Wow, guys, thank you for the most awesome feedback! Really, I am stunned! Therefore I sat down and wrote this as fast as I could so I could thank you with another chapter earlier than I had planned to. I really hope you all like it!

And I hope everyone's weekend has been good, I know mine has... - my team and I just became District Champions in four-in-hand (horse/carriage) in all three phases of the combined driving competitions. We also won all three phases in the total ranking. Happy days!

Chapter 2

Porthos carefully lowered him to the ground as d'Artagnan pulled Roger away, handing him over to Jacques, the stable boy. Aramis was kneeling by Athos a second later, unbuckling his belt and removing his weapons, before opening the buttons of the doublet, and pulling his linens up to reveal where the trouble lay.

A loud hiss was heard from all four men as Aramis used his knife to rip off the blood clotted bandage covering his friend's side, to find a big, gaping hole stare back at them. Aramis nibble fingers gently palpitated Athos' torso, his entire upper body seemed to be covered in various shades of purple. Aramis only needed to send Porthos a look before the big man carefully rolled Athos over while gently pulling his doublet off, allowing Aramis to have a look at his back. Aramis pulled up the linens, which were once white, but now stained with clotted blood and mud, to reveal a backside shifting just as many colours as his front.

"Someone really worked on him." Aramis gritted through his teeth, taking the long pieces of cloth that Serge was suddenly providing him out of nowhere, and wrapped them around Athos' midsection, covering the large wound. "This is from a pistol, and it's not fresh. It has stopped bleeding already, and infection is setting in. It's been a while."

"Jacques said he left as the horses were being dealt with for the night." D'Artagnan nodded, before turning to their Captain. "Did you send him on a mission?"

"No, I didn't." Treville said quietly, shaking his head as he stared down at the men in front of him.

"Well, we have to think about what happened later, we need to help him first. Porthos, if you could, please?"

The minute Aramis tied the knot in the cloth, Porthos put an arm underneath Athos' legs and the other one behind his upper back, lifting his friend up into his arms. Athos' head lulled to the side, settling towards Porthos' shoulder, and from there on they wasted no time in moving Athos to the infirmary. Upon seeing who were entering, the physician, Jean, backed off, just showing them to an empty table, and went to get supplies. Normally he would immediately tend to the wounded, but he and Aramis shared very few opinions when it came to treatments, and he had learned from before that when Aramis walked in, he should just back out. Aramis never walked in on Jean's turf if he didn't feel it was strictly necessary. And upon seeing whom the man was that they had placed on the table, Jean was not going to interrupt.

Aramis dove straight into it, having Porthos hold Athos up by his armpits as they work him out of his linen sweater, revealing the full extent of his upper body. D'Artagnan came up by his feet, pulling his muddy boots off, and his trousers, leaving him in his smalls. They all stopped and just stared at his friend, not sure that they had ever seen anyone so banged up and bruised before. Aramis could feel anger bubbling up inside his heart, but now was not the time for letting his emotions run away with his mind. He had to focus, he had to guide the others through this and then Athos would wake and be terribly sore, but he would live. Aramis decided that then and there.

"Aramis."

Aramis attention turned to the youngest of them, standing by Athos' feet still. He looked terribly worried.

"Please instruct us on what to do." D'Artagnan asked through clenched teeth. He was probably just as angry as Aramis felt, and he needed something to do, he wanted to help, with anything, they all had to focus on getting Athos well right now, not their emotions.

Aramis took a deep breath before going through what was about to happen. "We need to clean him off, get all this mud off him, make sure he is spotlessly clean if we are to prevent this infection to go further. Any little mud into a tiny cut can set it off, so scrub him well. Porthos, you can start with that, and while you are at it, feel around carefully to see if there any more wounds hiding. I will deal with the bullet wound. D'Artagnan, I want you to head over to my quarters and get me my kit, it's right on my bedside table. And make haste."

"I will go down to the other Musketeers and make sure they don't snoop around, I will make sure they stay off your backs. I know Athos doesn't want them seeing him like this. I will then try and see if I can find any clues to what has happened." Treville said as he saw everything was in as much control as it could be. He would not be useful here. "Aramis…"

Aramis turned to his Captain, and Treville's look would've said it all. But to be on the safe side, Treville added words to it. "Do your best. That's all I'm asking of you."

Aramis bowed his head slightly, before turning back to Athos as Treville exited.

Jean, the physician was suddenly behind them, putting down two buckets of water to the floor – one steaming hot, one cold. He carried with him towels and cloths, bandages and a bottle of brandy. Aramis smiled gratefully, and Jean gave him a nod. Words weren't necessary as Aramis had said his thanks, and Jean promised to provide everything needed.

Aramis went into physician mode, as Porthos moved to Athos' head with a cold cloth, gently wiping dirt from his friends face, feeling the heat radiating through his skin. He only needed to look up from Aramis to let him know Athos was probably coming down with a fever. Aramis gave a short nod, before focusing on cleaning the bullet wound as well as possible before d'Artagnan would be back.

