CHAPTER 18

Dawn found the sunshine breaking out from behind the clouds, but Athos' fever did not break. Aramis could still feel the heat radiating from his groggy brother. Selfishly, he had to admit that the fevered man had kept him toasty warm last night and he'd gotten a few hours of quality sleep. But, he knew it was not good for the swordsman.

Leaving a half-awake Athos lying on the ground, he took care of his morning business and then set a pot of water to melt on the fire. He could tell, by the color of their urine, that dehydration was becoming more and more of an issue and he vowed to ensure they both drank more today. Also, if they didn't get off this hunk of dirt and trees they'd have to find some sort of sustenance. They couldn't go much longer without food.

When the herb laced water was ready and cooled, Aramis helped Athos prop himself up against the shelter's back and placed the cup in his hand, encouraging him to drink. Athos' hand shook as he raised the cup to his chapped lips, and some spilt down the front of his jacket. Without being intrusive, Aramis leant a steadying hand so the liquid ended up in, not on, his brother.

When the cup was empty, he took it back, debating if he should try to get the fevered man to drink another one, but as if reading his mind, Athos shook his head, indicating he was done for now.

"Well later than," Aramis said aloud as he placed the cup back on the fire.

"We need to go check on the fire," Athos huffed out, as he struggled to rise.

Aramis placed a hand on his shoulder and offered an alternative. "I need to check on the bonfire. You need to stay here and rest."

The scowling on his brother's face indicated exactly what he thought of that idea, but his wobbly legs betrayed him and he couldn't get much further than his hands and knees. He slid back to the ground in frustration, then squirmed until he was half slouched against the wall. It looked uncomfortable to Aramis, but he also knew, even sick, Athos felt vulnerable flat on his back.

"I'm just going to go check our masterpiece and maybe scout around, see if there is anything edible on this rock."

Another curt nod showed the musketeer had heard, though the scowl on his face still indicated that, even if he was resigned, he was displeased. However, the medic could tell by the half-hooded eyes, and the sweat on Athos' forehead, that he'd soon be dragged under again by his fever. Aramis vowed to himself to be quick, not wanting to leave his ill brother alone for long.

After placing his blanket on the ground near Athos, he doubted the heated man would stand to have it on him, Aramis stepped into the brisk winter morning. The sun was shining and the reflection off the snow was blinding to his eyes at first. Carefully, he made his way down to the river, scanning the banks and seeing no one. Little did he know, had he been five minutes earlier, he would have seen his brothers. But they had gone back onto the road to bring the horses upriver to where the leaning trees were located.

With a sigh, Aramis replenished the wood on the pyre, then headed back towards the interior of their little island to look for something edible in the woods. He found a few plants that he recognized, poking up through the snow. Gathering what he could, he decided he could make a soup like concoction, though without any meat it wouldn't be very nourishing. Still, it was better than nothing.

When he got back to the lean-to, as predicted, Athos was asleep, slumped over in an uncomfortable looking heap. Placing his finds near the fire, he went over and gently maneuvered the man into a more relaxed position. Brushing the sweaty hair off Athos' forehead, he worried about how high his temperature seemed and debated if he should try to lower it. But if it went in the opposite direction, and his core temperature dropped too low, Aramis wouldn't be able to warm him up given their current situation, and that would be even more dangerous. So, he settled for leaving him partially uncovered before setting off to make his soup.

-MMMM-

Having ridden up the road until they were even with the slanted trees, d'Artagnan and Porthos dismounted and led their horses down to the river's edge. Luckily, the trees were leaning downstream, so pulling on them would probably cause them to topple into the river.

"What about the ground, bein' frozen and all?" Porthos inquired as they looked over the trees from close up.

That had concerned d'Artagnan too. "It's a concern, but I think since so much of the root ball is already exposed, it should give way under the pressure."

Taking the rope off his saddle, he walked over to the first tilted tree. "We have to tie this really tight around the trunk. Can't afford to have it slide off." Running his hands over the bark, he found a knob where a branch once grew. He secured the rope above the knob so it wouldn't slide, though the roots would also be effective in keeping the rope from slipping off the tree. He should have thought of that all along, but surmised that the cold was slowing his thinking.

