"Aramis could you…" Athos was gesturing at Aramis and then at Porthos' arm, which he was now holding pressed against his chest like he was afraid it would fall off. Aramis stared at him blankly.
"Come on," Porthos said. "Give us your sash. For once I promise I won't bleed all over it. I feel a right idiot clutching it like this."
"Oh." Aramis shook his head like he'd been woken from a nap and scrambled to his feet to unwind the blue cloth. He really did seem off. He hadn't been like that earlier, had he? He'd been the one to figure out where they had taken the papers and… all normal Aramis stuff, really. He'd argued with everyone, made sure to look fabulous doing it, same as every other day. And now he was… wrong. Somehow.
D'Artagnan was missing something. He was sure of it.
"Let's try and round up our horses and turn that coach around," he said to Athos.
Excellent excuse to get him away from the others for a bit while they fiddled with that makeshift bandage around Porthos' arm.
"What's going on with Aramis?" he asked as soon as they were out of earshot. "He's not… seems like he's not quite there."
Which was probably mean to say, but also the truth. The lights were on, but other than that…
Athos shook his head. "He'll be fine."
"Not what I asked," d'Artagnan said. "Why isn't he fine now?"
Because Athos had pretty much admitted that Aramis was in fact not fine at all. Not that he'd needed confirmation, but still. Athos couldn't deny it now.
"Because he watched Porthos nearly dragged to death."
Thanks. Very illuminating, Athos.
"He's seen Porthos injured much worse."
"Which does not make it any easier to bear."
"But why—" he broke off, suddenly realising… "Is it not just bruises? Is something really wrong?"
Athos frowned. "Not that I know of, no. If Aramis knows any more, he has not indicated it."
"Other than looking like Porthos has died."
Athos nodded. "Other than that."
"So why…?" d'Artagnan let the question linger.
"If there is an easy answer to that question, I have not found it yet," Athos said. Which really wasn't an answer. Was he missing something? And if so, was Athos missing it as well or was he simply shielding him? This uncertainty was maddening, but Aramis had not seemed to be in any mood to be questioned about his mood.
The horses had calmed down by now and weren't too wary of them when they approached. Poor things. D'Artagnan checked them for any injuries, but like Porthos, they had escaped any serious harm.
The road was too narrow to turn around on the spot, but they could see a crossroads in the distance. Athos took the reins while d'Artagnan lead the front two horses, still talking to them softly. Brave souls that they were, they followed him willingly. Maybe they could tell this wasn't anything like the bad time they'd had before, even though they were still pulling the same carriage.
"Alright, now turn her around," d'Artagnan said and stepped back. They'd reached the crossroads and they looked a lot less impressive up close. The crossing road wasn't much of a road, but rather a rough forestry track. There wasn't much space, certainly not for driving four in hand.
Athos arched an eyebrow at him.
D'Artagnan chuckled. "What?"
"Unless you expect me to lift the entire thing and throw it around, I fail to comprehend what you think is going to happen."
D'Artagnan blinked his eyes at him and waved his arm in a semi-circle. "You've got the reins. Go ahead."
"Immensely funny." Athos gave him a look of tired despair. "I'm hardly the king's coachman."
Which was kind of the point. Nobody could be good at everything, but with Athos it could be difficult to find something he was truly no good at. Most things he said he had no talent for still saw him be much better than the vast majority of people. Driving however…
D'Artagnan smirked at him. "Typical. Think you were born to be driven."
"It's what I keep you around for."
"Thought staff made you uncomfortable."
Athos gave him a bored wave of the hand as he scooted over and handed him the reins. "It's why we decided to make you a musketeer after all. I find it much more palatable that way."
Good. Good. So some things were still normal. Not Aramis, but Athos was still his old self. There was a strange reassurance in their usual jibes. Being able to tease meant that nothing was too badly wrong, even if everything felt awkward.
