"So most of the Red Guards that have searched for us are dead. The ones that still live will probably get reinforcements. I think we will have around two days until they could reach us." Athos concluded, after having told Constance and Aramis what had happened in the time they had been away.
Aramis dabbed at Treville's wet brow with worry. It was almost morning, Porthos and d'Artagnan shared the single bed in the room, snoring softy, while Athos and Aramis had taken the chairs. Constance leant against the wall, declining any offer to sit. The Captain hadn't shown any signs of waking or getting better since they had arrived at the Inn. Instead he had gotten a dangerously high fever and was now sleeping restlessly. Small whimpers left his dry lips every now and then and every time Aramis tried to coax him to drink something, the water just was wasted and spluttered down onto the table. The wound had taken an angry red and no cleaning or salve seemed to be of use. Treville's skin had turned even more white than before if this was even possible, his breaths came in short pained gasps.
"We can't move him like this." Aramis answered, voice rough and strained. Being up for so long had taken it's toll on him. He felt his head growing clouded and heavier with each hour while his muscles and bones throbbed merciless. But he could not sleep when Treville was so dangerously wounded. Moreover his brothers needed the rest more now. He had slept for days while they had fought for their and his life. He could cope with a few sleepless hours in return.
"What do you think? When could we transport him with a wagon?" Constance asked, her voice barely audible as she didn't want to wake the sleeping men.
Aramis gulped and kept his gaze fixed on the still form of the First Minister. He doubted that it would be of any use to move Treville anywhere. If he didn't get better in the coming hours, he didn't see any hope in a recovery. Of course there had always been miracles and men who had been thought dead survived. But this seemed different. It didn't feel like Treville was even fighting. Maybe he knew as well that this injury was fatal. But Aramis couldn't say this.
"In a week maybe." And it wasn't completely a lie. Should Treville his senses soon and get stronger the next days, it could be possible to move him over a short period of time in about a week. But the likelihood that this happened was thin.
"In a week? We will be dead or in prison in a week if we don't leave this place!" Athos reminded Aramis needlessly.
"Then leave. Take Porthos, d'Artagnan and Constance with you and leave before it's too late."
And he meant it. Aramis' words weren't spoken in anger but had a pleading tone in it. He didn't want to endanger his friends anymore, but he would not leave Treville behind either. His stomach churned at the thought that after all he would end in the hands of the Red Guards again, but it was a soothing thought to know that at least his friends would be save.
"No." Athos huffed as if Aramis' suggestion was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. "You really think we would commit high treason, fight our way through half France, give up everything we'd known, for nothing? You're coming with us. Both of you. We're not leaving a man behind. Never."
Aramis gulped, his hands fidgeting with the wet towel in his hands restlessly. He'd never wanted any of this. Never wanted to draw his friends into his misery and change their lifes so drastically. He shouldn't have given in all this time ago, in the camp to the border of spain. He never should have told them about his mission, should let them believe that he was indeed a traitor. It would have been easier. They could have ended and locked away the chapter with him as a part of their lifes and he could have continued to live a lie. It couldn't have been too bad. Either he would have been killed while still being a prisoner of the French or he would have been exchanged with another prisoner and could have returned to spain. He wouldn't have been happy there, could never been, but he would have known that the others were safe.
On the other hand, without the help of his brothers, they would never have found the spy and who knows what he could have done. Maybe France would have lost the war, maybe the spanish troops could have marched through the country right to Paris, maybe they would have been able to kill the King and Queen, or the Dauphin. No. All they've done was the right thing to do, for the country. Even though the King did not want to see it the way. Aramis liked to believe that they've saved France, that everything was not for nothing.
Aramis glanced down to their First Minister, who laid on the table as still as a corpse. Sweat was glistening on the pale, burning skin and his breath was shallow now, barely noticeable. Aramis took Treville's hand and had to concentrate to feel the faint pulse.
"Let's wait till noon. Then we can make a decision." He then suggested, but his tone did not allow Athos argue with him anymore.
TRAITORTRAITORTRAITORTRAITORTRAITOR
They've all tried to get some sleep throughout the night, but no one felt rested as they gathered around the table. Treville's condition hasn't got any better, actually it worsened with each hour passing. The wound was inflamed and even hotter than the rest of his skin. Neither of the Musketeers had managed to get some water into him.
"And? How is he?"
D'Artagnan asked into the tense silence of the room. Everyone's eyes were on Treville and Aramis, who's hands were methodically roaming over the older man's body, checking the wound, his pulse and temperature.
Aramis, who's fingers were currently pressing on the First Minister's wrist, did not answer at first. His gaze was fixed on the greyish face of the man who'd came closer to something resembling a father than anyone else ever did. His lips twitched in a sad smile as he suddenly remembered their first meeting, images of the proud and slightly amused Captain flashing through his mind. He'd seen the sparkle of entertainment in the man's eyes even though he'd tried to keep a stoic mask as he'd tried to explain Aramis that he could not leave his post in a suicidal rescue attempt of an unknown Captain.
