X. Storm of Silence

„Porthos?" An urgent voice dug its way into Porthos' consciousness. "Porthos, wake up!"

The musketeer opened his eyes at once. The sun was beginning to rise, and he blinked against the bright light bathing the fortress in its warmth. He realized he was sweating, probably due to the heat and his leather uniform, and it was making the wounds on his face burn. He must've slept the entire night.

He dizzily looked up into the grim-looking face of Arthur, who met his gaze impatiently.

"Sorry to wake you, but if I have to listen to this Lucien for another minute, I might just try to take out Buckingham by myself." He made a dismissive gesture towards where the civilians were standing in a crowd. "They wanted to see one of the musketeers in charge."

Porthos grunted. "Well, I ain't in charge alone. Actually, nobody's in charge."

Arthur just rolled his eyes and offered Porthos a hand, which the musketeer gladly accepted. "Aramis and Athos are injured, so you're the only one left who was there when the village was evacuated."

Porthos just stared at him, not sure how to react or what Arthur expected him to say.

"You and I, we need to make a plan," Arthur merely pointed out and shrugged. "The others are waiting for their orders."

Porthos ran a hand over his face. "Well, I'm in no position to give orders. Neither are you." He sighed. "Alright, you make the plan for the morning patrol," he suggested. "I'll see Gino for my eye, and then I'll see how the civilians are doing."

"Thank you," Arthur replied shortly, turned on the heel and disappeared into the command tent.

Porthos took a deep breath and readjusted his weapon belt. He risked a side glance towards where the civilians were crowded together, but his heart told him to see Gino first. Mostly, because he needed an update on Aramis and Athos, but also because his limited vision was not only painful, it was beginning to bother him.

He slowly strode over towards the tent, when a voice interrupted him midway.

"Porthos!"

The musketeer bit down a groan once he recognized the voice and came to a halt, tiredly rubbing his good eye. He didn't even bother to look up; the source revealed itself soon enough.

"Porthos, wasn't it?" Lucien had appeared in front of Porthos, with the mother of the child Porthos had rescued on his heels.

Porthos just nodded slowly, trying hard to maintain an indifferent face. "What is it, Lucien?"

Lucien hastily folded his hands in front of his chest and put on a self-conscious expression. "We all were wondering about the next steps, but apparently, nobody speaks with us. This musketeer…Arthur was his name I think?...was quite rude. Didn't want to tell us anything."

Porthos just glared at Lucien and raised an eyebrow. "You want me to repeat the question?"

Lucien seemed a little unsure, but he kept going. "Ever since we got here, we were treated as if we weren't even here and I'm just here to say…"

"Please, Monsieur," the woman interrupted Lucien, and approached Porthos slowly. "Don't listen to him. You don't have to explain anything. Rest assured we understand." She sent Lucien an intimidating glare.

"How's your daughter?" Porthos asked out of curiosity. He was afraid he had scared the child.

The woman smiled. "Shaken, but alive. That's all that matters. I can't thank you enough, Monsieur."

Porthos made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I'm sorry we weren't able to save everyone." He had seen the few dead civilians when he had entered the village again in search of Aramis and Athos. He had also seen the look on Aramis' face when he had briefly addressed it. He intended to stay silent about it for now.

"You warned us. You did all you could," the woman said and shrugged.

"Listen, I'll make sure you get everything we can give you, everything you need. But my first priority has to be the safety of this fortress, and I have to see after the wounded."

"A couple of hours ago you were insisting on taking care of us, and now you refuse to do so?" Lucien complained, not able to hide the angry tone in his voice.

"Lucien," the woman warned again, but she was ignored.

"No, I want an answer. We were offered some water, and that's all. No places to sleep, and, most importantly, nobody here speaks to us! What on earth are we supposed to do next? What are the orders?"

Now Porthos was slowly beginning to lose his patience. "There are no orders. We were busy trying to save the lives of musketeers, Monsieur," he replied with a coldness Athos would have appreciated. "I apologize if our efforts on saving lives caused inconvenience for you. But at the moment, I have more important matters to take care of than your comfort."

He tried to turn away, but Lucien roughly grabbed his arm. It took all of Porthos self-control not to defend himself against the man with violence.

"Don't just walk away from us!" Lucien threatened.

"Lucien!" This time, the woman didn't take no for an answer. "The man is wounded. Leave him alone, you'll get your answers eventually."

And with that, she roughly shoved Lucien out of the way and sent a quick glance to Porthos, offering him something that looked like a smile. Porthos didn't wait another second and hastily made his way over to the medic's tent, trying to keep his anger and frustration at bay.

In front of the entrance, he was greeted with the bitter scent of blood and sweat and before he had a chance to enter the tent, three figures came out and almost collided with him.

