Chapter Four

When Athos had finished spitting blood he insisted on going after Aramis. But Porthos told his friend to stay put - he would follow Aramis and bring the young musketeer back. The last thing they needed was an argument in the middle of the town square.

It was easy enough to catch up with Aramis, he had not been able to run far. But instead of confronting him Porthos decided to follow at a discreet distance. If he needed a bit of time alone to grieve then Porthos would grant it. Aramis was not a creature to be trammelled, and he never had been. Porthos watched over his friend as he passed through the streets in a daze, the musketeer was far enough away not to be detected, but close enough to step in should there be trouble.

They wound through the marketplace, and Porthos couldn't help himself. He snatched up an apple from a stall as the vendor looked away. It was hastily concealed beneath his cloak and he was away again. There was more than one ghost in this town today… A spire rose up along the line of roofs, and Porthos guessed where his friend was heading. Sure enough they arrived at a church. Once Aramis was inside Porthos went into the graveyard and picked out a spot where he wouldn't be seen. The musketeer leaned against a mournful cherub longingly draped over a headstone, and then he took out his apple… Aramis was probably going to be a while.

Porthos was very nearly starting to doze off when he heard footsteps on the path. He looked up to find Aramis striding from the church, seemingly intent on a mission. Quickly getting to his feet, Porthos scrambled after his friend. They were back in the marketplace in no time at all, and then Aramis was turning down a side street. Porthos went to follow when a loud voice sounded behind him.

"Oi! That's my cloak!"

Porthos wheeled about and glared. Most men knew to back down when they saw that expression. "It most certainly is not!"

"It was stolen from me, and I recognise you - you were in the very same tavern that night. You must have taken it!" The man was not much smaller than Porthos, but he was wiry framed and would be no match should it come to blows. Still… he had a couple of friends with him.

"I did not! How dare you accuse me Monsieur?!" Porthos roared, mindful of the attention he was attracting.

"Look! There is the stain from some wine I spilled this past week, my wife has not been able to remove it. That is my cloak." The man was insistent.

"And I might very well say the same of your clothes! Look, upon your leg - there is the stain from my dog relieving itself!" That drew a laugh from the onlookers.

The aggrieved gentleman didn't so much as smile. "Monsieur, perhaps I shall call for the guard to resolve this issue?".

That had Porthos shucking off the cloak. Apart from risking the guard getting involved, he had to find Aramis…

"Alright, have the blasted cloak." He dropped it on the ground and made sure to tread on it as he left. "There are a few more stains for your wife to work on!"

Porthos jogged off in the direction he had seen Aramis go, but he soon came to a halt… There were too many alleyways and passageways to choose from down here. Which way had he gone? Porthos cursed under his breath and went to look down each, he couldn't shout his friend's name… not here. And then the glint of something in the dirt caught his eye. The musketeer took a few steps down a dark alleyway and bent to retrieve the item… A small golden cross.

And a few drops of blood.

"Oh no… Aramis."

~oOo~

"... the same! I'm telling you, look at him!"

Aramis gradually came to awareness… There was a rough hand in his hair. The fist held his face to the light and shook his aching head vigorously. It was not the most pleasant way to wake up.

"Nah, you've just picked up a beggar. Look at the state of him."

"What about this fine dagger. Would a beggar have this?"

Aramis cracked an eye open slightly to find his own weapon being waved around victoriously above his head. The young musketeer wished he'd picked up his sword before storming off… With the arguing going on he gathered this was the man who had hit him over the head, and these people would be intent on collecting the reward. He needed to get away.

"He must have stolen it. He was probably going to sell it for food, I doubt he'd know how to use it. Those hands are used to digging through scraps, not wielding fine weapons. You've got the wrong man." The sceptic was older, he wore an apron and Aramis detected the scent of smoke on the air… a smith, he was a smith.

After a quick peep the young musketeer kept his eyes closed, if they thought he was still unconscious he might be able to take them by surprise. As such Aramis didn't get a good look at the man yanking his head about, he was younger and a brute, the musketeer could tell that much.

"Just think of the reward, if it is him. Think what we could do with that money!"

The older man harrumphed and turned back to stoke his fire. At this the young man dropped Aramis and foolishly placed the dagger down just out of reach… He approached the older man, perhaps his father, begging him to consider the money.

