"What happened, then? Did you force a bastard on some poor whore?"

Athos tried to ignore the viciously friendly voice. It grated even on his wine-deadened nerves. He considered the childish urge to cover his ears, but doubted that he would have been able to position his hands correctly. No matter. The intruder would lose interest. They always did.

"Is that why you are here? Come on now, you can tell me."

Damn it all. Athos raised his head off the table and looked up at the man that stood over him. Finding nothing worth studying, he lowered his gaze. An empty glass lay tipped on the wooden surface of the table top and Athos inched his fingers towards it. Perhaps the next glass would be the one to finally darken his senses. He reached for the wine bottle when it suddenly moved out of his range.

"I asked you a question, didn't I? Thought you nobles were supposed to be full of manners." A chair scraped unpleasantly against the floor as the Red Guard pulled it out and dropped into it. He was a tall, thin man with a perpetually pinched expression on his face. Athos struggled to remember his name but quickly decided he did not care. The Guard grabbed the glass from Athos' lax fingers and poured himself the last of the wine. Athos glared at him as he drained it and slammed the goblet back on the table. "Excellent taste in wine, good sir," the Guard said mockingly.

Without bothering to answer, Athos pushed his own chair back and made to stand when the Guard grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him back down into his seat. Athos clumsily wrenched his arm away and dropped his head back onto the table. Why wouldn't this cretin go away?

"Why are you here? I didn't think that someone like you would lower yourself to associate with the likes of us."

"He wouldn't. Honestly, no Musketeer could ever drop that low." A cheerful new voice joined the conversation, and Athos silently groaned. All he had wanted was to to be left in peace so he could drink himself into oblivion. He cursed himself for not having gotten started earlier.

"This is none of your business, Aramis," came the sullen reply. "Run along."

"I think not. I rather like it here." Another body plopped down into a chair and Athos felt the table vibrate under his head as it was hit by a pair of boots. "Since you drank the wine Athos was saving for me, I suggest that you retrieve another bottle for us."

"Get it yourself," the Red Guard sneered.

"But I'm already comfortable," Aramis said reasonably. "And frankly, we're not enjoying your company so you might as well make yourself useful."

There a silence that stretched on, and Athos prayed that it would last. He heard a low mutter as the Red Guard finally pushed back and left their company. "The wine, Anne. You are going in the wrong direction. The bar keep is the other way," Aramis called out. The marksman sighed, and then remarked brightly, "No wonder the Red Guard are so helpless. They cannot follow the simplest of orders."

Athos lifted his head and stared blearily at the other man that had sat uninvited at his little corner table. Aramis casually leaned back in his chair, his feet up and his posture relaxed. Even in the dim lighting of the smoky tavern, Athos could see that the young marksman was not wearing his usual leathers. Oddly, he was wearing clothes that did not belong to him. They belonged to Thomas. They were the same items his brother had been wearing when he...

"What do you want?" Athos asked flatly.

"Just the pleasure of your scintillating company," Aramis said with a grin.

Athos placed his head back down. It was beginning to ache terribly and he wished for more drink to numb it. The pain squeezed his temples, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. It traveled down his spine and radiated through his body. Agony pooled in his shoulder and leg where it throbbed with a grinding relentlessness. He groaned through a clenched jaw.

He felt a hand land on his shoulder and he listlessly swatted at it. "Go away," Athos mumbled. He was too miserable to deal with Aramis' antics. "Don't need your help."

Aramis huffed out an amused chuckle. "Perhaps you do not. But I need yours, Athos."

Something in Aramis' voice made Athos tilt up his gaze. The marksman was still lounging easily in his chair, but now there was a dark stain that was spreading on his - Thomas' - once pristine clothes. Blood saturated the cloth and Aramis touched curious fingers to his own chest. They came away smeared in red.

Athos' eyes widened in alarm. "Aramis? What is happening?"

"It seems as though I am dying," Aramis replied. He coughed lightly and blood sprayed from his lips. "But you knew that already, didn't you? That is why you left us."

