Anne

Her face was on fire. She could feel all the cuts Rochefort's knife inflicted on her skin. However this pain was only an annoyance as Anne was watching Aramis' desperate struggle to remain in the saddle. The darkness did not allow her to see much more than his slumped frame, his forehead touching the horse's mane in a silent plea for a moment of reprieve. The wounded musketeer seemed too concentrated on holding on to consciousness to voice any pain.

Her saviour. Her knight.

Rochefort had told her what his plans for her were. He wanted to escape with her on a boat and take her to America as his slave. Anne knew that she preferred to die than to meet that fate. But she had been spared. Her best and only friend and her secret lover and official defender saved her before the evil man could abuse her once again.

And now they're both injured and suffering. And you're lost and probably hunted in that dark cloudy night.

I am not alone. God has saved me so far, He will lead us to safety…

The Queen started to pray but between words whispered in her thoughts not so pious memories were appearing… Aramis' eyes shining with love and desire, his face so improperitely close to hers…

Is it God's answers to my prayers? I know my Lord, I sinned… but please do not take his life, do not take him from me… you may take everything else but let him live…

The Queen felt Constance tensing behind her.

"Aramis?", the redhead hissed.

"There's something", the musketeer replied his voice barely audible. His horse was so close to theirs, that his knee was touching Anne's leg.

"I'll check it. Anne, take the free horse", Constance ordered. And the monarch felt a bit impressed by her friend's demeanor.

Aramis looked a bit unhappy but he must have known, even in his poor condition, that his protest would be in vain.

Anne slipped to the ground, her muscles screamed loudly at her but she ignored them and dutifully mont the other horse. The poor beast was so tired that it did not react.

Constance took several steps forward and suddenly she stopped near a riderless horse.

"Athos!", she cried and landed on her knees on the road.

Anne felt that she could not wait longer. She urged her horse to run only to stop abruptly at Constance side.

Constance lifted her head but remained on her knees.

"He's barely breathing! No! Aramis! YOU STAY on the horse, we won't be able to put you there again."

Anne slipped down towards her friend and another wounded musketeer. The man was lying still unresponsive towards Constance's desperate efforts to rouse him.

"Constance, is he bleeding?", Aramis asked, he must have hated the need to remain seated. Anne truly felt for him. She was always amazed by the strength of their brotherhood. It was fascinating to her and in the end it may have been one of the reasons she had fallen so insanely for Aramis.

"Hard to say in the dark, he's totally covered in quite fresh blood", Constance muttered.

"May we risk some light?", Anne asked feeling useless.

"Yes", Aramis replied, he started to dig into his satchel and after a moment produce a little, candle. The Queen got up and stood at the side of his horse, she took the candle from his bloodied hands when he was striking fire. A small fragile flame appeared.

The monarch returned to her friend hiding the light with her other hand.

"We cannot stay here…", Aramis muttered.

"Nor can we leave him", Anne replied, "Do we have a chance to throw him over the horse?", she asked. The silence met her question. She reminded how it had been difficult with Aramis even that the marksman had not been a dead weight then

Constance was trying to check on Athos using the faible light.

"You cannot stay here!", the redhead protested and cursed with despair.

"Aramis, he is bleeding from his head and from a deep gash on his ribs. I am not sure but one rib feels too soft under my fingers."

"Try to stem the bleeding! I need to assess him for myself…", he made a motion like he was planning to dismont.

"You're bound!", Constance reminded him. She bit her lips.

"Anne, could you press here?", she handed the Queen a piece of cloth at indicated a gash on man's head. Anne obliged grateful that she was not so useless.

Suddenly it hit her.

It's not their call to make. You're the royal here. You must decide what to do. They cannot risk your life. They probably should leave their wounded companion and continue to get you to Paris. Or at least to a safe inn. Inn! That's it!

"Is there an inn nearby?", she asked.

"Less than an hour from here", Aramis replied.

"So go there and demand a cart!", she ordered.

Constance looked her disbelief clear on her face even in the dim light.

