Note: Apologies for the delay in getting this one up! Life is very busy, and I've been scribbling away at another story... A plot bunny punched me in the face. I'm sorry :/
Chapter Six
When Athos was dragged from the depths of sleep he found it was light outside, and that threw his mind into chaos - How long had he slept? He didn't mean to sleep! He had to watch, he had to… Where was Porthos?! - Athos' head shot up to look around the hollow. Porthos had not joined them. He settled back down and tried to fend off the disappointment… there was still time. Porthos would come.
Aramis was curled into his side, wheezing slightly. Athos noticed the young musketeer was shivering hard, but at least his temperature was still down. He began to stir as Athos got up.
"Don't leave…" He mumbled, half asleep.
"I won't, I'm just getting something to eat." Athos gave his shoulder a squeeze as he got up and made for the saddle bags.
Outside the air was murky with a slight drizzle they hadn't been able to feel in the hollow. Athos hoped it stayed a drizzle, the hollow wouldn't protect against a downpour and there didn't seem to be any wind to blow it away. On stepping outside Henri raised his head to look at Athos before giving a shake and a snort.
Athos cursed as he dug through the bags, there wasn't much food… it must have been with Porthos. Their belongings were spread between the three horses and they were now down to one. Still, he found a blanket and thankfully the bottles of medication were with them. Athos took out some bread and a couple of biscuits. The biscuits he could ration, but the bread wouldn't be good for much longer.
Settling back down in the hollow Athos wrapped the blanket around Aramis. It had worn thin and was now full of holes, but it was better than nothing.
"Aramis? Can you eat something?" Athos gave the young musketeer a slight shake to rouse him a little more.
He frowned and shook his head.
"You need to eat something, just a little…"
Aramis cracked his eyes open slightly. "Hurts…"
"I've got something that will help with that, but I need you to eat first." Athos broke the bread up and held it out to Aramis.
The young musketeer just frowned again and pushed his arm away.
"Porthos got this for you, you should eat it before it goes stale. He went to a lot of trouble, would you want his efforts wasted?"
That change of tack seemed to work, Aramis held his hand out and took the bread. Though he chewed and swallowed as if it were a difficult task deserving much concentration. Afterwards Athos gave him a sip of the pain tincture and let him rest.
Athos' relief at getting food into Aramis didn't last long. He had just gone outside to stare through the trees for any sign of Porthos when a soft coughing reached his ears. It became harsher and harsher... he rushed back to find Aramis bent over, retching. His good hand formed a shaking fist in the dead leaves. The meagre contents of his stomach joined them in the muck. Athos knelt and put a hand to his back, waiting until he was done. When gasping took the place of retching Athos wiped at Aramis' mouth with a cloth and offered him a drink of water. That was gladly taken at least. Aramis settled back down, his breath came in shallow gasps.
"Try to breathe a little more deeply." Athos suggested. "The physician said you needed to breath deeply."
"Hurts…" Aramis whispered again.
"I can give you a little more of the pain remedy, but we haven't got much, we have to make it last…" Athos couldn't keep the worry from his voice.
Aramis gave a weary nod and tried to take in a deeper breath, it came out as a cough and a wince.
"Alright… just another sip, since you lost the last one." Athos fetched the bottle and then set about checking Aramis' injuries.
His ribs were mottled black and blue as expected, though the gash on his chest was healing nicely. Athos eased Aramis' arm out of his makeshift sling and gave a sympathetic frown. While the scorch mark was clean and on the mend his arm was still swollen and as colourful as everything else.
"Can you move your fingers?"
They gave a slight twitch.
"Can you make a fist?"
Nothing.
"Don't worry, it'll get better once the swelling goes down." He gave Aramis' shoulder a pat and replaced the sling.
Aramis would get better, and Porthos would come.
As if he read Athos' mind Aramis looked searchingly around the hollow. Between noisy breaths he managed to whisper. "Porthos?"
"He'll be back… He's just gone for a while, like he does." Athos couldn't bear to tell Aramis the truth, not while he was like this.
