A/N: Thank you beeblegirl, pallysAramisRios, Estel-Ara, SnidgetHex, and Musketball1 for reviewing!

Summary: An accident leaves Athos and Porthos to watch over a very concussed Aramis.

Pre-series

"Trials and Tribulations"

Athos was no stranger to discipline, prided himself on it, in fact. That discipline made him one of the finest swordsmen in all of France, which had in turn gotten him his commission in the Musketeers. He'd thought that was enough. He had not expected his mettle and endurance to be tested on a training exercise in the mountains.

Athos trudged along in the line of musketeers, unused to the grueling pace of daily hiking over uneven terrain, especially at the higher elevation. His breathing was labored, though he did his best to conceal it. He would not allow himself to appear weak.

At the head of the line, Cornet called out for them to pick up the pace as they came across a broad creek to cross. He and Aramis were leading this little exercise, their dragons in accompaniment.

Athos hissed as he stepped into the frigid current, the water sloshing up around his thighs. This was torture, plain and simple. When would training in the mountains ever be applicable to his duties as a musketeer?

He waded further into the middle of the creek, the rushing water tugging insistently at his leathers. He stepped down on a rock and his foot suddenly slipped out from under him. His ankle went one way while the rest of his body went the other, and he only had a split second to register the wrenching pain before he was plunging fully into the icy water.

"Athos!" someone yelled and lunged to grab him, but he was already being swept away. He felt a yank on his coat, and then two were spiraling downstream.

Shouts went up behind them, but they quickly grew distant, and Athos was astounded at how swift the currents were. Trees on the shore whipped past and Athos flailed his limbs in growing panic.

"Hold on!" that voice shouted close to his face as hands seized his arms. It was Aramis. Some part of Athos's brain knew that Aramis was trying to hold onto him, and yet another primal part screamed at him to fight.

Aramis coughed and sputtered as he fought both Athos's thrashing and the current, trying to steady them against the battering rapids. Then suddenly he was gone, sucked beneath the surface. Athos could feel him still clinging to his arms—until Aramis's body jolted and his hands fell away. Athos managed to snap himself out of his own sabotaging panic and flung his arms around in search of Aramis. Numb fingers bumped against a limp body and Athos dug his fingernails into the wet leather. Mustering all his strength, he hauled Aramis against his own chest and held on with everything he had as the creek continued to carry them away.

He didn't know how long they tumbled downstream before they were finally washed into a fallen tree and momentarily stalled. There was a gust of wind overhead as Aramis's dragon swooped down into a hover and tried to grasp them in her talons. Athos wedged his shoulder into the crook of a branch and tried to lift Aramis toward her. He almost slipped beneath the surface again as Grettir finally got a grip on the marksman and rose a few feet higher with him, veering toward the bank. She did her best to ease him down while remaining aloft, and then turned back to pluck Athos out of the stream next. He collapsed on the muddy bank, coughing.

A ring of shouts grew louder as the rest of the musketeers finally caught up to them. Hands grabbed Athos's shoulders and tried to roll him over, and he weakly batted them away.

"I'm alright," he grunted.

He looked over as Cornet bent over a limp Aramis. The marksman had a bloody gash on his forehead that was streaming diluted red down the side of his face into his hair.

"Back to camp," Cornet ordered, and he pulled Aramis up over his shoulder.

Porthos bent down to help Athos to his feet, but Athos's ankle immediately gave out. He was so cold he didn't even feel it.

Porthos tried to slip an arm around his waist to carry him, which Athos doggedly refused. He'd rather hobble the whole way. Not to mention the fact that moving of his own accord was the only way he was going to stave off the cold biting down to his bones.

With every staggered hop taking all of his concentration, Athos didn't register how long it took to reach their base camp. He immediately and ungracefully let himself drop to the ground by his bedroll.

"Get the fire up," Cornet directed his dragon, who promptly spewed a stream of flame over their dead campfire. The remaining wood lit up in a blaze of wafting heat, and some of the men hurriedly added fresh logs to it.

Cornet laid Aramis down on the ground next to the fire. "Of course our medic is the one who gets his head bashed in," he muttered. "I need bandages! And get them out of those wet clothes."

