Athos
He heard Aramis' desperate call for Porthos. He did not have to look to know what it meant. But he did. His eyes met Aramis' gaze, and he knew…
Everything in him screamed for him to go back.
To rescue his brothers.
Or to save Aramis, and retrieve Porthos' body. The big man lay still on the ground. Unconscious or dead.
Aramis has chosen his loyalty to his brother over his loyalty to his Queen. He is free to make that choice, but I have to save the Queen. Aramis has entrusted me with the life of the woman he loves.
No, he hasn't. It was my decision…
He urged his horse into a gallop, knowing that he was leaving his two brothers to face their deaths.
He held the unconscious Queen in his arms. Her head lolled against his chest. For just a moment, he caught a glimpse of her dirty face, and her eyes opened slightly. Her gaze slipped over him without a hint of recognition, and then her eyelids closed once again.
Behind them, the last sounds of the fight had died away. Athos hoped against hope that his brothers would catch up to them, but it was not to be.
They rode hard, pushing their horses to the limit. However, as they could not afford to risk their mounts' collapse, after a time they had to slow down. They finally decided to stop to give them a rest. No one seemed to be following them.
D'Artagnan approached the swordsman.
"Aramis and Porthos have been left behind."
"Our duty is to get the Queen to safety," Athos replied curtly. "They were soldiers. They knew the risk."
"They ARE soldiers-not were!" snapped d'Artagnan. "We have a duty to them as well!"
"Porthos fell. It was Aramis' choice to stay with him."
His words sounded so cold-so terrible!
"Athos! Listen to me!" d'Artagnan pleaded, despair and agitation clear on his face. "You know we can trust Constance and the other musketeers to escort the Queen to the estate. Our duty now is to our brothers! Do you really intend to abandon them to their fate? And then torment yourself for the rest of your life because of it?!"
"D'Artagnan, they are probably already dead," he said flatly.
"You don't know that for a fact!" he shouted, then headed to his horse. As he readied his saddle, he turned back, fury edging his words. "Go ahead, do whatever you want-but I'm going back!"
"Athos…" Etienne's voice was quiet, and tinged with sadness. "I think we can safely send three men to check on Aramis and Porthos. They could also function as a sort of rear guard. If a party has been sent out in pursuit of us, they will intercept it. It would provide us with an additional margin of safety."
The swordsman closed his eyes for a moment-only to see Aramis' sad eyes, full of the knowledge that he had chosen to die with his brother.
"Fine. D'Artagnan, Morineau, you're coming with me," Athos called out. He cautiously shifted the Queen in his arms, and laid her down on a cloak that had been spread on the ground. The movement seemed to revive her a bit. As he leaned over her, she lifted her head. Her pupils were enormous, causing her blue eyes to appear almost black. In an instant, she had looped an arm around Athos' neck, pulling him down to her. As her fingers caressed his cheek, she pressed her body against his. Taken aback, Athos hastily detached himself from her.
"She has been drugged!" Etienne looked shocked.
"So it appears," Athos replied, taking in a deep breath.
At this point, Etienne, who was well known to be unswervingly faithful to his wife, seemed the best choice to take care of their Queen.
It is fortunate that Aramis is not here. Had she acted this way with him, it would have been disastrous.
"Etienne, Her Majesty will ride with you," Athos ordered. As Constance began to check on Anne, he averted his eyes.
"Please give us some space! The Queen needs privacy!" the redhead exclaimed. "And I need someone to fetch me some water and wine."
Athos motioned to d'Artagnan and Morineau. They mounted up, and slowly rode back towards the scene of the skirmish. His conscience, left to its own devices, began to taunt him.
You left them.
You wouldn't even be going back if it were not for d'Artagnan…
When they decided that the horses were up to it, the musketeers urged the animals into a canter.
They rode through the night in silence. Without any hope.
That is, I have no hope. D'Artagnan seems to believe that we are on a mission to rescue our brothers rather than on a search for their dead bodies.
How will I carry on without them?
Pain was consuming his heart. He tried to wall himself off from it, but he knew that any emotional shield he constructed would be useless the moment he saw their corpses.
When they finally approached the camp, night had begun to transform into the grey light of day. The morning fog was mixed with heavy smoke from the wet branches, and a pungent scent hung in the air. He recalled the layout of the bandits' camp, but could not explain the odd smell. Was the meat of some large animal being smoked?
The thought hit him suddenly.
Aramis! Porthos!
Are their bodies burning?!
