The rain hammered down onto the forest floor, causing D'artagnan to slip and skid across a small patch of mud as he and Porthos made their way down a steep hill; he teetered on one foot, a small exclamation of surprise escaping him as he felt his shoulder jar as he fought to keep himself upright- a large hand grabbed him by the back of his coat and hauled him upwards and pushed him onto the edge of the muddy path where there was more purchase from the mud.
'Thanks,' he muttered as Porthos wiped a hand down his muddy face, eyes narrowed in concentration as they picked their way down the sodden path.
'S'alright...' the bigger man replied, before he massaged his wrist as the metal cut into it again. 'Wish we could get this blasted thing off!' he cursed quietly, before he stopped and looked around.
D'artagnan held his breath as they both ducked low and crept slowly towards the edge of the thick forest.
Far up ahead they saw two figures making their way through the forest, heading away from them-the forest was in total blackness, and coupled with a low-hanging mist on the forest floor they could not make out any distinguishable features.
'What if that's Athos and Aramis?' he whispered as he and Porthos positioned themselves between two large oak trees just inside the forest, hidden from the road outside. 'We could call out to them?'
'We can't take that chance..' Porthos replied, voice low. 'If we call out and it 'aint them, we'd just give away our position.'
'But if it is them, we can get back together!' the Gascon argued.
'Like I said, lad,' Porthos muttered, drumming his fingers into the muddy ground. 'We can't take that chance.'
D'artagnan nodded, trying not to get frustrated. He knew Porthos was right, of course he did, but he was just so worried about the other two... he watched as the two figures disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the mist.
'Let's take a look at that shoulder,' Porthos spoke up after a few seconds of silence. 'With all this mud around, we don't want you to get an infection on top of everything else.' He looked around as D'artagnan gingerly exposed his injured shoulder.
'You sure we're safe here?'
'No, but it'll have to do...' Porthos reasoned with a shrug. He couldn't hear anything, but right now he had to get the Gascon's shoulder looked at.
'Right, come on then...' he whispered, wiping his wet and muddy hands on his knees to create some semblance of hygiene before touching the wound. He suddenly had a thought, and put a hand into an inner pocket of his coat.
D'artagnan snorted as the larger man produced a small miniature glass bottle of brown liquid. 'What's that?' he asked, teeth chattering as coldness bit into them. The rain continued to fall in sheets; Porthos grinned and wiped the water from his brow as he unstopped the bottle. 'Brandy,' he answered, shrugging as the lad chuckled.
'How come they didn't spot that when they captured us?'
'Oh don't worry- I protect them very well!' Porthos laughed, before moving closer to D'artagnan and raising the bottle over his shoulder. He manoeuvred the lad until his shoulder was exposed and the rest of his body was leaning against a tree.
'I warn you- this is going to sting,' he muttered, eyes flashing. 'Try not to scream, alright?'
'I'll try my best..' D'artagnan muttered, before quirking an eyebrow as Porthos instead turned and picked up a thick branch from the grass next to them.
'It's probably best if you just bite down on this,' he reasoned, pushing it between the lad's teeth before he could argue.
Without pausing he then upended the bottle onto the wound; he grimaced as D'artagnan's eyes bulged in surprise and pain, before he gritted his teeth into the wood as a long, low moan of pain escaped from deep in his throat as he pressed his forehead into the sodden wood of the oak tree.
'Nearly done, nearly done...' Porthos quietly said; he fumbled in his pockets for a bandage, or anything to cover the wound. He settled on a new handkerchief he'd put in his pocket before they'd begun the trip.
He pressed it into the wound, trying his best to ignore D'artagnan's whimpers of pain as he cleaned up the blood and exposed the wound itself.
It needed stitching, he could see that- the trouble was he had nothing to do it with, including then necessary skill. He was no Aramis; he felt a pang of anxiety hit him as his mind wandered to his friends- he pushed it to the back of his mind as he heard a horrible groan of pain before a large crack of wood. He looked across and saw D'artagnan had bitten the branch in his mouth in half.