Porthos took his rope and did the same thing so both trees were ready to be toppled. They had already hacked some rope off the end of each coil, so they'd have something to lash the two trees together later to make the 'bridge' if their plan succeeded.

As a farmer, he knew how to rig a horse to pull an object and he used that knowledge to safely secure the rope to his horse. Mounting, d'Artagnan urged his horse to walk along the edge of the river, until the rope went taunt. Then he urged the animal to move forward some more, pulling on the tree. Porthos grabbed the rope between the horse and the tree and added his own considerable strength to the process. The tree stayed stubbornly still for a few minutes, with both Porthos and the horse grunting with the effort they were making. Gradually, it began to lean towards the river until it reached its pivot point and suddenly it picked up speed and fell into the river making a mighty splash. Both the horse and Porthos were surprised, but only the man ended up on his rump in the snow. D'Artagnan couldn't help laughing at the streetfighter's expression as he fell backwards into the rather deep snowbank. The sneaky snow must have found its way down his pants, for the streetfighter let out a rather high-pitched squeak and bounded to his feet.

At that point, the rope between the horse and the floating tree went slack, then began to tighten as the tree caught in the Seine's current and began to drift away. Luckily, the roots caught on the shallow edges of the river, and d'Artagnan, focusing back on the tree, was able to transfer the rope from his saddle to another tree for the moment, holding the floating tree in place while they worked on downing the next one.

The second one went a bit easier, since they knew what to expect this time. They used Porthos' Flip to pull this one into the river, though d'Artagnan rode him and Porthos still helped pull the tree down from the ground. The tree did its slow, slow, fast routine again, but Porthos was ready this time so he didn't end up with his posterior in the snow once more.

D'Artagnan rode over to another tree and hitched the second floating tree to the stationary one. However, before he could dismount, he suddenly felt someone tugging on his jacket, dragging him off the rear of the horse. Ungracefully, he slid off Flip's hairy rump, ending up in a pile in the snow on the ground. Like with Porthos, the stealthy snow made its way inside his clothes, touching his bare skin and making him yelp.

"Not so funny, is it," declared the grinning Porthos, who'd pulled him off the horse in retribution.

Picking himself up and brushing off the snow encrusting him, he finally chortled. "Fine. We're even." Turning serious, his eyes travelled down the ropes to the two fallen trees bobbing in the water.

"You gonna lash them together here, or down by the island?" Porthos inquired as he followed the younger musketeer's gaze.

Here, while they were still in the shallower water by the river's bank and tied to trees would be easier, but he had doubts they would float down the river that well without getting stuck on everything because of the increased length. Looking down the river once more, he realized he couldn't even see the little island, other than a plume of smoke in the air. That made up his mind. "Down by the island."

Porthos shook his curly head. "That's what I was thinking too. Gonna be hard enough to maneuver without tying them together too soon. Don't think the horses will be able to walk along the bank all the way to the island so we are going to have to tow the logs on foot."

"Not worried about towing, the current is in our favor. But stopping might be harder. What will we do with the horses?"

Porthos thought about it for a moment. "If Athos was here with Roger the wonder-horse, we'd simply tie the other horses to Roger and Athos would tell him to follow us up the river on the road."

"Would Roger do that?" d'Artagnan asked. "I mean I know Athos has him well trained, and I have seen the animal do some amazing things, but really."

With a shrug, Porthos started walking Flip over to a nearby tree. "I haven't ever seen that horse not do what he was told, so…" He looped the reins around a handy branch and gave his horse a slap on the neck. "We'll be back soon."

D'Artagnan did the same, then they headed for the trees the ropes were tied around.

"I think he is overcompensating," Porthos declared when they had reached the trees.

"Athos?"

"No. Roger. I think he is trying to prove he is not as dumb as his name sounds. Whoever heard of a horse named Roger?"

D'Artagnan knew this whole conversation wasn't about Roger's peculiar name, so he reached out and placed a hand on his brother's arm. "We'll find them."

Porthos was worried, though he gave d'Artagnan a tight nod, then untied the rope from around the trunk of the land based tree. "Let's see how this goes."

-MMMM-

Sounds carry on the water and Aramis, at least, heard the splash of the trees as they hit the river. However, he had no idea what to make of it. Athos, whose fever had subsided a little and who was sitting up trying to find ways to avoid eating Aramis' so-called soup, began to rise.