Aramis took his chance, he made for the dagger, stretching his arm out, hoping to grab it without alerting the two men. Out of nowhere the smith slammed the poker he was working on down on Aramis' outstretched arm. The young musketeer cried out at the pain of it, the force of the blow hurt enough, but the heated metal scorched his flesh as well. When the smith finally drew it away Aramis curled around his injured limb, gasping for breath.

"You foolish boy, what did you leave his dagger there for?" The older man hit his son about the head. "Alright, tie the wretch up and I'll go to fetch a guard… but if this is the wrong man and you make a laughing stock out of me…" He left the threat hanging in the air.

There were plenty of chains in the smithy and the young man was rough as he tried to wrestle Aramis' wrists together. The young musketeer did not make it easy, even though his left arm hurt like hell he twisted and turned until the brute punched him viciously across the face. He blacked out for a moment and when Aramis recovered his wits his arms were raised over his head. The lad had suspended his chains from a hook in the smithy… the young musketeer's toes were only just touching the ground.

His captor sat across from him, dismantling the musketeer with his eyes. Dirty blonde hair strove to conceal them, cruel as they were. He was built like his father, strong and stocky, just as a smith should be.

"My name is Gaston, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And your name might be?"

The lad was going to have to hit him harder over the head before he gave his name up that easily.

"Alex."

"Don't lie to me… Aramis. That is your name isn't it?"

Aramis did not react. "I am not who you think I am."

"Oh I think you are exactly who I think you are, and it will be easier on us all if you just admit it." Gaston went to retrieve the poker his father had just used. "See, my father puts a lot of stock in his reputation and he will not deal well with being humiliated. I'll see you suffer before I suffer myself, I will mark you before he gets a chance to mark me again…"

The lad pulled his shirt up a little to reveal a scar no doubt inflicted with heated metal. "But I am a generous soul, and I'll give you one chance to tell me the truth. What is your name?"

"Alex." Aramis answered without hesitation.

And the blow came without hesitation. The poker struck him in the ribs and Aramis bit back a scream.

"What is your name?" Gaston's voice was calm and emotionless.

It took Aramis a moment longer to answer, but his answer remained the same. "Alex."

The blow cracked across the other side of his body and Aramis couldn't help but yell as he felt bone give way.

"What is your name?"

"Alexander!" Aramis shouted, pain fuelling his anger.

This time the boy used the point to dig in and scratch across his chest. Blood welled up in it's wake…

Aramis didn't even wait for the question this time. "My name is ALEXANDER!"

Gaston rushed forwards and gripped his jaw painfully tight. "Stop. Lying. To. Me."

Aramis snarled through the brute's fingers. "The world is full of lies boy. You heard one every time your mother said she loved you."

There was a wild look in Gaston's eyes now, he reared back to strike at the musketeer's legs. The lad dealt violence out like one who was used to receiving it. Something had snapped in him on finding the tables turned, he had the power now, and he was going to wield it...

The young musketeer's legs were knocked from under him with the blow, letting his full weight pull agonisingly on his wrists. A cry tore from Aramis' throat, it descended into a sort of broken laughter. What did it matter? The guards were coming, the hangman on their heels… or maybe this boy would kill him first. Pain was a transient meaningless thing, though it burned through him, setting his nerves on fire. Anger scorched his heart just as strong. If he were free he would rip this boy apart. There was a base animalistic part of Aramis seeping through, it was hurting and it wanted to hurt. Aramis would usually keep it in check, but why should he? What did it matter? Let this boy try to collect coins for his carcass…

"How bold you are standing there with a poker in hand! What an honourable victor! Besting a tied and beaten man. You even struck me on the head from behind, you coward! You cannot face me!" Aramis roared, his eyes matching the wild look in Gaston's. "Let me down and face me like a man!"

"First you must tell me your name!"

"My name is Aramis!"

At that Gaston rushed forwards and loosened the chains. Aramis fell down, but adrenaline was overriding whatever pain had been inflicted on his broken body. He scrambled over to his dagger and turned to meet a savage swipe from Gaston. Aramis let the boy's blow sail past before going in behind it and pushing him backwards. Gaston had the longer weapon, but he had no idea how to use it, he was a simple brute with a bludgeon. The two whirled about the smithy, trading blows, knocking into racks, crashing and raising a terrible racket. It quickly attracted attention from the street. But Aramis didn't care. He saw red… or maybe it was the blood seeping into his eyes. Gaston swung at the musketeer and he backed up, suddenly finding himself barrelling through the door onto the street.

