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So, what is the help that Athos needs?

CHAPTER 57

The four spent as much of the last few hours together as they could, although Aramis insisted that Porthos and d'Artagnan returned to their own beds, his reasoning being that if two of the three of them were well-rested, it would be sufficient. They argued, naturally, but succumbed to his insistence, especially when Athos added his weary voice to the mix.

"I no longer require constant vigilance. It will not be long before I am asleep and will be a boring subject. After all, it is not as if you will be watching for my every breath," he teased.

"That isn't funny!" Porthos admonished him.

"No, I agree," Athos agreed, "but it is the truth. Go to your rooms and have some quiet rest time without worrying yourselves about me. You, too, Aramis."

But the marksman shook his head stubbornly. "I am staying here in case you have need of me," and he gestured towards the next bed.

Athos knew better than to continue the fight. "I shall do my best not to disturb you."

Goodnights were said with a promise to reconvene in the morning to break their fast together, Porthos and d'Artagnan departed, Aramis helped Athos to settle for the night and then stretched out on the neighbouring bed. Soon, all that could be heard in the infirmary was the gentle, rhymical breathing of restful sleep.

Morning came all too quickly. The four shared a meal and then, as the others went off to make final preparations for their journey, Athos was properly alone in the infirmary for the first time since he had been brought back to the garrison. For an intensely private man and one who was happy with his own company, he was surprised to find the sudden silence oppressive. It was not long before he was missing d'Artagnan's chatter, Porthos' banter and Aramis' quiet reassurances. They had not even left Paris and he was feeling …. What? He had happily ridden south on his own and been apart from them for over two weeks but now … now he was the one being left behind, the one without immediate purpose.

"Ridiculous!" he chastised himself aloud, but his voice sounded strange in the empty room. "You will be moaning that you feel lonely in a minute!"

Was that it? He had eventually been forced to accept that, after many years of constructing and maintaining a metaphorical wall around himself to keep others at bay, he had failed miserably with Aramis and Porthos. Undaunted by his unapproachable demeanour, they had relentlessly chipped away at his aloofness, planting the seed of friendship and nurturing it through its early days of frailty. If asked, he could never identify the specific points in their relationship when they had progressed from mere colleagues through tentative friendship to indisputable brotherhood.

Working as a unit and learning to trust and rely upon each other in the field had done much to escalate that bond between them and they had gained the appellation of Tréville's Inseparables. He would probably never admit it aloud, but he enjoyed this sense of belonging, of being part of something. Still believing himself unworthy, he never ceased to wonder at the unconditional acceptance the other two constantly showed him and now he was seeing the same towards him from d'Artagnan.

It was, after all, only eight days before they would be together again at Versailles and Athos had much to do before then. He had to recover, regain his strength and test his sword skills for Tréville would be depending upon him in the troubles facing them in the days ahead. Reading would not be sufficient in challenging his mind so perhaps Tréville could be prevailed upon to bring him up to date with events. After all, as the man's second in command, he ought to have a firm understanding of what was going on before they left for the hunting lodge.

Throwing back the bedding and taking deep breaths, he slowly pushed himself away from the pillows to sit upright, the wound immediately making itself felt. Gritting his teeth, he inched his legs round until, after what seemed an age, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. Leaning to his right and eyes closed, he breathed hard through the pain. The thought briefly crossed his mind that he was being reckless, but he just as swiftly dismissed the notion. He only hoped that he could achieve his objective before the others returned and that Tréville would return from the palace before much longer.

Aramis had set out several doses of pain killer within his reach in small bottles on the table beside the bed. The added instruction was that it might be more palatable diluted with a cup of water, but Athos picked up the nearest bottle, removed the stopper and downed it in one, shuddering at the bitter taste. His reasoning – rightly or wrongly for he didn't really know - was that it might work faster in its concentrated form.

He leaned forward stiffly and groaned as he attempted to pull his clothes towards him from the adjacent bed.

When the door opened a few minutes later, the Captain entered to discover him sitting perfectly still on the side of the bed, head bowed and breathing heavily. He was wearing nothing but his long linen shirt.

"You've started without me," Tréville said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I thought I could don some of my clothes before you arrived," Athos explained as he raised his head to look up at the officer.

"Well then you have succeeded," the Captain encouraged. His face was a mask as he strove to ignore the sheen of sweat that coated Athos' pale skin.

"I can't bend to reach my feet," Athos announced, frustration evident in his tone.

"That is why I am here," Tréville stated the obvious. He picked up the clean braies, shook them out in a business-like fashion and squatted before the injured Musketeer. "Feet," he ordered.

Athos obliged in silence.

"Now, let's get you standing," and Tréville braced himself, feet apart and held out his arms. Athos grabbed him at the elbows, and he did likewise in a firm grip. "On the count of three, you push against my arms and I will pull you up but don't do it too quickly."

The advice did not help. Once vertical, light-headedness hit Athos and he swayed dangerously. Tréville did not dare release him until he was more steady and said nothing as the young man's gaze fixed upon a point beyond his right shoulder.

He pulled the braies up to just above Athos' knees. "You fasten them at the waist, and I will tie them below your knees."

