CHAPTER 22
"Christ!" Porthos screamed when he saw his two brothers start to topple off the tree. Aramis was praying in a more traditional manner.
"Can you see them?" Aramis exclaimed, as he ran up and down a short section of the shore to get a better view.
The medic was just about to send caution to the wind and wade into the river when he heard Porthos shout. "I see them!"
D'Artagnan managed to half-fall with his one arm still wrapped over the trunk of the tree, which he clung to for dear life. When Athos felt himself toppling over, he lunged for the limb that he'd been holding onto earlier, as well as d'Artagnan's weapons belt. With a hand on each, his lower body slid into the frigid waters, but his torso remained somewhat dry, slung over the tree.
"Haul them in." Aramis shouted when he saw the rope in Porthos' hands, yet the man was doing nothing.
"Not until I know they have a secure hold on that damn tree!" It was hard in the dusk to see what was going on. "Athos! D'Artagnan!" Porthos bellowed.
"We're good!" d'Artagnan yelled back, though all of his brothers could hear the edge of pain in his voice. "We're secure. Pull us in."
And pull Porthos did, with every bit of strength he possessed, and the two, massive trees slid to the shore in an instant. Once they felt the river's bottom under their feet, Athos and d'Artagnan tried to stand. It was only by leaning on each other that they were able to stumble up the snowy bank of the shore. Once they reached the top, Athos stumbled to his knees, dragging the Gascon down with him into the snow.
"Oh God no," Aramis moaned as he slid across the snow to Athos' side and saw the blood on his face.
He and Porthos leveraged both men to their feet and hauled them over to the fire where they gently placed them on the waiting bedrolls they had laid out. Knowing both men would need a lot of assistance to change into the dry clothes, they wrapped d'Artagnan up well a blanket while they tackled Athos.
D'Artagnan was alert and fairly responsive and Aramis wanted to keep him talking. "What happened?" Aramis asked, pointing the bleeding welt on Athos' left cheek.
"Weapons belt clipped him, I think. Is he going to be fine?" d'Artagnan asked the medic, worry and concern coloring his tone. Athos seemed totally unresponsive to the lad, not objecting at all as Aramis and Porthos manhandled him out of one set of clothes and into dry ones. The swordsman was not one to allow his personal space to be violated often, not even by his closest friends.
"I am sure, if you were to ask him, he'd tell you he is fine," Aramis joked as he buttoned Athos' doublet over Porthos' overly large braies, shirt and pants. Unexpectedly, the green eyes gained focus and rotated to stare at him.
"I am fine. Stop fussing over me." He actually tried to raise his hands to swat Aramis' away, but he was too exhausted to do more than raise them a few inches before letting them fall back into his lap. So instead, he glowered at the man.
Aramis could feel the fever heat radiating off of Athos, along with the periodic bouts of painful shivering. "Oh yes. You're definitely 'fine', Athos."
He wasn't sure if Athos chose not to reply, or simply couldn't, but the swordsman closed his eyes and remained mute. After snuggling the silent man up in the blanket, he and Porthos turned their attentions to d'Artagnan, who was easier as the lad seemed to be recovering more quickly. Given he hadn't been out in the cold as long as Aramis and Athos, it wasn't surprising.
Porthos was more concerned about Aramis, who was slowing down and it could be easily seen he was on the brink of collapsing himself. Once both the river-dunked men were redressed, wrapped in the robes the monks gave them and settled by the fire, Porthos made Aramis join them while he laid out a little spread for them to eat from what the monks had placed in his and the Gascon's saddlebags. The hungry lad lit into the food with gusto and Aramis did fair justice to it himself; food, even though not warm, was delicious. Athos drank Aramis' willow bark tea with minimal fuss, but only half-heartedly chewed on the meat and cheese roll Porthos had placed in his hands.
"Where is the nearest shelter?" Aramis asked Porthos softly, as they sat side by side sharing a blanket and eating.
"Don't know exactly. We was too busy looking for you to think of shelter," Porthos said sheepishly.
"There are no places between here and the Abbey; least not of which I'm aware," d'Artagnan chimed in.
"You're right on that. The Abbey itself is rather remote, even though it is on the Seine. But no villages nearby," Porthos confirmed, as he munched on an apple.
Letting his eyes slide over to Athos, Aramis declared, "Paris is too far with him sporting that fever. And I don't think I can make it that far either if the truth be told."
"You've been through a lot. No shame." Porthos went quiet as he thought for a few moments. "It's a six hour ride to the Abbey. Less if we push it. Can we wait until dawn to leave? Light would allow us to travel faster."
"I don't think he, or I, can survive another night in this cold," Aramis answered truthfully.
"Right then. We pack up and leave now. Ain't like we haven't ridden in the dark before. And the moon, on the new fallen snow, will give us more light," Porthos declared as he rose. "Stay wrapped up until I get the horses ready." Aramis was grateful to comply.
It didn't take long for Porthos to get everything ready and a rejuvenated d'Artagnan helped him. When it came time to get their two brothers up, they had a quick consultation.
"Athos with me?" d'Artagnan asked, as he glanced over to the man, who hadn't moved in the last fifteen minutes.
"Thinking with me," Porthos replied slowly, as he too looked at the comatose man. "I think he is gonna be close to a dead weight." D'Artagnan cringed at the unfortunate choice of words. "Sorry. It's just, I'm stronger and…"
D'Artagnan held a hand up to ward off Porthos' apology. "I get it. Let's mount up. We have a long ride ahead of us."
NOTE: Five more chapters/epilogue. And thanks for all the reviews. They are so much fun to read.
