Aramis dug his booted toes in the soft ground and refused to give in to the swaying of the world around him. His fingers were curled around the thin metal cutting into his flesh and he tried not to think about how he could not unclench his fist even if he wanted to. He blinked and pulled in a breath.
Pain would come, it would hit him when the high of the battle ebbed but for the moment all he could think about was the man on the ground behind him.
"Porthos," he swung around and down onto his knees.
With a shaky hand he cradled the side of his friend's unnaturally warm face and frowned at the grey hue to his dark skin. Aramis brushed a thumb over the scruffy edge of his beard and tapped lightly onto the cheek.
"Porthos?"
"Aramis?" it was Athos.
With an effort he turned his head at the inquiry. Athos' eyes were wide, his jaw moved as if to form words but none came forth. Although he was never one to waste words, it was still unsettling to see the man speechless.
"Blood loss," Aramis shuffled on his knees to get closer to the wound on Porthos' leg, "And he has the beginning of a fever,"
Athos looked to him like he had grown a set of antlers and Aramis found he wouldn't be surprised any more if he actually did. A grin pulled involuntarily at his lips and Athos' face took a grim edge.
"Care to explain?"
"Your face," Aramis blurted out before he could check it.
He conceded to himself that maybe the pain was rearing its head after all.
With trembling fingers he pressed down onto the wound in his friend's leg and was relieved to feel no fresh blood seeping into the crude bandage. Leaning closer to get a better look in the darkness that had descended upon them, he prodded the older injury in his friend's side. The bandage had managed to hold tight but it was the thick layer of grime under his touch that was the concern.
Aramis was silently lamenting the absence of the medicinal supplies that he had taken to carrying with him when Porthos groaned.
"Porthos?"
He leaned back suddenly when the big man jolted up, one arm reaching out. His hand instantly fisted in Aramis' shirt.
" 'Mis!"
"Right here,"
"You –"
"Believe it or not I'm in a better condition than you,"
"I do believe you're missing the dagger currently stuck in your shoulder," Athos said.
He took a knee on Porthos' other side and with a hand on his other shoulder helped steady the man. Aramis was quietly thankful; he was having trouble staying upright himself there was no way he would be able to support his friend as well. A haze tried to creep into the corners of his vision and he shook his head to clear the cobwebs in his view, he had a feeling that he had missed something.
"Constance," he said suddenly.
Athos caught his gaze and was on his feet in a flash. Aramis tried to follow him but the ground decided to go for a spin and he found himself pulled back down.
"Sit the hell down," Porthos had not let go of him yet.
Aramis decided not to protest, especially if the earth itself was not cooperating with him. He opened his eyes with a frown, not having realized when he had closed them and found himself face to face with a very angry Porthos.
He had seen the fiery rage in his friend's gaze often enough but it had never been directed at him.
"Porthos?"
"Why?"
Aramis blinked and shook his head; he was suddenly having a very hard time of keeping his breathes even. The cutting, throbbing agony was definitely making its presence known.
"Why did you do this? I never asked this of you,"
"You didn't have to,"
"Don't," Porthos growled.
Aramis clenched his free hand in a fist and didn't even register the pain of the burns. The sticky fire on his other side was burning and drowning every other sensation, leaving a strange coldness in its place. He shivered; though out of pain or cold he could not decide.
His gaze dropped down to the wound on his friend's leg and his sluggish mind caught up with the missing pieces. It was something that only Porthos would do.
"You deliberately got yourself stabbed and then dug out that spike didn't you?"
The way his friend looked away was enough of a confirmation.
"You don't get to lecture me on self-preservation," he found himself snorting at the idea, "You gave yourself up to that insane murderer."
"I only –"
"When I returned to the garrison the Captain told me what'd happened. And I thought you were dead,"
"I was trying –"
"And then the Captain said you gave yourself up to him,"
"Aramis –"
"There was a muddy puddle of blood where Etienne died and all I could think was that's what I'll be coming across again. I thought I'll be seeing a puddle of your blood next. That I'll be too late and it would be another patch of red mud but this time it would be yours."
" 'Mis –"
"I thought I'd find you dead. I was so scared that I'll find your torn remains left in some forsaken cave,"
" 'Mis –"
"No. You bloody gave yourself up to that maniac, you stupid selfless, selfish –!"
He suddenly found himself pulled forward and the smell of leather, dust and gunpowder enveloped him. Smooth round metal studs dug into his forehead that was pressed against Porthos' shoulder and a large hand dug into his hair.
"Aw hell Kit," Porthos' voice rumbled in his chest.
Aramis found himself latching onto that. It was the one comfort to his panicking mind that in the end Porthos was here. Porthos was alive and talking and his heart was beating under Aramis' burnt hand that had come to clutch at his jerkin.
As far as Aramis was concerned, that was all that mattered.
The steady beat under his fingers was a relief and her breathing was even, almost as if she was asleep. Athos settled the girl onto her back and looked up at the sound of approaching horses. He couldn't whole heartedly question the Captain's plan for discretion when his men came bearing torches in the night, especially when the sight of his superior and fellow Musketeers was such a relief.