He recognized one of them as Gino, the other one was Philippe. In the middle, they were carrying the body of Laurent. Laurent's head rested on his bloodied chest, his eyes were closed and his skin devoid of any color. Porthos felt something heavy weighing on his chest at the sight. The chances of surviving a gut shot were slim, however Porthos had dared to hope, as giving up was the last thing he ever was going to do.

"We were thinking of putting him to rest near the cliffs, outside of this fortress," Phillippe explained with a hoarse voice and didn't look at his friend once.

Porthos could do nothing but nod, but then Gino took over. "Good you're here," he said with an authoritative tone in his voice. "Go inside, make sure the stubborn idiot doesn't hurt himself while I'm gone."

Porthos raised an eyebrow. "'re we talkin' 'bout Aramis or Athos?"

Gino hesitated. "Fair question, but this time I refer to Aramis. Athos is still unconscious. Should he, for whatever reason, wake while I'm away, make sure he doesn't move. Not until I got a look at him, understood?"

"Yes."

Without further instructions, Porthos headed inside the tent, fleeing from the image of Laurent dangling between Gino and Philippe and running straight into another image he didn't like any better. On the right side of the entrance he found Athos, stretched out on a linen sheet. He had been stripped of his jacket and weapons, and he sported a blood-soaked bandage around his upper arm as well as one around his head. He was breathing shallowly, obviously not awake.

On the other side of the tent he found Aramis, propped up against a chair, with his leg resting in an awkward angle on the dusty and bloodied ground. He was very pale, and the unshed tears gathered in his open eyes told Porthos that he must be in pain. Porthos noticed that his leg was trembling, and the marksman was trying to steady it with both of his hands.

"How 're you doin'?" Porthos greeted with a low voice, careful not to wake the other, resting musketeers.

Aramis' eyes shot up, and once he spotted Porthos he instantly seemed to be a bit more relaxed. He grimaced. "Been better, but I'll be fine."

Porthos merely raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but I don't think you'll be running again anytime soon."

Aramis rolled his eyes. "Yes, Gino already said that. But the blade luckily missed the artery, still it bled a lot and may have hurt some muscle and bone. But as I said, I'll be fine." His gaze wandered over to Athos lying on the floor to Porthos' right. "It's him I'm concerned about."

Porthos shared the concern, but he knew he needed to show the optimism Aramis seemed to be lacking at the moment. He made a dismissive gesture with his hands. "Ah, you know him. He's too stubborn to leave the command to the two of us."

Aramis snorted. "Doesn't make it any better. Without his expertise and Tréville not with us, there's no one here to scare the men enough to listen." He hesitated for a short moment and looked up to Porthos. "No offense."

Porthos scowled. "None taken. I'm good at intimidating people, but we all know that most of them don't trust me."

An angry expression crossed Aramis' white face. "Their loss." His eyes locked onto the bloodied spot on the other side of the tent where Laurent probably had lain. "General Suard is on his way to take the command."

Porthos shrugged. "And? I don't know him. At least somebody finally takes the command."

"Yeah…," Aramis voice was barely more than a whisper. "Gino seems pretty worried about it. Don't think he and the General are close friends."

Porthos leaned back against the wooden pillar. "Gino's a heartless bastard, he has more enemies than friends. Still, one way or another, there's nothing we can do about it. And we need someone to take the command." His eyes involuntarily found Athos. "What about him?"

Aramis sighed. "Quite banged up. As long as the arm stays clean, he'll be fine, but he took a nasty hit against the head. I'm worried about him. He has never been the one to talk, but seeing him this silent is still …"

"Frightening," Porthos concluded grimly, and he too shot a worried glance towards Athos' form on the sheets.

Aramis lifted his head and stared at Porthos. "How are you dealing with the civilians?"

The other musketeer grimaced. "Lucien's testing out boundaries he should not touch. Everybody is doing his best, but Tréville's absence is quite noticeable."

Aramis leaned himself back flat on the ground. "We three did the best we could." Porthos could see that his friend did not know whether he was lying to himself or not.

Porthos grinned. "Indeed we did." He started moving again. His first stop was at Athos' side. Athos looked pale, but his steady breathing assured Porthos that he was alive and, according to Gino, probably going to be fine. His arm was a bloody mess though, and the musketeer decided to talk to Gino about it.

He then made his way back over to Aramis, and took the chair his friend had rested against moments earlier.

He quickly noticed Aramis' worried gaze.

"What?"

"Your eye," Aramis just rasped and tried to prop himself up on his elbows. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Let me have a look."

Porthos bent backwards, and moved away a few inches. "Don't bother. Gino will check it out once he…" He cleared his throat nervously. "Once he and Philippe find a solution for the fallen."

Aramis' face darkened, but he insisted. "It looks like a deep cut."