"'Mis." Porthos mumbled carefully. Aramis let out a sound to reveal that he was indeed listening, even if he couldn't stop focusing on the task at hand. Porthos understood and continued, knowing he had part of Aramis attention. "He got a good bump on the back of 'is head. It's been bleeding but not anymore. Do you want me to do anything to it?"

"Clean it up, make sure there's no gravel or dirt in it, and I'll deal with it after this."

Porthos nodded and followed instructions, in the same time as d'Artagnan came back inside, panting from the run. He handed Aramis his kit, with all the things that he could possibly need while tending to his friends, and Aramis immediately dug into it to find the tool he used to get a hold of bullets. D'Artagnan grabbed a cloth and helped to clean Athos off, as Aramis set all his focus on getting the bullet out.

D'Artagnan cleaned off Athos' legs, which seemed to be the part of his body with less harm given to it. There were some bruises but nothing major, and the knees and ankles seemed to be intact. D'Artagnan gulped gratefully that at least there was some part of his mentor that wasn't covered completely in bruises. As he cleared himself done, he grabbed a nearby blanket and covered Athos lower body with it, knowing from experience how fast cold can take hold of a person just after they've been injured.

Aramis got a hold of the bullet lodged in his friend's side, and managed to pull it out. Sighing relieved, he dropped it on a nearby table, and reached for the bottle of brandy standing there. He took a deep breath, he knew how much this would sting and he hated causing his friends more pain than they already were in, but it was necessary. He took another deep breath before emptying big part of the bottle into the wound, rinsing puss and blood out of it.

He had hoped Athos would be completely out so he would not feel the pain, but the minute the alcohol touched the wound, the man on the table groaned weakly, and bucked. Porthos was fast, and grabbed onto Athos, pinning him to the table with one arm, firmly but extremely carefully not to cause him any harm, his other hand gently pulling his fingers through Athos' hair, careful not to touch the bump at the back of his head. Vacant green eyes stared back at him, breaths coming out in tiny whisks of air.

"I know it hurts Athos, I know. Breathe through it, come on, I know you're a fighter." Porthos mumbled, trying to get contact with Athos' eyes, but they remained vacant, tears dripping down to his temples, disappearing into his hair. They soon closed and his body once again went limp.

Aramis eyes shot to Porthos with panic in them, and Porthos quickly reassured Aramis that he had only passed out, pointing to the man's chest, as it was still moving by every in- and exhale. Aramis bit his lip, steadying himself gently towards the table, taking a couple of deep breaths to ground him before what was about to come. Jean was suddenly behind him, knowing what Aramis was thinking, and he gave Aramis the dagger, glowing brightly red from being heated in the fire.

Aramis hated this part.

By the time Aramis leaned back into a chair, dusk was settling outside the window. Athos was sleeping under a thin sheet, cold cloths tucked in around his neck, on his forehead, wrists and armpits trying to control the fever before it broke out properly. D'Artagnan was sitting leaning against the wall, and Porthos sat down in the chair next to Aramis.

Aramis couldn't stop staring at his friend. He had cauterized the wound in his side before stitching it, and once again the pain had jarred Athos awake as Porthos held him down. Aramis had expected Athos to scream against the pain, but instead he had been sobbing, begging, pleading for Aramis to stop. Aramis had not been able to hold back his own tears at the sound of Athos' weak voice, but he knew he had no choice. Athos had soon blacked out again.

The smell of burnt flesh still lingered inside the room.

As his fingers had moved across Athos' body he could feel ribs shifting by the touch, but carefully putting his ear against Athos' chest, his breathing sounded clearer than expected. At least his lungs didn't seem injured. He also inspected the goose egg at the back of Athos head, if that hadn't caused a concussion he didn't know what would.

Aramis had left them for a while to make up more of his favourite salve, a paste made mostly out of yarrow, herbs that he kept in his room and refilled as often as he could. He had created the paste many times, and it didn't take him long to return with it, and smeared it across the cuts and bruises, before covering Athos with the thin sheet.

Treville had been by twice, worried about his friend, but knowing they wouldn't really know if he survived before he had proven that he could make it through the night. Treville had moved back to his room, demanding that they would get him if anything changed – better or worse.

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

"Sleep 'Mis. I'll sit first shift. You and d'Artagnan should rest. I'll wake you if needed."

Aramis wanted to protest, but his body immediately betrayed him by sending a big yawn out of his mouth. He nodded, while looking over at Athos. "Wake me if there's anything. And I mean anything."

"Y'know I will." Porthos nodded to both Aramis and d'Artagnan as the two of them moved over to some empty beds in the infirmary, lying down as they nodded off to sleep. Both of the men would later say that the had not expected to sleep due to the worry spreading through every corner of their hearts, but exhaustion took a hold of them both and pulled them into the world of dreams.

As morning rose, Aramis was seated next to Athos, Porthos had taken his place in bed as he had not been able to fight exhaustion anymore. D'Artagnan woke, looking around for a bit before realizing where he was, and he looked up to see Aramis sitting on a hard chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"How is he?"

Aramis looked up at the sound of d'Artagnan's voice, and he sighed heavily. "He has yet to stir… But he is still alive."

