Athos
What did they do to him?
I don't know…
I was there, but I have no idea what actually happened…
I cannot tell which scenes that appear in my mind are real, and which are nightmares…
What kind of friend am I?
I don't even know if he betrayed Francein a last-ditch attempt to save my life…
I have no idea what he has given in return for my life…
Athos watched Porthos. The big man had started to doze off, their precious Spaniard safe in his arms.
You should have left me behind, Aramis…
Why had his friend been so intent on saving him? Athos closed his eyes. He felt that he was slowly recovering, but he did not find that reassuring. Not when he did not know how high a price had been paid for his life.
The last thing he remembered clearly was searching the monastery. Then he had been shot, and his memory of what happened afterwards was hazy. He tried to recall what had occurred, but the images that started to appear in his thoughts made him uneasy.
He was there once again. He was aware that it was only a dream. A dream forcing him to relive the things that had happened.
Aramis was lying on the floor, as limp as a rag doll. Their captors had finally left him alone. They found no enjoyment in tormenting the medic's listless body, which had stopped trembling some time ago. Athos was not sure if his brother was still alive. But the Spaniard had managed to clean and stitch his wound.
Had that been before he signed the confession or after? Athos was not sure.
"Aramis…" he whispered, knowing all too well that the marksman would show no reaction. Aramis would never answer his call, as his soul was leaving his body. He could not endure another round of physical and emotional damage.
Oh God! Athos would be the one to have to break the tragic news to Porthos…
Something abruptly woke him.
He looked into Aramis' concerned eyes. He realized that one of his friend's hands was gently cupping his face, while the other was hovering above his cheek, ready to pat it to wake him up if needed.
"Aramis…" he breathed. "Did you confess?" He needed to know.
The medic recoiled, and his face went deathly pale.
Athos felt his fury start to build, but he saw the Spaniard shake his head. The medic's eyes were lowered, and guilt radiated off of him.
The lieutenant felt his anger dissipate. "Aramis, you did well. Of course, France's safety is of the utmost importance… but you should have left me! I ordered you to do so more then once."
"Never!" whispered Aramis, his voice hoarse. He started to cough.
Athos suddenly became terrified that blood would appear on his brother's lips.
Aramis hid his face in the pillow in order to not wake up Porthos and d'Artagnan. Athos waited for a few seconds, then gently touched medic's hair. When Aramis lifted his head, he withdrew his hand.
"I need to know what happened, Can you tell me?" He knew that his words sounded like an order.
Aramis closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded briefly.
"We were in the monastery. You were shot, then everything exploded. I regained consciousness in a cave that had fallen in. I thought we were under the monastery, but I was wrong. They must have taken us away after the explosion. I tried to patch you up. And then… then I knew we had been caught. They allowed me to tend you properly. Then they drugged me and whipped..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes became unfocused. Aramis was reliving the nightmare once again.
"Aramis!" Athos used his best command voice. It worked.
The marksman shivered, and lifted his head.
"The herbalist! They said that Allancourt has a good one! Maybe we can use that as evidence against Allancourt!"
"The word of a musketeer should be worth more than the word of a commoner, but it hasn't occurred nothing against a word of the noble," murmured Athos. However, he was happy to see fire in his brother's eyes once again.
"Well... I mean to find him," replied Aramis. "Then… they wanted me to sign a confession… admitting that the Queen and I…" His voice trailed off.
"Then they started to whip you, and… I just could not stand to watch it… I don't remember much of what happened afterwards, but I am sure that I didn't write or sign any confession. I am so sorry…that I couldn't…I couldn't spare you the pain."
"Aramis… there was no way you could have saved me from that. But I am alive because of your stubbornness." He was silent for a moment, then his curiosity got the better of him. "How did you know that my wound wasn't fatal?"
The Spaniard hesitated for a moment.
"I didn't."
"So why did you stay with me? Why did you sacrifice yourself…" His voice trailed off. Aramis had not mentioned anything like this, but Athos was quite sure that it had happened.
