Thank you for reading and responding to the last chapter. Here, the brothers spend a last evening together before they are separated once more.

Apologies if any mistakes have crept through!

CHAPTER 56

"I will be fine so you must not worry about me. You have to concentrate on the task you have been assigned," Athos reassured Aramis softly when they were alone together mid-evening.

"It's not that easy," Aramis objected. His brow furrowed with the concern he was feeling. "Who'll take out your stitches?"

"With all that's going on, you're worried about my stitches?" Athos was incredulous. "There is a physician and I am trusting that he knows what to do!"

Aramis was too distracted to see that he was being gently teased. "Physician!" he spat out. "What good is he? Where has he been today?" He suddenly caught the amused gleam in Athos' eyes. "You mock me, so I know you are feeling a little better, but you are not up on your feet yet."

"I will be," Athos said firmly. "I sense improvement every time I wake up so I shall be up and about soon. To that end, I would ask something of you."

"Go ahead," Aramis answered warily. There was something in the way that Athos was building up to his request that was troubling.

"Will you bring my uniform from my room, please? It's probably better if you do it this evening; you will have more pressing things tomorrow. I'll also need a shirt and other items."

Aramis eyed his friend sceptically. "I know you of old. If I get them, you will push yourself too much and be out of this bed sooner than is advisable."

Athos looked hurt. "You do me wrong. I would prefer you, or even Porthos or d'Artagnan, to bring my clothes to me; you know where they are. To have someone else enter my room and rummage through my belongings is … too much."

Aramis was visibly chastened at his oversight because Athos was a very private man. "Sorry, my friend. I did not stop to think."

Just then, the door burst open to admit Porthos and d'Artagnan, laughing raucously at something that had amused them and each carrying a loaded tray.

"I will get them for you as soon as we have eaten," Aramis hastily agreed as he leaped to his feet to offer his assistance to the new arrivals.

"Serge has done 'imself proud," Porthos happily declared.

"It's a feast!" d'Artagnan added, just in case Athos and Aramis did not appreciate what they had brought.

"I told 'im this was the first time we'd 'ad a chance of eatin' together in about three weeks," Porthos announced, picking up a steaming bowl. "'An 'e was thinkin' you might want a change from beef broth." The big Musketeer approached the bed and showed Athos the bowl's contents. "Told me to tell you 'e'd taken some of the chicken stew 'e'd cooked for the rest of us and said 'e gave it a little extra attention. Cut the meat an' vegetables up smaller an' made sure the seasonin' was just right."

He went to hand the bowl and spoon to Aramis.

"I would like to do this for myself tonight," Athos suddenly interjected. To eat unaided would be further evidence of his recovery and go some way in reducing the consternation of the others. He ignored the looks the three exchanged. "Perhaps, when you next see Serge, you might give him my thanks."

"You haven't tasted it yet!" d'Artagnan quipped, his wit earning him a chuckle from Porthos.

"And say," Athos persisted, "that I appreciate the time and trouble he has taken to tempt my appetite. I will endeavour to do the dish justice, but I need a little help in sitting up more."

Aramis and d'Artagnan immediately moved forward, one on either side of him, as they slipped their arms through his and, on the marksman's count of three, hoisted Athos higher against the pillows.

"Too much!" he gasped as a burning agony erupted in his side from the excessive movement. His eyes shut tight against the pain and sweat beaded his brow. The position of the wound and its line of stitches made sitting up problematic and this first attempt made him suffer. Aramis had offered a pain-killing drink every time he awoke but he had resisted for the dull ache as he lay still or was propped at an angle against several pillows was tolerable.

With repeated apologies, Aramis and d'Artagnan hurriedly slid him down again almost to his starting point and rearranged the pile of pillows that supported him.

Wringing out a cloth from a bowl of cold water set on a nearby table, Aramis bathed Athos face. " As I was saying, pushing yourself!" he scolded, leaning in so that only Athos could hear his words.

"I will feed myself," Athos insisted through gritted teeth.

The way in which he was sitting was not conducive to eating easily though. With a cloth spread across his chest and holding the bowl almost to his chin, he tried not to make a mess, cursing softly as he was unsuccessful.

Porthos tried to contain his amusement as Athos struggled but guffawed as another spoonful of stew dripped onto the cloth. Aramis glared at him as he wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

"I know it's wrong of me," Porthos said, fighting to control himself, "an' I'm sorry but this isn't a sight we get to see every day."

"And nor will you in future," Athos informed him with a slight shake of the head, but he was prepared to endure the embarrassment just to hear Porthos laugh again.

The effort proved too much and he finally gave up, passing the half-full bowl back to Aramis.

"I've finished. Would you like some help?" d'Artagnan offered tentatively.

"No, thank you," Athos answered. "It's the first solid food I've had in eight days and I'd prefer to give it the chance to be digested."

Aramis nodded his acceptance of the explanation and reached for the soiled cloth. "Let's make you more comfortable and then I'll let you have a little watered wine as a treat."

Athos rolled his eyes but remained silent for the promise of 'a little watered wine' was better than none.

When Porthos and d'Artagnan left to return the trays and dishes to Serge and Athos was contentedly sipping at his drink, Aramis stood up.

"I'll go and get your clothes. Do you need anything else?"

"The two books beside my bed, please." He seemed to be thinking hard about something. "Also, I would like to speak briefly with the Captain if he can spare me the time."

With a nod, Aramis was gone but was back and laying out Athos' clothes on the next bed when Tréville appeared.

"I'll leave you for a while. I have things to do before tomorrow," Aramis said lightly as he was halfway out the door.

"Has he forgiven me yet?" Tréville asked as he sat at the bedside.

The corners of Athos' mouth twitched. "I think he has. After all, he is not one to harbour grievances."

The Captain picked up the books Aramis had brought from the table beside the bed and studied the covers. "Chrétien de Troyes."

"A Medieval poet," Athos explained.

"And Caesar's Gallic Wars." Tréville flicked through the pages. "In Latin. Hardly light reading."

Athos shrugged. "I need something to occupy myself when the others have gone."

Tréville lay the books down again and leaned back on his chair. "Aramis says you want to speak with me?"

Athos nodded, his expression serious. "I have something to ask. I need your help."

A/N

The two books Athos is reading are a trip down memory lane for me from degree and school exam days! (lol)

Chrétien de Troyes, a 12th century French poet, focused on the Arthurian legend. He wrote, amongst other things, his 'Arthurian Romances' and is believed to have 'created' Lancelot. He was responding to Eleanor of Aquitaine's desire to promote the chivalric code through 'love, life and literature.' ( I thought it appropriate when Santiago Cabrera played Lancelot in the BBC's series 'Merlin.')

Aged 15-16, I spent too many lessons translating and studying part of Caesar's Gallic Wars!

It seems fitting that Athos would be reading them (for military history and strategy.) He was educated and knew the language of ancient Rome. Dumas mentions him correcting Aramis' 'church' Latin.