Aramis had just smirked at the higher-ranking soldier then, while his hands were busy dressing up the cut on Treville's arm. Though we're still both alive, aren't we? He'd then answered, owning a snort from the Captain.
Reluctantly, Aramis shook himself out of the memories of a better, easier time.
"I don't think there is a priest in this village we can get?" He then asked, voice horse from the lumb in his throat.
Porthos opened his mouth, the question Why? almost slipping before he comprehend Aramis' intention. His mouth was left open in a silent 'O' before he gulped down the shock and closed his lips in a tight line. His eyes flickered from his First Minister towards the others in the room, each one as shocked and hurt as he was.
Athos, always trying to not show his feelings, had his arms crossed above his chest as he leant against the wall, his head turned away, allowing him to look out of the window. But his eyes were dull, probably seeing nothing but the images in front of his inner eye.
D'Artagnan had breathed out loudly, his head hanging down and his hair covered most of his face, so Porthos could not see his impression. But from the way the boy pressed his fingers into his forearms he could tell, that he was trying to hold himself together.
Constance had turned to bite her lip, her eyes shining a little bit too bright to hide her pain.
"We can't risk anything." Athos then answered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Aramis nodded. Of course he understood, but Treville deserved better.
In the following hours, they all tried to busy themselves to flee from the oppressing atmosphere that hung in the room. Treville was still alive, but just as unresponsive as before. Aramis has turned to wash the man, cleaned his wounds in a last useless attempt, and then started reciting prayer after prayer.
Porthos and Athos were saddling the horses, fed them and made sure that they were well watered so that they could leave any minute. The earlier the better. Constance had talked to the Innkeeper in the meanwhile, helped his wife in the kitchen and made sure that they would have something to eat while travelling. D'Artagnan, completely untypical to his usual lively behaviour, has sat down with some maps on the bed and got lost in planning the best route for them to reach Couflens, a small village by the border to spain, as fast as possible without being found by the Red Guards.
It had been Treville who'd suggested the unknown village as a hiding place, promising that they would be safe there and find help there whenever needed. In wise foresight he'd told them to reach out to the blacksmith there if they in the need of help. D'Artagnan wondered if Treville had already known that he would not reach Couflens by himself as he'd told them about the blacksmith. Why else should he have told it to them that early into their journey?
It was Aramis urgent voice which ripped him out of his thoughts, stopping him from diving deeper into the the dark sea of his thoughts.
"A letter. He had a letter in his jacket." Aramis said, holding op the envelope for d'Artagnan to see. The Gascon sprung to his feet immediately to inspect the letter by himself. It was still sealed, but no name was written on it.
"Shall we open it?" He asked, uncertain. They both knew that Treville would not be able to tell them about it's content or to whom it should have been send.
Aramis looked just as torn as d'Artagnan, pondering about what they should do.
"We should wait. Until we're in Couflens. We couldn't find someone to deliver it here anyways." Aramis then suggested and put the letter into his jacket, storing it there safely. D'Artagnan agreed with a nod.
Their eyes then fell onto Treville, who'd let out a ragged breath, his eyes moving wildly behind his eyelids. Aramis' expression darkened immediately.
"Get the others." He then ordered. No need to explain. D'Artagnan ran out of the room just to enter in a minute later with the other three right behind him. They were all slightly out of breath as they gathered in the small room.
Treville let out another ragged breath, as a reaction to it, Aramis grabbed his hand, squeezing it gently.
"We're all here, Treville. Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, Constance and I. You're not alone." He assured, hoping that it would bring their Captain some peace.
And peace it brought.
The fight for breath stopped, his eyes stopped dancing and the hand in Aramis' went limp.
The silence in the room only lasted seconds but felt like hours, until comprehension hit them all.
There was a a single, muffled sob from behind Aramis. Constance, who clung to d'Artagnan's hand like it would hold her above water. An angry shout, followed by Porthos' fist hitting the wall. A whispered prayer, broken by gulps and sorrow. Silence from Athos.
They gave themselves some time to grief, each one had the opportunity to be alone with Treville one last time.
Last words were said, memories were shared, prayers were sent and then, the pain was safely hidden and secured inside their chests.
They had to leave. Treville's death should not have been for nothing.
They wrapped him inside cloths and blankets, securing them with rope and then put him on the back of a horse. They did not bid goodybye's with the Innkeepers as they left the place, hurrying through the countryside.
In the evening they would make a break in the woods, find a place to bury Treville, sleep shortly and then keep on riding.
They still had a long way to go.
This Chapter wasn't long but it had been very hard to write for me and I'm still not happy with the way how it turned out. It's also the reason why it had taken me so long to update.
There will be ONE more chapter. It's already written, so it won't take long for me to update.
I hope you've enjoyed this story and journey as much as I did.