"You're a King's musketeer, you're wearing the pauldron. Your orders should be followed. Nobody believes who I am and a lone female rider demanding a cart in the middle of the night brings suspicions. And after all you're still on the horse. We'll take care of Athos. Go!"

It hurt to send away her wounded knight but it seemed like the only way to save them all. As she would not pay with their lives for her freedom.

Aramis nodded.

"I have no bullets left to leave you my guns.", he told them and urged his horse into gallop.

"Will he make it?", Anne asked her heart in her throat.

"You've just given him a mission he'll do everything not to fail you.", Constance replied.

Why is he so ready to die for me? Because you're his Queen whom he swore to protect.

It sounded like a good official answer. However Anne hoped that love no duty directed musketeer's deeds.

"My husband!", she mumbled when suddenly the awareness that Athos was escorting Louis hit home.

"Athos' horse has not been taken… he has his weapon with him… I guess that the King left him after he had fallen from the horse.", Constance replied softly. Anne knew that her friend tried not to accuse the monarch from abandoning the injured soldier but it was especially hard when her hands were pressed to the bleeding wound.

"He should not leave him!", Anne decided to absolve the redhead.

"He needed to. He's too important for the country… and… there was no way he could put Athos back in the saddle.", Constance replied bitterly, "We are to give our lives for the royal pair. And… we accept it, Anne… If the situation was not so dire we would not allow you to stay here and risk but… there was no other option…"

Anne shook her head. She wanted to protest, she wanted to show her friend how wrong she was… only… she was not.

Athos' stillness frightened Anne. It seemed like the death had already taken the musketeer's souls. As Constance put her cloak around him it was even difficult to state if he was still breathing. The Queen was trying to keep steady pressure on his wound though her hands were aching. She felt so weak and unworthy.

Unworthy of their sacrifice.

Unworthy of their respect.

Unworthy of their love.

Both women were too tired to talk. So they sat in silence.

What if Aramis doesn't come back?

What if he's lying somewhere dying?

What if he has met Rochefort?

"Anne, "what if" aren't going to help anyone, especially you.", Constance said sternly.

"How do you know?!", the monarch was astonished.

"All these questions… I see them in your eyes… I also know them by heart and know that they don't help… They're only hurting you. You focus on them instead of concentrating on things which you can do… These things which may or may not change the situation but are doable now."

Anne shook her head surprised by wisdom in her friends' words.

"You're really one of them, you speak and behave like a musketeer…"

"It's sad I am a woman, isn't it? No commision for me…", Constance sounded probably more bitter than she intended.

The Queen wanted to encourage her friend, but the redhead shushed her nervously. It was only then when Anne heard approaching horses.

Constance gently took Athos' head in her hands and posed it on the road. Then she abruptly stood up, her hand catching the horse to regain balance. After a moment she took the gun in her left hand, the sword in her right.

Anne closed her hand on the dagger given to her by her friend. They were waiting for their death… or salvation…

"Don't shoot", a stranger called.

Anne was aware that Constance had no bullets in her gun.

"Identify yourself!", the redhead ordered.

"Musketeer Aramis has sent me, my lady, I'm Robert Arnan, innkeeper's son."

Is it true? Or is this Rochefort's trick?

The horses and a wagon were approaching them. Constance was standing uncertain how to react.

"Constance", a low painful voice reached them.

Aramis!

The redhead relaxed.

"We're grateful for your help, Monsieur. Our friend is wounded…"

The driver started to maneuver so that the wagon stopped near the wounded musketeer and the innkeeper's son approached the group.

"Can we move him?", he asked while eyeing Athos.

"If you help me…", Aramis began, but the man interrupted him.

"No! You stay on the wagon. One musketeer to carry is enough."

Robert kneel near Athos and with some difficulty got up with the musketeer in his arms. He put him safely to the wagon.

"Ladies?", he extended his hand to Constance in an obvious invitation. The redhead hesitated for a short moment and got on the wagon.

Anne looked astonished at her.

Why don't you let me go first?

Then she understood - Constance did not want to attract any attention to her, so she acted as if they were peers. It was a strange experience, but Anne followed her friend.

Aramis was already busy checking on dagger was still protruding from his side. He caught Anne's gaze.

