Before…
They knew they could not just walk into the courtyard.
The Red Guards knew them too well and would have had a sharp eye on them. Being seen too early could have taken all the advantage of surprise that they had.
So, while the people rushed through the gates to watch the execution of their brother, they sneaked through the servants entrance. They were lucky that most servants had already left, leaving the kitchen that they passed through first, unaccompanied.
Unluckily, not all Guards were as punctually as the servants – or maybe not as eager to see a man being executed in such a cruel way. Either way, there were still Guards roaming through the corridors, making it harder to get into the courtyard unnoticed than thought.
Treville and Athos had waited around one corner, taking out two wandering guards silently, as they clubbed them down with the hilts of their rapiers. Porthos was already on his way towards the stairs to come to Constance's aid when it was needed.
Speaking of Constance. D'Artagnan tried to communicate to Treville and Athos that they had to be faster. After all their plan had been, that Constance would start with her distraction once she got a signal that they were there and ready to fight. If she would act too early and they weren't there the momentum of surprise would not be on their side. Which they needed once they were terribly outnumbered.
There were still a few more corners to round and more Guards to bring down silently – they could not afford a fight and the risk to being overheard now.
As they had finally the corridor that let outside, d'Artagnan peered outside – gasping.
"Hurry! Athos!" He hissed, already seeing Aramis being crushed by the wheel.
Athos took out the little mirror he had hidden in his pockets and steered the sunlight so that it would fall into Constance's direction.
D'Artagnan waited, long horrible seconds in which Aramis fought against the pain and Constance started her act.
The moment Constance had managed to gather some of the Guards around her, close enough to strike – he gave the signal to fire.
…
Aramis was not aware of much of what was happening around him. But he had noticed that the cheering of the crowd had stopped, changed into screams of fear. And even over the blood rushing through his ears he could hear the four gunshots going off. He felt that the wheel had stopped moving, leaving him hanging from it, panting. He would have thought that it would be a comfort once the wheel had stopped, but it was not. His feet were still tripped beneath it, the pain like fire in his legs.
There were more shouts and he felt the urge to find out what was happening. Why had the wheel been stopped? Did the King want to let him be tortured even longer than necessary? He gulped at the thought. He wanted this to be over. One way or another.
Then, in between the thick cloud of pain that dazed his mind, he managed a rational thought. If there were shots, someone had to shoot. And as long as there wasn't a rebellion against the crown happening right now – there weren't many reasons why someone would shoot in this courtyard, now. His heart raced at the thought, the hope.
He barely dared to force his eyes open, too scared to be disappointed again. But he did it anyway. His vision was blurry and there was not much he could make out but some random shapes. He blinked a few times, lonely tears leaving his eyes and clearing his view.
He almost broke out in hysterical laughter at the thought.
They were there.
…
Present…
Between Constance and himself they managed to get Aramis down from the horse and settled against a nearby tree.
During the hard ride through the Parisian streets, Aramis had fallen unconscious every now and then before waking up again, too confused to know what was happening or in too much pain to care. The soldier had gratefully sacked in Treville's grip, knowing well that the man would not let him fall. That he was save in his arms.
Now, outside of the gates of the city and hidden in the first forest that they could reach, Constance was looking after the horses as Treville knelt down beside the injured Musketeer.
"I'm sorry, we've been to late." Treville sighed, his eyes falling on the ripped trousers of his soldier and the disformed feet.
He roamed through the saddlebag he had taken with him from the horse and which Constance had packed thoughtfully before they had left for the rescuing mission.
"This is going to hurt, my son." Treville warned, even though Aramis didn't seem conscious enough right now to care. It was probably the best like this.
Sitting in front of the injured limbs, Treville was unsure where to start. The bones had to be set, but there were also gaping wounds on Aramis' feet, that should be cleaned and stitched.
First thing first.
Treville breathed in deeply, his fingers carefully roaming over the feet and ankles where most of the damages were done. He thought he could fix this. He had feared that the bones would be too shattered to be put back in their rightful place, but as much as he could tell, the damage was not irreparable.
"Constance? Could you hold him down?" Treville asked without looking up, knowing that the woman would not have gone too far.
He heard her light voice agree, followed by the rustling of skirts. Moments later Constance knelt by the other side of Aramis, hands pressed down on his thighs with as much strength she could muster.
"One, two-" Treville's hands pulled, until he felt the bones shifting beneath the skin. In the same moment Aramis decided to come back to consciousness, a raw – uncontrolled scream tore from his throat.
After the first seconds of shock, he fell back against the tree, glassy eyes falling on the two familiar faces in front of him.
Treville saw him frown in confusion and decided to force himself to a reassuring smile.
"We're out of Paris. In safety. The others will find us soon." He explained, not sure what of their travel Aramis had really been aware of.
"Where? The others?" Aramis rasped, a shaking hand trying to push him more upright. Constance was there immediately, helping him to sit up straighter against the trunk.
"On their way." She assured without explaining more. The Musketeer was definitely not up to long stories now and she could not allow him to worry now. She did that for him enough.
