This chapter is a bit shorter than the last ones have been, but the updates should be more frequent as I have a lot of the remains of the story written already. Thank you for the constant feedback. I do this for you!

Chapter 10.

D'Artagnan stumbled his way through the woods, his hand holding onto his elbow for all he was worth, except whenever he had to grab a hold of a tree to stay on his feet. Leaving the room, he had imagined finding his friends would be a difficult task, but right now he was realizing that just staying upright was a enormous task that he had not anticipated. He was moving through the trees, sick sacking his way, hoping no one was following him. He was moving slowly, so catching up with him would be easy enough, and he knew he would not be able to fend anyone off in the state he was in now. Instead he was hoping to get a good advanced start on the others, just enough time to disappear into the woods.

The cold was getting to him already, and he forced himself forward, wiggling his toes and fingers to try and keep his blood moving through his limbs, and he knew he had to keep moving. If he fell, and ended up not moving… He wouldn't last for very long. He had to get to his brothers, he refused to escape only to freeze to death, that was not acceptable. The only problem was that he was so darn tired. His eyelids were growing heavy, his feet were dragging behind him and his shoulder was aching terribly.

Suddenly it was as if his legs just betrayed him, sending him down to his knees in the snow, his upper body soon following suit, his shoulder smacking into the hard ground, sending flashes of pain up and through every part of his body. He buried his face into the snow in an attempt to hold back the screams, and as he went down, he had a feeling he would not be getting back up again. He told himself he had to get up, and he would get up, in a short minute, he was just going to catch his breath first. Just a moment… Then he would be up and running again.

Just one minute…

His body was aching, and he was sweating from the exhaustion. Laying down on the cold ground was a relief as the cold fought away the beams of sweat from his forehead, but somewhere inside his subconscious mind screamed at him to get up, or he would die here. But he could not move. The pain was too overwhelming, and his body and brain didn't seem to connect with each other. He tried to fight the urge to close his eyes, but no matter how hard he fought, the pain, exhaustion and cold soon took what was their given right, and d'Artagnan slumbered into unconsciousness.

Darkness had settled a few hours ago, but neither Porthos nor Aramis could get themselves to give up their search. They wanted to find d'Artagnan, but they also knew that the darkness would soon be useless to search in, when they were not being able to see their hands in front of them, they would have to give up and continue the search tomorrow.

They halted their horses as they could spot the old abandoned farmhouse Aramis had been told about, and it was not difficult to spot considering there were lights flickering in the windows, as from a fire burning in a hearth. It might've been abandoned once, but it sure wasn't anymore, and considering the rumours of Isaac's bandits taking over the place, the chances of anyone else staying here at this time were very small.

Aramis pulled the thick collar of his cloak closer to his neck as a rush of cold air went past them. It was getting very cold now when the sun had settled. Looking over his shoulder to meet Porthos' eyes, he noticed the older man was shivering as well.

"Should we go and warm up by their fire?" Aramis smiled with cheeks red from the cold.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Porthos grinned, and the two of them were just about to spur their horses on when Porthos suddenly pulled Flip to a dead stop again.

"Hey, Aramis?"

Aramis stopped as he too looked around. He didn't look over to Porthos, because he knew his friend could feel the same tingling sensation down the spine, as he currently was experiencing. That tingling sensation, the knot in the stomach, their instincts from years of battle telling them something was not right. They had tried to explain it to d'Artagnan, that after years of looking over your shoulder, your brain will pick up on things to warn you about forthcoming danger. And that was just what happened now, as both Aramis and Porthos began moving their horses around, trying to find whatever they could in the darkness of the night.

In the end, Porthos found him first, shouting to Aramis with a finger pointed towards the lifeless figure hidden amongst the trees.

There was a body laying facedown on the ground, hidden amongst the trees, limbs sprawled out and the person not moving. Even in the dark, Aramis could recognize that tanned leather with the black cloak, and that dark hair from miles away, and he urged Belle into a quick gallop, reaching d'Artagnan's side in an instant. Belle's hooves slid on the ground as she came to an abrupt halt, Aramis throwing himself out of the saddle with Porthos quick on his heels.

Aramis knelt, on hand on top of d'Artagnan's back while the other one went straight to his neck, trying to find, and feel, any kind of life in their friend.

"D'Artagnan? Mon Dieu, please…"

"I'm…." D'Artagnan mumbled, his mind coming back to life as Aramis' hands had his body jolting with pain. He wanted to say he was fine, but stopped because he sure as hell wasn't. Aramis instantly let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, as the hand recently on d'Artagnan's neck moved to the Gascon's head, pulling his fingers through his hair.

