Good evening from Europe!
Here is our next chapter. Thank you for reading & reviewing.
Beth & Helen thank you so much without your help this story would be full of mistakes!
So, will Athos remember something important in this chapter?
Enjoy and if you like leave us a comment.
xx Kira
Chapter 45
D'Artagnan, sitting on the edge of the thin mattress, hands clasped together and elbows on his knees, observed his friend's features in the dim light. A few candles had been lit as the bright afternoon gave way to a warm evening. The flickering light was drawing moving shadows on the exhausted face. Athos' sleep was rather peaceful, but as he drew closer, d'Artagnan noticed the small contractions of the eyelids, the intermittently clenching jaws and the fine tremors running through the whole body. It was a strange sensation of déjà vu to be here, alone with his friend.
He didn't want to experience again the terrible moments they had been through in the past days, he didn't want to see his strong and steady mentor suffer physically and mentally as he had in these past days. He didn't deserve such a trial, even if he probably thought that he did. D'Artagnan swallowed to fight the anxiety rising in his throat. He breathed in the strange odour of the room: herbs, alcohol, wood, smoke, clean linen and a faint tinge of iron reminding him of Athos' blood.
Suddenly, Athos gasped and opened his eyes wide. It took him a few seconds to realise where he was and to focus his eyes on the worried face bent over his. D'Artagnan immediately took his hand in his, shuddering as he felt the icy cold skin under his fingers. Athos closed his eyes again with a sigh, turning his head towards the young man. The latter began to rub at the cold skin with his thumbs, massaging the pale knuckles in soft moves. He scanned the room. Athos needed an additional blanket.
Two are not sufficient they are too thin.
There were a few of them, folded on a shelf next to the door. He made to stand up, but the hand in his tightened his grip.
"No … lone." Athos mumbled.
D'Artagnan smiled and resumed his massages. Athos slowly opened his eyes. More red than white around the green irises darkened by the dim light and the pain.
"Hey. Sleep, I am here." D'Artagnan whispered.
"'m … cold … I can't …"
"So, let go of my hand, and I will fetch another blanket. Is it alright?"
Athos nodded, ashamed to feel so weak and dependent.
"Take one for … yourself." Athos whispered.
"Athos!" D'Artagnan smiled. "I am not ill or hurt. It's warm enough in here for me."
Athos quirked an eyebrow in his most leader's expression, but a sudden shudder made him close his eyes. D'Artagnan hurried with the blankets and came back to the bed. He unfolded the first blanket but stopped as he noticed how Athos tried to curl on himself assaulted by cold and pain.
"Athos …? How can I help you?" D'Artagnan almost whimpered.
"... don't know … I … I feel so … useless …"
"Hey. How can you say that? You just need time to recover. But you will be as strong as you were before, in a few weeks."
"Weeks?" Athos snorted. "Weeks are too long … I am as strong … as a newborn baby and like a newborn baby … I spend all my time in a bed." He finished the sentence his teeth chattering.
D'Artagnan wrapped him in the two blankets and rearranged the scarf around his neck, then he stood up and headed to the fireplace.
"Wh … what … are you doing?" Athos asked following him with his teary eyes.
"Gascon magic."
"What?"
"Wait and see!" D'Artagnan winked at him.
"What else could I do?" Athos answered in a bitter tone.
When d'Artagnan came back with two big stones wrapped in thick towels, Athos was slumbering, tremors running through his body. The young man gently lifted the blanket and slipped one stone under Athos' feet and the other under his knees. Athos opened his eyes and blinked.
"Still trying to … "
"Cook you? Mmmh, let me think … No, you are too old … !" D'Artagnan laughed.
Athos's upper lip curled slightly and d'Artagnan could see the small sparkle of mischievousness they all loved to see in his eyes. They stayed silent as the young man sat again on the edge of his own mattress, a hand on his friend's forearm. The tremors subsided a little, the stones slowly working their magic. Athos sighed contentedly.
"This scarf …" He began, looking straight into his young friend's eyes.
Athos stayed quiet again.
"You want me to tell you more about it?" D'Artagnan guessed.
"If it doesn't bother you…"
Athos wouldn't admit that the young man's voice was a balm to his soul. Oh, how he loathed his current state.
D'Artagnan brought him a cup of water and helped him to drink before lying on his side on his bed, head in his hand, propped up on his elbow. Athos turned his head towards him and tried to roll onto his side too, but a stab of pain burned his back, he squeezed his eyes shut, sucked in a few shallow breaths and opened them again on the sight of the calm and soft expression of his young friend. He smiled encouragingly. D'Artagnan nodded and began.
"When I was young …"
"Was?" Athos smiled for a short moment.