D'Artagnan hopped on up and surveyed the scene. He had to admit that he might have been a little too eager to show off his skill. He was a good driver. He'd had enough time to practice driving carts around the roads of Gascony and ploughs across its fields. But this place really was rather narrow and he did not feel up to digging the carriage out of a muddy patch or mending a broken wheel. They had to get Porthos home, not waste their time. No time for mistakes, then.
Shame that he'd never driven four in hand before. Seemed like a useful skill to have. But who had four horses to spare to pull one cart? Show-offs. He took a deep breath. No point being nervous. Athos would be able to tell and so would the horses. And that would be both counterproductive and embarrassing.
Right.
As far to the side as possible. Slowly. And then… over.
Oh. Beautiful. The horses reacted so nicely to the slightest signal from him, they did most of the work on their own. How anybody could whip such wonderful, willing creatures… Inconceivable.
Round, round… goodness, four horses really was a lot. This felt like turning around an entire church. He tried not to look nervous. Slowly, gently… almost… Yes!
"Impressive," Athos said.
D'Artagnan tried to look nonchalant. "Really not that difficult. As long as you know what you're doing."
At least he could pretend with driving. He understood the mechanics of it and wasn't afraid to give it a try. What they were driving back to… No clue. He had no idea what was wrong there or how to handle it. Aramis wasn't well. Porthos wasn't either, but insisted it was nothing serious. And d'Artagnan thought that sounded right. Athos said so, too. But Aramis…
No idea. None at all.
He wanted to make it better, whatever it was, but how could he?
"D'Artagnan?" Athos startled him from his thoughts. "Don't go rushing in. They will tell us if they need help. They look out for each other. Whenever Aramis is… struggling, Porthos knows how to handle it."
"But what if Porthos isn't alright?"
What if he needed them to look out for him? To help him take care of Aramis? Knowing something was wrong and not doing anything was despicable.
"Then we should get him back to Paris and to medical help as soon as possible. Doctor Lemay will see to him if needed."
Which made sense, of course. It was infuriating how Athos always made sense.
"I feel like a bad friend," d'Artagnan said. "Just doing nothing."
"Be a good friend," Athos said. "There is nothing to be gained from questioning Aramis now. If there is anything on his mind, he should be able to decide if it is something he wants to discuss with us. More than likely he has already or will soon discuss it with Porthos. Trust them."
Which shouldn't be so difficult. Athos was right, as always. They were both grown men and they knew how to take care of themselves. And even when they neglected themselves, they would definitely always take care of each other. Damn it, he did trust them. He knew they could do this on their own, whatever this was. But still… doing nothing was horrible.
At least they were standing up. Aramis was gathering their three horses and Porthos now had Aramis' sash tied around his neck, holding his arm against his chest to take the weight off that shoulder for a bit.
"There's my ride," he said. "Driver, to the musketeer's garrison, please."
D'Artagnan tipped his imaginary hat at him and grinned. "As you please, Monsieur."
Porthos sounded pretty chipper. Like he wasn't terribly worried about Aramis. And Aramis was moving around and making himself useful. Like he was actually back with them. Lights on and home. Much better.
Porthos moved slowly towards the carriage. "Sorry if I don't join you up front today."
"Be my guest," d'Artagnan said. "Travel in style."
Porthos grimaced. "Not really my sort of thing."
"In the back." Aramis shook his head. "Under no circumstances are you bouncing about on the seat."
D'Artagnan smiled at him. "Give me some credit here. We'll slide him home all soft and gentle."
Aramis did not seem convinced. Neither was d'Artagnan, to be fair. This road wasn't great and the cobbles on the main street would not be any more comfortable. It wasn't that far, but it wouldn't be an enjoyable trip for Porthos. They hadn't brought any cloaks or bedrolls and there were no pillows in the carriage itself, so there wasn't much to be done about it. It would still be the easiest way to get Porthos home.
