A/N: Thank you for all your kind messages and for continuing to read this. I've missed this!

The Package

Chapter 3

They trudged towards Paris with Athos in the lead. Henri drove the cart that carried Francois and D'Artagnan while Guillaume and Bernard shepherded their prisoners in the wagon's wake. Aramis swayed as he rode quietly next to Porthos, his eyes going in and out of focus. They had stopped only once after a few hours in the saddle.

Porthos glanced at his brother from time to time, but Aramis kept greeting him with a small smile. Porthos assumed that his quiet demeanour was simply due to his eagerness to return to Christine and his concern for D'Artagnan who continued coming in and out of consciousness. The sooner he was resting in the infirmary, the better.

Athos called another halt to allow their horses to rest before they tackled the last leg of their journey. He and the others dismounted and handed the prisoners a waterskin.

Aramis and Porthos remained in the saddle. Athos raised his eyebrow. As though on cue, Porthos shouted "Oy!" as Aramis tumbled out of the saddle.

Athos ran, sliding on his knees to the medic's side. Porthos' horse circled nervously as he helplessly stared down at his brother.

Athos rolled the marksman onto his back. His skin was pale, drawn and sweaty. Bernard had flocked to his side. Athos' eyes flared as he saw the blood on the shirt beneath his doublet. He pulled the doublet open and growled. His sash was saturated with blood. The wadded bandages were completely soaked through. He undid the sash and threw the bandages to the side and stared at the mangled knife wound near the medic's lower ribs, which still continued to bleed.

"Damn it! Aramis!" he shouted tapping the man's face probably a little harder than he meant to, but given his rage at the moment, the medic was lucky he wasn't strangling him.

"'m fine," the marksman muttered as he tried to sit up.

"What part of this is fine?" Athos shouted. "What happened?"

"Got stabbed," he said simply, which nearly enraged the swordsman more. Bernard shot Athos a warning look and he struggled to control himself.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Bernard asked.

"Couldn't stitch it myself," he muttered. "Didn't think it would bleed so much."

"What else is bothering you?" Athos asked sternly.

Aramis scowled slightly at his brother but quailed under the intense gaze. "A rib, other side. It's just bruised. Nothing you can do," he grumbled.

From above them Porthos roared. "Why didn't you say anything?! Of all the selfish, stupid things…"

"Had to check on you, Guillaume and D'Artagnan," he said and glared back at Porthos. Athos and Porthos sighed. It was so like their big-hearted brother to put everyone else's life before his own. They cursed themselves for not recognizing his modus operandi sooner.

"We should stop," said Bernard, but Aramis shook his head.

"Need to get back to Paris," he said weakly. Bernard looked at Athos who nodded his head.

"My own medical knowledge is not skilled enough to treat this. Paris isn't far. If we place him in the wagon we should make it on time," he said.

Bernard bit his lip but nodded. "Ok, let's repack the wound and bind the ribs again at least."

They lay Aramis next to D'Artagnan in the cart. He was ash pale and coated in sweat. Athos was suddenly grateful for the large wagon. Francois remained in the wagon, D'Artagnan's head cradled in his lap. The Gascon had come around a few times on the return journey, enough to take in a little water.

Francois held the water skin to Aramis' mouth as well. Next to Aramis, Francois had the most medical experience on this journey, but it paled in comparison to the marksman's. He was unable to properly stitch the wound, and the red inflamed and savaged edges of the injury hinted at infection. Francois was unsure what elements from the medical kit to combine to deter the infection's growth. As Paris approached, he grew more and more concerned for the two men lying with him in the cart.

oOo

It was long after supper when the musketeers pulled into the garrison.

"Etienne!" shouted Athos as the wagon pulled to a halt. Henri leapt from the driver's seat and calling to the few cadets that lingered in the courtyard, they ran to grab stretchers. Treville approached the cart as Etienne ran from the infirmary. He assessed Porthos who was being helped from his horse by Bernard.

"What is going on here?" Treville demanded, glancing at the prisoners that Guillaume and a few others were coralling towards the garrison's holding cells. "Porthos?" he asked.

"Stabbed. Calf. Stitched," said Bernard by way of explanation under the weight of the larger man.

Etienne nodded. "To the infirmary," he said as he moved to look at those laid out in the wagon.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here," he muttered as he took in Aramis' pale complexion. "What did he do?"

"We were ambushed. He was stabbed. The wound is ugly. I think the blade was serrated judging by the mess of it. He didn't tell us; he was more focused on the others' injuries. He knew we wouldn't be able to treat it and he was unable to stitch it himself. He also mentioned a rib on the other side. Cleaned the wound as best as we could, but it looked like it had the start of infection," said Athos bitterly

Etienne nodded and placed a hand on the man's head. It felt warm which made the musketeer frown. "He's got a slight fever. Not sure if that's from the exertion, the wound or the loss of blood." Henri and three recruits appeared bearing stretchers. "Get him to the infirmary."

As the men lifted Aramis from the cart, D'Artagnan began to stir.

"Pistol to the back of the head," said Francois. "He's come around a few times. Never more than for a few minutes."

Etienne nodded. "D'Artagnan, can you hear me?"

D'Artagnan's eyes fluttered as he tried to focus on the medic's voice.

"D'Artagnan?" Etienne tried again.

"'tienne? We back in Paris?" he muttered, his eyes meeting the medic's.

Etienne smiled. "Yes, you're back. We're going to get you more comfortable," he said to which the Gascon grimaced. "You took a blow to the head." They lifted D'Artagnan onto the stretcher and carried him to the infirmary.

Athos went to follow, but Treville reached out his hand to stop him.

"You need to go get Christine," he said. "She'll need to be here," he said, his eyes growing dark with concern.

Athos looked at the man and raised an eyebrow.

Treville sighed. "It seems like he lost a lot of blood. That plus the infection…if Aramis slips into a fever, he'll more than likely need her voice to guide him back…if he can come back. I'll see this package gets delivered to his Majesty."

Athos' eyes flashed at these words – he had long since forgotten the King's gift. He doubted very much that it would be worth the injuries to his brothers.

Once more he mounted Roger, who though tired, stood strong and proud beneath his master. He galloped from the garrison towards the rue St Germain.

oOo

Marie answered the door at Athos' urgent knocking. She backed away instantly and ran to get her mistress at the haggard blood stained sight of the musketeer.

"Athos!" called Christine as she stood at the top of the stairs.

"You need to come with me," he said.

"What's wrong?" she gasped.

She ran down the stairs not waiting for his answer and squeezed passed him and approached Roger. Athos lifted her to the saddled and quickly mounted behind her. They galloped though her courtyard and across the streets of Paris and into the Musketeer Garrison.

oOo