D'Artagnan nodded as he moved up from the bed to walk over to Athos' other side, pulling a vacant chair up next to him, sitting down.

"I'll watch if you want to rest, Aramis." D'Artagnan offered, already knowing what the answer would be, but offering none the less.

"I rested. Now I just want to know what happened." Aramis mumbled, his focus back on Athos' chest, watching it rise and fall slowly.

"He said there was an ambush." D'Artagnan pondered. "And I suppose he was alone. If it was something so terribly important that he couldn't even tell us, he wouldn't have risked bringing anyone else along. Had he brought another Musketeer along, we would know of it, at least Treville would."

Aramis nodded in agreement. "He turned Porthos down on going to the taproom last night, which in itself is out of the ordinary. Where did he go instead?"

"I might have a lead."

Both men turned to the door as they heard the voice belonging to their Captain, wondering for how long he had been standing there in the doorframe. Treville looked over at Athos, pleased that the man was still alive, before he walked over to wake Porthos up, knowing he would like to hear what he had found out during the night.

Aramis was about to shout out a warning, but didn't have time before Porthos sent a right hook out into the air, narrowly missing Treville's jaw. Luckily, the great swordsman also had great reflexes and he turned to stare at Aramis and d'Artagnan while backing away from Porthos who had rolled over and promptly returned to sleep mode.

"He is not a morning person." D'Artagnan stated the obvious, and Treville stared back at him.

"You don't say?"

D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smile as he got up from the chair, walking closer to Porthos – but not to close, before he kicked him in the shin, before jumping back as Porthos came tumbling out of the bed, just managing to get his feet under him before hitting the floor. He rose to full height, disorientated as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes, locking around the room. Upon seeing his friends, his Captain… and Athos… memories of the day before replayed in his mind. He slumbered back to the bed, but in sitting position this time, looking up to the others, wondering what they were talking about.

Treville took to words. "I called upon all contacts I have, trying to find out what could've happened. As I said, I did not send him on a mission so he must've gone out by himself. I talked to the King, and he willingly informed me that there have been raids on the lands of La Fere of lately. Apparently there had been reports, and the King had sent an errand boy to give Athos the news. He normally goes through me when it concerns any Musketeer, but considering the status once held, his Majesty thought it would be best to go directly to Athos."

"I didn't know the King knew of Athos' past." Porthos pondered, knowing how secretive Athos was.

"The king doesn't just take anyone into the regiment. He knows every single one of you, where you came from and what you have done. He had heard of Athos long before he came to join. He has been well informed though that Athos has kept his past a secret."

"So you think Athos rode back there last night?" D'Artagnan asked, feeling them side-tracking the important parts.

"I believe so yes."

"If he knew anything unjustified was happening on his land, he would've left for sure." Aramis said, knowing his friend would do everything to protect his homeland, no matter how much his past was still hurting him. He was still a Comte, and he had a duty and honour to hold. No one would attack his birth home without there being repercussions.

"I can send some men to the lands and see what they come up with." Treville offered, but he had a feeling of what the answer would be.

"No. This is Athos' past, the others don't know of it. We should be going, this is our fight." It was Porthos who had spoken, but Treville knew the other two were thinking the same thing. They would've already been up and gone, had it not been for not wanting to leave Athos alone.

"I would not leave him out of my sight." Treville offered, knowing they would understand his intentions.

They all hesitated, torn between wanting vengeance, and not wanting to leave Athos in this vulnerable state. They all sat in silence for a while, just observing Athos as he rested, breathing, but not showing any signs of waking up. Aramis was first to move, placing the back of his hand towards Athos' forehead, then, without saying anything, he moved to the bandage, carefully lifting it so be able to see a glimpse of the wound. When pleased, he leaned back into his chair.

"The wound looks as good as could be expected. There's a tiny bit of warmth but nothing that's concerning. He did make it through the night. I'm sure, as long as his temperature and wound is carefully monitored and handled if changes appear, he will be healing."

"I will keep him under a watchful eye." Treville promised.

"Don't let Jean bleed him. No matter what happens, please don't let him. Athos has lost enough blood as it is."

Treville nodded his promise. He knew Aramis would have made a great physician had he decided to go that route instead. He was healing more people in the city by just dealing with the Musketeers, than the physicians ever did. He really could do with teaching them a thing or two.

"We will ride then." Porthos nodded, understanding where Aramis was going with this. "And we should make haste. I want to be back sooner rather than later."

"Let's move Athos over to a bed first." Aramis said, wanting Athos a little bit more comfortable. He had been so weak last night that they had not felt safe in moving him, but now the four of them all helped out to move him over to one of the comfortable beds in the room. It didn't really take four men to carry Athos – Porthos could do it by himself – but they didn't want to risk jarring any injuries.

They all stayed still for a while, just looking at their leader, normally so gallant and steadfast. It felt strange seeing him so pale and weak. It was not something they were used to, and they didn't like it.

D'Artagnan was the first to break the silence. "I'll go to the stable and help Jacques ready the horses."