comfort. They remained that way for several minutes until the Gascon's breathing calmed further, at which point Athos dared to speak. "You must not lose hope, d'Artagnan. No matter the outcome, you will always have us by your side."
The statement made d'Artagnan's breath hitch in his chest, and the older man wondered what he'd said to upset his friend. "d'Artagnan?" he hastened to ask, needing confirmation that things hadn't just taken a turn for the worse.
The Gascon shook his head against Athos' chest, his mumbling reply almost too faint to hear. "Won't."
The older man frowned at the odd statement, confident that he and the others would stand by the young man no matter what. "Of course you will. You think we would desert you because of what's happened?"
The response was just as soft as his early one. "Have to."
As much as he wanted to support his protégé, Athos' frustration was beginning to build, and the young man's short answers weren't helping. Shifting his hold yet again, Athos leaned back slightly and then titled d'Artagnan's face upwards so he could see it. Resolutely ignoring the fact that the Gascon couldn't return the gaze, he asked, "What do you mean, we'll have to?"
The young man tried to bury his face in his mentor's shirt once more, but Athos kept his fingers beneath the Gascon's chin, preventing him from hiding. Over a minute passed and the older man began to doubt that he'd receive an answer when d'Artagnan finally spoke. "You'll have to leave and go back to the war."
The young man was correct in is assertion, but had obviously missed the point that Athos was trying to make. Softening his tone, the older man countered, "But that doesn't mean that you won't still have us, d'Artagnan." He sighed for a moment as he considered how to continue, determined to make his friend understand. "It's true that we'll be despatched again once we're better, but there will always be a place for you at the garrison. You believe your life to be at end with the loss of your sight, but I promise that is not the case. Your skills still have value, and if your blindness is permanent, then we will find a new position for you among your brothers."
d'Artagnan's fingers still gripped Athos' shirt, but they gradually switched from their desperate hold to playing absently with the cloth as the young man processed his mentor's words. They sat in silence for several minutes while the Gascon considered what he'd heard before answering. "Athos, I do not look for, nor want, any charity."
"This is not charity, d'Artagnan," Athos interjected, wanting to correct the young man's assumption immediately. "We are at war and I am Captain of the Musketeers. As such, it is my responsibility to make the best possible use of the garrison's resources, and you are among those. What kind of fool would I be to let one of my best men just walk away?"
At his mentor's words, the Gascon could feel some of the steel bands around his chest loosening as Athos helped to dispel some of the fears that had been haunting him. However, the offer still seemed too good to be true, and d'Artagnan felt the need to confirm what he was hearing. "Truly, Athos, you would do this for me?"
"Truly, d'Artagnan, you are not alone in this," Athos breathed out, allowing the young man to rest his face against his shoulder as he settled his chin on top of the Gascon's head. Guessing he knew what else had been bothering the young man, he forged on quietly. "Constance will be there too." As he felt d'Artagnan attempting to pull away from him, he tightened his hold and barreled on. "No, you do her a disservice if you doubt her. Consider all she has endured. She has a core of strength in her that will not allow her to falter, and she loves you with all her heart. There is no question that she will rejoice in your safe return, not mourn your lack of sight – that is just who she is."
d'Artagnan drew a deep, shaky breath, and then another, overwhelmed by the support he was receiving and yet never should have doubted. Despite his blindness, it was as though he was seeing things clearly for the first time since he'd been injured, and he took another cleansing breath as he finally saw a possible future that didn't end in shame and despair. "Alright," he said, willing to allow that his friend might be right.
Athos quirked an eyebrow at the young man's reply, even as relief flooded him. Matching his breathing to the Gascon's, he replied, "Alright." Perhaps things would be alright after all, he thought to himself, as he held his brother close.