Chapter 20

Life was a constant battle. There were always moments of joy and happiness so intense that time froze, and moments of comfort when time slowed. But the battles, sometimes short and in the manner of unkind words, or the more life-threatening ones that challenged survival for even the strongest of souls. The battles between were simply the challenges of life and what followed. Choices were always the weapons, and the armor was worn by those who moved through life, those who dealt with the ramifications, and were better for it, and the decisions that defined who they were and who they became.

Athos learned early in life that choices brought consequences. Some were good, some were bad. His marriage to Anne had seemed like a right choice, and for a short while, time had stood still and moments had slowed. Some of those moments he still cherished, when the alcohol was rushing through his veins because he wanted to forget but it only made him remember or in the heat of battle when the rush of the unknown flooded his veins and he knew without a doubt victory was at hand. He remembered her laugh, her smile, the sound of her voice as the sun crested the horizon… the feel of her skin against his and the smell of her hair when flowers had been braided within it.

There had been a time when he saw himself with her. He had seen a lifelong dream with children and a home built on love, trust, and passion.

And then, in the blink of an eye, that moment was gone, replaced with a bloodied gown, bloodied hands, and the sound of the knife as it clattered to the floor. The conflict that followed had torn him apart, the contradictions in her story, the death of his brother, and the eventual hanging of his bride. She had stood before him and lied… she had lied about it all to hide a past she was ashamed of. A past she was trying to outrun, and a past that would forever haunt her.

A past she would forever embrace.

Without her, his life as a musketeer would never have happened. The love of friends who became brothers, and the opportunities that had fallen upon him, had given him a chance to see himself as something other than a broken man. His choices had at times not felt like choices at all, but rather obligations that came with the opportunities of a path destined for a man born to nobility, but bred for a life of service.

Athos swallowed and furrowed his brow. His chest felt heavy and pain flared from his side. His thigh ached, and his wrists and arm felt raw. He thought about his men, those who had followed him to war, lost their lives, and those who would live with the consequences of the choices he had made. He thought about Billy and his grandmother… and the mothers who had lost their sons… the wives who lost their husbands, and families that would never be the same.

Athos blinked slowly and heard the cracking of fire, the shifting of coals, and the subtle snores coming from Aramis as he sat next to the bed. His chin was on his chest and his hands hung from a resting position on the armrests of his chair. The room was dark except for the flames of the fire that flickered and danced along the log that continued to burn. Shadows danced along the wall, and dark corners remained impenetrable by the light. The drapes were open across from the bed and the moon's rays cast a light along the glass. Stars twinkled and the clear sky promised a new cloudless day.

Athos shifted, hissed, and then slowly fell back to the pillow as his side protested. He swallowed, fought back the pain, and tried to relax his side. He heard the chair scrape along the floorboards, the pouring of water into a glass, and then Aramis as he cleared his throat.

"Don't try to move," Aramis said, and slipped his hand behind Athos' head. "Drink this… it will help with the pain and feed your blood." He gently pressed the cup to Athos' lips and smiled in approval. "How do you feel?"

Athos lay his head back, took a deep breath, and ran the tip of his tongue across his bottom lip. "Like…" he said, took a breath, and continued, "a rundown horse."

Aramis curled the right side of his mouth into a knowing smile and nodded. "How about your side?" He placed his hand on the bandages and pulled away when Athos hissed.

"It's…" Athos swallowed, winced, and said, "hard to breathe." He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. He shifted again, hissed at the movement, and listened to Aramis' protest. "I need… I need to sit up," he said and grasped the blanket at his hips.

"Athos, you need to rest," Aramis said, but slipped his arm behind Athos and helped him sit upright.

Athos leaned against him, took several quick breaths, and then suddenly grabbed Aramis' sleeve and clutched the fabric. The pain was severe, as though a blade was slowly piercing his lung. He inhaled and exhaled several times in a desperate attempt to ease the discomfort. Aramis rubbed the back of his neck and then suddenly, Athos took a deep breath, held it for just a moment and relaxed. Suddenly, the pain was gone, as was the difficulty of breathing. He relaxed his hold on Aramis' blouse and nodded.

"Whatever it was," Athos said in relief, "it's over."

"You're breathing has eased?" Aramis asked with a frown. He watched Athos nod and then slowly helped him rest against the pillows. He pushed the hem of Athos' blouse and exposed his chest and quickly pressed his ear to Athos' left side and held steady. Aramis listened for several seconds and then smiled and exhaled as he returned to his seat. "I wasn't sure what to do…" he confessed as he pulled down Athos' blouse. "Your lung sounded closed off," he said with a shrug. "It was beyond my skill."

Athos swallowed, looked once more around the room, and then said, "Whatever you did… it helped."

Aramis chuckled, leaned forward, and grasped Athos' arm. "Rest, brother. You've lost a lot of blood, and you've been battling a fever for days."

Athos closed his eyes. "The men?"

"They are ready to go home," Aramis said. "So rest and then you can take them."