Athos did indeed make a fine pillow and d'Artagnan slept soundly through the night. And if Athos' rest was equally as peaceful for holding his brother through the night, then that was just a bonus. Aramis and Porthos had similarly shared the other bed in the room, although Aramis stayed awake much later into the night, having slept for most of the previous day.
When Athos awoke, it was to the snoring of both men on the other bed and the rays of the early morning sun creeping into the room. d'Artagnan was still positioned in his arms but at some point during the night, he'd turned further onto his back than his front, releasing Athos from his position of human pillow. Looking down, Athos could see a fine sheen of sweat still covering the boy's brow and he could feel the heat from the boy's body even without touching him. Slowly, he started to extricate himself from the bed, taking great care not to awaken the sleeping man. Thinking himself successful as he sat with his feet on the floor at the side of the bed, Athos was startled by a thready voice from behind him.
"Athos….."
Turning sideways on the bed, Athos was greeted by a pair of hazy brown eyes, clearly still clouded by fever and pain, but just as clearly recognizing him.
"d'Artagnan, how are you feeling, lad?" Athos asked as he placed a cool hand on the boy's forehead.
The young man turned into the coolness and sighed. "Hot….tired….sore….." The words trailed off and Athos thought him asleep again until he mumbled, "thirsty…."
Pouring a fresh cup of water, Athos supported the boy's head so he could drink without choking. After finishing nearly the entire cup, d'Artagnan again opened his eyes. "You alright?"
Athos was taken aback by the question, surprise showing on his face, and he didn't answer for several moments.
"Your shoulder….you were shot." d'Artagnan tried to point, but stilled almost immediately, not having the strength the raise his arm.
"I'm fine, d'Artagnan, it's you who's had us all worried." He reached forward and brushed the young man's bangs out of his eyes, a gesture that garnered him a slight shift of the young man's head in an attempt to move away. Athos huffed as he sat back and removed his hand.
"And Porthos?" d'Artaganan persisted.
"Also mending well," Athos responded, quirking his head towards the other bed, "and snoring happily if the volume is any indication." This earned him a small grin from the young man.
"So, d'Artagnan, " the young man flinched at the suddenly serious tone, "explain to me why we had to discover your wounds ourselves after finding you unresponsive in your chair?"
The Gascon squirmed for a moment before realizing the pain that accompanied even so slight a movement. His face twisted and his eyes closed as he rode out the pain until it reduced to a managable level. As the pain eased, he realized that Athos was talking to him and his hand had returned to his head, carding fingers through his hair. "Breathe, d'Artagnan, you must breathe. Rest easy, the pain will pass."
Shakily he exhaled and then drew a shallow breath, not realizing that he had been holding it, then opened his eyes a few seconds later to meet the concerned gaze of his mentor. "I'm alright," he stammered, "it's fine. Just caught me off guard."
"Mmmm, pain has a way of doing that," Athos allowed. "Now, back to my earlier question. Why did you not tell Aramis about your wounds and ask for help?"
"It wasn't done on purpose, I mean, I didn't intentionally hide it from him." d'Artagnan paused at the look he was receiving from Athos. "I mean, I didn't want him to know initially, but I was going to ask him for help once he'd taken care of you and Porthos." He took another shaky breath before continuing, "I just couldn't stay awake any longer and once I had taken care of Porthos and was waiting for him to finish with you…" d'Artagnan shrugged, "I guess I fell asleep before I could tell him."
Athos looked at him sternly, "That still doesn't explain why you didn't say anything sooner. Surely you understood the severity of your wounds and the risk of infection that delayed treatment posed."
d'Artagnan gave a half-hearted shrug, "Wasn't so bad and I thought it could wait. You and Porthos were worse off and needed to be seen to first."
Athos' face clouded at the young man's statement and he turned away as his lips drew into a thin line, clearly waring with himself over what to say next.
"Athos?" d'Artagnan started hesitently, "I just wanted to make sure the two of you were alright."
The older man rounded on him, his face thunderous, "And do you not think that we want to know the same of our brothers? Do you not believe that your wellbeing is as important to us as our wellbeing is to you? And what of Aramis' guilt at not realizing earlier that you were hurt? Did you even stop to consider how selfish your actions were?"
The Gascon's mouth hung open, startled by the ferocity of Athos' words, he didn't know how to respond. Athos stood and began walking towards the door to leave. "Athos, please," d'Artagnan pleaded, "that's not how it was. I could not bear it if something happened to any of you..." The young man's words were cut off by Athos' departure, the older man not even stopping to look back when d'Artagnan had started to speak.
Shaken by the older man's reaction, d'Artagnan began to lift himself up from the bed, intending to chase after his mentor but a hand on his shoulder prevented his escape. "Leave him," Aramis stated, "he's upset and his words were spoken in anger. He'll see reason once he's had a chance to cool down."
d'Artagnan seemed inclined to protest but Aramis would not be moved. "I need to have a look at your wounds," he started, placing a hand on the other man's brow, "and you're still feverish. Better than yesterday but still not as cool as I'd like." As Aramis began removing the dressings from his side, d'Artagnan noticed that Porthos was also awake now and had silently followed Athos out of the room.
"Aramis, you know this isn't your fault….right?"
"Mmmm," was the only reply he received as Aramis continued to examine his wounds.
"I figured they weren't too bad since I was still up and standing. Porthos couldn't even stand on his own, and Athos was so pale and still when you were trying to stop the bleeding, and I knew you couldn't take care of all three of us, so-"
Aramis stopped what he was doing, leaning back in his chair, and simply looked at the Gascon, causing the young man to stop talking once he realized he'd been rambling.