Porthos rolled his eyes. "Here you are, bleeding from a deep stab wound, not even able to walk but still insisting my eye is that bad, eh?" He waved his hand at his friend. "I appreciate it, but save your strength."

He was aware of Aramis' stern glare, but the marksman chose not to comment any further.

"We thought we got them all out, you know," Aramis whispered, his eyes now resting on Athos' unconscious form on the other side of the tent. "We were overrun. There was nothing we could do, and I believe that the fact that Athos and I are still breathing is a miracle from God." He made a pause, and released a stuttering breath. "Porthos, we are residing in a trap here. This was only one day. How on earth shall we survive a siege?"

Porthos swallowed down the lump in his throat. In moments like these, Athos' pragmatism was definitely needed. But the swordsman remained still, in his place on the dusty ground, not saying a single word.

"Your realism is not appreciated now, Aramis," Porthos admonished. "That's the pain speaking. Get some rest, clear your head and tomorrow you'll see what I see."

Aramis now looked utterly confused. "What do you see?" he simply asked.

Porthos crossed his arms in front of his chest. "A fine fortress and plenty of men to protect it." His gaze softened. "No one said it'll be easy. But you know how we musketeers are…"

Aramis grinned darkly. "Yeah. Too stubborn to die." His gaze found Athos again. "I'm sure he would agree."

His friend laughed audibly. "No, he'd just stare at you with annoyance."

Before anyone else could contribute something to this conversation, Gino drew all of the attention as he entered the tent again. He had dark circles under his eyes, speaking of the rough night he had, but without saying one word, he just knelt down in front of Porthos and without further hesitation, he started treating the cut.

Porthos hissed at the unexpected burning sensation that spread all over the side of his face.

"You found a place?" Aramis asked, his voice hollow and dull. He wasn't even looking at Gino.

The medic huffed. "Yes. Philippe and Arthur took over. Near a cliff, outside of the fortress." That's all he said, and nobody dared to speak up again, everybody lost in their own thoughts. Gino continued working on Porthos' eye, cautiously cleaning the wound and sewing it as best as he could.

"It's gonna leave a scar, I'm afraid," Gino grunted with the needle between his teeth as he was adjusting the thread on the skin. "But you're lucky the blade missed your eye. You could've lost it otherwise."

Porthos grunted, as if he wasn't sure whether he should be feeling blessed or doomed.

Loud steps announced the arrival of another man in the medic's tent, and the linen sheets parted to reveal the musketeer Guillaume.

"Porthos?" he turned his head and his eyes landed on the big musketeer sitting next to Gino. "Porthos, good to see you're here. We need you outside, the civilians are getting agitated."

Porthos sighed. "I know. But as I told them, we'll come back to them as soon as we can." He let out a frustrated growl. "We only have two hands."

"I need to perform some medical examinations anyway," Gino explained and shouldered a leather bag full of supplies. "I'll come with you."

"If you two brutes talk to the scared and traumatized civilians, they're gonna wish they had never left the village," Aramis chipped in bluntly. "Help me, and I'll try to calm the tension."

"Not a good idea," Gino insisted coldly. "I tried my best, but I have no idea what else is damaged in your leg, and I don't think we'll be able to find out until we make it back to Paris. Wrong movements could lead to permanent damage in your leg. You don't want to limp for the rest of your life, do you?" His question was left unanswered.

"You expect me to sit around for the next weeks, and let you do all the work?" Aramis huffed. "I appreciate the offer, but you can't seriously expect me to do that."

Gino stared at him for a short moment, and the hint of a smirk was visible on his face. "No, of course not. I'm just saying if your wound gets infected or you lose your balance somewhere in the mud of this damn island, I'll leave you there."

Aramis managed a weak grin and teased: "Don't be too empathetic, you're competing with Athos."

Gino scowled. "I'm doing my best." He shot Porthos a look and carefully put an arm around Aramis' left shoulder. Porthos bent down and did the same with Aramis' right.

"On three," Porthos warned. He could feel the tension in his friend's body.

"One…" Aramis exhaled loudly.

"Two…." Gino and Porthos, without saying a word, had agreed to pull the marksman up on Two. They stood up, Aramis' injured leg dragging stiffly over the floor and slowly coming to a standing position.

Aramis himself looked like all blood had been drained from his face, and he was cursing Gino and Porthos quite colorfully in all languages he knew.

"You asked for it," Gino growled and waited until Aramis had regained something like a balance. He turned his head to look at Guillaume. "You stay here, watch Henri and Athos. Should Athos wake, make sure he stays where he is. I don't need another uncooperative patient."

Guillaume saluted sarcastically. "No promises. You know Athos."

Gino just rolled his eyes and together, they headed outside.