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis asked, calming his voice as he moved his hands to try and find an injury.

D'Artagnan could not help himself but to stifle a small laugh, before taking as deep of a breath as his chest would allow him to before answering. "It's mainly from Buttercup." D'Artagnan hissed, his eyes closed. "I just… Everything is…"

"It's alright." Aramis smiled gently. "I understand. Something must be troubling you enough to keep you here on the ground though?"

"I think my shoulder slipped out of place." D'Artagnan mumbled, and Aramis carefully moved his hand to the shoulder, instantly getting a reaction as d'Artagnan hissed loudly.

"You appear to be right about that." Aramis said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I need to reset it, and it's going to hurt."

"Just do it." D'Artagnan whispered between breaths.

Aramis gave his head another pat before turning to Porthos. "Let's get him sitting up. I can't do anything when he's lying on the arm."

Porthos nodded in understanding as he, as carefully as possible, helped d'Artagnan up into sitting position. Even though he did his best not to jostle the lad, d'Artagnan was still breathing through clenched teeth, holding a firm grip around his elbow and pressing his eyes shut.

"Breathe d'Artagnan, just focus on your breathing." Aramis whispered, allowing d'Artagnan to settle a little bit before moving his cloak and the makeshift sling out of the way so he could get a proper hold of his elbow. As d'Artagnan pushed the pain aside, he let go of the elbow, and grabbed onto whatever he could find instead – which happened to be Porthos' trousers. Porthos allowed him to keep the grip as he locked his arm with d'Artagnan's to make sure he didn't swat at Aramis by mistake, and in the same time d'Artagnan let his face fall towards Porthos' chest, panting into his leather.

D'Artagnan hissed loudly as Aramis began rotating his arm, but managed to stay conscious by focusing on the sweet nothings that Porthos was mumbling into his ear. By the time the shoulder slipped back in place, he was visibly exhausted, and Porthos weight behind him was all that kept him up. Aramis removed his blue sash he wore around his waist, and used it to make a sling for d'Artagnan to ease his arm into, to keep some pressure off the shoulder. Aramis then ran hands simultaneously down the youngster's body, one down his front, and the other down his back, doing a shallow check to see if anything else was troubling him. He removed his hand slightly as d'Artagnan flinched violently when his light fingers reached the lower back.

"A boot to the back." D'Artagnan sighed before Aramis asked. He felt so helpless, so ridiculous, but he could not bring himself to move just yet. He could feel Aramis' fingers pull up his clothes to have a look at the back, and he could hear the hiss coming from him, accompanied by a low whistle from Porthos.

"Quite the bruise there. It's a little bit too close to your inner organs for my liking. I'll mix some yarrow for you and we will keep it under observation." Aramis sighed, his hand gently probing his back.

He had met some physicians that were opening up bodies, and they had peaked his interest, and even though it seemed pretty horrific, he hadn't been able to keep away, his curiosity taking over. They had learned a great deal about the human body, the location of everything inside. Aramis wasn't sure what every part was actually doing to the bodies, but he did figure they were useful for something and shouldn't be hurt.

D'Artagnan just mumbled something about pissing blood, before he could feel the hand earlier on his back moving, fingers going through his hair.

"Can you stand up?"

"Do I have to? I'm rather comfortable here." D'Artagnan sighed, a smile spreading on his lips as he still had his face pressed against Porthos' chest.

"I'd much rather prefer if we could get you to a bed instead of this cold ground, before you catch a chill. Porthos could carry you if-"

"I'm not a damsel in distress, I can walk. I might require some assistance in getting footing though."

Porthos grinned as he grabbed onto d'Artagnan's body, carefully not to cause him any pain, before hoisting the lad to his feet. It took d'Artagnan several attempts before his legs took his weight, with Porthos still balancing him up, and when they walked d'Artagnan kept a firm grip of his elbow, his shoulder still hurting. Pain was shooting up and down his legs and back, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl down into bed and sleep for a week. Something was suddenly draped across his shoulders, and he realized that Aramis had abandoned his cloak for his sake. Porthos followed suit within a second, and not until then did d'Artagnan register just how bad his teeth were chattering. He felt cold to his bones, and he probably looked worse for wear.

"Will you be okay on Belle?" Aramis asked as he removed his beloved hat and placed it on top of d'Artagnan's head. D'Artagnan nodded shortly before Porthos helped him up into the saddle.