"Younger, when I was younger." D'Artagnan laughed. "So, when I was a young boy, I was always outside, running in the woods, jumping in fields, rolling down the hills and wading in the streams. If it was alright in summer, it wasn't a good idea in winter. I always ended up with a cold, throat hurting, head hurting, coughing and nose running like the spring that was behind the farm … as my father said. But it wasn't enough to keep me in a room with a book. Not in my nature. My mother even threatened me to tie me to a chair."
"I fully concur with this idea. Sometimes … "
"Hey, I am not that child anymore." D'Artagnan replied falsely outraged. "So, one day, she came back from an errand to Lupiac with a parcel and said: "It's that or you are tied on a chair until March." And I found this scarf. She had made it by a weaver. I hated scarves. But I had no choice."
D'Artagnan's eyes shone in the soft light of the fire and candles. His face displayed a tender expression at the memory. He stayed quiet for a while, looking at nothing, or rather looking at this scene of his past. Athos couldn't avert his gaze from the young face, trying to imagine his friend's childhood, a world of tenderness, simplicity, love and caring. So far away from his own childhood. As his mind wandered between the cheerful Gascon countryside and a dull mansion in Berry, Athos didn't notice that his friend watched him with a worried look.
"Athos?" He said softly, reaching a hand to squeeze his friend's forearm.
"Sorry." Athos mumbled.
"What for?" D'Artagnan asked.
"I was thinking …"
"I can see that, but thinking of what?"
"My …" Athos began before coughing again.
D'Artagnan stood up again to pour fresh water in the cup.
"No … I am fine …" Athos stopped him. "I was thinking of my own childhood."
"And how was it? … Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't make you speak. You are tired. You should sl …"
"It's fine. I don't feel like sleeping for now." Athos interrupted d'Artagnan and paused, staring into the darkness of the room. "As the heir of the estate, I had to behave like an adult as soon as I reached the age of seven. I had to learn everything, from Latin, to riding, from laws to swords, but playing wasn't allowed. I had preceptors and governesses. The only times I saw my parents, were during dinners amongst dull guests, with no right to speak, and forced to sat straight and unmoving. I was so young, but old enough to be with them in the dining room and not in the nursery or in another room with the governess."
He stopped again as sweat started to shine on his temples. He was clearly in pain, but it seemed that his mind needed this talk, so d'Artagnan didn't interrupt him. If Aramis knew, he would kill him, but for now, he was in charge of the sick man.
"My … brother." He closed his eyes briefly. "Thomas was a lot younger and was allowed to play and to live like the child he was because as the younger boy he wasn't the heir of the title. I sometimes envied him … No, I always envied him even though he didn't see our parents more than me."
"And … the scarf?" D'Artagnan dared to ask, impatient as always.
"One day, during a sword training, I fell and my instructor's blade hurt me, just here, at the base of my neck ... It was a shallow cut one inch long, but too visible ... in my father's opinion it was a shame ... The Comte's son wasn't good at swordfighting!" He snorted. "The irony of it is that he dismissed the instructor at once. It … it was his way of acting. It must seem disconcerting."
He stopped, wincing as the pain flared through his back once more.
"You should rest now. Aramis will kill me for making you speak."
Ignoring his friend, Athos continued.
"It was a few days before my thirteenth birthday. That morning, my mother came to my bedroom. I was surprised as it was always a servant or a governess who came to wake me up. She sat down on the edge of my mattress. I can still feel her lips on my forehead." He closed his eyes. "It was so rare …"
D'Artagnan didn't know if his gesture would be welcomed but he laid his hand on his friend's wrist. Athos nodded gratefully.
"She gave me a parcel … Yes, like you … And I found the scarf you have always seen around my neck. Usually, my birthday presents were books, sometimes a weapon. I was surprised and touched to see her give it like that in such an intimate way, in such a motherly way. But her words belied my impression." He clenched his jaws fighting his emotions.
"What happened? What did she say?"
"She said: "Here is something to hide your neck." Hide! I had to hide my failure."
"My God. I am sorry. But why … ?" D'Artagnan began.
"Why am I so attached to it? Because it was the only present I received that way. One of the rare occasions where my mother had almost been … my mum."
Athos turned his head on the other side hiding his face to his friend. D'Artagnan arranged the blanket around his shoulders, laid on his own bed and moved his hand to his friend's forearm, squeezing reassuringly. He heard Athos swallowing his saliva. He just rubbed his thumb back and forth on the cold skin. Footsteps echoed outside.
"Close your eyes, Athos. I don't want Aramis to kill us …" D'Artagnan whispered softly.
When Aramis and Porthos entered the room with worried and enquiring looks, d'Artagnan nodded reassuringly. Athos pretended to sleep his eyes closed.
"He is sleeping." D'Artagnan mouthed at Aramis who was approaching the bed.