He went to greet the Head of his regiment as the man dismounted.
"Captain,"
"Athos what're you – do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"
"It is unlikely to be more than what we already endure," Athos inclined his head towards his two friends who were still sitting on the ground.
It was difficult to decide who was helping who to stay upright. The Captain followed his line of sight as another Musketeer brought forth a burning torch. It shone upon the sagging weight of Porthos and the light gleamed over the polished metal, wounded around Aramis' arm, where it was not covered in blood. The handle of the bullwhip sat innocently on the young man's bent knee.
In two strides Captain Treville covered the distance between them, reached down and hauled up Aramis by the scruff of his shirt.
"What have you done?"
Athos had never seen, never heard, and never imagined their Captain so enraged. It was enough to shock him into a halt, but then the Captain gave the boy a shake.
A sound somewhere between a whimper and gasp broke through to Athos pause. It rushed in his ears in a searing red haze.
When it cleared, he found himself standing between his Captain and Aramis. He shifted under his friend's good arm and glared at the Captain. If the arm he had around his friend's back was less of a support to stand and more of an embrace, he dared anyone to point it out.
It was then he saw it, the unguarded fear on Treville's face, the man wasn't angry, no he was terrified. It must have been his own shock Athos decided that finally snapped the Captain out of his reverie. The change was swift and seamless.
"Get them on the horses," the Captain ordered him as he turned away and sent a Musketeer to have their surgeon ready for them at the garrison.
Athos felt the twitching in the muscles under his grip and cast a sideways glance at his friend who had gone several shades paler and just a touch green.
"If you throw up on my boots I will drop you," Athos said.
"It's only fair," Aramis managed a wobbly grin before he stepped away from the man, "You have to get Porthos to the surgeon, his wound's started to get infected."
"I think you could both use the surgeon's attention," Athos helped up his other swaying friend and cringed at the heat rolling off of him.
He was acutely aware of the fever sinking its claws firmly in Porthos as they rode to the garrison and his arm around the bigger man tightened. Athos looked to his side and couldn't help but admire the sheer will power with which Aramis had managed to not just mount but ride alongside with him. On the younger man's other side was their Captain and the unconscious form of Constance.
It was blatant the way with which Aramis avoided the Captain's presence by ridding as close to Athos as he possibly could, almost as if he was sheltering in his proximity. He was close enough for the occasional painful hitch in his breath to be audible to Athos, it pulled at the older man's heart and urged him to spur his horse a bit faster to reach the garrison quickly.
He was grateful to find Monsieur Ancel waiting for them in the courtyard. The surgeon hurriedly followed the Musketeers who had helped Athos ease Porthos off the horse before carrying him to the infirmary. The big man merely grunted in pain at being moved but it was the lack of strength to even lift his chin off his chest that instilled cold fear in Athos.
He hadn't the chance to help down Aramis who slipped off his saddle and staggered after the men carrying Porthos like a stubborn duckling; if the younger man wasn't tripping over his own feet Athos would have cuffed him on the head.
With a resigned sigh he instead moved towards the Captain and helped him with Constance.
When the three of them entered the infirmary it was to find a thoroughly annoyed Monsieur Ancel and an even more irritated Aramis. He was still on his feet despite the bandage that had been put to stabilize the dagger in his shoulder.
"Since I am the surgeon, I think I hold the discretion over who I should treat first."
"And since I'm not the one halfway unconscious with blood loss and infection I should be treated after the man who is,"
Athos placed the unconscious girl on the far bed, straightened to his feet and with an incline of his head ordered every other Musketeer out of the infirmary.
Captain Treville grabbed Aramis' good arm and turned him around none too gently.
"You have a dagger stuck in your shoulder," the Captain growled.
"Oh I'm sorry I didn't notice,"
"Don't start with me,"
"Or what?"
They stood glaring at each other; Athos felt his eyebrows shoot up at the sight and it wasn't only because this was the first time Aramis had outright challenged the Captain's authority. With their sharp features, narrowed eyes and face set in grim determination the two almost looked alike, which was silly since they looked widely different and yet somehow starkly similar in that moment.
"Monsieur Ancel please see to Constance," Athos' voice had the desired effect.
The two other men in the room backed up a step from each other and Athos took the opportunity to push his friend to sit down onto one of the cots. Aramis plopped down on his rear and frowned at his friend.
"I could make him attend to Porthos first," he said quietly as he pointed at his own eyes.
"I'd like to see you try," Athos challenged.
His friend glowered back with just a hint of petulance but the brown eyes dropped eventually. A smirk twitched at the corner of Athos' lip, his friend may be able to control people with his gaze but he could command them with his eyes just as good and he didn't need any absurd supernatural ability to do so.
"You should know that the more grievous wounds have to be attended to first."
"The dagger hasn't struck deep and it won't be a grievous wound until you pull it all out," Aramis looked down at his arm that he had tried to keep bent at a stable angle, "right now it's all plugged up."