The musketeers reached one of their previous vantage points. D'Artagnan dismounted, and quickly climbed a tree. He scanned the camp, then hastened to descend. He jumped to the ground the second he could safely do so.
"Porthos is alive, but the ruins are on fire. I think Aramis may be in there!" he gasped.
"How many men have been left behind to guard the camp?" Athos asked, wheeling his horse in the direction of the smoke.
"Less than ten."
"Morineau, d'Artagnan-you free Porthos, I'll try to find Aramis. Go!"
They rode at breakneck speed into the camp, weapons at the ready. One glance at a frantic Porthos told Athos everything he needed to know. His friend was straining at the ropes that still bound him to the tree. Although the big man was gagged, the ferocious noise he made reminded Athos of the roar of a coming storm. His dark eyes were glued to the burning building.
While D'Artagnan rushed to free Porthos, Athos galloped to the ruins. He slid off his horse without pulling to a stop, and rushed into the thick smoke. Orange tongues of flame appeared in front of him, and his eyes began to tear from the clouds of rolling smoke.
"Aramis!" he shouted.
He slipped, and landed hard on his knees. When he reached out, he felt a pair of boots, and jumped up. As his eyes sought a familiar face, his body was wracked with fits of coughing.
"Aramis?!" he croaked, his voice having been reduced to a hoarse rasp.
His hands finally found the rope, and he cut it with his dagger. The limp weight of his friend fell into his arms. Athos glanced around him. Which way led out of the hell in which they were trapped?
The heat and smoke were suffocating. His lungs were burning now, growing more desperate for air with each passing moment. This only served to increase his fear for Aramis. Who knew how long his brother had spent breathing in the smoke?
A tongue of flame licked at Athos' cloak, but the cloth was too wet and thick for it to hold. Finally, he found his way outside. He was blinded by the smoke, tears streaming down his cheeks. Someone blocked his path, but was cut down by a shadowy figure who turned out to be Morineau.
"Get on your horse!" the other musketeer shouted. "We'll join you!"
Nuage, her nostrils flaring at the smoke, danced close to him. The horse was still waiting for him, her loyalty to her master having triumphed over her fear of fire. Athos threw Aramis' limp form over Nuage's back. There was no time to arrange the medic into a more comfortable position. Athos swung into the saddle, and they galloped away. Once again, he was leaving his brothers behind.
He heard Porthos' furious roar as his comrade charged the bandits. He knew that d'Artagnan would watch the big man's back. He, on the other hand, had a clear duty to Aramis… a duty he hoped would not involve his burial.
The swordsman took the shortest route to the little stream that he had spotted when they had been riding with the Queen. The ride ended up being longer than he had thought.
He finally found it, and started to search along the bank for a place to stop. He forced himself to focus on his task instead of on the limp form draped over his mount.
Please, brother, don't be dead…
Athos finally sighted a small clearing close to the bank, and halted there. He spread a blanket on the ground, then tried to slowly lower Aramis onto it. He somehow lost his grip on his brother, and Aramis hit the ground with a thud. Athos cursed himself for his clumsiness, desperately hoping the fall had not worsened Aramis' condition.
His brother showed no reaction to the manhandling. Athos' hopes faded a bit more when he got his first clear look at the medic's face.
"Aramis!" he choked. His friend's handsome features were almost unrecognizable. His face was covered in soot and dried blood. Athos tore off his gloves with his teeth. He hesitantly touched Aramis' neck, afraid of what he might find-or not find. The marksman's skin was hot to the touch.
He must have been alive when I dragged him out of the building.
Athos' fingers found finally a pulse, and he sighed in relief. He poured some water on his scarf, then started to wash his friend's face, taking an inventory of his injuries as he went.
There was a gash on Aramis' temple that appeared to have come from a blow to the head. A still bleeding wound had sliced open the scar that the marksman had acquired at Grottes de Renard. An ugly bruise covered the left side of his face, and there was a deep cut on his swollen lower lip.
Aramis' eyelids fluttered, and he began to cough. He curled into a ball, his whole body shivering. As he gasped for air, his cough only grew worse. His fingers scrabbled at the ground.
Athos tried in vain to stretch out the injured man. He then reached for his hand, hoping to ground his friend in the comfort of a familiar touch. Aramis' nails dug into his flesh. The swordsman winced when he caught a glimpse of marksman's face. His dark eyes were full of pain and fear. There was no hint of recognition - only a silent plea for help.