Still, Aramis remained staring at him with a furrowed brow and a look of confusion. Even as ill as he was he could tell something was off.
Athos just looked away. "I'm going to check on the horse, I'll be right outside."
He made a quick escape, Athos couldn't bear to be under that scrutinising gaze a moment longer. True to his word he made his way over to Henri. The horse was happily munching away at all the bits of undergrowth within his reach. Athos ran a gentle hand down Henri's neck before picking up each hoof to check for stones. In the rain he looked a bit of a sorry creature, but he was undeniably a fine horse. Properly groomed Henri would turn a lot of heads. No doubt his former owner was enraged at losing him, the man had probably paid a hefty sum for a horse of this quality. As the rain started coming down a little more heavily the horse shook fiercely, making Athos start. He supposed he should go back to Aramis, but he couldn't help but turn his attention to the trees. The leaves seemed to dance in the rain, and the hiss of the downpour dampened all sound. His mind very nearly drifted away as his clothes soaked through and his hair plastered to his head, but Athos could not see nor hear any approaching rider.
Reluctantly Athos ducked back into the hollow, rain water was starting to reach them now. It was not entirely enclosed. He pulled the blanket up around Aramis and settled down next to him.
"Porthos?" That dreaded question again.
"He'll come."
~oOo~
The two musketeers stopped in the hollow through the rest of the day and the next night. Neither man got much sleep. Athos had been woken several times by Aramis' coughing fits, and the next morning he was roused by the young musketeer's violent shivering. Their breath clouded the air… it was getting colder.
The morning had started with drizzle again, but thankfully it ceased after an hour or so. A strange mist gathered through the trees in its wake. Athos stared at it, hoping to find a rider parting the swirling fog, charging up to meet him. Maybe Porthos had got lost. Maybe he was wandering the mist, shouting out their names… Unconsciously Athos took a step forwards before stopping himself. He couldn't leave Aramis to go running through the woods. It was madness. And then a voice at the back of his head told him that they had to move on - stopping here was madness. They had little food and Aramis needed somewhere warm and dry to recover. Still, Athos kept imagining Porthos riding up to the hollow just after they left. He didn't want to leave Porthos behind… he didn't want to entertain the idea Porthos might be dead.
Athos was at war with himself over his two brothers. The ailing Aramis and the missing Porthos. Saving one meant losing the other… but the more he thought about it the more his decision became clear. He must save the brother he had a hope of saving, and that was Aramis. Porthos might not come, he might not be alive. But Aramis was... for now. If they lingered much longer he might not be.
With a heavy heart Athos made his decision and prepared to leave.
~oOo~
Athos couldn't help but keep an eye out for Porthos as they moved through the trees. But the further away from the hollow they got the more his hopes died. Eventually they made it out of the woods and back to the rolling hills. Weak sunlight lit the scene but it couldn't chase the chill from the air. Athos decided to ride along the tree line for now. No doubt men would have been sent after them and they could dive into the cover of the woods if any caught up.
Time ticked by as they trudged on, even Henri walked with his nose nearly touching the ground. Athos worried as he felt Aramis' hitched breath beneath his hand, though he felt like death warmed up himself. Having eaten so little there was a weariness that had crept into his bones. Athos wanted to sleep and never wake again.
Eventually he spotted a small cottage on the horizon, and he was pleased to note it was surrounded by a few outbuildings. Although there was a trail of smoke coming from the chimney and a soft light flickered at one of the windows... Somebody was in, but Athos didn't care. The place could be full of the cardinal's men and it wouldn't matter, he needed to rest, and he needed to get Aramis somewhere warm and dry.
Athos dismounted and led Henri around the outbuildings, Aramis held on to the saddle, wobbling dangerously. One of the buildings held chickens, he found goats in another... finally he came across a rickety barn with a couple of stalls occupied by an old pony and a donkey. It was empty otherwise, and there was a large pile of straw that looked quite welcoming. Athos led Henri inside and helped Aramis down, as he settled the young musketeer into the straw Henri wandered over to investigate the pony. Athos looked up and cursed, knowing what was about to happen. Their noses touched and Henri gave a dramatic high pitched squeal, lashing out with his front hooves.