"Where are you going?" Aramis asked as the fevered musketeer shrugged off the blanket he was huddled under.

"Investigate."

Aramis gave him an incredulous stare.

"The sound."

"I know what you are saying, but do you think it is wise for you to go outside with a fever hot enough to fry an egg?" Aramis asked sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest.

Athos rarely listened to Aramis' medical advice when it was contrary to what he wanted to do and now wasn't any different. He didn't even bother to answer, just attempted to rise to his feet, which took him almost a minute to do and remain in a steady, non-swaying state.

The marksman just watched, never ceasing to be amazed at how stubborn all his brothers, including himself if he was to be honest, were when it came to their health and well-being.

Once he was more-or-less stable, Athos glanced down at the disapproving medic-musketeer and added, "I also have to answer the call of nature."

"By all means, go," Aramis said solemnly. "I'll wait here and come haul your ass out of the snow in a few minutes when you collapse. Do try to fall away from your, ah, call of nature."

One of Athos' trademark scowls covered his face as he turned to leave the campsite, got lightheaded, and nearly pitched into the fire. Only Aramis' quick leap to his feet and fast hands helped avoid a nasty accident.

As he stood there, holding his brother close to his chest, anger and fear overtook him and he wanted to shake some sense into Athos. It had been a miracle Aramis' cold body had responded in time to catch Athos before he pitched head first into the fire. Then the anger and fear was replaced by worry and love. "Damnit Athos," he whispered, his voice breaking.

"I'm sorry," came the low, sincere apology, which made Aramis love his brother even more and hug him protectively. Athos didn't apologize often; only when he realized how much he had scared his brothers.

"Let's go investigate that sound together." Aramis declared gruffly as he pushed Athos away, though he retained a steadying hand on his arm. "And let you take care of that call of nature. Don't worry, I shall advert my eyes."

"Wonderful," Athos grumbled as they headed out of the campsite.

After taking care of business, the two slowly made their way over to the shore and the signal fire, which was still burning strongly. They stood near it, basking in the heat, for it was still unbearably cold to be standing around doing nothing.

"Maybe we should build a snowman," Aramis said thoughtfully as he gazed across the river, then up and down its banks.

"Why?" the fever-ridden musketeer asked. He was too tired to try to think of a logical reason to make a snowman, if there even was such a thing. The short walk from the camp had exhausted his ill body and he wished now he'd stayed put and let Aramis investigate. They didn't see anything that might have made that rather loud, sharp, noise.

"If someone comes along and spots our fire, how will they know what it means and even more important where we are? The snowman could point the way. And," the medic added as an afterthought, "it will warm us up."

"I'm already warm enough," the fevered Athos mumbled.

"Must be past midday then," Aramis declared as he craned his neck back to see where the sun was in the sky. "Fevers rise towards evening." Scanning the river and the far bank once more, Aramis sighed, then turned away. "Let's get you back to camp. You still haven't finished your soup."

"Is that what that was?" Athos mumbled as he leaned heavily on Aramis' arm for support.

"As usual, your Comte's palette does not appreciate simple fare," Aramis retorted as they made their way back to camp, following the path of their previous footsteps.

"I don't think me being raised as a Comte has anything to do with the horrible taste of that soup."

"To each his own," Aramis declared as they rounded the natural windbreak of trees and rocks and entered their sheltered area. The fire was still going as Aramis helped Athos get settled in the pine bough lean-to. "Shall I warm your soup?" Aramis asked as he picked up the cold mug.

Athos nodded, thinking it would give him time to fall asleep first. He didn't think it would take him long for once and he was right as the fever took over his body once more and knocked him out. Aramis nestled the mug in-between two rocks in the fire pit where it would stay warm. They could resume the battle when Athos woke.

Settling back alongside his brother, he sipped at his own warmed soup and tried not to make a face. It did taste terrible, but at least his body was getting a little, if questionable, nourishment. When he finished the mug, he set it aside and stared outside. Actually, he realized, they didn't need a snowman to point the way to their campsite. The trampled snow would be clue enough. Now, they just needed someone to come and rescue them.