D'Artagnan
He did not remember much of the fight. He dimly realized that his main gauche was buried is someone's back, but did not pay much attention to it. He pivoted, and landed hard on his knees near Constance. The Queen's eyes met his. Her face was covered with tears, and she was whispering a stream of apologies.
"Constance!" D'Artagnan squeezed her hand. "You're going to be fine… everything will be fine! Please!" He was nearly sobbing.
He was pushed to the side. In an instant, his hand went to the pommel of his sheathed rapier. Luckily, he recognized Lemay before he struck.
"Save her!" he pleaded desperately.
"I need a place to examine her properly." The doctor seemed so calm. D'Artagnan was caught between gratitude—maybe Constance was as badly wounded as he had thought— and fury—-was the doctor not taking her injuries seriously enough?
"Take her to my rooms!" the Queen ordered.
"I'm afraid it's too far, Your Majesty." Lemay said quietly. His voice was still even, but this time his words filled d'Artagnan with dread.
"Follow me!" Anne ordered.
"Can you carry her in your arms?" Lemay asked. The Gascon nodded. He followed the doctor's instructions, and carefully gathered the unconscious woman into his arms.
The last time I carried you like this, you were giggling and kissing me and biting my lips impatiently….I was teasing you, taking my time gazing at you before I lowered you onto the bed….then you pulled my arm, and I landed on you…
God… you cannot take her from me! I love her so much…
He lowered her onto the table, and hastily kissed her forehead.
"I must ask you to leave," Lemay said calmly.
"No!"
"Monsieur, I saw your Captain wounded. You should check on him. I really can't recommend any physician that's currently in the palace.
D'Artagnan knew that was something very wrong in Lemay's words. He cast one last glance at Constance's terribly pale face. He had never seen her unconscious… even when injured, she was always on her feet.
"Go… I'll stay with her," Anne promised.
"Take this satchel. You'll find everything you will need in it." Lemay murmured, not sparing a glance at him.
So he went to find Treville. The Captain was standing in the royal reception hall, blood slowly dripping from his hand onto the expensive carpets.
"Constance?" he asked. His keen eyes watched d'Artagnan intently.
He thinks she's gone, and that that's why I've come….
"Lemay is tending to her. He sent me to take care of your injuries, sir."
Treville relaxed a bit.
He really cares for her!
Why am I so surprised?! Does he treat her as one of us - his musketeers?
"The perimeter has been secured, but there is no trace of Rochefort. We're thin in numbers, as I had to send out a few parties on different missions. In retrospect, these "missions" were probably invented by Rochefort. I can only hope these men will return. I am afraid I cannot give you any leave." The compassion in the Captain's voice hit the Gascon hard.
"Is Porthos back?" d'Artagnan asked.. He was helping Treville take off his doublet in order to gain access to the wound. He made his commander sit down on the one of two steps that led to the royal thrones. He dug out alcohol, a sewing kit, and bandages from the medical kit. As he poured alcohol over the wound, Treville winced, but remained silent. D'Artagnan started to clean the long gash. It was bleeding too heavily for his liking. He badly wanted for Aramis to take over. But Aramis was probably lying unconscious or unresponsive... and that was thought made the lad happy and worried at the same time.
When we found out that Aramis was alive, for a moment I dared to hope that we'd be whole again...but if Constance— no, there is not if!
"D'Artagnan?" Treville's voice made him realize that he had had frozen in place with the needle in his hand.
"Are you injured?" the Captain inquired.
"No… at least, I don't think so".
Unless they were bleeding profusely, it was not so easy to distinguish fresh wounds from old ones.
When the Gascon finished the last stitch, he poured alcohol over the wound once again, then bandaged it.
"She's tough. She'll pull through," Treville said. D'Artagnan nodded. He appreciated the Captain's support, but it only made him more aware of how dire the situation was.
"I have to talk to the King." The Captain struggled to a standing position, gratefully accepting d'Artagnan's help. The lad accompanied him to the door. When the Captain dismissed him, he stilled, gazing at the bloodstain on the carpet. Constance's blood.
After a long moment, he directed headed towards the room where Constance lay. A scream of pain caused him to storm into the room. He rushed towards the his sweetheart. The redhead was conscious, and was trying free herself from the Queen's hands. Anne was desperately trying to keep her still.
"Constance!" D'Artagnan grasped her arms, trying to ignore the blood which covered her naked breast.
"Hold her still!" Lemay ordered. He was completely focused on the wound.
D'Artagnan nodded, and lowered his head towards Constance. Tears were streaming over her face. Her bloody lips were gasping for air.
He placed his forehead against hers.
"You'll be fine, Constance. Everything will be fine. I love you… I cannot lose you! Please.."
