Aramis followed his captain's orders all night, then all the next day and night, surprising them all. If he needed a wet cloth to smooth over Athos' face to cool him a little from the fever, he did as he had been told and asked one of his brothers for it.
When d'Artagnan the next morning, having learned from someone in the tavern where he could find some yarrow, brought a handful back, Aramis instructed him how to prepare it. With hands that trembled from the exhaustion and pain he persisted in ignoring, he applied the mixture to the wounds on Athos' back, hoping it would eventually turn the tide against his fever.
They brought him his meals, and he dutifully ate them, even though he had no appetite. They could see the pain and weariness in his face and body, but his whole focus was now on Athos. They hoped he would continue to have no reason to do more than keep an eye on him.
They insisted on checking out his wound once in the morning and again at night. They kept an eye on him, ready to put deposit him back in his own bed if he couldn't go on. But Aramis was both dedicated and stubborn enough to continue, loving his brother too much to think of himself and what he might need.
Treville had been out all day with the rest of his men, canvassing the area, asking questions about a couple of strangers who had been seen riding through. He needed to check out the reports to determine if it could possibly be part of the band that had harmed his men.
Just before dawn, someone let out a cry of alarm from somewhere downstairs. The Musketeers had taken two rooms on the second floor of the inn. Porthos and d'Artagnan , hearing the shout, first looked over at their brothers. All was quiet, Athos sleeping and Aramis sitting quietly beside him. He had heard the shout also, and made a motion signifying that he was fine and they should go. Looking at each other, they hoped that they were making the right decision to just go downstairs and see if there was some kind of emergency. They knew most men in the countryside villages probably weren't fully equipped to handle an intruder. Taking one more quick look back, they left the room.
As luck would have it, not long after had they left Athos began to stir, not making a sound but his body twitching restlessly from the fever. Aramis, seeing this, bent over Athos and took his brother's hand into his own, whispering words of comfort to his brother.
At first it seemed to work, Athos becoming calmer at hearing the soothing words. But then with no warning, he pushed upwards with both hands, exhibiting a strength that seemed impossible for someone in his condition.
His hands shoved at Aramis, who had risen to his feet to try to stop him. Aramis, weak and hiding his pain, was not that hard to push, and stumbled backwards. Losing his footing, with a cry he went down, his head hitting the edge of the table holding their supplies. Landing hard, he lay crumpled up on the floor, unmoving.
Athos, staggering in a weaving pattern, headed moved towards the door and, opening it, headed down the stairs
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It had taken longer than they liked, but Porthos and d'Artagnan managed to grab the man who had taken all the coins from the tavern owner's box and run out the door. Profuse thank you's greeted them as they came back into the tavern, Porthos with a tight hold on the scrawny little man's collar, propelling him towards the bar. D'Artagnan inquired whether the tavern had a storeroom without windows where they could lock the man in until the local lord who had jurisdiction could be notified and send men to retrieve him for trial. Receiving an affirmative answer, they then locked the man into the room they were directed to, and headed for the stairs.
They were almost there when they both shouted, "Athos!", as their brother came into sight moving down the stairs, or rather stumbling his way down, his eyes unfocused and wild. They reached him just as he passed out, saving him a painful face-first drop to the floor. Porthos gathered him up in his arms and carried him back up the stairs, d'Artagnan just shaking his head at this turn of events.
When they reached their room, however, they were shocked at the sight that greeted them. Coming to a halt at the open door, they beheld Aramis sprawled on the floor unconscious, blood trickling down the left side of his face.
Porthos and d'Artagnan each had the same though running through their heads, 'what in the world happened here? Were they attacked?' They saw no sign of anyone else having been there, but it oculd have been possible.
Porthos strode rapidly across the room and laid a completely limp Athos once again on his bed, covering him with a blanket. He didn't seem to have any visible signs of assault on him.
D'Artagnan, meanwhile, had closed and locked the door behind him, then knelt at Aramis' side, laying his fingers softly against his neck. Nodding his head to a panicked Porthos, who was heading quickly over to them, he and his brother gathered Aramis between them and laid him gently back on to his bed. Porthos got a wet cloth and wiped away the blood from his brother's face, then wrapped his head with a piece of torn cloth.
D'Artagnan said, "I don't see any signs of a struggle," after he had checked Aramis' side to make sure the wound hadn't reopened.
Porthos pointed at the now-overturned table, the supplies scattered haphazardly on the floor and said, "I think his head hit the table. There's blood on the edge of it. But we still have no idea how it happened."
"We need to keep an eye out for intruders. It would have been easy for someone to have slipped up the stairs once we had come down. Athos and Aramis would have been in no shape to resist. Could it have been one of the hooded men again?" Treville is out there now looking for any signs that they could be in the area," d'Artagnan wondered aloud. Porthos just shook his head.
They had no way to know, and they weren't about to leave their brothers while they were helpless and explore the building and grounds. Porthos sat down with Aramis, while d'Artagnan settled near Athos, both determined to stay up all night, if need be, to prevent any more trouble.
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Porthos sat with his head in his hands some time later, thoughts and questions running through his mind as he gently tousled his beleageured brother's curls.