Athos rushed over and pulled the horse away, tying him up across the other side of the barn. He desperately hoped whoever was in the cottage hadn't heard. A horse squeal could be quite piercing. They stood quietly… waiting, but nobody came and so Athos thought it safe enough to un-tack. He didn't want to have to make a dash without a saddle on… Aramis was already asleep when Athos crashed down in the straw beside him. Athos closed his eyes and gave in to the exhaustion, he was dead to the world moments later.
~oOo~
Athos thought he was still dreaming when his eyes flickered open to stare down the barrel of a musket. He half expected to find Porthos standing by, he must have been reliving that moment at the bridge…
"Get up." A voice demanded.
But it wasn't the voice of a guard, it was the voice of an old woman… Athos was fully awake now. She stood standing over them, a bonnet on her head and a musket in her hands. She must have been in her sixties.
"What are you doing in my barn?" The woman asked.
"We mean no harm… we just needed a place to rest." Athos' voice was laced with weary resignation. As far as he was concerned the blasted woman could just shoot him and put an end to it. He was tired of this endless running and scraping by.
By his side Aramis gave a slight moan and Athos sighed. If he couldn't go on for himself he had to go on for Aramis. He tried again:
"Please… my friend is sick, we just needed somewhere warm and dry. We'll be on our way."
As if on cue Aramis started coughing and rolled over to retch in the straw, though he had nothing to bring up.
The woman lowered her gun and a more sympathetic look took her face. "Well, you'll rest better in a bed. It just so happens I have a couple going spare. Bring him inside."
Athos could have collapsed with relief. He was expecting to be on the run again, but here was somebody kind enough to take them in… it was a miracle. She clearly hadn't heard of the infamous rogue musketeers. After getting Aramis to sit up, Athos helped him to his feet and let the young musketeer lean against him. Slowly they followed the lady to her door.
The cottage was small and cosy, a fire roared in the hearth and a dog lay stretched out in front of it. A German Shepherd type, she raised her head and gave a slight growl as they passed by.
"Oh don't mind Laika, she just likes to look after me. She's harmless really."
Athos raised an eyebrow and pulled Aramis' arm a little tighter over his shoulder. Those teeth didn't seem harmless. The lady led them towards a room with a bed that looked as if it hadn't been slept in in a long time. Athos got Aramis seated on the edge and proceeded to strip him down and pull off his boots.
"Your names gentlemen?"
"Athos, and this is Aramis." He was so tired his mouth had just blurted out their names without thinking. Athos looked up at the woman, but found no hint of recognition. It was probably safe enough. Besides, it was quite nice to be himself once again.
"My name is Tilda. There's a room next door if you'd like to get a bit of rest yourself."
The thought of a bed sounded glorious, but he really didn't want to leave Aramis by himself. "Thank you Tilda, but I should be here…"
"I can watch over him. Don't worry, my children might all be gone now but I nursed plenty of babes through their sickness. He'll be no different."
Athos wanted to fight, he wanted to insist. It was the honourable thing to do… but he was just so tired.
As if giving him no choice in the matter Tilda pointedly took a seat by the bed. Athos went on to settle a wheezing Aramis under the covers.
"Wake me if you need to. He suffered some injuries and might be in a little pain." Athos pulled the two bottles from their bag and left them on the bedside table. "This is to ease his fever and this is to ease his pain. But use them sparingly, it's all we have."
"Like I said - I've done a bit of nursing. I'm sure I can make you something up, I keep a well stocked larder for the winter." She leaned forwards to bat at Athos's arm as he lingered and fussed around Aramis. "Now go and get some rest, you look fit to fall over. When you wake I'll boil some water, you could do with a wash as well as something to eat."
"Thank you-"
Tilda waved her hand at him. "Go! Get out before I chase you out."
And with that he fled.
~oOo~
When next he woke countless hours had passed. Athos simply lay staring at the ceiling, letting warmth seep into his bones. It had been such a long time since he had slept in a bed. He could almost fool himself into thinking this was all a bad dream. He would simply throw the covers back, put on his uniform and go down to the garrison. There he would find Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, all alive and well. Treville would give them their day's work… it was business as usual.