Pain forgotten, Athos scrambled up and frantically searched Aramis for a wound, but could find none. Despite that, the blood kept flowing. It pooled at their feet and Aramis' skin slowly bleached white. "No, Aramis, stay with me. Thomas, please."

Aramis coughed again, and Athos felt warm droplets hit his cheek. "I need your help, Athos. You need to come back."

"I will, Aramis. I promise. You need to hold on."

The marksman nodded weakly. "Wake up, monsieur. Wake up."

"Open your eyes, please."

Athos came to with a gasp and swung wildly at the unknown face that hovered above his own. He paid for the sudden motion with a shocking wave of pain that stole his breath. Athos squeezed his eyes shut and tried to roll onto his side but found himself held back by a pair of strong hands.

"Careful," a male voice said soothingly. "Try not to move too much. You will undo my excellent splint work." When Athos stilled, the hands pat him on the shoulder and the same voice bellowed, "Descartes! Let the Captain know our guest has awoken."

A door slammed loudly and Athos flinched. "Where am I?" he rasped.

"At our garrison, outside of Briançon. You are lucky the Captain recognized you, my friend, otherwise you would be resting in a prison cell rather than this nice, warm bed."

I made it. I made it back to France. The elation was short-lived when he remembered why he was alone. The swordsman cracked his eyes open and found a lean, young face with creased with laugh lines staring down at him. The kindness in the stranger's dark gaze reminded him too much of Aramis. Athos began to push himself up and found that only one of his arms was free. The left one was bound tightly against his body. "How long have I been here?"

"Perhaps twelve hours. You were clearly exhausted and badly injured."

Twelve hours? A surge of panic flooded through the swordsman. It had been far too long. "I need to go," Athos muttered.

The other man nodded in understanding, carefully helping Athos to sit. "There is a chamber pot if you need it. I would not recommend wandering outside to the privy in your condition."

"No, I mean I need to leave," Athos growled, frustrated. "My friends need help."

"Ah. Then I would suggest you speak with the Captain. He should be in shortly."

As if hearing the summons, the door opened to admit a tall, broad-shouldered man. Despite the abundant grey in his hair, it was clear that he still had a soldier's strength and discipline. A recollection of the man sluggishly floated up in Athos' brain. They had briefly met when he and Porthos had stopped to rest and replenish some of their supplies.

"Captain Meunier," Athos greeted shortly. He was not in the mood for long conversation.

"Musketeer Athos. Simon tells me that you were quite a mess." The captain nodded at the young man perched on the edge of Athos' bed. "I did not expect for you to return to our garrison in such a manner."

"And I had not expected to be attacked by my fellow Frenchmen," Athos replied stiffly.

The captain's face remained impassive. "My apologies. The men on patrol did not know who you were, and they were suspicious when you ran. I hope you will allow us to provide care for your recovery."

Athos shook his head. "I cannot wait here any longer. My friends are ill and injured. I left them to find aid." He swallowed hard. "I fear they will perish if they do not receive help as soon as possible."

"I see." The Captain considered Athos with a sharp gaze. "You realize you are in no condition to travel."

Athos' expression hardened. "I realize no such thing. I promised I would return to them, and I intend to do so."

Silent tension stretched between the two men. "I remember you had a partner with you," Meunier finally said. "Big, dark man. Also a Musketeer."

"Yes. That was Porthos. He was shot by Spaniards in our escape from Savoy."

"And remind me as to why were you in Savoy?"

Athos stifled a frustrated sigh. "Another Musketeer was trapped after a mission ended badly. We had planned to extract him. He was...he is very ill." Athos resolutely met the other man's calculating eyes. He did not make a habit of asking for assistance from anyone, and certainly not from strangers, but Athos was discovering that he was willing to do almost anything if it meant his brothers would survive. "Please. Help us."

The captain sighed. "Where are they?"

"They are hidden in a cave nearby. It should be less than a day's ride from here, northeast towards the border."

"Hmm." Athos fought the urge to hold his breath as the captain studied him carefully. "Could I convince you to wait and rest for at least another day?"