'It's alright, I'm done,' he whispered, helping him put his shirt and coat back on, covering the wound from the rain.
The lad's teeth were chattering with cold and pain now, and Porthos saw his face was now sheet white. He needed proper medical care; he had now done all he could.
'W-we should get g-going...' he muttered, wiping his hair from his face with a shaky hand. As they awkwardly clambered up again he gently pushed the larger man's shoulder.
'Thank for d-doing that.' He whispered, giving him a small smile.
'Don't be stupid,' he replied with a grin, putting a gentle hand on his good shoulder. 'I won't let you die, lad- I promise,' he added, before looking to the front again as he assessed their next move.
'Come on, lets go this way...' he muttered, nodding to a small path winding its way into the thick forest again. 'Out of the rain, at least.'
Together the two of them made their way along it, looking all around as they tried to spot any of the men; the forest was eerie in the darkness, and seemed as vast as the night sky to Porthos' mind. He was grateful for silence, and he made sure the two of them kept low to the ground as they picked their way deeper into the forest.
Every so often he heard a whimper to his side as D'artagnan's jarred his shoulder, or caught his finger as he stumbled across the path, and more than once he had had to stop at the younger man fought for breath as exhaustion was starting to set in.
He had wondered why Freddy had only injured D'artagnan and not him before they were sent into the forest- he now guessed it was so the uninjured man would be encumbered by the injured man, causing them to be slower as the injured one fought to keep up. He didn't care about stopping, or waiting for him to catch up- he'd never leave his brother's side, no matter what.
'Look..' D'artagnan's voice made him snap his head to the front- the path they were on soon forked to the right, and if he peered through the trees he could see a large mass of glittering lights near the forest floor.
'What the...' he muttered, before they rounded the corner and he saw it was a lake, illuminated by the moon in the sky.. ..rain pattered down onto it's surface, causing the glittering effect. It was huge; he could not see the opposite bank as they stumbled towards it.
'Quick,' he muttered, motioning D'artagnan to kneel down on the muddy bank as he did the same. 'You need to drink,' he added as the lad gave him a quizzical look.
'I'm not drinking that,' the younger man muttered, peering into the water. It was clogged with weeds and other plants, and he turned his nose up as he saw twigs move past in the wind.
'If you don't drink you're going to exhaust yourself even more- you need to drink something.' Porthos muttered, before cupping a hand in the water and bringing it to his face and drinking it himself.
'Got any more of those small bottles?' D'artagnan asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste as Porthos took another drink.
'You think I'd be drinking this if I did?' the larger man asked with a quirked eyebrow. 'Please, Lad- just one mouthful, at least.'
'Alright, alright...' he conceded, leaning towards the water's edge with a grimace. No sooner had he cupped his hand ready to dip into the icy water they both heard a commotion in the forest behind them.
'Shit, shit...' Porthos whispered as they heard voices emanating from the darkness; he looked around desperately, trying to figure out what to do. He didn't know how far away the voices were, and worst of all he couldn't tell where the voices were coming from...they could run right into them and have no idea. If they ran back into the forest he would be leading them to their deaths.
'Come on, in here...' He growled, putting a hand on d'artagnan's back and pushing him forwards.
'Really?!' the lad asked, but he knew there was no choice.
'Quickly...' Pothos whispered, groaning inwardly as he pushed himself into the water. 'Oh God that's cold...' he whispered, goosebumps immediately erupting as their legs and waists submerged into the icy waters.
They looked up as they pushed themselves further into the lake; Porthos could now see torchlights bobbing about in the forest...could count at least six, and that meant each torch belonged to a man. How many of the bastards were there, he thought with a thrill of anger.
Suddenly their feet dropped into deep water as the bank disappeared; D'artagnan's head bobbed down into the water before he could start treading water. He emerged spluttering and coughing..