A small crowd gathered around the two, they roared amid a spray of spittle and blood. Striking, dodging, howling like animals. Finally Gaston put all his might behind a blow, Aramis got out of the way and missed it by a hair. Instead the poker struck into solid brick wall and the spike jammed for a moment, Aramis took the opportunity and shot forwards, driving his dagger into Gaston's throat. It sunk into flesh so easily... They both crashed to the ground, a pool of dark blood spraying and spreading.

Breathing heavily with his opponent defeated Aramis tried to push himself up, but his left arm gave way. Adrenaline was deserting him. Aramis' ribs burned with every breath he dragged in… A voice at the back of his head said he needed to get up and get away. The guard would come, the guard were coming! And these people had seen everything… But the young musketeer's broken body just wouldn't obey. A haze was settling over him, a fog he couldn't think or move through…

And a then a voice he knew pierced through it all. "Let me through!"

It came closer. "I'm here… I'm here, it's okay."

Aramis felt himself being lifted up… and then darkness.

~oOo~

When next Aramis circled around consciousness he was still surrounded by mist… voices drifted in and out. He couldn't quite pull himself to wakefulness.

"... lost him. I looked everywhere until I found a crowd watching two men fighting. One being our friend here, Aramis stabbed the other guy in the neck and I just grabbed him and ran."

"You weren't followed?"

"No, I think they were more concerned about the lad. But the guard are almost certainly going to come looking. They'll not let a murder go unpunished…"

Murder? He wasn't a murderer! He was defending himself!

"We'll have to patch him up as best we can and move on."

"I'm not sure it's wise to move him… he certainly can't ride a horse."

Aramis felt hands on him. A cloth wiped at his face. He had never felt so helpless, he was like a child having his mucky face washed by his mother. Aramis longed to bat the cloth away, but his hands didn't seem to work… Through a cracked blurry eye the young musketeer perceived a cloth stained with red. Fingers probed at his injuries. As they found his broken ribs he cried out weakly.

"Alex..." The pain drew a sudden reflexive answer from his lips.

"Aramis? Are you awake?"

He tried to give an answer, but his head lolled uselessly.

"Do you think he was caught? These injuries look like more than a fight… his wrists are marked, he must have been chained."

Aramis felt pain flare up his arm as they handled it, though they were trying to be as gentle as possible.

"I'm worried about this…"

Aramis moaned as somebody - Athos? - examined it carefully.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but I have to look…"

It hurt. It felt like a wolf was savaging his arm. He tried to pull away but the limb was held fast.

"Hmm, he might be lucky, I can't feel an obvious break, but it is swelling, and we'll have to clean the burn as well as his other wounds. Have we any wine left?"

"A little…"

"Can you fetch it? And something I can make a sling out of… Aramis? Are you with me?"

He managed to crack his eyes open, though the brightness of the nearby fire hurt. "Mmm…"

"I'm going to clean you up, and it's going to hurt a little. It looks like you've been hit on the head already so I would rather not knock you out, will you be okay?"

"Yes…" Everything felt so sluggish. Somewhere in his head Aramis was alright, but his body and his lips wouldn't obey his commands. There was something else… something he had to tell Athos, something he was coming back to say… "Athos?"

"Yes?"

Aramis tried to fix his eyes on the figure drifting about in front of him. "… m'sorry."

Athos didn't reply.

"Here you go." Porthos interrupted with wine.

They gave him a sip and then set about using the alcohol to wash his wounds out. The worst was his arm, the pain nearly had him biting through his lip. He tried to breath through it, but the young musketeer's breath turned into a staccato struggle as his broken ribs made themselves known.

"Let him rest a minute…" Porthos said.

"I'm almost done."

Aramis' started to wheeze and rasp as he struggled for air.

"Let him rest Athos." That was more of an order, though Porthos had no authority to make it. "Breathe Aramis, easy now… in… out… take it slow."

In. Out. In. Out... It sounded so simple, but every in and out felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. Still, at Porthos' urging Aramis managed to slow and calm his breath. Instead of snatching at the air a rhythm returned, he just made sure not to breathe too deeply.

Once Athos had placed a makeshift sling around his neck the musketeer seemed satisfied.

"We need to get under cover, we're too exposed here if they start searching... I had a look around while you were gone and I found a disused storage building not far from here. Part of the roof has collapsed in, but it should be safe enough. There are plenty of old crates and such we can use to conceal ourselves with as well. Porthos, put out the fire and gather our things… Aramis?"