D'Artagnan hoped that the horses would continue to be cooperative. He spent some time with each of them while Aramis got Porthos situated. Couldn't hurt to get a bit more familiar. He wished he knew their names. Would make voice commands a whole lot easier since he didn't think he could use the whip all that much with them after what they had been through. How did drivers manage to work with the whip anyways with four horses? Reaching the front pair without spooking the back two seemed impossible. Something else he should practice. If he ever found himself with a spare team of horses. These four seemed nice and confident around each other. He'd have to trust that whoever had trained them had done their job properly. So far, that seemed to be the case. And when had he ever not trusted his luck to continue?
With much groaning and cursing, Porthos was finally reclining on the seat. It was obvious that he was in a lot of pain, but he put on a brave face. For Aramis? Probably. Aramis was clearly better, moving purposefully and speaking normally, but he still wasn't quite right. He was worried about something. But like Athos said, he had to trust Aramis to know best what he wanted. And he definitely trusted Porthos to know what Aramis needed.
Fortunately, they didn't ask him to tie any of the horses to the carriage. Maybe Aramis would have preferred to ride in the back with Porthos, but d'Artagnan refused to ask, afraid that the offer might be accepted. Four horses were plenty to manage all at once, with an injured friend in the back as well.
Athos led his horse and rode ahead with Aramis.
"Away we go, driver," Porthos shouted from the back seat.
"As you command, your majesty."
D'Artagnan arranged the four reins in his left and clucked softly. Thankfully, all four walked off together. The coach still gave an almighty jerk and he could hear Porthos hiss in pain as he was being jostled. He'd probably hit at least ten bruises in that one moment.
Nothing to be done about it.
It didn't go too badly. The horses' gait was smooth and d'Artagnan kept them at a slow walk, trying to make the journey as steady as he could. Nothing to be done about the condition of the road though. Every time they hit a rock or a tree's thick roots, the coach bounced and Porthos groaned. D'Artagnan made a few attempts at conversation, but Porthos wasn't really up for it, too focused on clinging on and trying to spare himself the worst of the pain. But he didn't seem in any danger of passing out and at least the constant stream of curses told d'Artagnan that he hadn't died of some particularly vicious bruise.
D'Artagnan had to admit that he was by no means an expert at driving four in hand, but he felt he was making a decent first impression on anyone who was watching. It had to look splendid with the fancy carriage, the four gorgeous horses, and two musketeer outriders.
Constance would be proud of him if she saw him like that. Making it look easy. He wondered if he could take the carriage for a spin around Paris before returning it to whoever it had been stolen from. Probably not a wise course of action, but he could dream. Take Constance for a drive around the Luxembourg Gardens. Be the envy of all who saw them. Making it look easy. Displaying all this wealth. Treating Constance as the queen she was… Oh, it was nice to dream.
In reality, navigating the city streets in this great big boat of a carriage was not enjoyable at all. On the contrary. He felt like he was constantly about to run over dogs or small children with horses that were so far away from him he didn't really have much control over them. Not that he would admit it. Holding all those reins in one hand was a challenge in itself, but there were so many loops to take every time they had to turn a corner that he really couldn't spare a second hand to hold the reins.
Hard work. He didn't envy the coachmen who did this every day.
He was drenched in sweat when he finally brought the horses to a stop outside the garrison gate. He mainly had them to thank for getting them all there in one piece. Or mostly in one piece in Porthos' case. He was particularly thankful to them for actually stopping. He'd had frightening visions of never managing to get them to an actual halt and just driving around in circles forever. And with the way corners were going, circles weren't something he was particularly keen on.
"Some help over here, gentlemen," Athos shouted through the gate.
Damn him and his irresistible tone of command. He had three musketeers scrambling to obey before he'd even closed his mouth. He handed their horses over to them and sent a fourth who came jogging out straight back in to find Tréville.
Of course, the letters. They'd still have to take care of that. Letters, horses, and a fancy coach. No rest for the wicked.
D'Artagnan was left sitting there, holding the reins. He was thankful when two of the new recruits stood next to the horses. As well-behaved as they had been so far, the centre of Paris was a whole different story. One of them was already pawing the ground impatiently.
"Take your time," Athos said. D'Artagnan craned his head. Athos and Aramis stood either side of the door, reaching out their hands to help Porthos.