It took Athos a delayed moment to realize he was being included in that directive, and then he had to suffer getting his leathers pulled off by rough hands. He knew it was necessary, though. A sharp shiver shook his frame once he was down to just his braes, and a coarse blanket was promptly wrapped around him.

"Easy," Cornet barked as Aramis was handled with a bit more care, his head wound still bleeding all over the ground. Cornet grabbed a bandage and pressed it to the gash, holding his head as still as possible while Porthos wrestled Aramis's jacket and shirt off.

There was a low moan among the urgency, then Cornet calling Aramis's name. A string of slurred syllables responded, followed by a shout and the sounds of retching. Athos leaned forward to look as Aramis was carefully rolled off his side and onto his back again.

"Concussion, right, sir?" someone asked.

"Yeah," Cornet replied. "A pretty nasty one by the looks of it."

"Will we be returning to Paris?"

Cornet shook his head grimly. "The journey is too far and rough for this kind of injury. We're better off not moving him just yet. The priority now is getting him warm."

Cornet finally stood and stepped away, leaving Porthos to carry out his instructions. He came over to Athos next.

"I'm fine," Athos said without being asked, though the veracity of his statement was belied by his chattering teeth.

"You couldn't put weight on your leg," Cornet pointed out.

"Ankle," he corrected, and finally relented by nodding to the injured limb.

Cornet gently palpated the frozen joint. Athos tried not to make a sound as the pain flared in response.

"Not broken," he concluded. "Likely just a sprain. Stay off it. We're not going anywhere for a while."

Athos nodded.

The troop then spent the rest of the day puttering around camp. Once Athos's and Aramis's clothes were dry, they were dressed again. Aramis was in and out of consciousness, asking what happened every time he woke and having no memory of the previous times it'd been answered.

"Will he be all right?" Porthos asked worriedly.

Cornet's expression was set grimly. "If he makes it through the night, then he has a good chance of recovering. We just have to wait and see."

Porthos clearly didn't like that answer and planted himself next to Aramis for the rest of the evening.

Athos found himself more exhausted than expected from the shock his body endured and he slipped into sleep for the entire night.

The next morning, Aramis woke and again asked what happened, but Porthos was able to ply him with some water and a few bites of rations, which he managed to keep down. Cornet said that was a good sign, but Aramis's condition was still too precarious to move him.

"You should continue with the training exercise," Athos spoke up.

"With two wounded men to look after?" Cornet shook his head.

"I'll stay with Aramis an' Athos," Porthos volunteered.

"It's as you said," Athos added, "we're not going anywhere."

Cornet sighed but seemed to think about it. "Alright," he finally said. "Grettir will stay to stand guard."

The green dragon bobbed her head; as though there was any other post for her besides next to her rider. The rest of the men glumly packed up and set off for another wonderful day of hiking. Athos couldn't say he was disappointed to be left behind, though his pride perhaps stung a little that it was solely due to a twisted ankle.

Porthos puttered around the camp, idly straightening up, gathering excess firewood, all while constantly checking on Aramis, who was still barely conscious for longer than a minute.

"You need anything?" he asked Athos at one point.

Athos waved him off. He had a wineskin hidden away in his knapsack, which was all he needed. Although, faced with endless inactivity, he certainly could have done with a lot more wine. He already knew he'd have to ration it on this trip, but that was when he'd expected to be kept busy with relentless drills, not stuck lying about on a thin bedroll on hard-packed earth.

Aramis shifted and let out a low moan. One hand started to flap about as though in search of something.

"Aramis?" Athos called.

The marksman slowly rolled over onto his side and carefully pushed himself up onto one elbow. "Who is that?" he said groggily.

"Athos. We fell in the creek, remember?"

"Mm." Aramis struggled to sit up further.

"Porthos just went into the woods for a few minutes, he'll be back any moment if you need something."

"Need," Aramis repeated. "I need to…" He didn't finish his sentence as he lurched drunkenly to his feet.

Athos stiffened. "What are you doing? Sit down."

Aramis didn't appear to hear him as he swayed the opposite direction. Grettir mewled in concern, making the marksman pause for a moment before he took another lumbering step.

