The Resulting Passion
By Tidia
Notes: Still thanks to Blood From Thorn for allowing me to run away with her fic Draw Your Swords. Wow, thank you for the reviews! I have no idea why I want to hurt d'Artagnan. I really like all the characters and think they are great. There is one more part after this. I hope you continue to enjoy.
Part 2
d'Artagnan did not know how he made it back to the garrison. The guards had probably thought him drunk instead of injured. In his room he found the bottle of Armagnac made near his home in Lupiac. It was a sin to use it for his cuts, but being stronger spirits he thought it would help to heal the wounds.
He drank some before focusing on the injury on his forearm as he sat at his table. He inserted the needle, pulled it by the thread, then repeated. Limited to using his left hand made the process slow going, and the stitches were not nearly as well as they should have been, but the point was to close the wound. It was rare that he sewed human flesh, but it was no different except for the pain.
d'Artagnan was shaking when he finished, smearing a salve from Lupiac instead of bandaging the cut, unsure of how he would tie it. He took another mouthful of the Armagnac.
The other wound was worse when he looked at it in the looking glass. The cut was to the bone. Athos kept his words and blades sharp. He hissed when he cleaned it again, trying to squelch the nausea that arose. He washed his hands before splashing water on his face with one hand to revive himself. This was no time to collapse, or think about the loss of his friends, which spilled into the effect on his commission.
He started again with thread to needle to skin feeling a twist in his gut as he stabbed himself repeatedly. It was a long, deep cut. He'd be unable to wear his pauldron until it healed, no matter though since he had left it at Athos's home along with his jacket and musketeer blue cloak.
Exhausted and bloodied he made it to his bed with the assistance of the wall and chair. He left his boots on, since he felt light headed and craved oblivion over comfort.
((()))
They had sat in silence with the glow of a candle for company allowing the bottles of wine to finish stupefying them. Their actions had been deplorable along with frightening. The fourth chair was empty except for the cloak, jacket and pauldron that marked d'Artagnan's absence and Athos's guilt.
"What have I done?" Athos asked with his head down between his arms.
Aramis shook his head, wishing he had intervened from the beginning instead of adding to the accusations. He had blamed d'Artagnan for the attack on the Queen. "We've all done. We made d'Artagnan culpable for the wrongdoings of others."
"You stopped me." Athos lifted his head, his eyes filled with remorse and guilt.
"Only in the last moments," Aramis said quietly. He carried regret.
Porthos hoarded a bottle in front of him. "What are we going to do?"
There was no rest to be found, no solace in drink or company. They had wronged one of their own. Aramis stood up, moved to the cloak and pauldron that d'Artagnan had left behind when his attention was diverted. "There's blood. Too much blood. He was heavily wounded." Aramis had seen the injuries, but the wounds did not register fully.
Porthos turned in his chair, as Aramis pointed to the handprint, the blood on the floor. "Why did we not or he. . .Never mind."
"We have to find him." Athos stood, grabbing d'Artagnan's belongings.
The only place to find d'Artagnan was at the garrison, and the evidence of the blood on his door was relief to Aramis that the young musketeer had at least made it to his destination. The door was locked, but Porthos pushed them aside, and with a dagger opened the door to let them in after soft knocking resulted in no response.
Athos found a candle and lit it, showing the evidence of the bloodied water, looking glass, needle, thread and cloths. d'Artagnan was huddled on his bed with boots still on.
Aramis took the candle and lit another one, using it to study d'Artagnan. "He stitched himself." It must have been difficult for the boy, but the stitches were neater than expected. The one on d'Artagnan's forearm did not need much tending except for a bandage, but the one across his upper torso was of concern, oozing and deep. "Porthos, I need some boiled water."
Porthos had started clearing the mess that d'Artagnan had left behind on his table. It gave him something to do. "I'll bring it up as soon as it's ready."
Athos pulled a chair by the young man's bedside after carefully and silently pulling off d'Artagnan's boots. He placed a hand on the injured man's brow. "He has a fever."