But Athos knew this wasn't his room. His room was basic and spartan, this one held years of memories and keepsakes, from the patchwork quilt over his bed to the beautiful watercolour paintings adorning the walls. He was intruding here... If he got out of bed there wasn't much of a uniform left to put on. There was no garrison to go to - he would be dead before he ever set foot there again. Worst of all were his brothers… all lost to him save for Aramis. Why should he get up? For Aramis… a voice at the back of Athos' head answered. This was all for Aramis after all. Their flight and everything lost along the way… for Aramis. Athos supposed he should hate the man, but he didn't. One moment of indiscretion had damned them all, but Athos couldn't kindle hatred in his heart any longer. His mind only went over the might have beens… If only he had kept a tighter rein on Aramis. If only he had sent Aramis back to the garrison and kept Porthos with him at the convent instead. How different things might have been.
But who was to say Aramis wouldn't have found another way to bed the queen? Fate was a strange thing… what is is what must be. Still, fate was a cruel mistress to devastate so many lives in exchange for one… One life that was over before it began. The child barely tasted life's breath before being taken. How was that fair? But life was not fair, Athos knew that much… he would still have a brother if it was.
Athos wiped at his eyes, and pushed back the covers. He felt like he was breaking down in this bed… it seemed like pieces of him had fallen away on the road and here he would finally fall apart. If he could gather enough of himself to get up and keep moving the rest of him might hold together. Keep moving, that was the key. Sleep had done Athos the world of good but there was still a bone deep weariness that couldn't be shaken off. He supposed it came with little food, little rest, and a sword hanging over your head at all times.
Slowly Athos dressed and made his way to Aramis. Tilda still sat by him. She was sewing and singing a lilting song, though she stopped abruptly at seeing Athos in the doorway.
"Has he woken?" Athos scrubbed a hand through his hair as he looked to the still form of his friend in the bed.
"Not really… He has spoken, but I don't think he knows what he's saying." Tilda resumed her sewing before nonchalantly asking a question. "Did he have a child? He spoke of a son."
Athos let out a long breath, considering his answer. "He did… for a short while. The child did not survive long after birth."
There was no reason not to tell the truth, she had their names already, the damage was done.
"Oh, the poor dear…" Tilda looked over at Aramis sympathetically.
"We were away at the time… He never got to see the boy, let alone hold him."
"It is truly a terrible thing to lose a child. But his son is in a better place now. Sometimes it is best for a gentle soul not know the cruelty of this world…"
And how much cruelty would that child have known? He was going to be king of France. That was the part he couldn't tell Tilda. A nation would rise and fall on his strength or weakness. Countless men would lay their lives at his feet, he would walk with bloodied footsteps… Is it better to leave such a life unlived? It was not for Athos to say, he was done with standing in judgement on matters of life and death. Fate had intervened and brought the dead back to life when last he tried.
Tilda put down her sewing and pushed Athos towards the chair she vacated. "Let me get you something to eat, and I'll ready some hot water too."
"Thank you, you're being too kind." Athos sat down heavily.
"Nonsense, you're no trouble at all. I'm quite enjoying the company."
"We're better company when we're both awake I can assure you."
At that Tilda swept away with a quiet laugh.
Athos leant forwards to rest his elbows on the bed and study his friend. Aramis had dark circles beneath his eyes, his face was pale, and his breathing still rasped horribly. Though Athos reached out a hand to check the young musketeer's temperature and was pleased to find it quite normal, he was also pleased to find Aramis watching him with half lidded eyes.
"Awake at last." Athos forced a smile to his features. "How are you feeling?"
Aramis licked his dry lips and spoke hoarsely. "Like I'm drowning."
"It's just your chest, the infection is passing, it'll get better… Does anything hurt?"
Closing his eyes Aramis frowned as if trying to catalogue his pains. "Everything."
"Alright, have a sip of this." Athos helped him drink a little of the pain draught. "Tilda is making something to eat, I'd like you to try a bit. It'll help."