"Do you want…?" Aramis didn't finish the question.
"I'm fine," Porthos said. He didn't sound it. "I'm getting there. Don't rush me. More touching is the last thing I need."
Aramis flinched at that. D'Artagnan felt for him. He was only trying to help. But then again, Porthos had to be terribly sore. Difficult to blame him for snapping a little.
Porthos was breathing heavily when he finally made it through the door. He looked worse than before, in the forest. His face was pinched with pain. The wrapped arm was one thing, but the trousers that hung in tatters around his boots made everything look a lot worse. The blood had dried in dark splotches and gnarled crusts.
"What has happened to you?" Tréville marched through the gate and stopped right in front of Porthos. "By god you look…"
Porthos grimaced. "Like I've been dragged behind a cart."
Everyone around them winced in sympathy.
"Any serious injuries?" Tréville turned to Aramis.
"A dislocated shoulder, already reduced. A mild concussion, severe abrasions to the legs and badly bruised all over."
That at least sounded normal. Not the injuries, really, but the tone in which Aramis reported them. D'Artagnan had heard him report on injuries like that many times. Rational, only essential information. But also complete information. He doubted Aramis would keep a secret from Tréville if something were really, really wrong with Porthos.
"Have you got it in hand?" Tréville asked.
"Yes," Aramis said immediately. "I'll take him to my room, clean up the wounds and apply some salve. He'll be uncomfortable for a while, but there should be no lasting damage."
Tréville nodded. "Glad to hear it." He patted Porthos' uninjured shoulder. "Go on, son, let Aramis sort you out and have a rest."
Porthos walked slowly, but without assistance. He limped awkwardly, like he couldn't decide which leg hurt him more and which one he wanted to put his weight on. Aramis hovered next to him, ready to catch him should he fall.
Athos quietly recounted their mission to Tréville and handed him the letters to return to their rightful owner. National crisis averted once more. Athos and the captain were so focused on the letters that d'Artagnan wondered if they had forgotten all about him in his new position as the coachman.
Not to worry, they did eventually remember him.
Tréville chuckled, looking at him up on the box. D'Artagnan did his best to look like an absolute natural at this. It helped that by now all four horses were being held.
"Careful now," Tréville said. "Return this to the Duc de Luynes' residence, but please ensure that he understands that the driver will have to report back at the garrison."
Athos smirked. "Which de Luynes will undoubtedly regret greatly, for the driver's looks as much as his skill with the horses."
D'Artagnan groaned with embarrassment. Really, not in front of the captain. He was relieved when Athos clambered onto the box next to him. Trust Athos to know not only where to find the house of whichever nobleman, but to also have the words to explain to him how they came to be returning his precious carriage.
"All in all, a successful mission," Athos said as they drove down the road.
"Tell that to Porthos." D'Artagnan grimaced. "Or Aramis for that matter."
Athos nodded. "I talked to him," he said. "It seems that seeing Porthos unconscious brought up some memories."
Savoy. Of course. D'Artagnan didn't know as much about it as the others, but he knew enough to realise that nobody would want to be reminded of that.
"Poor guy," he said. "No wonder he worries."
Athos pointed towards the road they needed to turn into and waited for d'Artagnan to manoeuvre the horses around the corner. "I get the feeling that to him, it is a wonder," he said. "That he carries the expectation that after so many years he ought to have forgotten."
"That's nonsense," d'Artagnan said. "He'd never forget."
"Forgotten may be the wrong word. But like you said earlier, he has seen so many injuries since, has seen Porthos in much worse condition. It seems to me like much of his worry is about his own strong reaction to this incident. The worry that some part of him that was broken and mended has now become unstuck again."
"You mean when he was…" How to say insane without actually being insulting? He only knew about that time from tiny little snippets of conversation and some insinuation. It wasn't something he felt comfortable asking about.
Athos nodded. "It's a place he does not wish to return to. And having witnessed his torment only when he was already much recovered, I fear for him if his mind does go back to even a fraction of it."
