IX. Red Dawn

Athos gritted his teeth as he and Aramis stumbled along the road into the safety of the trees. His world was spinning, but he was carrying Aramis as much as Aramis carried him. His friend could barely put any weight on his injured leg, and Athos used all the remaining strength in his good arm to keep him upright while trying to clear his own vision in the meantime.

"We could just lie down and pretend to be dead you know," Aramis wheezed next to him, although he didn't stop moving. "We both look like it anyway. I bet they won't look twice."

Athos growled. "I'm not taking any chances."

"They are coming closer," Aramis hissed and bit down a pained groan when they both stopped abruptly to listen. Athos' vision almost whitened, but he blinked rapidly and tried to get rid of the blood running into his eye.

"We can hardly run away from them. Hiding is the only option we have left," Athos countered coldly and tried to drag Aramis towards the trees, but his friend's boots were rooted on the spot. His hand was searching his weapon belt for gunpowder, and Athos quickly understood and threw him his own little bag, which was attached to his belt.

Aramis reloaded the pistol he had collected somewhere with a speed of which only he was capable, and nodded to Athos that he was ready to continue now. But Athos' just gestured him to be silent, and his eyes were locked on the three shadowy figures he was able to make out at the entrance to the village. He narrowed his eyes, but with the blood dripping into his eye and the nausea, it was hard to make out the uniforms.

What he was able to make out though was the sudden reaction of the three men, and he saw them all pulling out their swords simultaneously, before they started running towards them.

"Aramis," Athos ordered urgently. "Your pistol."

To Athos' surprise, Aramis didn't say a word and merely threw him the freshly reloaded weapon. Athos knew that the men had spotted them already, so he didn't waste any time. He closed one eye, and took his aim before firing the weapon.

One of the men went down immediately, though Athos had to admit it was a lucky shot considering how much his hand was shaking. The second attacker almost tripped over him, but kept going. Aramis was staggering towards a rapier that was embedded in the ground, about eight feet away, but Athos knew that he and Aramis would not be hard to beat in their current condition.

His fingers gripped the butt of the pistol, ready to defend himself with any means necessary. Aramis had fallen to the ground, but he too had wrapped his hand around an abandoned weapon, staring at their attackers with a mixture of bewilderment and aggression.

And just about two seconds before they came within arm's reach, four gunshots pierced through the air. Athos watched how the bullets ripped through the two men's chests, and they collapsed face forward to the ground.

Athos was frozen, every muscle in his body still anticipating danger. But when the smoke from the fire cleared a bit, and he saw the very familiar figures of Porthos and Arthur striding towards them, he dropped Aramis' pistol and closed his eyes in relief. And he felt guilty, because he had doubted them.

To his relief, Porthos had realized that he had arrived back in the village just in time to save Athos and Aramis from the two remaining Englishmen. After making sure the village was finally secure, he had sent the rest of the group which had been with him back toward the musketeer's camp, while he and Arthur stayed to help Athos and Aramis.

Now, about half an hour later, they were slowly approaching the fortress gates.

Aramis had one arm around Arthur, and he was more being dragged than he was doing any walking by himself. There was a large dagger embedded in the flesh of his upper thigh, and the whole area was soaked in blood. He was very pale, but in true Aramis manner, he had insisted it looked worse than it was. Athos had merely countered that it would be for Gino, their medic, to judge. They had decided not to take a look at it until they were all safe behind the fortress walls.

Athos, even though he had insisted he was fine and able to make it back on his own, was being supported by Porthos. Though he didn't have any visible injuries to his legs, it was obvious that someone or something had smacked him hard against the head, and half of his face was coated in blood. When Porthos pointed this out, Aramis agreed and just secretly rolled his eyes when Athos insisted it was nothing. Additionally, Athos' previously injured arm was now bleeding badly, and the blood was already dripping through the makeshift bandage. His crooked posture told Porthos that there were probably at least some bruising on his back as well, but Athos had said nothing, so his friend had merely urged him to accept the help so they could reach the fortress more quickly.

Now that all of the adrenaline was wearing off, Porthos was overcome by exhaustion. He felt it in every bone of his body, and his eye was swollen shut and burning with pain. He gritted his teeth, and heard someone yell at someone else to open the gates of the fortress. Porthos had a comment ready, but he was too tired and instead focused on getting Athos through the gates, closely followed by Arthur, who apparently had to endure some light-hearted swearing by Aramis.