Athos stared back steadily. "No. Even now, it has been too long." If the captain disagreed, then he would steal a horse and go back to his brothers. He would not abandon them for longer than he already had.

Meunier continued to silently scrutinize him. Athos did not know what the other man saw, but the captain slowly nodded. "Simon, tell Bélanger to prepare the horses and three sleds. And you should gather up whatever supplies you may need. We will be leaving when everything is ready."

The intensity of the relief Athos felt nearly made him collapse. "Thank you. I will not forget this."

The small party came together quickly and was ready to go within an hour. Simon had pressed a cup of steaming, bitter tea into Athos' hands before they left. "Drink up," the young man insisted. "It will help with the pain. Trust me, you are going to need every drop to get through this."

Simon had not been lying. The deep, jarring ache of a broken leg and twisted knee joined the throb from his recently re-dislocated shoulder and heavily bruised ribs. The vice clamped tightly around his head completed the chorus of agony that sang through Athos with every step. Even with Simon supporting his battered side, walking the short distance between the infirmary and stables nearly drained Athos of what little energy reserves he had left.

"Are you certain you can do this?" Simon worriedly whispered in his ear. Athos did not respond. He feared that if he unclenched his jaw, nothing but screams would come out.

The Musketeer had despaired at the idea of mounting a horse, but found that he would not have to. Three large travoises had been prepared and hitched to sturdy-looking animals. As much as it galled his pride to be carted like a helpless invalid, he tamped down on the embarrassment and wordlessly allowed himself to be strapped in. By the time he was situated, Athos could feel cold sweat dampening his skin. Even with the draught Simon had forced upon him, the pain was nearly overwhelming.

"I believe we may be able to follow your trail if the wind has not blown snow over your tracks," Meunier informed him before they set off. "We may need your directions, however, so stay awake if you can."

With the captain's request in mind, Athos did his best to remain conscious as they traveled back towards the cave where Aramis and Porthos waited. Thankfully, traveling by sled was remarkably easy as they glided over the snow smoothly and efficiently, although it was too slow for Athos' tastes. To be fair, even had they flown like hawks, he would have found their pace too slow. They were further delayed by multiple stops so that Meunier could consult with Athos and ensure that they were traveling in the right direction. The swordsman suspected that some of the stops were completely unnecessary and requested by Simon, but he was too tired to protest.

Athos was not certain how much time had passed when the sled lurched to a stop once more. The sky above was overcast, but the day was noticeably darker than it had been when their small company had left the French garrison.

"Athos?" Simon came and knelt by him. "Are you awake?"

"Unfortunately." A groan escaped Athos' lips as he sat up with the young soldier's help. His muscles had grown cold and stiff lying on the travois, which did not help with the pain. "What is going on?"

"The Captain thinks we are very close, but we need to know exactly where we are going. The hillside is steep and uneven and he does not want to risk the horses or the sleds by wandering unnecessarily," Simon explained as Meunier approached them.

"Does this place look familiar to you?"

Athos glanced around, commanding his wandering mind to focus. The rocky ledge that cut back into the mountain about a hundred meters up the steep slope looked exactly like the formation that hid the cave he had taken shelter in along with Porthos and Aramis. A rush of unexpected adrenaline nearly knocked Athos over. "Yes. This is the place. My companions are up there." He pointed at the ledge.

Meunier nodded. "Good. We are close."

The swordsman vibrated with impatience as the horses made their slow, steady way up the hill. As eager as he was to be reunited with his brothers, a sudden fear gripped him that made his heart quail. So much could have happened during the two days of their separation. Aramis' and Porthos' conditions had been so poor when he had left. Was he returning only to bury his friends?

Stop being maudlin and have faith, Athos silently admonished himself. They are alive. He wished his inner voice sounded more convincing.

They reached the lip of the ledge less than an hour later and Athos clambered off the travois as well as he could. The draining hurt that was slowly consuming him momentarily gave way to the anticipation of seeing his friends once more. With Simon's capable help, he hobbled through the mouth of the cave, and what he saw stole his breath away.

