December Desolation Chapter 40
Porthos had hauled his younger brother gently to his feet, neatly scooping him up into his arms when his legs refused to support him, and he was immediately in danger of kissing dirt once more.
The big man cursed, Aramis' head lolling limply against one broad shoulder.
There was nary an inch of the smaller man's skin that hadn't been lacerated, bruised or was bleeding in some form and he was having trouble holding him without causing more pain.
In the end, with a murmured heartfelt apology, he resigned himself to the discomfort he would cause his friend and instead focussed on getting them both over to where his horse was waiting, resolving to complete the task as quickly as possible to get it over with.
The weak little whimper, whether out of fear or pain he couldn't be sure, that Aramis let out struck him to the core. His heart clenched painfully within the confines of his chest and he felt rebellious tears pressing at his eyes. It had Athos turning away from where he was occupied with his own horse and he took his brothers weight from Porthos' arms, cradling him against his chest and pressing a palm to his hot, clammy forehead.
"Get yourself mounted Porthos and I'll pass him up. Do you have a cloth or something, he's burning up already" Athos murmured in concern, running tender fingers through matted locks.
Porthos swung himself effortlessly up into his saddle, booted feet slipping neatly into the stirrups as he twisted to rummage through his saddle bag. Emerging victorious a couple of moments later, clutching his water skin and one of his spare shirts which he flapped in Athos' face. Their stoic leader cracked a tiny grin, snagging the shirt by the sleeve and gently reaching up, handing over his ailing brother.
Seconds later, Aramis was settled astride Zad with Porthos, pushing his burning cheek into his brother's strong chest.
It was unusual to find someone in this position, usually when they were forced to ride double, they would settle the injured party with their back pressed tightly to their chest to absorb the impact. The damage to Aramis' back meant this was impossible, the pain would have been overwhelming and likely he would not have made it without passing out or causing more damage.
A warm hand cupped his head, encouraging him to wind his arms around his brother's waist and cling tightly to his doublet or risk plummeting off a horse for the second time in as many days, an experience he was not eager to repeat. The slightly coarse leather that met his face was deliciously cool on his flushed skin and he sighed in relief, feeling the warmth of safety descend upon him like a blanket. He could tell even with his eyes closed that both his brothers were rallying around him, their presence like burning flames in the darkness, and the familiar slightly spicy scent of Porthos and the ever-present smoky smell of the Garrison was invading his nose.
It felt like home.
He whined like a small child when strong hands gripped his shoulders and pulled him gently away from Porthos, forcefully separating their bodies and making his abused muscles contract to keep him upright. The deep ache pulled another sound from his throat that was some amalgam of whimper and whine that he would deny making to his dying day. A cultured voice that he distantly recognised as belonging to Athos was keeping up a litany of nonsense in his ear, whispering apologies and promising it would be over soon.
"Quickly Porthos" he urged, pressing the strip of shirt he had dampened, when it was clear the larger man had his hands full and would not be doing so himself, keeping a firm hold on Aramis with the other hand.
"Got it" was the gruff response as Porthos awkwardly leant back in the saddle, attempting to improve the angle so he wasn't forcing his arms to such a ridiculous position. He carefully wound the wet cloth around Aramis' burning forehead, hissing in sympathy when the younger man jolted in surprise at the cold on his heated skin, and pulled at all of his injuries once again. Tying the ends off neatly with nimble fingers that got a lot of practice with his own bandana, he brushed sweaty hair out of the injured man's face and on a whim fished out his water skin, supporting Aramis' head while he took small measured sips.
The skin was almost empty when he pulled it away but he couldn't let the other man have any more for fear it would upset his fragile stomach and he would throw it all up again, not only an unpleasant thought for the pain it would cause, but a dangerous one. He couldn't afford to lose any more liquids than he was already burning off with fever.
"Let him down now Ath" he murmured, reaching forward to help keep him steady, as the Comte relinquished his grip on Aramis' shoulders and let him burrow his way back into Porthos' chest.
"We need to ride as fast as he is able Porthos, his wounds need treatment if we are to avoid infection and prevent the loss of life and limb. I believe there is a farmhouse about fifty lieu that way" he gestured absentmindedly over his left shoulder as he carefully draped a blanket around their injured brother, tucking it securely around him to keep out the chill. "Hopefully the inhabitants are not hostile to Musketeers and we can find some aid there. In the morning, we send D'artagnan on to Paris with a message for Treville to collect the scum, and all of this will be over and done with mon amis."
Unable to speak past the lump growing in his throat, Porthos merely gave a gruff grunt, choking slightly even on that small sound.
Sympathy filled Athos' stormy blue eyes and he lay a hand on the larger man's thigh, squeezing firmly in comfort.
"Aramis is strong, we may have failed him terribly in the past week but look, you have him Porthos. He could not be any safer and now he is assured of our care – no - of our love for him, he has a reason to fight and return to us his normal devil may care self."
Porthos chuckled wetly, reaching up to dash away some moisture which had collected at the side of his eyes, watching with eyes full of gratitude as Athos swung himself neatly into the saddle, and turned his horse to face D'artagnan, who had been watching the whole scene feeling wholly inadequate and biting his lip to stay silent.
"Since when did you get so good at motivational speeches Athos, I thought you were allergic" he teased gratefully.
"It seems you have been rubbing off on me" was the snarky response and D'artagnan exhaled noisily in relief at the lift in tension among the men.
All four of them were safe and back together, they had a plan of action and no one would convince them that Aramis would not recover from this ordeal, they had faith in their marksman.
The mood had dropped considerably again not half an hour later. Although to the four riders it felt closer to a lifetime that they had been plodding their way through the icy wind, unable to travel faster with their wounded companion and the prisoner they were dragging along. Aramis had long since fallen silent, even fevered ramblings beyond his weakened state and Porthos was becoming more worried with every second that passed with no sound from his brother.
Just as he was about to call this madness to an end, demand they stop and make camp within the trees, find shelter from the wind and treat Aramis right there and then, D'artagnan's voice echoed back to them.
"I see it!"
"Finally" Athos breathed, squinting through the gloom he was just able to make out the hazy outline of a modest cottage up ahead.
"I know, I was beginnin' to think we would never find it" Porthos grinned with relief, looking to Athos who had come to a halt beside him.
"Athos?"
No reply.
"Athos!"
The colour had steadily drained from the swordsman's face as Porthos watched, leaving him a ghastly grey shade as he swayed in his saddle. It dawned on him what was about to happen but with arms full of Aramis, he was left with no other recourse but to roar D'artagnan's name as loudly as his dry throat would allow, and hope against hope that he caught their ailing friend in time.
Thankfully the young gascon had been making his way to join his friends when he had heard Porthos shout for him, intending to ask if he should ride ahead and prepare the occupants for their arrival, but instead he ended up with an armful of Athos as he slithered gracelessly from his mount.
Stopping him from hitting the ground did nothing to stop the aching pain in Athos' head that was slowly growing worse, and Athos found he could only pant in abject terror as memories of the sheer agony from last time filled his mind.
Then the convulsions began anew.
A/N: Okay guys first can I just say I am so sorry for how long this has taken to get up, I have been so busy with work! Secondly I apologise if this is a little rough and ready but I really wanted to get you a new chapter since you have been waiting so long. A big thank you to Fleuramis who is the only reason this is up here now, instead of in about two weeks time, so enjoy :D
As usual please read and review and let me know your thoughts :D