He was greeted by Guillaume, and the gate was firmly closed once they were all inside.

"This way," Guillaume said without wasting any time and led them through the busily working mass of soldiers towards the tent where Gino was undoubtedly already in his element.

Arthur eased Aramis to the ground slowly, and Porthos tried to sit Athos down next to him, but Athos had other plans. He more or less gently pushed Porthos away and staggered towards the medic's tent without saying a single word.

Porthos knew what would happen before he saw it. Athos stumbled, tried to lean against a wooden pillar where he dropped to his knees and suddenly fell sideways, giving in to the exhaustion. Porthos cursed at his friend's stubbornness, and hurried over to him, but before he could bend down to turn Athos over, someone grabbed his arm tightly.

"I got him," Gino said brusquely. "Stay out of my way."

Porthos knew better than to argue with Gino, so he took a step back and let him work. He turned around to where Arthur had left Aramis, but the marksman was already being carried inside the tent. His eyes were open but Porthos didn't think he took much notice of his surroundings anymore.

Feeling helpless, he had no choice but to retreat to the wall, and rest his back against it. He exhaled slowly, and for the first time since their return, he soaked up every detail of the scene in front of him. Some men, like Aramis for example, would argue that silence after a battle was the worst of all. However, as the screams and the intense discussions reached Porthos' numb ears, he wasn't so sure about that.

Porthos had absolutely no idea how many musketeers there were at the moment, nor did he know how many were injured. All he saw were men scattered all over the fortress, looking exhausted and beaten. Some sat alone in a corner, eyes wide open and staring into the distance, lost in their own thoughts. He spotted some men sitting together, most of the time talking quietly, but intensely. And last but not least, there was the space all around Gino's tent. Porthos couldn't see what was going on inside, but a handful of musketeers were assisting their medic, and he heard yelling and screaming from inside the tent.

Porthos pressed the palms of his hands against his head, in a weak attempt to escape the sound for a moment. He heard footsteps approaching him, and eventually, he looked up.

It was Arthur who leaned against the wall next to Porthos, and for a few moments, they remained there in silence. Then, Arthur started rummaging in his pockets and pulled out a cloth. He gestured towards Porthos' eye.

"Put it on there. You're still bleeding. You should let someone look at it once the storm here is over." Porthos didn't protest, in fact, the cool cloth was welcome against his burning skin. He sighed and closed his good eye.

"I got some information out of Gino," Arthur reported, his voice dry as paper. He didn't look Porthos in the eye; his gaze was fixed on something in the distance, something only he could see.

"And?" Porthos asked tiredly.

"Six injured, including Athos and Aramis. Two casualties."

"Civilians?" Porthos intervened, not quite sure if he would like the answer one way or another.

Arthur shook his head in dismay. "Musketeers," he said, and despite the fact that his face looked like stone, Porthos could hear it in Arthur's voice. He was absolutely shaken.

"During the chase, Thomas got hit by an English bullet. Straight in the head." Porthos felt a weird numbness creeping up his skin as Arthur continued. "The others carried him back here. Laurent is still in the medic's tent but…"

His voice broke and he swallowed hard.

"But?" Porthos couldn't hide his anxiety.

"Gut shot," Arthur reported quietly. "I believe Gino has given up. Said something about having to deal with those he can still help."

Porthos felt the shivers down his spine. "Gino's a heartless bastard, but I don't want to be in his shoes." He buried his face in his hands, still processing the information. "Who's hurt?"

Arthur managed a vague shrug. "Athos and Aramis. I believe I saw Gino tending to Philippe and Henri. Not sure about the other two. It's kinda crowded in there."

Porthos bit his lip, choosing his next words very carefully. "What about Mathis? Has he returned to the camp?"

Arthur's face darkened immediately, and he diverted his gaze. Porthos knew that those two had some sort of connection, but he had never dared to ask.

"No," was all Arthur managed to get out between clenched teeth; and Porthos saw his knuckles whitening as they strengthened their grip around the wooden pillar.

The big musketeer pressed his lips together. "Well…shit," he murmured under his breath.