The medic nodded and smoothed the blanket covering his friend and arranged it to cover d'Artagnan's body as well. The young man smiled.
"I can see that you made your pagan ritual again." Aramis murmured as he noticed the stone that the young man had left at the foot of the bed after they had cooled. Then turning to Porthos. "What are you doing?"
"Making ourselves comfortable for the night."
"Let me help you." Aramis said standing up.
They brought another small bed next to Athos'. Their "precious cargo" was now surrounded by care and friendship. Aramis sat down on a chair at the head of Athos' bed, weapons on his knees, to take the first watch and Porthos limping a little as his thigh reminding him of his wound decided that it was time for him to rest. So he wrapped himself in a blanket and lying on his side facing Athos, he closed his eyes with a loud sigh. Soon his friends heard a soft snoring.
"That was very quick." Athos whispered, opening his eyes.
D'Artagnan and Aramis smiled at him.
"And we are waiting for you to do the same." Aramis murmured, ruffling his friend's shaggy hair.
D'Artagnan squeezed his friend's arm again and closed his eyes. At last he could let go and bask in their brotherhood. For now, all was for the best in the infirmary.
XXXXX
Aramis woke in the middle of the night with a gasp, he had decided to stay awake, but the exhaustion had worked. He tried to straighten his neck but his vertebras made him pay for his awkward posture.
I am too old to sleep on a chair.
He blinked and tried to get rid of the moisture in his eyes to scan the room. What had woken him up? He tightened his grip onto his pistol. Nothing. The room was quiet and the dying flame of the candle didn't show any sign of danger. He tried to relax and closed his eyes again. Slowly, his mind drifted away caught by darkness and as dreams began to appear behind his closed eyelids, he heard it again and awoke startled. A noise. Faint but real.
Something is wrong.
He could hear Porthos' loud snoring and d'Artagnan's soft breathing. Silence. An owl was singing its night song. Listening even more closely, he managed to hear the soft whistling of the toads attracted by the water of the well and further, the loud laugh of the tree frogs.
Nothing, I must have been dreaming.
He tried to find a more comfortable position on the hard wooden chair. Even with a pillow and two blankets he could already feel his back hurting. He stretched himself, put his feet back onto Athos' mattress and closed his eyes again.
We are perfect bodyguards. We are all exhausted, tired, sleeping.
He tried to relax. There again. That noise. It was a soft merely audible whimpering.
Athos. Of course. You stubborn fool, you don't want to tell or wake any of us, even if you are in pain.
Aramis jumped to his feet. Fully awake now.
"Athos?" He softly asked, reaching with his hand in the dark for Athos' right hand. "What is it my friend."
The spare moonlight that fell through one of the windows showed him the silhouette of Athos' pale face contorted with pain.
"Hey, you are awake. What is it? Do you need a pain potion, another pillow?" He softly asked, as Athos slowly opened his eyes.
"I didn't … want to … wake … you …" Athos slurred.
Then he gasped for air and pressed his right hand onto his chest by pulling it away from Aramis soft grip.
"God dammit, what is it?" Aramis said, now agitated.
"I think … my heart … hates me … it feels like I'm hit by a shoe from a horse. Arghhh …" He squeezed his eyes shut again.
Aramis softly put his palm on Athos' chest and could feel his irritated heart beat.
"Come on, breathe with me, it will be fine again."
Athos followed Aramis instructions and the pain eased again.
"When does it stop?" He anxiously asked Aramis.
"You will be fine again. Shhh … try to sleep."
"I can't … I fear … that it will return again … and …"
"Tell you what, I will rest my palm right here. If I feel your heart beating irregular again I will wake you. And now sleep. That's an order."
Tiredly Athos closed his eyes. Aramis protectively stood next to him, his hand on his chest. Athos' heartbeat was regular again. Aramis slowly sat down on his chair, but he rested his palm on Athos' slowly beating heart. He heard Athos breathe deeper. Satisfied that his brother had fallen back to sleep he decided to remain awake next to him during the whole night.
XXXXX
Saturday 7th of June
Captain Tréville smiled benignly over the sight to behold. Carefully he had opened the door to the infirmary. Outside, the dawn was chased away by a few sun rays announcing a new warm day. Some of the sun's rays had already made it through the windows of the infirmary throwing a soft light on Athos' sickbed.
The green eyes of his Lieutenant opened as he looked in his direction, as he tried to make no noise closing the old wooden door. A slow smile was flitting over Athos' face only detectable by the persons who really knew him well, but it only lasted several seconds. Exhausted Athos closed his eyes again, convinced that the newcomer wasn't an immediate threat for him.