"Stop playing the martyr Aramis, what you did was foolish enough,"
"I'm not playing the martyr,"
"And what do you call sacrificing yourself?"
"I call it being a brother."
Athos wasn't sure what surprised him more, the words or the sudden anger behind them. His good sense stopped him from pushing his friend back down onto the bed from which he had stood up as he drew a shaky, burned hand through his hair.
"You and Porthos, you're unbelievable you know that?" Aramis pulled at his hair that he still clutched between his fingers while his eyes darted over the room as though looking for an escape, "I was a criminal, I've killed people before I met you two and you knew that, you both did. But you risked your lives, your commission, your honour, you risked everything. You turned against the man you respect the most; you drew your weapons onto your Captain for me. Who does that? Why do that? Why do that for me?"
His demand was loud enough for Porthos to sit up with a grunt, frowning and blinking heavily. But Aramis didn't seem to notice, he jerked back when Athos tried to grab his arm in a futile attempt to steady him.
"No, do you actually think I don't know how diligently you and Porthos watch my back? How you wait up for me, look out for me, how you're right there beside me in every scrape I get into? It works only if it goes both ways Athos. I'd do anything to keep you two safe just like you do for me."
The silence rang like an echo in the infirmary, broken only by the harsh breaths from Aramis who swayed where he stood like a weed in a storm. Athos clasped onto his forearm and was relieved when his friend gripped back, his fingers twisting in his sleeve.
"I had to," Aramis almost pleaded for him to understand.
"As would have I," Athos had to confess.
He guided him back down, onto the edge of the Porthos' bed and let his hand rest on his young friend's quivering shoulder.
"Monsieur Ancel?" a voice spoke from the doorway.
"Alan! Good you here," the surgeon hurried forward to take the long bundle from the man, "Come, come, we must hurry."
The surgeon moved to the only table set against the wall and unrolled the bundle. The heavy thump and clang had the other four occupants of the room looking their way. Having not been trained in the art of healing, the long metal instruments were all the same to Athos. However it was unmistakably a kind of Saw that Monsiur Ancel was setting aside.
"Monsieur Ancel?" Captain Treville said.
"When your Musketeer told me of another attack by the Shredder I knew I had to be prepared for the worst," the surgeon said, "and I am glad that I did, a prompt action may just save the life of your Musketeer here."
"I would like an explanation," Athos' tone was anything but a request.
"Pulling out that metal rope would cause too much bleeding too fast," Monsieur Ancel said, "He would die in a matter of minutes. But if we amputate the limb and burn close the bleeding there are better chances of his survival."
Athos quite literally felt the blood drain out of his face and his grip on his friend's shoulder tightened. He looked to their Captain only to find the man step back and sit down in the nearest chair.
"No," not that surprisingly it was Porthos who spoke up.
It pulled Athos' attention back to the men he was standing beside. He felt a pull and looked down to find Aramis' death grip on the hem of his jerkin, the wide brown eyes looking up at him were too young and too weary. It nearly made him catch his breath and Athos had to look away. He was met by Porthos' feverish gaze as the big man shook his head and looked to Athos, asking him, trusting him to find a way, a better way.
"We can't Athos, we can't let him."
Damn the faith these men had in him!
Athos drew a hand over his face, racking his brain for a plan that would save his friend and preferably save the whole of his friend. But he was desperately aware that it was not humanly possible, even with the arm cut off and the wound burned close Aramis had slim chance of living through this. There was only so much medicine could do.
And then it struck him.
"How is Constance Monsieur Ancel?"
"She appears to be in deep sleep although otherwise she is well,"
"Good, see to Porthos," Athos said.
"But –"
"Alan you may take your instruments, they will not be required."
"I don't take orders from you," the man crossed his arms.
Never of a nature to entertain swollen egos Athos was especially pressed for time at the moment and saw no reason to cater to this man. His fingers curled around the hilt of his ever present rapier and he turned to Alan with all the arrogance of his upbringing touched with the threat of a soldier.
"There will be no severed limbs here tonight," he said, "but if you so insist I can make an exception for whichever of your appendage you have the least use for."
Alan's eyes widened, he backtracked from the doorway and out into the yard, hands raised in a placating gesture. Not sparing him a glance Athos helped Aramis onto the other bed as Monsieur Ancel began working on Porthos' wound.
"Captain a word,"
Captain Treville wasted no time into following him to the corner of the infirmary. The man looked shaken, much more than Athos had expected him to be.
"You said you had your contacts within both of those sides," Athos said.
"What has that got to do with anything right now?"
"This magical nonsense must have something to offer in terms of healing," Athos reasoned, "you have to find such a way before it's too late."
The Captain's eyes widened at his suggestion, Athos was aware of the incredulity of it, he was after all the one who had had the most difficulty in accepting all this. But it was like Aramis had said; there was nothing that he wouldn't do for the two men who wouldn't waste a second to return the favor, it was called being a brother.
"I'll find a solution," the Captain said.
Athos watched him leave the infirmary and hoped he hadn't just sealed his friend's death this night.
TBC
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