Arthur looked up again.

"We need orders, Porthos," he explained tiredly and ran a hand over his face. "We need someone to take the command." Porthos knew Arthur wasn't accusing him, or complaining. He was merely stating facts.

Porthos nodded slowly and slowly slid down the pillar and rested his head against it. "I know. But until then, we play with the cards we're dealt."

Aramis awoke to the smell of blood and sweat. He wasn't sure when exactly he had lost consciousness, but he vaguely remembered being dragged into the fortress, so at least, he had nothing to be afraid of for now. He blinked a few times to clear his vision, and he saw the linen ceiling of a tent. His fogged brain started putting the pieces together, and he slowly remembered where he had to be.

Medic's tent. Fortress. Ré Island.

The memories of the past day flooded his mind and he gasped as his own sudden movement jarred the wound in his leg. Then his ears started picking up the noises and it was mostly muffled screams and, above all, harsh commands.

"Hold him still!" That was Gino's unmistakable voice. "Damn, hold him down, I said!"

Aramis couldn't see who they were currently working on. His mind was still trying to process what has happened, and what he was dealing with. They had been in that village, and they had been attacked. They had tried to distract the attackers so that the villagers would be able to flee. Then he only remembered a forge, and he still felt phantom hands around his throat. He had started searching the village; he had crawled forward on his elbows.

What had he been looking for?

The realization hit him so suddenly that he twitched hard. His vision whitened instantly when pain shot up his entire leg.

Athos. He had been looking for Athos.

He lifted his head and tried to get a closer look at whoever was being held down by Guillaume, but Gino's back was blocking his view. However, as he let his gaze wander over the assembled people, he felt a bit of relief when he spotted Athos lying on the ground a few feet away. He was unconscious, it seemed, but there was one musketeer kneeling next to him and tending to his wounds, which was a relief.

Aramis discovered Philippe close by, a freshly stitched wound all across his naked shoulder. His worried gaze was fixed on whomever Gino was working on.

"I said I needed bandages, not this crap," Gino was hissing at another poor musketeer. "Unreliable idiots. Where's Aramis? I need his assistance."

"'hind you," Aramis murmured, more to himself than to Gino, but apparently, the medic had heard him. He whirled around and, probably for the first time, noticed Aramis' presence in the tent. The look he had on his face was a mixture of compassion and anger.

"You really pick the most inconvenient times to get a knife in your leg," he huffed.

Aramis rolled his eyes. "I'll ask for your permission next time," he whispered in a hoarse voice.

Gino scowled. "Damn right."

With that, he turned around again and continued to work on the badly bleeding side of a man Aramis recognized as Henri. He tried to ignore the queasy feeling in his guts and lay back down on the ground, drifting back into the oblivion of exhaustion.

Of all the ways he had expected to wake up again, screaming in agony when blinding pain erupted in his leg wasn't the one he had been prepared for, despite the circumstances.

"Told you he'd notice, now keep him still," Gino's voice cut through the agony. "The bleeding needs to be stopped before I can close the wound."

Aramis sucked in a sharp breath when burning liquid was poured over the wound in his leg. He couldn't even place it. He felt a pair of hands holding his upper body on the table. He didn't even remember being placed on this table. He instinctively tried to lift his head and look at the wound himself, but suddenly, Gino's grim face appeared in front of him, growling something incomprehensible and he was roughly shoved back on the surface.

Aramis vaguely recognized the face of the musketeer that was holding him down. Guillaume?

"What about the others?" he asked, trying his best to ignore whatever Gino was doing to his leg. "Athos? Porthos?"

Guillaume didn't seem to pay him much attention. He was taking orders from Gino half of the time, and only granted Aramis a slight nod which assured the marksman that the musketeer wasn't listening to him.

Instead, Guillaume reached behind his back and pulled out a leather belt someone had given him and handed it to Aramis.

Aramis just blinked at him in confusion, just before he jerked upwards again as Gino seemingly stabbed him again. At least it felt that way.

"You know what it's for." Guillaume cast a quick glance towards the leg Gino was working on. "Trust me, you'll need it."

The next time Aramis awoke, the tent was plunged in darkness. Two candles sitting on the nearby table were the only sources of light available. He was back on the ground, with a clean linen sheet underneath his back.