Athos felt completely helpless. He could only watch as his friend spat up soot during the moments of respite from the coughing fits which mercilessly wracked his body. Aramis was not truly conscious, but he instinctively sought the comfort of a caring presence.
If I hadn't left him, he would not be in such pain. And now I have failed him again. I have no idea how to help him.
It is a fitting punishment for me to have to witness his agony, but he doesn't deserve to suffer for my mistakes…
Aramis was panting now, his breath coming in shallow gasps. His eyes were closed, and tremors ran through his frame. His body was tense, and he maintained a death grip on the swordsman's hand. Athos was sure he was getting no rest at all. The former comte tentatively began to stroke Aramis' hair, hoping to provide some measure of comfort to his friend. His heart sank when his fingers came across a section of hair that was matted with blood. He could feel another cut on the marksman's head.
What if the damage caused by his head wounds prevents him from recognizing me?
Athos gently squeezed Aramis' hand. There was no response, and Athos began to despair.
"Aramis… please"
I know I deserve to be punished…
I've failed you.
I've failed Porthos…
But please don't die on me!
Where are the rest of them? They should be here by now!
The marksman succumbed to another attack of coughing. This time, the secretions were thicker than previously, and he vomited.
Soot and fresh blood.
No! No! No!
This is not happening. He's not dying! Please!
If asked, Athos would not be able to say with whom
he was pleading.
Aramis?
Fate?
The God he had lost faith in?
Athos finally coaxed Aramis into lying flat on his back. He tried to free his hand from his friend's grip, but could not. Opening the marksman's doublet with only one hand was a real challenge-especially as Aramis was still struggling to breathe through the endless bouts of coughing. However, Athos needed to see what damage had been done to his friend's chest.
He finally succeeded in getting the doublet open, and lifted the marksman's shirt. The heat radiating from his body was sickening. The swordsman winced when he saw the bruises covering his brother's ribs. Each cough had to hurt like hell.
Athos braced himself for what he might find, then began to gently run his hand over his brother's chest. He was sure that he would find a broken rib that had pierced Aramis' lung.
Because you tossed him on the horse like a rag doll. You killed him.
He had only examined about three ribs-which were surprisingly intact in spite of the dark bruises that covered them-when another cough tore through his brother's body. Aramis gripped Athos' arm, lifting himself to a more upright position.
His wild gaze met Athos' eyes, silently pleading with the swordsman to save him from the agony.
But what can I do to help you, brother?
I should not call you my brother…. I have no right…
Suddenly, Aramis collapsed, and landed in Athos' arms. His body was still too tense for him to be completely unconscious. Athos wrapped his arms around his friend, trying to ignore the horrible wheezing which accompanied each breath the marksman took.
The lieutenant managed to partially cover Aramis with the blanket. He knew he really should try to get the injured man to lie down. He needed to continue his examination.
But should I deny him what little comfort he seems to be getting?
Why should I even bother to assess his injuries? I can't do anything to help him.
He's calmer now….but is that a good sign? Or a bad one?
Has he been fatally injured?!
His scarf was out of reach now, and Athos used his fingers to gently wipe away soot and blood from Aramis' lips.
He used the tip of his rapier to snag the waterskin from his saddle. He opened it, then touched it to Aramis' lips.
"Drink, brother. You need water."
Athos tipped the waterskin back a bit. A little water trickled down his hand, and he was reminded of how difficult it was to get a semi-conscious person to drink. He desperately hoped his friend would swallow.
What if he aspirates the water into his lungs instead?
If someone attacks now, we are done for...
Athos knew he should move them to a more secure position, but there was no will to fight left in his aching heart.
They could not stay there for long. Aramis badly needed professional help. Night was drawing near. It would be too cold to camp without a fire-even if the injured musketeer was burning with fever.
They were essentially defenseless at this point. Why had the others not joined them?
As day faded into night, Athos knew with certainty that his comrades would not come.
Perhaps they have been taken prisoner.
They might already be dead for all I know.
He tried not to keep his dark thoughts from spiraling out of control.
There is another possibility. They may have passed by at a distance, and failed to sight us.
He wanted to believe that this was the case, but…
The marksman was tormented by another bout of coughing, and Athos tightened his hold on his friend. Aramis whimpered, and Athos' heart shattered.
"Please…" the lieutenant whispered
Aramis quieted, and lay trembling in Athos' arms.
"I need to check on you," the swordsman murmured. But Aramis would not let go of him.
Perhaps it is best to just let him rest. There is really nothing I can do for him at this point. At least he has no significant ongoing bleeding as far as I can see.