"Athos… I could not just abandon you. I… had to do everything I could to save you. I just had to…" Aramis sounded so lost...so guilty.
The lieutenant closed his eyes. He was furious at his brother for risking his life. He was not worth the sacrifice.
"You would do the same for him."
A new voice joined their conversation, instantly disarming Athos.
The swordsman glanced at d'Artagnan, who was no longer asleep in his bed.
The Gascon smiled sheepishly. "I couldn't sleep. You were making too much noise."
Porthos mumbled in agreement, but instead of opening his eyes, he covered his head with a blanket.
The Gascon got up, and narrowed his eyes at his injured brothers.
"You need to eat," he declared, ignoring Aramis' slightly confused gaze.
Athos smirked at the boy's words. D'Artagnan rarely had the opportunity to serve as a caregiver, since he was the one who was most often injured. He was completely unaware that he was imitating Aramis' tone and gestures when he put a plate in front of the marksman, then forced him to drink a warm draught which had been left near the fireplace.
He frowned. "Deroux should have come to check on you. Something must have delayed him."
Athos could only hope that the doctor had not become another innocent victim.
"Alright… I definitely cannot sleep while you're eating," muttered Porthos. He sat up and winced, his hand holding his side.
D'Artagnan put a plate in front of the big man. Athos eyed him with concern. "What's wrong with you?"
"He has managed to break open his stitches twice. I don't think it feels too good," replied d'Artagnan calmly, ignoring Porthos' growl.
Aramis watched him intently. "You should really be more careful."
"Yeah, I should. But seeing my brother pass out sort of makes me forget about my wounds. I don't think you would have cared to slam your face into the floor."
"It wouldn't have mattered," mumbled Aramis, the guilt on his face clear.
"What are you talking about?" asked Athos.
"Oh, Mis went for a little walk. It wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done," explained Porthos with a smirk.
There was a knock on the door.
"Come in", murmured d'Artagnan, holding a dagger in his hand. He placed himself in the possible line of fire, standing between the doors and his brothers.
Constance entered the room with a small basket. The smell of fresh bread and honey immediately filled the room.
"It's nice to see you all awake. I have some honey cakes for you. And the doctor asked me to check on you and change your bandages."
"Why didn't he come himself?" asked Athos.
She shrugged. "The King needs him."
"Is the King wounded?"
She smiled. "Not exactly. He has a cold. He is sneezing and… you know how he is when he's sick-very dramatic. I have to admit, I actually feel a bit sorry for Milady. She is having to serve as his caregiver, as the Queen declared that she cannot risk exposing the Dauphin to an infection." Constance chuckled. "When I last saw Milady, she seemed quite disgusted with the whole situation. And poor Dr. Deroux has been ordered by the King to stay at his bedside. However, if you need his help, Anne and I have come up with a plan."
"You're calling the Queen by her first name!"
Constance nodded, and started to unpack her medical kit, which was full of herbs. Athos could see that she was relieved. When their eyes met, she smiled at him warmly. It was then that he noticed that there was something odd about her dress. To be more precise, a rapier was strapped to her corset.
"You're carrying a weapon!" Athos was astonished.
She smiled.
"Yes. Her Majesty has given me permission to do so. It is dangerous here. She said that since I spend most of my time with her or with her wounded musketeers, I should be ready to defend them."
"Constance is really talented with a rapier," Aramis said dreamily.
She smiled at him, coloring slightly at his praise. Then her eyes met Athos' gaze. He could see her expression struggling between a silent plea for acceptance and a fierce look of pride.
"D'Artagnan taught you," stated the swordsman.
She nodded slightly.
"He made the mistake of asking me what he could do to repay me for my kindness," she explained quickly.
"Well… I must see you in action in order to assess both your ability and his skill as a teacher," he commented dryly.
It was strangely reassuring that she had the ability to defend herself.
Constance's smile was blinding.
"I would be most grateful for any instruction I would receive from you, Monsieur."
She bowed graciously, her eyes dancing.
Athos could not help but grin. She was a more than a match for his protégé!