"There's been no time for this. And I doubt I'll remain conscious afterward.", he smiled briefly at her.

"You're incredible", she whispered frightened by his paleness.

"Anne", his voice was low, "I told them that I'm travelling with my sisters. It's not safe to reveal…"

She nodded.

"Is there a physician in the inn?", the Queen asked hopefully.

"No… I'll try to take care of Athos but… you'll need to deal with my wounds."

Anne nearly fainted. How was she supposed to take out the knife and stitch the man she loved?!

I was taught to sew when I was a child… Do I remember it? Nevermind! I was taught to sew dresses not human flesh… Constance?!

"I'll take care of you. I promise", the redhead told them slowly. She was scared, the monarch could see it but at the same time she sounded so self-confident!

Finally they reached the inn.

"There's a room near the main hall… it may be noisy when there are many guests but it will spare you stairs", their saviour stated.

The yellow mild light was seeping through the curtains promising warmth and safety. The door flew open and two people approached them. Anne stiffed and Constance put her hand on the hilt of her sword.

"Madame, please, relax. They are our men who will help with the wounded", Robert reassured them. Indeed the two men brought blankets they used as stretcher for Athos. The innkeeper's son gently helped Aramis. The Queen bit her lips when she realized he was half dragging half carrying him as the musketeer barely could stand on his own.

Lemay! We need you here!

The door opened ajar and a young woman appeared. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the guests. Anne for a moment was sure that she would not let them in however the stranger casted her a quick smile.

"Follow me. I've readied the water, bandages and some herbs. It's not much but I hope it'll help. Your brother asked to call a physician but the closest one lives in Paris. I'm Catherine Arnan"

Anne nodded confused. She allowed Catherine to lead her to a large bright room. There were four beds prepared and a table on which were lying a knife and a sewing kit. The Queen suddenly felt sick.

"Put the unconscious one on the table.", Constance took over.

Anne was watching terrified as Robert gently helped Aramis to sit on the chair. However still it was far more simple to watch them than to see Athos' limp form manhandled on the table.

"Constance, how's he? Details please.", the marksman whispered and Anne was truly bewildered how this man was still conscious.

"He's shallowly breathing. He has two…", Constance was ghosting her hands over Athos in search of injuries, "No! Wait, three serious wounds.", her voice sounded slightly panicked. They are still bleeding a little…"

"Will you manage to stitch them?"

The redhead was silent for a moment cleaning the horrible injuries. The musketeer remained still. To be honest Anne was not sure if he was still breathing.

"I… I don't think I'll be able to stitch the wound on his head, the skin is too damaged. It isn't a cut rather something has been smashed against his head…", Constance stated and for the first time she glanced at Aramis.

"You're doing great", the medic reassured her and tried to stand up. Anne was immediately at his side. She supported him when he carefully assessed the wound.

"Just put pressure and bandage it. It should be enough…", he said sadly. Anne gently lowered him to the chair. She touched his face and recoiled her hand when she felt how clammy and cold his skin was.

The musketeer cast her a quick reassuring smile.

How on Earth does he manage to lift our mood when he's wounded and in pain?!

"Anne… madame Arnan has left some brewed herbs. Could you use wine to cool them down and get it ready to apply to Athos' wounds?"

"And yours?", the Queen guessed. He nodded.

She focused on her task grateful for the distraction.

I could use it to prepare things for him… to be treated as his sister or… wife… am I truly ready to live the commoner's life?

She guessed she knew nothing about life outside of the palace. About its dangers, sadness and… joy.

She checked the poultice temperature and followed Aramis' instruction to prepare a piece of soaked cloth for Constance.

Then she helped her friend to bandage Athos' wounds. Anne hated the haunted look in the redhead's eyes.

"You'll need to monitor him for fever… those herbs in the little jar should help with it… and… change the poultice covering the wounds each three hours… you may need to clean them once more after a day…", Aramis' voice was barely audible. Anne knelt in front of him and took his cold hands in hers.

"Now's your turn…", she said caressing his bloodied hands.

He nodded reluctantly.