"Mmm?"

"We need to move, can you stand?"

Aramis gave a slight nod and tried to co-operate when Athos pulled at his good arm. He winced and grimaced but managed to stand with Athos' help. Walking was another matter entirely… even with his arm slung across Athos' shoulders his right leg wouldn't take his weight.

"Aramis… your leg."

"m'fine." He mumbled and tried to pull Athos along.

"Hold up, we need to take a look at that. Porthos?"

While Athos held Aramis up, Porthos pulled down his trousers. He was too exhausted to protest the indignity of it at this point. Porthos inhaled sharply at finding the young musketeer's thigh half black and blue.

Athos sighed. "Dear God, is there anywhere he didn't hit you?"

"Gave… as good as I got." Aramis huffed a weak laugh.

"Just bruised I think…" Porthos growled. "If you hadn't have killed him I'd have done it myself."

Step by painful step they struggled over to the storage building. It was old and well into the process of falling down. As Athos had noted, a section of roof was missing, and fallen brickwork scattered the ground amidst the tussocks of rough grass. The large wooden door did not need to be broken into, it was half hanging off its hinges already. The three musketeers got inside easily.

While Athos made Aramis comfortable on some old discarded sacks in a corner, Porthos set to work lugging crates and debris around to conceal them from sight. It wouldn't withstand a thorough search, but anybody peering through the door or a window would see nothing more than a heap of rubbish. Porthos just hoped the guards were as lazy and incompetent as he thought they were.

They passed the night in darkness, not daring to start a fire. To guard against the cold they huddled together as best they could, while trying not to jostle Aramis' injuries. None of the musketeers were able to sleep a great deal. Pain kept Aramis awake - just breathing was a battle - his shallow breaths and occasional gasping struggles kept the other two awake. Though Porthos and Athos would have been awake anyway. Now on alert they listened for any slight sound in the darkness… A sudden scrabbling had Porthos bolt upright and training his pistol on the door. He was expecting a guard to burst in, it was a relief when a stray cat poked its nose in on them. But every strong gust of wind, every bird in the rafters, set his heart racing. There was no rest for any of them that night.

When morning came the three men were quiet, nothing passed between them but the slight huffs of breath from Aramis. They were tired and hollow eyed, not one wanted to grasp the thorny issue before them, but it had to be tackled…

Eventually Porthos cleared his throat. "I should go and see what's happening… see if they're organising searches."

"No". Athos' voice was hard, even through the layers of exhaustion. "We have enough food for a few days. We can sit tight and give Aramis a chance to recover… then we go."

Porthos gave a hollow laugh. "He has broken ribs. It's going to take more than a few days for him to recover. Besides, if we're going to be out in the wilds again we'll need more food. I can go and get some more supplies and see what they're up to while I'm at it. There could be guards heading this way right now and we wouldn't even know."

"We can stay hidden here. If you're seen you might lead them right back to us!" Athos' voice grew harsh beneath the tension.

"I'll be discreet!" Porthos protested.

"You'll be dead if they catch you!"

"We can't sit here cowering like scared rabbits!"

"Better scared rabbits than dead rabbits!"

"Stop… Please…" Aramis' weak voice fell between them. He tried to push himself up and Athos came to help when he winced and fell back. "You should leave… both of you… go."

At that Athos mock frowned and put a hand to Aramis' forehead. "What? Are you delirious? Of course we're not going to leave you."

Aramis managed a glare. "It's me they want… you can go… let them have me." His words were punctuated by pauses for breath.

"No." Porthos cut a hand through the air as if to emphasise his point. "Not going to happen."

"I'm holding you back… you can get away…" He looked at them with pleading eyes.

"Aramis, you're hardly at death's door now. You're not holding us back, this is just a… minor inconvenience." Athos struggled for a moment to find the right words. "We can work around this."

"How? I can't ride… can't fight… m'useless."

"We'll find a way." Athos gave his leg a gentle pat. "No man gets left behind."

"But it's my fault… It's my fault you're here… all my fault." Aramis' eyes flickered closed as if he were fighting sleep.

Porthos came to sit by Aramis, his voice was low and gentle. "Yeah, a lot of this is your fault. But it's not your fault we're here... we chose to come. We couldn't abandon you then, and we're not going to abandon you now - one for all and all for one, remember?"

At that Aramis gave a slight smile.