"Do you really have so little faith in your brothers?" Aramis queried, crossing his arms.
"What?" d'Artagnan asked in confusion.
"I said, do you really have so little faith in us?" Aramis repeated.
"No, I trust you all with my life…" d'Artagnan began before being interrupted by Aramis.
"Clearly your actions suggest otherwise." Aramis paused, waiting for understanding to dawn on the younger man's face. Sighing when the look of confusion remained, he continued, "d'Aratagnan, as a Musketeer we put our lives into each other's hands, trusting that our brothers will stand with us to make us stronger and support us when we falter." Aramis raised his hand when it appeared that d'Artagnan was going to speak. "That means we need to know when someone is hurt so that we can adjust our strategy accordingly and not place anyone else in danger." Aramis looked down at his lap for a moment, considering his next words. "d'Artagnan, how would you feel if one of us suffered with the pain of an untreated wound in order to tend to you instead?" Aramis stopped d'Artagnan with another look, capturing his gaze and holding it as he went on, "How would you feel if you had been able to help one of us, but had that opportunity stolen from you because you were unaware that we needed help?"
This time he waited for d'Artagnan to gather and voice his thoughts. "I think I would be angry with you, probably as angry as Athos is with me right now," d'Artagnan replied quietly. The young man looked down at his lap, playing idly with a corner of his blanket, unsure of how to continue. "Sorry," he mumbled, still unable to meet the other man's eyes.
"Mmmm," Aramis offered with a slight smile on his face. Reaching forward again he covered both wounds with a light covering of salve to aid in healing and stave away infection, talking as he worked to redress the wounds, "These are finally starting to heal nicely and the infection seems to be clearing up." A slight pause prefaced his next words, "We had to open them both yesterday to drain them. It was, " he paused again to consider his words, "unpleasant - for us and you, I think."
The magnitude of Aramis' words struck the younger man as he comprehended how his brothers must have felt, knowing they were causing him additional pain but having no choice because the wounds had become badly infected. "Sorry," he mumbled again, and Aramis patted his arm in understanding.
"So long as you learn from this, all will be forgiven." This time, the sentiment was accompanied by a broad smile and d'Artagnan smiled shyly back.
"Now, I prescribe some broth and more rest for you. I expect that Athos will want to ride out tomorrow and we need you fit and able to manage the trip." d'Artagnan accepted the cup of broth offered by Aramis without protest and finished it completely before asking for some bread and finishing nearly half before his eyes started to droop. Wordlessly, Aramis took the bread from his hands and helped the young man back into a fully reclined position so that he could sleep.
Stretching his back, Aramis took a last look at the younger man before turning towards the door, intending to find his other two brothers.
Athos had not gone very far, ending up at a table in the inn's common room where he secured a bottle of wine and promptly started drinking. Porthos spotted him immediately, retrieved a second bottle of wine and another glass, and sat down across from him without a word. Athos merely glanced at Porthos in acknowledgement of the other man's presence and refilled his glass, emptying it at an impressive rate before refilling it again.
Porthos was content to wait until Athos had a cooler head, and sipped his glass of wine at a much slower pace than that of his friend. After Athos' fourth glass – or was it his fifth? – the older man seemed ready to talk about what happened and Porthos made his first attempt at conversation.
"He fools us sometimes," Porthos stated, drawing out his words "he seems to be all grown up and the lessons we teach him seem to have taken, and then he does something like this."
Across the table, his statement was met with a grunt. "He's always so eager to please, worried about what we think of him and how his actions might affect his chances of joining our ranks."
Another grunt indicated that Athos was still paying attention and his wine guzzling had slowed down to more infrquent gulps.
"Wonder if all younger brothers are this much trouble?" Porthos asked with a glint in his eye.
"d'Artagnan's not trouble," Athos defended, "he's just young and inexperienced."
"You'd think so, wouldn't you, but why would he willingly place the lives of his brothers above his own?" Porthos questioned.
"Is that not what the Musketeers do?" Athos replied. "Is that not what all of us would do for each other?" Porthos remained quiet, a knowing look on his face.
Athos groaned as he wiped a hand across his face. "Yes, that is what we do, but d'Artagnan must realize that his life is not unimportant. If he were to die, I could not…." Athos trailed off but Porthos knew what had remained unsaid because he felt it too. If he were to die, I could not bear it.
The two men sat in silence for several minutes, contemplating the innocent, impetuous, loyal boy that was their younger brother –one who had single-mindedly wormed his way into their family. They were joined by Aramis who had found his own glass and pointedly filled it from Athos' wine bottle before sitting next to Porthos.
"So, what has you two so morbidly quiet, hm?" Aramis took a drink of his wine, grimacing slightly at the sour taste. "A rather unremarkable vintage," he stated, swishing the remaining wine around in his glass.
Porthos grinned at the comment while Athos rolled his eyes and took another drink.
"We've been reflecting on our young man upstairs, wonddering how to make him less…" Athos trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Infuriating?" offered Porthos.
"Brash?" suggest Aramis.
"Self-sacrificing," finished Athos. The other two men shared a look, neither agreeing or disagreeing, but it was true that the boy seemed to posses little instinct for self-preservation, especially when his fellow Musketeers were concerned.
"His heart still rules his head and if this doesn't change I shudder to think of the end that will befall him." Athos stated.
"Then it's a good thing he has three older brothers to look out for 'im, isn't it." Porthos rebutted.