She screamed once more, squirming in a futile attempt to escape the pain. Then she went limp. D'Artagnan felt as if dread was suffocating him. However he did not dare to check on her, as he was still occupied with holding her down. He was unable to say anything else than her name.
"She lives," Queen assured, him her voice trembling.
"Brave girl…" d'Artagnan whispered. He had lost the track of time. Only the knock on the door which made him to think to leave her in order to check on the newcomer...
An assassin would wait to be invited in.
Treville entered. His eyes took in the room before he turned towards the Queen with a quick bow.
"Your Majesty, may I ask you to send Dr. Lemay to the garrison when he finishes here?"
"Of course," she replied, dread clear in her voice, "Have your men succeeded in their pursuit of Rochefort, Captain?"
"Unfortunately not. Porthos was found. He is badly injured. That's why I am requesting Dr. Lemay's assistance."
It seemed that the doctor was too focused on the wound to take part in their conversation. He surprised them all when without lifting his head, he replied, "I'll come as soon as I can."
"Thank you." There was relief in Treville's voice.
Porthos badly wounded? We're truly doomed! Am I alone meant to keep us whole?!
"How badly is he wounded?!" d'Artagnan asked.
"I'm not a physician, and I did not have the opportunity to speak with one. I'd rather wait for Doctor Lemay's opinion." Treville's response was diplomatic, but seemed to betray that Porthos' prognosis was not optimistic.
"And Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked a bit breathlessly.
Anne gasped, covering her mouth with her bloody hand.
"Devastated. You're needed there. I want you to accompany Doctor Lemay," the Captain ordered. Fatigue—and a hint of fear—was noticeable in his eyes.
"Is Aramis alive?!" Anne asked. Her blue eyes seemed far too wide when contrasted with her pale skin.
"Yes, Your Majesty." Treville replied awkwardly. "He was found alive, although seriously injured."
Lemay joined the conversation. "I've seen to him. He should recover."
Anne closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer. D'Artagnan was grateful that Lemay was so focused on Constance.
Constance… please!
He looked at her face. It was devoid of any colour. Blood was slowly coagulating on her lips.
Will I ever see her eyes again? Will she ever smile at me again?
Please… Let her live!
Please… I know I am not a good believer—I know I've disappointed you many times… but don't take her from me… please…
"Your Majesty?" Lemay's voice jolted d'Artagnan from his prayer.
"Yes?" The Queen still held Constance's hand in her own.
"I want you to keep Madame Bonacieux on this table until I return. I need this room to be warmer—and I would appreciate a clean sheet, as well as a few blankets."
D'Artagnan could not avert his gaze from Constance's face.
Anne gave the orders to the servant waiting near the door.
"How is she, doctor?" The Queen's voice sounded so small.
"I've managed to repair the damage caused to her lung. I have done such a type of surgery twice before, with different outcomes—so it is too soon to say how she will fare."
D'Artagnan looked at him. Disbelief was clear on his face.
"How…?" he gasped.
"I guess you ask how such a procedure is possible. I know what you're taught. Unfortunately, usually it's true. Few physicians are keen to use methods that were invented in Ancient Greece and practiced by Maurs." Lemay's voice was soft and tired.
After he finished cleaning his hands, he added, "Someone should be with her at all times."
"I'll stay," Anne declared.
The doctor nodded, turned to d'Artagnan.
"We can go and see to your friends."
The Gascon felt as if he was walking into cold, deep water, but he dutifully followed the doctor. He needed to be alert—not exactly for Lemay's sake, but because this man held Constance's life in his hands.
Porthos… I cannot bear more anguish and sorrow. Please, brother…
When they reached the garrison, Lemay decided to check on Athos first. D'Artagnan led the way. He opened the door to his mentor's room, then froze.
The room was empty.
No! Athos… please!
In a daze, he reached Aramis' room. His knees buckled when he saw another empty bed.
"No!" he sobbed.
"Monsieur d'Artagnan?" Lemay shook his arm, "I think you may find your friends there." He gestured towards Porthos' room."
The Gascon rushed to the doors. When they opened, he nearly fell inside. Calbert stood inside the chamber, a gun in one hand and a dagger in the other.
"They are all here." The musketeer told him, then allowed him to pass.
D'Artagnan entered the room and stilled. Aramis was curled up at Porthos' side, his fingers on the big man's wrist. His lack of reaction was worrying.
The blanket over them only allowed a view of the bandage on Porthos' head. They both were too still.
Athos, on the other hand, was tossing back and forth, mumbling something incoherently. D'Artagnan sat on his bed.
"Athos.." he whispered, cringing when he felt how hot his friend was.
"Aramis—" whispered Athos, "—wait for me… please!"
"Athos! Aramis is alive. He is alive!" D'Artagnan took the swordsman's hand in his, but the wounded man wrenched it away abruptly.
"Don't you dare to lie to me!" he growled.