"To be expected." Aramis spoke in hushed tones. He pointed to the deeper cut. "This needs more tending." He saw Athos paling. "He has a good heart. He'll listen to your apologies, to all of our apologies." Aramis made it his prayer.
"Would you? After you had been betrayed and attacked?" Athos rubbed his eyes. "He is but a boy. Why did I not see that?"
Aramis squeezed Athos's shoulder. "Your wife and your rage for her clouded you. And as for me and Porthos, we are fallible men jaded to believe the worse in the others."
Athos placed a hand on top of d'Artagnan's hand.
Porthos returned with the water, one with steam and one without. "We're fixing this. Right?"
"I'll take the hot water if you can sponge him down and see to his temperature," Aramis stated with another silent prayer of intervention this time to the Blessed Mother for d'Artagnan's health.
They spent the rest of the night tending to d'Artagnan who remained locked in his fevered dreams, speaking words in Gascon they didn't understand. Aramis felt it meant the younger man was calling for help to deliver him.
"Stop, Athos," d'Artagnan called out. Athos flinched at his name being yelled.
"His fever is getting worse." Athos wiped the younger man's brow again, keeping to his ministrations.
Aramis shook his head. "I won't bleed him or cauterize him, Athos. Please don't ask me."
"I won't," Athos agreed. He could not imagine inflicting more pain, or asking his friends to be the source of it. "I don't want to hurt him either. It this enough?" He replaced the cloth on the younger man's forehead.
Porthos came in, keeping busy by bringing water, food and whatever Aramis asked for. He had heard the end of the conversation. "I brought more cold water. How about soaking a sheet and covering him with it?"
"That could help." Aramis grasped on to the idea as a way to d'Artagnan's salvation.
((())))
It was late morning when d'Artagnan showed signs of stirring. Athos had left his side earlier to explain to Treville that their planning was postponed because of his actions. Treville showed sympathy and anger all at once. Athos guilt intensified threefold.
Aramis assured Athos and Porthos that d'Artagnan would wake soon. "Can I ask that I be given some time alone?"
"We'll be outside." Porthos guided Aramis to the door.
With his hands folded Athos waited for d'Artagnan to wake. When it happened Athos had a moment where d'Artagnan did not remember, then it came crashing in on the younger man.
"Have you come to finish me?" d'Artagnan's hand went to the wound on his clavicle that Aramis had tended until he felt satisfied no infection would set in. It was bandage with significant padding.
Athos put his hands up to show he had no weapon. "No! God no, to apologize for my actions."
d'Artagnan blinked, closed his eyes in exhaustion. "At least I'm alive to hear it."
Athos protested. "I would never-"
The younger man opened his eyes, there was a quiet anger simmering. "Yes, you would have."
"I am sorry. I told you she killed my brother, and she is my madness as I am hers." Athos shook his head.
d'Artagnan looked away for a moment before returning his gaze to Athos. "It's all madness," he whispered. "Can we end it? Stop the Cardinal and your wife?" he croaked.
The grating sound of d'Artagnan's voice carried hope, and had Athos passing him the cup of water Aramis had left. "Yes."
d'Artagnan slowly drained the cup. "How are you here? The door was locked." He wiped his eyes.
"Porthos let us in. There was blood…They are outside," Athos explained, and took d'Artagnan's silence as an allowance to invite Porthos and Aramis inside the room.
Aramis led the way with Porthos shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. "You will be tired for a while, but the wounds will heal." He removed his hat. "Will all the wounds heal?"
"He means we shouldn't have let that happen and we're sorry." Porthos nodded, presenting his cape, lying at the foot of the bed while Athos placed the pauldron on top.
d'Artagnan seemed to study them, weighed his options. "When I first came I battled all of you and yet you still welcomed me. I think I can accept your sincere apologies this one time."
"Only one time?" Porthos smiled, bumping Aramis.
"That's all that we need." Athos bowed his head, humbled by the forgiveness.
Aramis cleared his throat. "We still need a plan."
Porthos turned to Athos. "Are you providing the wine?"
Athos looked at d'Artagnan for confirmation that he was willing. A short nod was all he needed. "I will make sure to provide a good vintage."
TBC