The 'battle' had been raging for a good two hours now, Aramis mused as he ducked under the low wall once more as a musket ball whizzed passed his head, embedding itself into the stone wall behind where he and d'Artagnan crouched amid the yells and gunfire. Two hours too long...
'The trick is to always make them think you are ahead of the game!' he shouted across to the younger man, who looked around with wide eyes as he shook stone and dust off his shoulders. 'Even if you can't see them just shoot vaguely in their direction- keeps them on their toes!' the medic added, before coming up from his hiding place and expertly clipping one of their foe, who went down with a garbled yelp.
They had only stopped off in the village to refresh themselves on their way home- they didn't expect to get caught up in a serious turf war...
'How many are there?' the Gascon yelled, before he too moved from behind the wall slightly to aim and fire his weapon into the thicket to the rear of the village, where it ricocheted off a tree and into the under-brush.
So much for a slow and well-rounded Musketeer education, Aramis thought to himself; he, Athos and Porthos had only been taking the lad on missions for three days before today.
They hadn't expected rival village factions to come face to face after a year long turf war; but this village belonged to the King, and so the Musketeers were duty-obliged to assist and ensure calm was restored.
Unfortunately, the peace negotiations had rather broken down somewhat after the leader of the opposite side was insulted by a drunk man, who then shot a member of his faction... Learning on the job was always the best way though, he shrugged to himself, watching as d'Artagnan waited for a few more seconds before darting out and firing again. He was a natural, if slightly heavy on his feet as he crouched down again, blowing dust from his fringe as another round of shot was sent over their heads.
He looked across to check where the others were- Porthos was ducked by a consignment of barrels, shouting orders at some villagers who were surprisingly good with a gun. Athos was more than holding his own, Aramis saw with a smile as he watched the other man expertly making his way around the side of the building, sending off shots at the men crouching behind the trees.
'What's that, a cannon?' d'Artagnan suddenly muttered, eyes squinting as the afternoon sun blazed down.
'Don't be silly lad, how could they get a cannon out here...' Aramis' voice died in his throat as he too watched as something large was wheeled out from the forest.
'That's not a cannon, though...' he muttered, before darting forwards with a yell and pulling d'Artagnan down as another musket ball came their way, exploding the top corner of the wall as it landed. 'Always keep your eyes on the fighting, lad!' he scolded as he shook dust from his hair, before they both looked up as the contraption finally stopped. It was large and wooden, with a large arm with a deep bucket on the end, filled with stone.
'This isn't good, this isn't good...' Aramis muttered under his breath, casting his eyes to Athos, who nodded his understanding as the medic waved a hand at the contraption.
'What is it?'
'It's a trebuchet,' Aramis explained, before grasping his shoulder and hauling him backwards. 'We need to get the villagers out- they can't stay here,' he growled, before he ducked as another bullet nearly found its mark.
'Never seen one on wheels, though!' he added as the two men scrabbled backwards. Poking his head up, Aramis' eyes widened as he saw it was already primed; crouching back down he pushed the younger man ahead of him, muttering 'go,go, go...' as he did so. 'We need to make sure the women and children are safe...' he let out a yelp as he felt someone grasp his shoulder. 'Don't do that!' he growled as Athos ducked down beside him.
'They've got more firepower than a small army...' the other man muttered, before Porthos also joined them, face darkened with soot and brick dust.
'The women and children?' he asked, breathing heavily.
'Safe, I hope,' Aramis nodded, before they all looked across, weapons ready.
'Get the one at the trebuchet, Aramis!' Athos ordered; Aramis nodded and, with one hand at his Musket, stood and fired, watching as the man was thrown backwards- with wide eyes he watched as another came to take his place; seconds later he let lose the arm of the machine with a loud creak.
'Get down!' Aramis yelled, throwing himself atop d'Artagnan as a mass of stone was fired across from the Trebuchet; debris rained down on them as the stone wall was blasted backwards; Aramis felt an arm go around his own head as rocks were dislodged and pattered down on their backs.
For a while there was a ringing silence before it was slowly punctuated by cries of pain and alarm from the villagers around them; Aramis moved his hands from where they were protecting the lad's head, as Athos removed his own arm from the medic's head. 'You alright? Are you hit anywhere?' he asked urgently, eyes roving as he sat up; he looked across to Porthos and Athos, their hair and faces caked in white dust as the ringing continued in their ears.