'What happened, Aramis,' he wondered. 'Did the hooded men come looking for you again? Why? Your heart goes out to anyone who needs help, anyone in need. What could you have done?' He continued, veering a little now to a teasing tone, one he and his brothers sometimes used to ease their stress. 'Your head better be hard enough for this latest knock, mon ami. You're lucky you don't need stitches, 'cause you know how bad I am at that.' Pausing again, his tone became sad and somber once again. 'Just wake up for us, please. You and Athos don't deserve any of this. You fight for our lives, please fight for yours,' squeezing the limp hand in his grasp.
When Treville and his men came back very late, he was shocked to hear what had happened. Shocked and angry. They would get to the bottom of these mysterious and deadly men if it was the last thing he did he vowed to Athos and Aramis, two of his very best and most trusted men.
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Athos and Aramis both lay still for several hours, before Athos emitted a groan and then his eyes moving under his eyelids signalling his gradual return to consciousness.
D'Artagnan said to Porths, "His fever seems to have broken at last. His skin is cooler." Both brothers eagerly awaited his eyes opening, as he had been unresponsive for so long.
It seemed to take forever to his waiting brothers, but their wait was finally rewarded when Athos at last cracked open, accompanied by another long groan.
His first sight was of Porthos and d'Artagnan smiling broadly at him, happy and grateful that he was back with them again. They let him take a few moments to orient himself before speaking.
"Hey, mon ami, welcome back," Porthos said, keeping his booming voice reined in as he spoke.
Athos at first looked confused, not really registering what Porthos mean by his words welcoming him back. His confusion showed by a frown as his brows drew together, and he looked from one to the other of his brothers blankly.
"You had an infection from your wounds, Athos," d'Artagnan explained. "You were out for several days. But your fever has broken, and you will be just fine after a few days' rest."
Athos seemed to understand at least a little of what he had been told, his brows relaxing their frown at the words.
They let him rest for a few minutes before d'Artagnan always eager, asked him, "Do you have any memory of what happened with you and Aramis earlier?"
His brows drew together once more, and then his face showed growing worry as he tried to ask,"A..Ar...?" his voice scratchy from disuse.
Realizing he was very dry, d'Artagnan hurriedly poured some water into a cup and, with Porthos lifting Athos' head, fed a little water at a time until he tried to nod his head for them to stop.
Trying again, his scratchy voice got out, "Aramis...all right?"
They hesitated a moment too long, and Athos' face began to register alarm, as he tried to move his head to search for his missing brother.
"Athos! Athos, it's all right. He's right here. Look!"
Turning his head in the direction indicated with d'Artagnan's assistance, Athos' eyes grew very wide, his breathing quickening as he asked, "Wh..what happened?"
They didn't want to say they had no idea, that they had hoped he could tell them, figuring that would only increase his worry. So Porthos said, "He is asleep, Athos, the best thing for him. It might be good for you, too."
Athos' eyes closed for a while, leading his brothers to assume either that he had taken their advice and gone to sleep, or that his body had simply tuckered itself out already.
Not even an hour later, though, he returned to consciousness in a frenzy,calling, "Aramis! Aramis!" in a panic, and trying to get up to go to him.
Both Porthos and d'Artagnan held him down as gently but firmly as they could, speaking to him quietly and calmly. "Aramis is here, Athos. He will be fine."
But Athos shook his head, crying out, "It was me! I did it!"
Whatever they might have expected him to say, that was not it. Athos had caused harm to his best friend? No way!
"I am responsible. It was me!" he continued to say, his voice utterly torn and ragged, and began to sob.
"Athos, what happened?" Porthos finally asked him, figuring maybe speaking of what was causing his panic might somehow possibly diffuse his emotions.
"I..pushed h..him! he said brokenly. "I w..woke up and h..he was leaning over m..me. I thought..I though he was..."
"You thought he was the man who hurt you," Porthos surmised, seeing Athos nod his head.
"I was dr..dreaming. I..I saw the man, and...," he stopped, obviously seeing the hooded man again before him.
"He isn't here now, Athos. We will never let him anywhere near a Musketeer again, mom ami," the big man solemnly promised him.
This was so different from the cool, confident leader they knew him to be. But then, he had been through a horrifically bad experience, and who knows how any of them would have reacted in the same situation?
"I..do not remember..what happened after that," he finally continued. "Wh..where did I go?" looking from Porthos to d'Artagnan, then back to Porthos.
"You ended up coming downstairs and passing out," Porthos told him. "I carried you back here."
"Where is here?" sounding just a little more like the Athos they were accustomed to now.
"We are on the second floor of a tavern in a village a distance away from where we found Aramis and d'Artagnan," continued Porthos.
Porthos and d'Artagnan saw that while they were talking, Athos' eyes kept seeking out Aramis' still form, eyes filled with guilt.
"You are not to blame for what happened, Athos," he softly told him. "Would you like to go sit with him for a little while?" knowing he wasn't in very good shape to do that, but thinking his mental agitation might be calmed down if he were to do so.
Athos nodded, and Porthos lifted him to carry him over to Aramis, sitting him down at his brother's side. Athos took his brother's hand almost immediatelhy, eyes sad as he looked down at Aramis.
"I am sorry, Aramis," he whispered. "I am so very sorry. Please forgive me, mon ami. I will make it up to you somehow, brother."