"Who's Tilda?" Aramis blinked heavily and looked around the room, taking it in for the first time. "And where are we?"
"We are in Tilda's house, and Tilda is the kind old lady who threatened to shoot us in her barn."
"Oh…" Aramis spoke as if it was quite a normal thing to happen. Then he frowned again and fixed his eyes on Athos. "Where's Porthos?"
Athos sat back and stared at the space between them. What could he say? Aramis seemed alert and lucid now, he wouldn't be palmed off with a half truth, and he had to be told sooner or later.
"Porthos was... left behind." Athos spoke slowly and cursed at himself, he should have thought how he would break this news.
Aramis' gaze narrowed. "What do you mean?"
"We tried to escape over a bridge but guards and musketeers stopped us. I was riding with you in my arms and Porthos shouted to go… I thought he would follow. There were shots fired, but I couldn't look back. I don't know if he…" Athos scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I didn't hear him shout, he might not have been hit."
"So... he's either dead or caught?" Aramis' eyes were shining now.
"I don't know."
"You don't know?" The young musketeer took in a harsh breath and coughed. "How can you not know? Why didn't you stand and fight? Why didn't you help him?"
The sudden onslaught of questions put Athos on the defensive. "I had you to look after! I had no choice. We were outnumbered... If you haven't noticed we've been running rather than standing and fighting of late."
"All for one and…" Aramis was starting to wheeze again, he broke off to cough harshly. "... one for all Athos!"
"Don't shout, you'll make yourself…"
But it was too late, Aramis bent forwards and wrapped an arm around his ribs as he began to cough and choke. Wordlessly Athos pressed a cloth into his hands and Aramis put it to his mouth, spitting up mucus between each gasp for breath.
When his breathing settled down Aramis fixed Athos with a glare, though it was ruined somewhat by the presence of tears in his eyes. "Leave me alone."
With those three words Athos felt a knife to his heart. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something… but what could he possibly say? With a slight nod he got to his feet and left.
~oOo~
As he dragged his feet away from Aramis' room Athos found there was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. As soon as he stepped in Tilda pointed out a basin in the corner.
"I've warmed some water if you'd like a wash."
"Thank you…" He muttered sullenly.
"If you want to take your shirt off I won't look, though I can assure you I've seen it all before." Tilda spoke brightly, ignoring his tone.
Athos remained quiet, he shucked off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. As he did so every ache in his body seemed to flare up, although it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He felt suddenly ashamed… This woman had been kind enough to take them in. Tilda had not asked for any of this and nobody would have blamed her for shooting at them. Could he not offer her a smile or a warm word? No… he could not. Athos felt the weight on his shoulders so keenly, it took all he had to raise his head and put one foot in front of the other. Smiles and warmth were not for him. They never really had been… not since that woman devastated his life anyway. There was a time when Athos lived without care, a time he had even been known to laugh… but it seemed so distant, like a far off half remembered dream. Misery seemed to stalk him. It was a constant shadow at his shoulder, and now it had caught up to dig its claws in deep.
A small mirror and a cloth sat by the basin. Athos took the cloth but he hardly dared to look at his reflection… There was a filthy, gaunt face staring back that he didn't recognise. Athos looked away and dipped the cloth into the warm water. It was wonderfully soothing, but he couldn't take pleasure in it. Athos wiped at his cheek first, he felt his eyes reluctantly drawn to the mirror. And every brush of cloth against skin left a clean streak in its wake. He watched, mesmerised, as layers of ingrained dirt washed away. But that wasn't all he lost. Layers of sadness, hurt and pain fell away as a face Athos seemed to remember knowing appeared on that shining surface. The man looking back was from a different time. It was like living in eternal winter while being granted a glimpse of a summer fondly remembered. The warmth was gone. Just as the water he washed with cooled against his skin.
Athos finished washing and went to sit at the dining table. Tilda wordlessly set down a bowl of broth in front of him. He tried not to set upon the broth like a starved dog, but his hunger could not be hidden. Tilda raised an eyebrow and went to stir the pot. After a few harried mouthfuls Athos supposed he was being impolite and something of his old self shone through. He slowed his hand and thought to make conversation between mouthfuls.