'I'm alright, thanks to you,' D'artagnan looked across at him with a thankful smile.
'Good lad- quick, up, we need to make sure the village hasn't been breached...' he muttered, before all four men scrambled up into crouching positions; it would take a few minutes to re-load the trebuchet, he knew, so there were no more danger posed by that at the moment. They half-ran over to another low wall as a cacophony of shots were heard again, followed by jeers and shouts as the rival villagers mounted another attack.
'I thought the country was supposed to be peaceful!' Porthos shouted out sarcastically as he ducked a shot before turning round and returning the favour, hitting his mark.
'More guns in the country than in the city, I can assure you!' d'Artagnan replied, before he looked across as a small child darted between the rubble, her face ruddy and smeared with dirt.
Without looking up, without even thinking, the younger man threw himself forwards, away from the curled fingers of Aramis as he reached out a split second too late. The medic looked up as a flash of gunfire momentarily blinded him.
'd'Artagnan!' He called, eyes wide as he watched the younger man scoop up the child and run with her to relative safety at the side of a dirt path; relief settled in his chest for a split second before he watched as something large and black was thrown onto the path, where it sat, smoking.
'D'ARTAGNAN MOVE!' he shouted, making to run ahead to pull him to safety, before Athos jumped forwards, caught him around the chest and pulled him back with a cry of 'are you insane?!'
Just as D'artagnan stood up straighter he caught sight of the grenade-with wide eyes he pushed the girl as hard as could before he too threw himself to the side, but he was a split second too late; with an almighty bang the grenade exploded, casting shrapnel in all directions; Athos pulled Aramis around the wall just in time; the three men squeezed their eyes shut as the noise enveloped the village.
Ears ringing harshly, they were up in seconds, eyes wide as they surveyed the damage. 'Porthos, the girl!' Athos shouted as he and Aramis rushed over towards their newest recruit's bloodied, unmoving side.
'Is he dead?' Athos cried as they fell to their knees beside the Gascon, his face ashen white apart from a few smears of blood. 'Aramis?'
A few weighted seconds passed as Aramis felt for a pulse. 'He's alive, he's- D'artagnan you're alright...' he muttered quickly in a low voice as the younger man's eyes fluttered open at the touch. 'Stay still, I need to check you over-' he added, before cursing as he turned the younger man to the side; his leather was hanging in bloodied strings on his left arm as a line of dark shrapnel peppered his skin. The medic looked across to Athos, who looked down to the younger man and put a hand on his good shoulder and squeezed for comfort.
They looked up as the battle raged on- Porthos was now fighting with vigour anew as the villagers were now slowly but surely beating the rival faction back; someone had set the trebuchet on fire; the orange glow burned fiercely as Aramis expertly cut away the remaining leather, trying to ignore the pained yelps from the younger man as he exposed more flesh.
'I told you to always keep your eyes on the fighting...' he whispered, quickly reaching into his medical pack he carried at his side at all times.
'W-was I supposed to j-just let her die?' the Gascon shot back.
'No, but you are supposed to look around you for danger as you run around playing hero!' Aramis replied, before opening his water-skin. 'Grit your teeth, this will hurt-' he muttered, before upending the water on his arm, watching as rivets of blood and dirt cascaded down onto the floor. D'artagnan moaned out in pain, eyes squeezed shut.
'Ah- it burns, it burns...' the younger man moaned out, trying to move his arm from Aramis' strong grasp.
'I know lad, I know- its just come off a grenade, its going to burn!' Aramis replied, trying to inject some light into the situation as best he could, to put the lad at ease. 'You'll be alright, I promise...' he added as d'Artagnan let out a small whimper as his flesh burnt as if he had put it in fire.
'We can't leave all that in his arm; it will fester before we make it inside the city walls!' Athos muttered across the Gascon's innate form as he too grasped a shoulder to hold him still; he put a grounding hand on the younger man's forehead, fingers gently moving in comforting circles near his hairline as d'Artagnan continued to squirm.
Aramis nodded his agreement with a sigh, looking down at the younger man, who had paled considerably more as his teeth now chattered in pain.
'Some scars at last, my friend!' he said, hoping to elicit a smile from the Gascon, but to no avail. He looked like a scared little boy, he thought to himself, like most recruits did after their first major work-related injury. He had only been with them three days...
'Don't worry, I'll be as gentle as I can,' he assured him, as wide brown eyes sought his own. 'I'm a professional, you see.' he added; this time the Gascon's lip curled slightly in what could be a smile.