"No." He would have collapsed to the ground if not for the young soldier holding him up.

The inside of the cave was cold. The fire he had left burning had been reduced to a pile of glowing embers. In their dull light, Athos saw two achingly familiar bodies leaning against the wall, wrapped tightly together under a blanket as if to stay warm. They were still and silent. The swordsman could not tell if they were breathing.

"Aramis? Porthos?" Athos yanked himself away from Simon's grasp as he limped forward toward his silent friends, unheeding of bone-deep pain that lanced up his leg with every step. He could not bear to have anyone touching him or witnessing his grief. Athos dropped to the ground and hunched before the two figures. He reached out and roughly pushed back Aramis' lank hair. The marksman did not react, and Athos' eyes prickled hot and uncomfortable. "Wake up, please."

Simon crouched next to him and silently pressed his fingers against Porthos' throat and then against Aramis'. He blew out a long breath and announced, "They are alive, Athos." Simon clapped Athos on his uninjured shoulder. "They still live. We made it."

The relief that crashed over the former comte was almost unbearable. He fell forward onto his hands and gasped loudly. "Good," he wheezed. "That is good."

"Athos?"

The swordsman's head shot up at the soft sound of his name. His eyes met Porthos' dark ones. "I am here, brother." He scrambled to the big man and silently cursed the sling that hampered his movement. He tightly wrapped his good arm around Porthos' neck and squeezed hard. He felt the other man stir to weakly return the embrace. "Porthos. Thank God."

"What took so long?" Porthos croaked. "Did you get lost?"

A bark of choked laughter escaped from Athos. "No, my friend. I had some...troubles."

Porthos' eyes narrowed with displeasure as he took in the evidence of Athos' injuries. "I can tell. Are you all right?"

Athos nodded. "Yes. I am."

Porthos shifted, being ever so careful not to disturb the unconscious figure that was still cradled against his chest. "Who is that?" He nodded towards the Simon, who was waiting impatiently as he pulled pouches and wrapped bundles of dried herbs from his satchel.

"That is Simon. He is here to help us," Athos informed him.

Simon gave Porthos a grave nod. "Pleased to meet you. I am glad you are still alive. Athos was quite worried."

"He was not the only one," Porthos rumbled. "Can you...can you help Aramis?"

The young soldier gave Porthos a gentle smile. "I will do everything I can. Will you allow me to see to him?"

With a reluctant nod, Porthos permitted Simon to remove the marksman from his hold. Simon gingerly lay Aramis on the ground by the fire that was roaring once more, courtesy of Bélanger. He and the captain had followed Athos and Simon into the cave and watched silently.

"You mentioned he is ill?" Simon looked to Athos for answers.

"Yes. It is in his lungs," the swordsman said. The ghastly sound of Aramis' hacking coughs and wheezing breaths replayed in his mind. "He sounded terrible."

"Hmm." Simon pressed his ear against the marksman's thin chest and made a low, disapproving noise. He examined the unconscious Musketeer thoroughly and then shook his head gravely, turning to his captain. "We need to stay here for now. This man cannot be moved. The journey back to the garrison would most certainly kill him."

Meunier crossed his arms and acceded. "Do you need anything?"

Simon shrugged. His hands were already busy mixing herbs and powders together. "Later, perhaps. I admit I was not fully prepared for the severity of the illness, but I have what I need for now." He briefly broke his focus to glance at Porthos. "Do not go anywhere. You are next."

Athos scuffled his way towards the prone marksman and stiffly lay down next to him, grimacing at the throbbing aches that squeezed his body. The joy of finding his friends alive was rapidly giving away to an undeniable fear that it would not be enough. He reached out and clutched at the thick wool cloak that was still draped around the marksman's gaunt, still figure.

"I came back, Aramis," he whispered. "I came back for you, as you did for me." Athos desperately prayed that he had done so in time.

Yay! Athos made it! Thanks for reading everyone...one more chapter to go!