"Oh, I nearly forgot…" Porthos dug around in his pocket and pulled out Anne's delicate golden cross. "You dropped this, I thought you might want it back."

Aramis reached out with his good hand and enclosed the cross in a shaking fist, pressing it reverently to his lips. The young musketeer's eyes shone with unshed tears at the reminder of Anne and their child. He thought the cross was lost forever… "Thank you, Porthos."

"Now try to get some sleep. I'll go and check on the horses… if Athos will let me." He slid a furtive look at the other musketeer and Athos raised an eyebrow.

At that Aramis snagged Porthos' sleeve. "Don't go…"

"Oh, so you want me to stay now? Well, maybe Athos will check the horses if he's brave enough to go outside." Porthos said with a teasing tone.

"That's if they're still where we left them. You did a rather shoddy job with that fence."

They had found a small paddock, or the remnants of one, Porthos had been insistent he could block the rather large hole in the fencing. It had clearly been a long time since any livestock had been held there.

"I'd like to see you do any better with what we had to hand!"

"Hush…" Athos nodded towards Aramis who had finally fallen asleep.

~oOo~

Aramis may have fallen asleep but his dreams were anything but restful. He was plagued by dead bodies in the snow, where hollow eyes turned to stare and ravens came to feast. The young musketeer flinched as black feathers brushed his cheek, but he was frozen and powerless to stop their jagged beaks rending and tearing… Through the flurry of liquid black feathers Aramis caught sight of the dead, they were children now. He lay in a field of dead babes with alabaster faces and blue lips, their eyes forever focussed on a sanguine metal dawn. As the sun washed his nightmare world in blood, the feathers at his face became a gentle touch and Aramis looked up to find Anne caressing his cheek. He reached out to her, but she turned away with tears in her eyes. And then suddenly there was a red hot poker flying towards his face.

Aramis jerked awake with a broken cry. Being jolted from sleep so suddenly he gasped and set his chest on fire. The young musketeer began to cough fiercely, yet every spasm of his chest brought more pain. He tried to stop breathing but he only seemed to gasp and cough all the more. Hands were on him, around him, holding him… Anne? No… she was far, far away from here... Aramis choked and wheezed, saliva dripped down his chin. There was a voice telling him to breathe. He wanted to shout - I can't! The young musketeer felt like he was dying, but eventually he settled down into hitched breaths and the world coalesced around him… It was Athos rubbing circles into his back and wiping his mouth gently with a rag.

"Are you alright now?"

Aramis gave a nod, he was scared using his voice might set off another bout of coughing.

"Good… I'm just going to have a look at your injuries now you're awake."

Still, Aramis closed his eyes, too exhausted to pay attention while Athos worked. Normally he would bat away his friend's ministrations and insist he was fine. Instead the young musketeer withstood Athos pulling his shirt up and manhandling him as if he were as powerless as a rag doll. Even the occasional stabs of pain elicited nothing more than a wince.

"Well, you've got some impressive bruising, but no sign of infection thank God. Still, we'll give them another clean when Porthos gets back."

"Where is he?" Aramis asked tiredly. He hadn't even noticed Porthos was gone, it left him feeling suddenly uneasy.

"Now it's darker I let him go and check on the horses. He should be back soon." Athos shifted about, also seeming uneasy.

Sure enough Porthos returned moments later, pushing himself through the gap in the doorway.

"Still there are they?" Athos asked wryly.

"Still there, but I hid them in the barn because guards are out there too." Porthos' voice was grim.

At that Athos sat up. "You weren't seen were you? The horses, were they…"

"No, no… the guards were posted on the road out of town, and a few were patrolling the outskirts."

Athos glared. The horses were left far from any road. "I thought you just went to check on the horses."

"I did… I just took the scenic route." Porthos replied with a slight grin.

At that Athos gave a sigh. "You'll be the death of me you will…" He cast a wary eye over Aramis. "We need to go, before they have a chance to get organised and shut this place down entirely."

"Let me go into town tomorrow, I'll pick up some supplies and see what the guards are up to. We can go straight afterwards, take it nice and slow with Aramis."

"Porthos… it's too dangerous to go into the town. We can get supplies from somewhere else."

"You would risk being stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing? And with Aramis like this?"

Athos scowled. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, try to get some rest for now…" He was loath to start arguing and risk disturbing Aramis as they had before.

In truth Aramis wasn't really paying attention. Despite the chill in the air he felt quite warm… They came to settle beside him in their usual places, trying and failing to sleep.