'Keep your chin up, lad- it will get worse before it gets better...' Athos muttered.
'Athos has such a great bedside manner, wouldn't you agree?' Aramis chuckled, shaking his head at the other man, who shrugged. He knew what was about to come.
'Are you g-going to dig it out?' The Gascon stammered, looking up again with wide eyes.
'Athos is right- your wounds will fester before we can get out of here; I will try to be as quick as I can...' Aramis said quietly, voice apologetic. 'I've done this dozens of times.' he added, hoping that would reassure him.
He steadied himself with a deep breath in, before looking across to Athos. 'Antiseptic?'
'Here-' Porthos' voice came from beside them as he too knelt down, shaking a nearly-full bottle of whiskey. 'Took a little detour to the tavern,' he remarked as Athos looked at him quizzically. 'The girl was the daughter of the landlord...figured we would need it,' he added, nodding down at d'Artagnan, who was shaking violently.
'Steady lad...' Athos resumed his comforting position. 'This will hurt- do not try to be a hero. Do not withhold your cries; we have all suffered the same at some point, it does not matter to us,' he muttered in a low voice, nodding down as the younger man tried- and failed- to suppress a cry of pain as Aramis unstoppered the bottle and tipped some onto the shrapnel to clean the area.
'Right...' Aramis readied himself, scalpel in hand. 'I can't find an exit wound for any of the bits, so that means its just stuck in the flesh,' he said quietly, looking down at the younger man. 'That means I will need to dig it out piece by piece.'
'S-sounds fun...' D'artagnan mumbled, voice hitched in pain. Aramis smiled at that, glad that he was able to make jokes despite his pain.
'There will be a lot of blood, and it will hurt!' he warned him a low voice. 'Right, now or never...' his voice tapered off as he bent lower, blade in hand. 'I'd hold him down if I were you...' he said to the others, who both grabbed hold of the Gascon's shoulders and legs to stop him kicking about.
Eyes narrowed in concentration, Aramis began his fiddly work; he internally winced every time he dug into the flesh, as d'Artagnan would cry out in pain and buck and twist. 'Athos come and hold his arm down...' he called as he almost stabbed right through as the Gascon tried to wrench his arm away.
Once he was settled again, Aramis bent back down, working quickly to remove each piece of shrapnel that was embedded, trying not to twist them as he tried working them out of the flesh. Sweat trickled down his brow as d'Artagnan squirmed under him, his eyes squeezed shut.
'Nearly done, nearly done... ' he whispered, before finally sitting up and pouring the rest of the whiskey onto the bloodied, reddening wounds.
'It needs stitching, but the shrapnel is out...' he confirmed, wiping his forehead with a shaky, blood-stained hand. He looked down at d'Artagnan, who was now breathing heavily, but now no longer shaking.
'Th-thank you...' he muttered, voice hitched in pain as Aramis bent back down to begin stitching.
'Oi- no thank you needed, that's your next lesson!' the medic shot at him, shaking his head ruefully.'I don't do this for thanks...' he added, smiling as the Gascon snorted.
Athos looked down, glad of the colour now very slowly making its way across the younger man's cheeks. 'You did well,' he appraised, squeezing his shoulder.
D'Artagnan smiled weakly up at him, breathing deeply as Aramis finally allowed him to sit up. 'Is the fight over?' he asked, looking around.
'Looks like it...' Porthos nodded, looking round too. 'Why, fancy having a go at round two?' he chuckled, slapping the younger man's knee as Athos and Aramis both snorted.
'No thanks...' d'Artagnan mumbled, flexing his left arm, gasping at the pain it caused.
'You'll be sore for a few days, perhaps even a week...' Aramis muttered as he stood up, brushing down his trousers before he and Athos carefully moved the younger man to his feet. 'Constance will be so pleased...' he added sarcastically.
D'artagnan surveyed his wounds, eyebrows raised. 'You did a good job,' he muttered, smiling as Aramis barked out a laugh.
'High praise indeed!' he chuckled. 'Come, lets get back to the city so I can have a proper look...' he added, before the four of them made their way slowly to the stables, with their youngest recruit now sporting the first of probably many musketeer-related scars...
Thank you for reading!
Please let me know your thoughts- I've suddenly become possessed with so many ideas that the chapters aren't stopping soon!
As always, prompts very much welcome!