He planted a gentle kiss in Aramis' hair.
I should have taken better care of his injuries-at least cleaned them properly.
Aramis would have known exactly what to do if our roles had been reversed.
Suddenly, Athos heard the rustle of leaves, followed by the snap of a small stick.
He immediately untangled himself from Aramis, steeling himself against the injured man's whimpers. When the medic's hand tried to stop him, Athos shoved it away.
He primed his pistol, and took up a stance in front of his brother, shielding him from the approaching threat.
There odds were not in their favor. He spared one last glance at his friend, and saw that the wounded musketeer was curled up on his right side, trying to conserve as much body heat as possible.
The dim shape of a horse appeared in the bushes. Athos could not see the rider.
"Stop or I shoot!" he called out.
The horse did not move. Athos recognized the familiar white star on its head.
It was Orage.
Still, he kept his pistol aimed at her, waiting for a rider to materialize. When no one appeared, he reached for her reins. The mare looked exhausted. She was covered with splotches of mud, but did not seem injured. However, by the way she hungrily nuzzled Athos' palm, he was sure she was in need of something to eat.
The lieutenant realized he had been holding his breath, and slowly exhaled. He dug through Aramis' saddlebag in the hopes of finding something useful.
He found herbs. Packets of herbs meticulously labeled with Aramis' elegant writing. Unfortunately, in Athos' untrained hands, they were useless. However, he did retrieve some clean bandages and a flask of brandy, and returned to his brother.
He waited until a bout of coughing passed, then put his hand on Aramis' arm.
"I need to take care of your injuries. Then I promise to let you sleep."
Or rather to remain unconscious. As if I could revive you… I wish I could…
He poured some brandy on a cloth, and started to clean Aramis' face. The man moaned when the alcohol came into contact with his wounds, and tried to elude Athos' hands. His struggle was abruptly ended by a series of coughs, which left him gasping for air. Tears fell down his ashen face.
Athos gently stroked his cheek, then froze when he once again saw black and red stains on the marksman's lips.
"Mis…".he choked. Wetting the cloth with another measure of brandy, he gently wiped the medic's mouth. It was best to the clean the cut lip with alcohol.
Aramis whimpered softly.
Athos reached for the bandages. When he glanced at Aramis once again, his heart almost stopped. Brown eyes filled with pain were watching him... or rather, looking through him.
Was Aramis blind?! A blow to the head could have done it. Smoke could have done it. What am I thinking? I haven't even checked him for burns!
"Aramis?"
He slowly moved his hand before the marksman's eyes, but his gaze did not focus. Athos' blood went cold.
"What can I do to help you?" the swordsman whispered, gently touching the medic's face. He knew how desperately Aramis needed the touch of another human in order to anchor him.
Even the touch of his tormentor.
Aramis' cheek leaned into his palm. Athos once again tried to give him some water. This time he succeeded, and his brother drank greedily-only to choke, and then vomit all the precious water.
Athos held Aramis in a semi upright position as the heaves tormented his body. Finally, the marksman went limp. His frantic gasps for air were agonizing for Athos to witness.
At least I know he's still alive...
The lieutenant gently lowered Aramis to the ground. At last, he had a chance to thoroughly check his brother's body for injuries. To his surprise, he found no broken bones under the large bruises that covered the medic's body. In addition, Aramis seemed to have somehow escaped the stake without any burns.
Athos retrieved a blanket that had been tucked under Orage's saddle, and covered the marksman with it.
The night would be cold. He decided to collect some wood and start a small fire. This time, Aramis did not try to stop him. He lay curled up under the blanket, his body trembling.
Athos did his best to hide the fire by kindling it in a hole that he had dug in the ground. He dragged Aramis over to it. The smoke began to drift over the injured man, and the medic became restless. An instant later, Aramis' eyes flew open, wild with fear. He started to frantically try to crawl away, the panic on his face illuminated by the warm glow of fire.
Athos cursed himself for his stupidity. He took Aramis in his arms, burying the medic's face in the crook of his neck.
"You're safe, Aramis. You're free. You're safe,"he whispered, cradling his brother in his arms.
After a long moment, the marksman relaxed, and went limp. However, Athos was reluctant to break contact. Aramis seemed to remain calmer when he was secure in his brother's arms.
Aramis… please forgive me…
I've failed you.
I don't deserve to call myself your brother…
Please, live….
A/N
I guess I could use a good cover. Still I'd like to know your thoughts!