"We still have to set your other leg." Treville then spoke, wanting to distract Aramis from his brothers and not wait any longer with the inevitable.
Aramis gulped but nodded.
"Do it." He closed his eyes, hands gripping tightly into the earth beneath him.
This time Treville didn't bother to count. Most times the anticipation of pain was worse than the pain itself. Instead he made sure make fast movements without much hesitation.
Aramis buckled beneath him but held back a scream this time.
The act left the injured Musketeer panting, eyes closed tightly as he tried to fight against the pain radiating through his limbs.
"Drink something." Constance offered, holding a skin to his lips and Aramis drank greedily as if he hadn't had anything for days. Which, Treville thought, was actually likely.
"Not too much at once." Constance warned and took the skin away, leaving Aramis whimpering for more. "Later." She assured, patting his knee carefully.
…
"I think we've lost them." D'Artangan exclaimed as he looked back to the gates of the city one more time. Athos nodded his agreement, but his face was set into a grim mask. They had won this battle for now, but the war was still going strong. They haven't reached Treville, Aramis and Constance yet – didn't even know if they had made it out of the city. All they could do was keep riding and hope that they would be at their meeting point. If not… For once he didn't have a plan for that. They would return to Paris and try to find them, of course they would. But he wasn't sure if they would be able to succeed another time. So he did something he hadn't done in so many years. He prayed. He didn't clasp his hands or mouthed the reassuring latin words, but his thoughts thought out some almighty creature.
"They will be fine." Porthos suddenly said into the tensed silence, apparently able to read minds. Athos nodded, but his fingers were still curled too tightly around the reigns and his lips pressed into a thin line.
"I hope you are right, mon ami." Athos admitted, spurring his further on. They should reach the others in a few minutes. 'If they even made it' his treacherous mind called out.
…
Constance and Treville had gone out of Aramis' earshot, once the exhausted man had gone limp against the trunk he was leaning against. If he was asleep or unconscious they couldn't tell, but either way they did not want to disturb his rest. Treville was eyeing their surroundings with suspicion, his pistol and sword clasped tightly in his hands. Constance had grabbed her pistol and dagger as well, anxiously awaiting for someone finding them. She hoped it would be Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan but she knew the chances stood better that it would be the Red Guards, following their obvious trail. There hadn't been time to hide the horses' hove prints or any other traces they had caused. If the others hadn't been able to distract the Red Guards long enough, they would be presented on a silver plate.
The urge to keep going, to take Aramis and ride far away was burning in her chest. But they couldn't. D'Artagnan was still out there and she would not leave before she felt his steady presence by her side again. And she knew just as well that Treville would not leave his three best men behind. Even though she did not miss the concerned gaze the older man shot towards Aramis every now and then, or the protective way he had carried Aramis on his horse. Or the fatherly affectionate way he had calmed Aramis after they had set his bones. She had always known that the four Musketeers were the First Minister more or less secret favourites. But now it became apparent to her that Aramis was more to Treville than just one of his best men. She knew that the marksman had been one of the first men ever joining the Musketeers but she had been oblivious to the strong bond connecting the former Captain and his soldier.
She was ripped out of her thoughts as the sound of hooves was carried towards them. Treville spun around immediately, his pistol aimed at whoever might disturb them. Constance followed his lead, determined to not let any more harm come towards Aramis who was seated save behind them.
So distracted by the possible upcoming enemy, they did not notice Aramis stirring awake. Instinct had kicked in, overwhelming his exhaustion and forcing his eyes open as he noticed the obvious tension in their small camp. His blood rushed through his ears, blocking out most of the sounds for a few seconds. Just as the world had stopped spinning around him, the rush seemed to calm down and he finally heard the horses too. He gulped, his fingers reaching to where his weapons belt once had been and grasping air.
"A weapon." He rasped, voice rough and barely carrying over to Constance and Treville, who stood in front of him, back turned to him.
They both swirled around in surprise, eyeing him with concern.
"My feet are broken, not my hands." He rasped as he held out a shaky hand. Constance sighed but handed him the second pistol she had hidden beneath her skirt, earning a short look of surprise from Treville. She just shrugged, placed the weapon in Aramis' hand and fixed her skirt.
…
Not having thought about announcing themselves, pure worry causing them to be reckless, the three Musketeers rushed towards the meeting point just to be greeted by three pistols aimed at them.
"Whoa, it's us!" Porthos shouted, having raised his hands in a mock display of innocence. The three pistols were lowered with a relieved sigh.
The Musketeers dismounted hastily. D'Artagnan ran towards Constance, hugging her tightly and pressing a kiss onto her head. "You're save." Booth of them muttered with relieve, before grinning at each other for thinking exactly the same thing.
Porthos and Athos hugged Treville shortly, giving him a clap on his shoulder while doing so, before hurrying over to Aramis who had let the pistol fall beside him once he knew there was no threat. Glassy eyes danced from Porthos' face to Athos' while a weak smile was on his lips.
"Thank you, mon amis." Aramis breathed.