'Shhh...' Porthos warned, looking back up to the bank before holding on to D'artagnan to keep him upright.
'Sorry...'
Together the two men watched silently as the man started filtering onto the muddy banks of the lake- they heard shouts and voices, but could not make out any words. Porthos shivered as coldness bit into him. If they could just keep quiet enough, maybe the men would go away without even noticing them... he felt D'artagnan tense up beside him, a hand raising out of the water- he looked up to see his face contorted into the shape he made before he did one of his famous large sneezes.
Eyes wide, he did the first thing that came to mind- as D'artagnan took in a large breath and started his sneeze he brought his own hand out of the water and immediately pushed the young lad's head into the water face first, cutting the sneeze off before it began.
D'artagnan emerged with an angry look in his eyes and his hair plastered to his face, to which Porthos could only shrug at and try not to snort- it had worked, he noted... slowly, each torch slowly began bobbing back into the forest, and the voices got quieter before he could hear nothing.
'Come on,' he eventually whispered, turning back to D'artagnan, who was wiping his hair away from his face.
'Let's keep going forwards- it'll take us ages to walk round this lake, and we could come out near a road,' he reasoned, and together the two of them began kicking slowly to the opposite side of the bank.
It seemed to take an age to swim to the other side- every so often Porthos had to stop again to allow D'artagnan some time to breathe. The handkerchief that had been placed on his wound had long since floated away, and Porthos could see that every time the lad moved that particular arm his face scrunched up in pain.
As they neared the edge Portho had to near-on drag the younger man along; his teeth chattered in his ear as D'artagnan now fought to keep his head upright,eyes occasionally closing, much to Porthos' horror.
'Nearly there...' he encouraged; his face and hands were numb with cold, and his feet felt like lumps of ice as he kicked both of them along. 'Almost made it...'
'So cold...' D'artagnan breathed in his ear, his fingers weakly scrabbling for purchase on Porthos' sleeve.
'I know, it's alright- we'll get you warmed up in no time, and then we can get out of here,' the larger man muttered ashe adjusted his hold on the younger man, eyes squinting into the distance to find the other end of the blasted lake. His heart soared as he spotted the bank. 'Thank God...' he whispered to himself.
'Hey lad, we made it!' he whispered, jiggling D'artagnan slightly to get his attention.
'That's good...' D'artagnan said slowly, nodding, although Pothos could see his eyes were now fluttering open and closed again.
'Come on D'artagnan, stay with me...' he muttered, rubbing his back in a futile attempt to get warmth back into his body as they finally got to the bank.
'M'alright... m'okay...' D'artagnan replied, voice barely more than a whisper.
Porthos wasn't convinced, before he groaned with exertion himself as he dragged himself and his wet clothes up onto the bank. He kept forgetting how heavy you'd be when you had been in water- He heard D'Artagnan gasp as his manacled hand was pulled upwards. 'Sorry, sorry...' he muttered, before leaning close to the bank and listening hard. Silence, save for the chirruping of crickets and occasional hooting of owls.
'It's safe,' he eventually surmised, before turning back to D'artagnan and reaching out to help him out of the water and up the bank. 'Lets go,' he muttered as he hauled the younger man onto the muddy bank. The Gascon lay still for a moment, looking up at the night sky and trying to breathe normally.
'You alright to go on?' Porthos asked, placing a hand on his chest as he looked around again.
'Of c-course...' he replied, turning awkwardly and looking across to the other man with a smile. 'I'm always r-ready, you know tha-that!'
Porthos chuckled at that, nodding his agreement as he watched D'artagnan haul himself to his knees and into a sitting positions. The lad was a marvel, he thought to himself with a proud feeling.
As they started making their way from the bank to the muddy road again, however, Porthos began to wonder if D'artagnan was just putting on a brave face. He clasped an arm around his waist as his legs nearly went from under him.