They were not far away from the manor, so Aramis decided the two of them could ride together for the short ride. He jumped up behind d'Artagnan, wrapping his arms around the cold Gascon as his mare took them back to the magnificent house. Reaching it, Aramis dismounted before Porthos helped d'Artagnan down from Belle before taking the black mare and Flip away to the stables, while Aramis guided d'Artagnan inside, into the living area where he sat him down on the couch for a moment. Aramis started a fire in the hearth and arranged pillows and blankets on the floor right in front of it, as Porthos soon came inside starting to boil some broth. As he returned back to the living room, Aramis had gotten d'Artagnan as comfortable as could be on the pillows.

"Drink this. It will warm you right up." Aramis smiled, grabbing the bowl from Porthos and helping d'Artagnan to carefully sip from it, as the Gascon's own hands betrayed him.

Soon enough, d'Artagnan was sleeping peacefully in front of the fire, Aramis curled in behind him with his arms wrapped around his chest, and Porthos sitting down on the floor to join them.

"He's getting some colour back." Porthos said, a small smile on his lips.

"We were lucky to find him at the time we did." Aramis whispered, a faint smile on his lips. He had already thanked the God above more than once. An hour or two later… If they had given up the search for the night to go out at dusk… No, he wasn't going to let his mind wander down that path. They found him. He had stopped trembling. His skin was not deadly white anymore. He would be all right. He was once again safe, and this time they were not going to let him out of their sight for even a second again.

Athos had never been one to go against any orders made by his Captain. He would always follow Treville's orders by the letters… But not always to the intent. Treville had ordered him not to walk out through the door, which Athos agreed would've been a lot easier and a lot less painful, but since he indeed gave his word, as a gentleman, not to do so, he figured he would never break his word if he just climbed out through the window instead.

Not that it would make Treville any less angry upon finding his bed empty. But at least he had not broken a word of confidence.

Dawn had just arrived to Paris when Athos climbed out through the window of the infirmary where he had been cooed up a lot longer than planned. He had just not been able to fight neither the nausea nor his Captain. His head had stopped spinning so terribly as it had been, and the wound in his side was still raw, but was definitely beginning to heal nicely. So when his Captain was nowhere to be seen this morning, he decided it was about time to leave this place, in search for his brothers.

It took most of the energy he could possess to climb his way out through the window, and by the time he actually managed to land on his back on the other side of the wall, he was panting hard, the world around him swaying dangerously. For a short second, he was rethinking his plan, but then decided against it. He had to get to La Fére, he had to get there to help his friends, his brothers. It was his lands, and he was going to defend them. The fact that they had yet to return was also pushing him along, if there had been no trouble they should've returned days ago – and they hadn't. That meant something was wrong, and he couldn't wait anymore. They needed to reunite.

So using willpower alone he dragged himself to his feet, and then hurried away to the stables. He was still panting as he made it there, and he looked around until he found Jacques. The young lad quickly made it over to Athos' side, worried about how ill the man in front of him looked. Athos felt like death, and could only imagine what he actually looked like.

"Monsieur?" Jacques said quietly, a question on his lips.

"Please get Roger ready as soon as possible."

Jacques looked at Athos for a second, asking himself if he should question the respected Musketeer in front of him. He sure didn't look like he would be able to sit in a saddle without falling. Really, in all honesty – he didn't look like he would even be able to sit on a floor without falling. But he knew of Athos, and he was not in a position to start talking against him. Instead he pulled up a small stool, nodding to Athos, before hurrying away to get Roger saddled and ready to leave. Athos sunk down on the stool, and put his head into his hands. No, of course he didn't feel ready to ride, his head was twirling and aching, his side, ribs and chest all felt like it was ready to burst with pain… But he had no choice. He needed to get to his brothers, even if it would take all he had.

It didn't take Jacques long to have Roger ready. The lad was young, just in his early teens, and he never spoke much, but he had grown up nearby, and learned the duties of the stable early on. He knew when a Musketeer came in requesting his horse, it was often a matter of life and death, and mere minutes could decide the outcome. So he had learned to always be quick about it.

Athos put a hand on Roger's forehead as he took the reins out of Jacques hands, thanking the lad. Jacques made himself scarce as Athos put his forehead against Roger's head, breathing his companion in.

"Thank you for bringing me home when I needed it. I will forever be thankful to you, my friend." Athos whispered, as he gently stroke Roger's cheek. "I need you to help me again, to bring me back to our homeland and get to our friends safely out of there. When we have Isaac, and everything is well, I promise I will go down into the earth cellar and get you a whole bucket full of apples."

And with those words, he guided his stallion out of the stable, found a bucket to use as an aid in climbing up into the saddle, and then he set off for his homeland, worried of what he was about to find, but determined to stand by his brothers.