"Aramis!" Athos tried to get to his own feet, but his ankle screamed in protest when he tried to put weight on it. "Aramis, sit down!"

Grettir moved forward and attempted to body block her rider from stumbling out of camp, without actually knocking him down which would no doubt make his head injury worse.

"Aramis!" Porthos's voice rang out as he came rushing back into camp.

"Finally," Athos muttered and slumped back in his spot.

Porthos gently but firmly took their wounded friend by both arms. "Where do you think yer goin'?"

Aramis blinked at him, eyes not focusing. "I'm supposed to be somewhere." He tried to turn in a circle, but that only upset his balance, and he would have crumpled if Porthos didn't have a grip on him. "But I can't remember…"

"That's because you have a concussion," Porthos lightly berated. "You're supposed to be resting."

"Oh," was all Aramis managed as Porthos led him back to his bedroll and eased him down. Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled sharply through his nose. "What are we doing?"

"Enjoying the scenery," Porthos huffed, but he shot Athos a worried look. "Is this normal?"

"Yes." A thought then occurred to him. "Aramis has his Bible tucked at the bottom of his saddlebag, can you get it?"

Porthos leaned over the marksman and dug around in his pack before he pulled the book out.

Athos held his hand out for it. "Aramis, how about I read to you for a bit."

"Okay," he murmured.

Athos didn't care for Scriptures, but Aramis did, and as Athos opened the Bible and began to read a passage from the Psalms, Aramis seemed to calm and settle. He was conscious for a far longer stretch of time and kept shifting in pain, but Athos took that as an improvement over earlier. He kept reading until Aramis finally did fall asleep again.

Porthos ran a hand down his beard. "He's a difficult patient."

Athos closed the Bible and set it aside for later. Indeed.

They let him sleep for a bit before Porthos went to wake him per Cornet's instructions.

"Mmph," was the inelegant response.

"Hey, can you eat a little?" Porthos asked.

"Not hungry." Aramis prized his eyelids open and squinted at them. "What happened?"

"The creek," Porthos prompted.

Aramis's brows pulled together tighter. "Right. How's Athos?"

"Fine," Athos put in. The quicker memory recall was definitely a good sign.

Aramis turned his head slightly and frowned. "You hurt your ankle. I should check it—"

"You will not," Porthos interrupted sternly, already placing his hands on Aramis's shoulders to prevent an attempt at getting up. "Athos is resting like he's supposed to, and you need to rest like you're supposed to. And you need to eat something."

Aramis groaned. "No thank you."

"You probably don't remember, but you already kept something down earlier. Just two bites," Porthos cajoled. "Then I'll leave you alone, I promise."

Aramis let out a half moan, half whimper. "Very well."

Porthos gave him a pleased smile and went to get the scraps from near the campfire. He elevated Aramis's head and kept his word that he only forced two bites on him.

Aramis laid his head back down and closed his eyes. "This wasn't how I expected the training exercise to go."

"Consider this training for Porthos and I on how to deal with a concussed patient."

A small smile tugged at Aramis's lips. "Were you reading earlier?"

Athos picked up the Bible again and resumed the recitation.

By the time Cornet and the others returned, Aramis was mostly lucid and had managed to get a few more small servings of food down. Cornet looked him over and nodded in satisfaction.

"I'm still not comfortable having you sit a dragon just yet."

"I'll be fine with a little more rest," Aramis insisted.

"Which you'll get while the rest of us finish out the training mission. Then I'll figure out how to get you and Athos down the mountain."

"I can ride a dragon," Athos spoke up. "And I can keep Aramis in the saddle."

Cornet angled a considering look at him. "We'll see," he said. "In the meantime, you and Porthos can continue keeping an eye on Aramis." Cornet glanced down at said marksman, who had already fallen asleep mid-conversation. Cornet shook his head fondly. "The lad needs looking after."

Athos thought about all the times he'd seen Aramis looking out for someone else, whether it'd been as the regiment's medic, or helping out a fellow musketeer like Porthos learn to read. Never for any personal gain or self aggrandizement, just out of simple kindness and generosity. And he was only twenty-one, a fact well-hidden behind his confident swagger and rank in the Musketeers.

And Athos thought that perhaps, yes, Aramis did need someone looking out for him in turn.