"You'll need to cauterize the stabbed wound. The other one I hope stitches will be enough… But both you have to clean profusely. I am afraid I may not be able to remain still so ask the men to hold me."

Anne knew that those instructions were rather for Constance than herself. The musketeer fingers gently caressed her neck but his eyes were focused on the redhead.

"After that you must take care of Anne's wounds. And promise me that you'll take care of yourself too."

"I don't think I'm injured", Constance protested.

"I hope you're right. But take care of every scratch, put salve on your bruises, eat and rest. D'Artagnan won't forgive me if our little trip makes you sick."

"You're mother hen", the redhead commented but her voice trembled a little.

"Constance, if I don't make it, don't blame yourself and don't let Porthos to blame you."

"You'll live, Mis", she replied tearily.

"Give this to my brothers, no matter if I live or not", he handed the redhead a piece of paper, some sand fell on the floor.

Anne had no idea when he had written but clearly there were quill and ink in his on the little cupboard.

"Is it your last will?", Anne heard herself asking.

"No", he smiled warmly, "my last will is in Captain's office".

"Aramis! No puedes morir! Por favor vive! No me dejes. No dejes a nuestro hijo."*, Anne needed to say it.

The marksman smiled when he heard Spanish and gently kissed Queen's fingers before he replied.

"Ana… te amo. Voy a luchar...Te lo prometo"**

The Queen sealed his promise with her lips on his mouth. The kiss tasted the sad passion so similar to that in the convent.

I need to hide in your arms. I need you to save me…

God… how weak am I!

She felt hot tears burnt her injured cheeks.

The musketeer gently stroked her hair. He sighed and hissed in pain.

"We should put Athos on the bed, ask our hosts for help", he said sternly.

Constance left and quickly returned with two men.

They transferred the lieutenant on the bed and Aramis took his place. Constance cut his clothes around the knife hilt.

"Anne, I need your help to control the bleeding.", she said and the Queen found herself standing at her side ready to fulfil her requests.

The young monarch knew she was not ready to take part in a gory surgery. Though she was following her friend's trying not to hear the painful screams of the man she loved.

She had hoped when he remained silent when Constance pulled out the dagger from his flesh. He only tensed when Anne's hands put pressure on the wound. He was holding on when the alcohol was poured on the bloody gap in his side. During all the time while Constance was vigorously cleaning the wound musketeer's eyes were close shut, he was biting a leather belt and his hand was crashing Anne's palm.

However when Constance pressed the heated blade to his skin he howled through the leather. A low sound of pain, Anne would never forget. The smell of burnt flesh hit her senses and she fought hard to remain at her lover's side. The musketeer let go of her hand. He was trashing in desperate attempts to avoid the pain. The strong alcohol poured on the freshly burnt flesh did nothing to give him reprieve. His whole body arched and then almost suddenly he went completely limp.

No, Aramis! Please! Please…

Anne could not make a move. She was watching Aramis' grey face bathed in sweat. The blood was slowly dripping from his mouth.

"The poultice", Constance voice cut through her and the Queen passed obediently the bowl. Then a bandage when she was requested to do so. Her eyes never left Aramis' face.

At one moment Constance made her move and she took the place on the other side of the table. Once more there was the strong smell of alcohol and Anne tensed waiting for the musketeer's reaction but the wounded man seemed beyond any pain now.

The Queen did not know how long it took before Constance ordered to put Aramis on bed. She was not aware when the redhead had divested the wounded but what hit Anne was not the impropriety of the situation but the amount of bandages covering her lover's skin.

"Is he alive?", she asked frightenedly.

What a stupid question! Nobody would take time to dress the wounds of a dead.

"Will he survive?", she corrected herself.

"I don't know", whispered Constance. She sounded so defeated and tired that Anne became afraid that she would collapse soon leaving Anne helpless and alone with dying musketeers.

A/N

Spanish is not from Google directly but still from internet dictionaries so I'm sorry for the mistakes. If anyone wants to correct it, I'll be grateful.

*You can't die. Please, live. Don't leave me. Don't leave our son.

**I love you. I will fight. I swear.

Thank you Legate_of_Apples for betaing!