'Alright my arse...' he muttered with a chuckle, to which D'artagnan gave him a small shrug.
'Didn't want to w-worry you...' he whispered as he groaned in pain, before shuddering with cold.
'Let me worry, alright- I'm big enough and ugly enough to take it, alright?'
'Alright...'
Both men stopped dead as they heard voices shouting to their right, deep in the dark forest.
'Why can't they just leave us alone!' Porthos whispered, voice trembling with cold. He looked around; they were on a shingle path, leading away from the forest. If they followed it, they could perhaps evade these man without them ever knowing they were there.
The trouble, he hated to admit, was the man beside him- D'artagnan was walking on shaky legs and he occasionally almost fell to the ground, his face now taut with an every present agony, he could plainly see that.
There was only one solution, he decided. And D'artagnan was not going to like it.
'What are you d-doing...' the younger man muttered, although in truth he was now too tired to argue.
'Porthos, no..' he weakly added as Porthos got into position.
'It's either this, or I cut your arm off and go off by myself!' Porthos teased, before giving him an apologetic look. 'We need to go fast- you can't go fast. This is the solution.'
'But you're injured too and-'
'Stop whingeing and get ready...' Porthos cut across him. His heart fell into his stomach as he saw torchlights up ahead. The men were coming their way.
'I'm doing it now-' he warned, before he tried to ignore the moan of pain from the Gascon as he hauled him onto his broad shoulders. Both their hands were in horrible positions,and Porthos was sure that if his hand was pulled any harder it would drop off, but that couldn't be helped now.
'Right, lets go...' he muttered, before hitching the younger man further up his back and beginning a fast walk up the shingle path.
It was still slow going, but they covered more ground now with only Porthos moving- lightening flashed as new stormclouds starting brewing and Porthos felt D'artagnan startle as a deep rumble of thunder sounded overhead.
He could hear shouts and loud voices behind them, getting closer with each passing second- he swallowed hard, breathing deeply as he started picking up the pace.
For one heart-stopping moment his foot slipped on a loose wet rock, but he soon managed to find his feet again and continue.
He chanced a look behind him, eyes wide as orange flickering lights filled his vision, coupled with the sound of dogs barking.'Oh God...' he muttered, before daring to start to run- both arms were clasped around D'artagnan in a bid to keep him on his back; he darted round a corner, breathing hard as he looked around.
'Here, over here!' he heard a man's voice amid the thunder and rain. 'Quickly!'
Porthos looked around, and spotted an oldish looking man standing alone by a wooded clearing, waving frantically at him.
'Quick!' he shouted again, looking behind Porthos to the men who would now be close behind him. 'Before they get here! Come on!'
Porthos made his way to the man, eyes wide and fearful. 'Who are you?' he growled.
'I'll explain when we're inside- quickly!' the man muttered, nodding back to his house that was nestled in the outskirts of the forest. 'My wife saw you running and I knew we had to help you!' he added as he and Porthos began making their way quickly to the house.
Porthos could now see a woman in the window, her anxious and lined face pressed against the glass as she watched them approach.
'How do I know you're not with them?' Porthos asked, wary and untrusting of this sudden saving grace.
'What they do on the other side of the river has nothing to do with us-you have to trust us!' the man replied as he walked up the wooden steps leading to his house. 'We saw you out the window and knew we had to do something-You needed help, and we can give it to you-' he opened the door, and a warmth hit them, comforting and inviting.
'You can take it or leave it- but that man will die if you don't let us help!' he added, nodding up the D'artagnan.
The sounds of dogs barking sealed Porthos' mind. These people meant them no harm, he reasoned- otherwise they would have surely killed them by now, or at least made their presence known the group of hunters behind them. He nodded gratefully at the man as he stumbled over the threshold, hoping his instincts about these kindly people were right...
Have they been saved, or is something wrong here? Find out soon!
Thanks for reading, please review!
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