There was a sad sigh as Athos pulled them up, carefully settled the waistband over the bandage and tied them securely.

"This is …. embarrassing," he admitted softly. "I should not have asked you."

"Hmmm!" Tréville straightened up to look him in the eye. "Why should you be embarrassed? We're both men."

"Dressing a soldier is not an appropriate task for an officer," Athos declared, his cheeks burning.

Tréville picked up the leather breeches before he spoke again. "A man, regardless of rank or position, is no man if he cannot spare the time to help another in need and if that assistance falls within his power. I see one of my men in need of my aid, particularly as he has been injured following my orders. How can I deny him that service, no matter how trivial it might seem to others?" He crouched again and gestured for Athos to raise a foot to put in the left leg of his breeches. Tréville was intent upon guiding the second foot into the other leg when he added quietly, "And how much more willingly that help is given to one considered as a friend."

Athos was keeping his balance by resting a hand on the Captain's shoulder and maintained a silence.

"You fasten the buttons and I'll find your boots. Bare feet in them will not matter on this occasion; it is not as if you would be walking far or riding."

Minutes later, Athos was booted and wearing his doublet, albeit unbuttoned. There was no need for anything else tight across the wound site.

"Almost done," Tréville announced and moved across the room to pick up something he had left on a shelf near the door. Athos had not been paying attention when the Captain arrived but now, when he saw the item, his heart leaped.

It was the precious pauldron.

"Not often I get the chance to buckle this on someone a second time," Tréville said lightly, his smile warm. "We can't have you in uniform without this."

Athos' eyes were fixed unwaveringly on him as he buckled the pauldron onto the right shoulder.

"Thank you," Athos said, but the voice was low and cracked with suppressed emotion. "For everything," he added.

Tréville smiled again and nodded his acknowledgment. They both knew the thanks were for much more than helping Athos get into his uniform. It was for seeing something of value in a young man broken by his inner demons; not despairing of him when he drank to forget his past; for seeing his worth and promise; for mentoring him to that end and promoting him when he was deemed ready; for offering the hand of friendship … and for helping him dress.

"So, how are we going to do this? Do you want to sit at your usual table?" Tréville asked.

"No," Athos insisted. "They must see me standing, better still if they witness me walking."

Tréville puffed out his cheeks. "That might be too much. You're standing now for the first time in days and, I hate to say it, you're not very convincing in that."

Athos was ashen and wiped at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.

"Perhaps we ought to practice a few steps to the door," the Captain suggested. "Lean on me," and together, they shuffled across the floor of the infirmary towards the door. Athos held himself stiffly, his eyes fixed ahead of him, the sharp intakes of breath the only indication of the pain he still experienced as he concentrated upon setting one foot in front of the other.

"They're leading out their horses from the stable," Tréville said, catching sight of Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan through the window set to one side of the door. Athos shook off the supporting arm. "You aren't very steady," the Captain warned. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"I must alleviate their worry, and the only way to do that is for them to see me on my feet and walking," Athos persisted. Even as he spoke, he leaned heavily against the wall and regulated his breathing.

Tréville opened the door wide and stood back as Athos inhaled deeply, straightened his back as much as he dared and stepped out into the sunshine.

The Captain shook his head in awe of the young man who, with dogged determination and willpower, moved slowly forward to greet his friends. Their delight at seeing him was noisy but he held up a warning hand to stave off their exuberance. One over-enthusiastic touch would be enough to knock him off his feet.

Claude moved to stand beside Tréville as they watched the farewells of the brothers. "Never thought I'd see 'im up this soon," he observed.

"He shouldn't be up now," the Captain declared, his lips hardly moving. "Don't go too far."

Claude regarded him quizzically. "Oh," he breathed as he realised what Tréville meant. "Be ready for anythin' unexpected, you mean?" When the Captain nodded, they moved forward to stand on either side of the injured Musketeer.

Porthos was first in his saddle and grinning broadly as he edged his mount forward to Athos, reached down to take his hand and shook it gently. "See you in eight days." He moved off so that d'Artagnan could take his turn.

"Look after yourself," the young Gascon urged.

"I will," Athos assured him and turned to watch Aramis approach.

The marksman looked unconvinced as he leaned down and cupped Athos clammy cheek in his hand. His dark eyes were grave as he studied his brother. "Remember what I warned against," he advised.

"Not too much too soon," Athos answered.

"Exactly," Aramis continued. He gave a slight smile. "It's good to see you up and about. We will see you soon in Versailles."

With that, the three rode out through the gate and were gone, watched by the three men in the yard.

"Captain!" Claude said urgently.

Tréville turned just in time to see Athos stagger, an arm thrown out towards the officer to steady himself. The Captain caught the flailing arm just as Athos' legs gave way and they went down together, the descent marginally slowed by Claude on the other side. Athos sat on the ground with a bone-jarring thud and gasped at the explosion of pain that tore through his side. His head lolled as he battled to remain conscious.

"We need to get you back to bed," Tréville declared over the bowed, dark head to Claude, but Athos was a dead weight so two more Musketeers standing nearby were summoned to help.

"I think," Athos reluctantly admitted as he was manhandled to his feet, "it was too much too soon."