"Do you live here alone Tilda?"
"Yes, my children have all grown and left, and my husband died some years ago, God rest his soul."
"I'm sorry to hear that… It seems quite isolated here, do you not get lonely?"
"I've gotten used to it, besides, I've got my Laika."
At hearing her name the dog pricked her ears and came over. She gave one of Athos' hands a delicate sniff and then set her head down on his lap. Taking it as an invitation the musketeer set about stroking her head and scratching behind her ears. A pleased groaning soon followed after.
"Does anybody else live nearby?" As well as making polite conversation it would be useful information to know tactically speaking.
"Not any more. There were a few farms in the area but when the landowners demanded more money the farmers moved away. It killed our little community…" There was a sadness to Tilda's voice as she spoke, and Athos inwardly cursed himself for raking up bad memories. "... more and more left until it was just us, and then me. But I won't be moved. If you haven't learnt already, I can be quite stubborn."
"How do you get by alone?" Athos couldn't help but ask.
"I manage… Nature is plentiful if you know where to look." The shadow passed from her brow and Tilda fixed a curious eye on Athos. "Anyway, enough about me, how did two dishevelled young men come to be wandering out in the middle of nowhere?"
Athos nearly choked on his next spoonful of broth. He was going to have to come up with a good story, and fast. "Aramis is my younger brother, we were on the road intending to visit family when we were set upon by bandits. They took all we had and Aramis was injured falling from his startled horse… We fled into the woods but not knowing the area we quickly became lost."
"Oh my dear, you have been through a lot haven't you?" Tilda gave him a knowing look. "Yet I have not seen a man suffer such chafed wrists falling from a horse."
"The bandits tied him up while they sifted through our belongings." Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive…
"It was fortunate they saw fit to restrain the injured brother and leave you free…"
"Quite, I would not have been able to free Aramis and escape otherwise."
"How foolish these bandits must have been." Tilda spoke as if she didn't believe a word of it.
"You often find such men have more courage than brains."
"You encounter bandits often then?"
Athos felt like he was fencing with words, and Tilda was proving to be a skilled opponent. "We spend a lot of time on the road in our line of work."
He could almost imagine the rest of their conversation… 'And what line of work would that be?' 'Oh you see we're musketeers, and we're actually on the run because Aramis was foolish enough to bed the queen and the cardinal found out. By the way, you know that son of his? He would have been the king of France'... It seemed quite absurd when put like that. Athos was almost tempted to tell her the truth, sure that she wouldn't believe such a far fetched story.
Tilda gave him a smile, and turned away from asking the obvious question. "Wherever you come from, whatever you've done, it doesn't matter to me. I feel you are good men, and that's all that matters. If you were not good men I would have shot you in the barn and left you for the crows."
"Then we are fortunate you are such a good judge of character Madame." Athos felt they had put up their swords and declared their verbal sparring match a draw.
Tilda turned her attention back to the stove and poured out another bowl.
"Now you've finished you can go and give this to your brother." She set the bowl down in front of him. "Come and find me afterwards, you can earn your keep and help me with the animals."
Athos simply stared at the broth recalling Aramis' last words… Leave me alone… "I don't think he wants to see me right now."
"Did a few harsh words pass between you? I heard raised voices." Tilda gave him a sympathetic look.
"Something like that…"
"Well if there's one thing I've learnt from raising boys it's that your mouth rarely says what your heart truly feels. Those words are as insubstantial as the air they passed through. Go and see him, or I'll have to, and I won't be as gentle." She spoke with a twinkle in her eye.
At that Athos took his hand from Laika's head and reached for the bowl. The dog whined as he ceased playing with her ears.
"Thank you Tilda."
"So you keep saying - now go!" She waved her hands at him and Athos took to his feet.
When he came to Aramis' door he paused and took in a deep breath. Out here there was a kind old lady, a warm fire and a friendly dog. Through that door was another world, one filled with bitterness and sorrow… Porthos was gone.