Aramis himself wasn't sure that it had been a good idea to move at all, but he hated sitting around doing nothing. His priority was to look after Athos, but as long as Athos wasn't awake, there was nothing he was able to do.

When Gino and Porthos had helped him up, his vision had whitened completely. His entire leg was aching and burning with pain, and he knew for sure that putting any weight on it would prove to be a bad idea for now. Instead, he decided to bite down any signs that would confirm to Gino or Porthos how much it hurt, and he let himself be guided outside the medic's tent. He could feel his leg wound leaking blood, but he didn't say anything. Helping his friends, and helping the civilians was his top priority.

"Over here," Porthos mumbled and they stumbled along to where the crowd of civilians was gathered near the fortress gate. They carefully approached them, and Porthos eased his friend down so he could sit on a rock. Aramis sighed in relief when he stretched out his shaking limb, and his tired eyes finally found Lucien, the self proclaimed spokesman of the civilians, who had already approached them.

Before he had a chance to say anything, Gino took over.

"My name is Gino, I am the medic of the musketeer regiment." He gently but firmly pushed Lucien backwards so there would be more space between him and the soldiers. "I am here to assess your physical condition."

Lucien opened his mouth. "So, now you're paying attention to us? We've decided we can do just fine without your help by now, thank you."

"It's my job to make sure everybody is healthy. Besides, I need to make sure the risk for the musketeer company is as small as possible." Gino's tone tolerated no protest, but nevertheless, Lucien made an attempt.

"Risk for the musketeer company?" He bristled with anger. "Isn't it your job anyway? To protect us?"

Next to Aramis, Porthos chuckled, obviously, he wasn't offended. "Yes, but we wouldn't mind a little gratitude."

Lucien simply ignored him, but Gino did too. He walked over to the other civilians and started a very one-sided conversation.

Aramis took it on himself to answer Lucien, with a mixture of sarcasm and authority. "However, I feel the need to point out that if the musketeer company is in danger, then you are in danger as well, considering at the moment, we're the only ones shielding you from Buckingham and this General."

"There are still some of our people out there!" This was the voice of the woman, the one that had treated the musketeers with so much disgust back in Cévry. "You have to go out and save them."

Porthos stood up straight. "Madame, with all my respect, we don't have enough fit men for another rescue at the moment." He eyed her intensely. "As soon as enough men are recovered, I will send a group out."

"Who are you to give me orders!" the woman snapped, but Porthos didn't even flinch. Aramis watched carefully. These were the situations for which they really needed Athos.

"He's the one who saved your life," Aramis implied calmly from his place on the rock.

"Messieurs," another female voice made itself heard and the mother of the child Porthos had rescued made her way through the crowd of civilians and took her place at Lucien's other side. "We know you are doing everything within your power." She shot a stern look at Lucien and the other woman. "Rest assured you have our gratitude."

"Your son is still out there, Marie, and you want to do nothing?" Lucien asked reproachfully.

Marie's glare sent daggers towards the self-appointed spokesman. "My son," she started, her voice trembling with anger, "is fairly capable of taking care of himself."

"He's fourteen!" Lucien exclaimed doubtfully.

"He's more capable of saving his own life than you are," she shot back. "If you hadn't insisted that we should stay, all of us would have made it out of Cévry!"

Lucien suddenly made a step forward and grabbed the woman by the arm, his fingernails digging into her skin. Her eyes widened.

"You dare…," he started, but before he had a chance to say anything more, Porthos was there, shoving Lucien backwards violently.

"It doesn't matter!" he growled with as much authority he could muster. "No matter what could've gone differently, it's done. We can't change it. But the more time we waste here in senseless discussions, the less time we have to prepare for another attack and help those who need us."

"Porthos, Aramis!" A voice echoed from the gate, and Aramis turned his head to see Théo trying to get their attention. "A rider is approaching."

Aramis twitched nervously, and instantly regretted it when a bolt of pain shot up his entire leg. He clenched his teeth and lifted his gaze towards the gate.

"Théo, who is it?" Porthos bellowed but didn't get an answer. Instead, the musketeer opened the lock mechanisms on the door and opened the gate widely.

Aramis angrily locked his eyes on the gate, wondering why Théo thought it was a decision he could make by himself, but very soon, his anger was gone.

A single rider appeared inside the gate, on top of a giant, grey warhorse. The man wore a pompous, feathery hat, and sported a dark, black goatee. He was tall, and the armor he was wearing made him broader than he probably was. An enormous, white cloak covered his shoulders, and he entered the fortress with the authority of a man who knew exactly his position and his rank.

Aramis exhaled slowly, his eyes locked on the man. And he did not know whether their prayers had been answered, or their troubles had doubled.

Special thanks to Uia and Laureleaf for the kind reviews. And thanks to everybody who is still reading. Have a great start into the new year everyone.