"Athos— open your eyes, please…"
Hissing in pain, the man curled up, his back to the room.
"Athos… I am not lying to you! Please!"
D'Artagnan felt useless. His brother was tormenting himself with guilt, and would anot allow himself to see the sight which would absolve him.
The Gascon looked at Aramis. The medic was slowly regaining his senses, but it took him a long moment to understand that Lemay needed space in order to take care of Porthos. Finally he tried to sit up, supported by Lemay. His haunted eyes never left Porthos.
"Aramis?" D'Artagnan knelt in front of him. "Athos needs you. May I help you go to him?"
Aramis showed no reaction, and d'Artagnan felt his heart drop.
"Aramis," he repeated, cupping his friend's face.
His brother slowly pivoted his head in order to watch Lemay tend to Porthos. The doctor tried to raise his patient up. Finally, he succeeded. The dark skinned musketeer mumbled a frantic, "Mis?!"
In one quick move, Aramis surprised d'Artagnan's by slipping out of his hands. He managed to elude Lemay, and knelt on the floor in order to take Porthos' hand in his. D'Artagnan waited for a stream of platitudes, but none came.
"How do you feel, Monsieur" Lemay asked.
"Tired."
"Is there anything specific that bothers you?"
"Head, chest...leg.… everything."
"I have to examine you. You must tell me I elicit any severe pain. It's very important. Do you understand?"
"Yes", Porthos closed his eyes with some resignation. His fingers gently stroked Aramis' hand, only to squeeze it tightly once Lemay started his examination.
The Gascon flinched when he saw the rich array of bruises concentrated on the right side of Porthos' chest, abdomen, hand and leg.
Porthos hissed several times. D'Artagnan watched Aramis intently, unsure as to whether the marksman's protective instinct would kick in. The Gascon was ready to prevent any attempt to hurt Lemay. However, his worries were for naught, as Aramis remained on the floor.
"Monsieur Porthos, were you conscious before I arrived?"
"Mhm," the big man mumbled.
"Did you feel better than you feel now?"
"I have no idea… but I can tell you that I felt better before you started poking me."
"That's normal." Lemay said reassuringly, a small smile on his face.
There was an awkward silence. Normally, it was Aramis who would ask about Porthos' condition, but he remained silent.
"So?" Unable to bear the silence, d'Artagnan finally spoke up.
Lemay chose to address his remarks to Porthos. "Barring any infection, your leg will heal completely. As you are conscious and coherent, I believe your head wound should not cause any major problem. In the course of your healing, you may experience pain, dizziness, and nausea. However, I am concerned about the bruising. It's pretty extensive. I am afraid your that your organs may be bruised as well. If the damage is minimal, it should heal without any complication. The fact that you are conscious is promising. You must stay in bed, and tell us immediately if you feel worse, as your life may depend on it. Do you understand?"
"You sound just as if you have spent some time as a garrison medic," Porthos murmured, a slight grin on his face.
Lemay smiled, clearly relieved at his patient's reaction. A trembling Aramis hid his face in the bed. D'Artagnan threw a blanket on him, then sat on Athos' bed. Lemay focused on redressing Porthos' wounds.
Athos seemed to be caught up in another nightmare. He was desperately whispering their marksman's name. However, not all of his words were audible.
"Wake up!" growled d'Artagnan. He did not hold out any hope for a reaction. He was frustrated with his inability to help Athos.
The swordsman shivered, and shifted his position in order to lie on his other side. The wound on his back clearly was disturbing his rest.
"Wake up!" D'Artagnan took a rag soaked with cold water and allow a few drops from it to fall on his mentor's face. The man slowly opened his eyes and licked the moisture from his lips.
The Gascon mercilessly hauled him into at sitting position.
"Look!" He positioned Athos' head so that Aramis was in his sight line.
"Aramis?!" Athos was astonished.
D'Artagnan extended his leg in order to kick the marksman, hoping to elicit a reaction. However, the man ignored him.
"He's dead," Athos stated sadly.
A surprised d'Artagnan looked at him.
"There is no way that a corpse could maintain such a position!" he said confidently.
Porthos said something, finally eliciting a reaction from Aramis. The man approached Athos' bed, but he did not even bother to try to stand up.
Athos gazed at his friend. "Mis! You've come for me!"
Aramis reached for his hand, and Athos pulled back. His movement was so sharp that d'Artagnan nearly lost his hold on him. Shocked, he allowed Athos to lower himself onto the bed.
"Athos, why?!"
"He's dead. My hand will pass through him. I cannot stand it!"
"He's alive, just as I am!" the Gascon cried out in despair.
"So you're dead too." Athos closed his eyes in resignation.
The marksman crumpled on the floor—and stayed there until Lemay asked d'Artagnan to move him onto Porthos' bed.