Gino was sunken in the only chair, and by the looks of it, he was fast asleep. His hands were covered in dried blood, and his clothes bathed in sweat.

Aramis felt like he had been trampled, but he managed to lift his head. He narrowed his eyes and tried to adjust them to the dim light. The tent was emptier than before. Phillippe was gone. On the other side of the tent, also on the ground, he discovered Henri, on whom Gino had been working earlier. He had a large bandage around his chest and was very pale, but the quiet snoring assured Aramis that Gino had done his best.

Next to him sat Guillaume, with his back to Henri. He was facing another man on the ground, one who was clamping his hands around bloodied, red bandages around his lower chest. With a heavy heart, Aramis recognized the musketeer named Laurent. Even in the dim light and at that distance, he was able to make out the origin of the wound. Gut shot.

He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. His mouth opened to offer comforting words, but not a single sound escaped his lips and he uselessly dropped back on the floor.

And suddenly, he remembered. Where was Athos?

His head shot up again, and he instantly regretted it as a bolt of pain jarred his entire leg. His panicked eyes searched the tent for Athos, and he finally discovered him, barely touched by the candle's lights, in the outer corner of the tent. His lower back had been wrapped, and he sported a bloodied bandage around his wounded arm. His face had been cleaned, but by the looks of it, he was unconscious.

"Awake already?"

Gino's voice came out of nowhere and Aramis' twitched in surprise. The medic was in the same position as earlier, but through the dim light, his keen eyes were fixed on Aramis.

Aramis managed a confirming half-snorting, half-growling sound.

"Get some rest," Gino ordered. "I fixed your leg best I could. But I advise you not to do any running any time soon. Or fighting." He made a short pause as he realized how stupid his words would sound to Aramis' ears. "Just, take it easy, will you? I don't want my work to be for nothing."

Aramis exhaled slowly. "What about Athos and Porthos?"

Gino raised his eyebrow at the question, but bit down whatever witty remark he had ready. "I saw Porthos earlier. He's getting some sleep, but I told him to come see me later so I can take care of his eye." Gino hesitated as his eyes wandered over to Athos. "Athos is hard to tell. He's difficult to read. He didn't react to pain; he didn't react to any of my treatments." He made a vague gesture towards his own head.

Aramis closed his eyes. "Head injury."

Gino grunted as confirmation. "Head injury. In combination with enormous exhaustion, I suspect. I stitched the wound, but we'll know more when he wakes up. I believe the worst things are the two wounds on his arm. The second slash reopened the one he received at Saint Blanceau, and I wasn't able to stitch it. It stopped bleeding, but it's important that it doesn't get infected." He shrugged. "That's all I was able to find. His back is bruised, but I'll find out more once I get to talk to him."

Aramis managed a dry laugh. "Don't expect too much. He's not exactly the most talkative person around."

Gino's eyes were fixed on Laurent on the ground. "Neither am I."

Aramis tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. He didn't know Gino too well, he had merely assisted him during the past few weeks; however, it was obvious he wasn't finished yet.

"Any news from the English?" Aramis asked, and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat off his brow.

Gino leaned back in his chair again, finally diverting his gaze from Laurent. He shook his head. "Not necessarily. But Arthur reported about ten minutes ago that a messenger from the Fort arrived, bringing news from Commander Décart."

Aramis heart sparked anew with hope. "Mathis is back?"

Gino's face darkened, and he just shook his head once again before he continued. "Buckingham is besieging the citadel. Décart heard what happened, and he says it's time we go back under his control."

Aramis raised an eyebrow. "He's sending orders?"

Again, a shake of the head. "He's sending us a General. General Suard. He'll take the command as soon as they find a safe way through Buckingham's forces." Gino was clenching his hands nervously, his jaw was tense. Aramis did not know the General; he couldn't connect the name to a face. But Gino's reaction surprised him.

"You don't seem too happy about it," Aramis whispered just as he felt exhaustion overtaking him once again.

Gino's mouth twitched, but he didn't answer. "Get some rest, Aramis. Once the General is here, you won't get much."

As usual, also a big thank you to Uia and Laureleaf for the kind words!
Wishing you all merry christmas, and wonderful holidays!