Around him, his three friends were lying. D'Artagnan in the small bed on the left side of his mentor's bed. His hand laid on Athos' upper arm to give him some needed comfort. His head was turned towards Athos' weakened body, eyes closed, he was deep asleep. On the other side, Aramis was sitting on a chair next to Athos' head. The marksman's head had drooped onto his chest, his feet propped up on Athos' mattress and his left hand rested on Athos' chest in order to make sure that Athos' heartbeat wouldn't act weirdly. In his lap he had put one of his pistols, which he was holding with his right hand, ready to shoot any possible enemies.
And then there was Porthos lying on a bed next to Athos' feet. He snored loud. It seemed that all three of his men, who wanted so dearly to protect their sick brother were deeply asleep. Slowly Tréville placed one foot after the other. He hoped that the wooden floor wouldn't make any noise as he stepped next to d'Artagnan's bed and sat down on a chair next to Athos's left side. The Gascon still didn't wake up. A sign of how exhausted he must have been. Athos let his head fall onto his left side.
"Don't wake them, please." He whispered. "They need their rest. Besides I think they will hate you." He slightly grinned.
"No worries, Athos. I'll let your watchdogs rest." With a bright smile Tréville looked over the sleeping men, then he locked eyes with Athos. "How are you this morning? Do you want something to drink?"
"Some water … if you don't mind." Athos told him barely audible.
Tréville helped his officer to the glass being as quiet as possible, but Porthos loud snoring told him that he could have been much louder.
"I doubt that they will hate me, but blame themselves, that they didn't hear me coming." He whispered, while pressing the cup into Athos' hand. Athos slowly drank the water. His hand was shaking slightly but he didn't ask for help.
A good sign. Tréville mused.
"So …" Tréville started again as Athos gave him the empty cup back.
"I am better." Athos stated firmly, not telling his Captain about the pain in his back.
Lying on his back, even supported by pillows, hurt him nevertheless. But he preferred this position.
"I am sorry. I still can't remember anything after the throne hall. I try again and again. But everything is black, until the moment when I was loaded into the wagon." Athos sighed frustrated.
"Don't worry Athos. It will come back I'm sure of it." He squeezed Athos' left shoulder.
"May I check if you have a fever?" He quietly asked. "The doctor says we have to call him, if you are developing one.
Athos groggily nodded his head and closed his eyes. Tréville softly touched his forehead.
"Your skin is warmer than yesterday. That's a good sign. And no fever." Tréville told him. Athos could hear relief in his voice. He opened his tired eyes again. Tréville looked into them. They were not shimmering and the pupils were normal again.
"Try to catch some more sleep and rest, Athos!" Tréville stood up. "I need to report to the King, but I will be back later."
"I doubt that I can sleep, my watchdog is snoring too loudly." Athos joked sarcastically.
Tréville suppressed a loud laugh. Athos' humour had returned.
"I can easily change that and wake him." He stated.
"No, please leave them. It feels good to have those watchdogs around." Athos tiredly said. His eyes started to droop again.
"I always wanted to hear that." Aramis softly mumbled from his chair. He had heard Tréville coming, but decided to pretend to sleep to give both men some time to talk with each other. He took his feet off Athos' mattress, stood up and stretched his bones. He could still feel the dull pain at the back of his head.
"I'll prepare you another pain potion and some more coffee." He beamed. "And I will ask Serge for some gruel for you. You need to eat." Athos let his head roll on the right side and glared for a short moment angrily at Aramis.
"I am not hungry." He told the medic.
"But you have to eat." Aramis smiled back. "I am sorry that I cannot offer you some eggs for breakfast my dear Comte." He teased Athos.
Tréville moved back to the door. D'Artagnan and Porthos were still sleeping.
"Aramis, shall I send Lemay?" He asked.
"No, I think for now it's alright!" Aramis stated firmly.
"I really need to go, send d'Artagnan later to me. I will need his help at the palace. But make sure that he had some breakfast first."
"Will do, Captain." Aramis nodded.
XXXXX
Their Captain is leaving … now I can try to enter the courtyard again.
I should carry a package, a letter, so that they will think that I am a runner.
Ahh … there is a box … and I like the content of the box as well …
Ha … ha … ha …
First I have to find out if he is still alive …
There are two Musketeers standing in front of a door, next to the stables …
This must be the infirmary …
Damn … they wouldn't guard there if I had been successful …
But the medic … this Aramis … I haven't seen him leaving …
He will stay with his friend …
Oh with the contents in this box … I have an excellent idea …
Oh … I am brilliant … a genious …
I only need a short moment, excellent the stable boy has left …
Now I can go into the stables … there are only horses, a black cat and lot's of hay …
Perfect … but I have to hurry … I need to be far away …
Ha … ha … ha ...
You will rot in hell … both of you ...
To be continued ...
