Athos felt hot. Athos felt cold. Athos shivered.
Athos knew.
He knew he had a fever.
And fevers were bad.
Life threatening.
He felt something cool on his face. The cool thing, a damp cloth, was used over his face and neck.
'Shh…'
He was not aware he had been making a noise, but a woman was making soothing noises. The sort of noises a mother made towards an infant that was hurt or scared. Athos guessed the woman was older than him.
'They are asleep, don't wake them.'
The woman was speaking quietly.
'If I lift your head, can you try to drink some water? Only a little.'
Athos felt a hand slip behind his head. He realised he was lying on a soft bed. An expensive bed. As the hand steadied his head, he felt a glass pressed against his lips, he drank the water. He enjoyed the feeling of the water on his dry lips and mouth.
Something happened behind his head. He was shifted about a little as a pillow slipped behind him.
'Open your eyes, Athos. The room is not bright, it won't shock you.'
He blinked his eyes open; it took him a while to focus. He found the woman. An older woman with a wrinkled face smiled and nodded to him.
'Be still,' she said. 'Do you remember what happened?'
Athos nodded, 'we were outnumbered,' he said. 'We beat them. Porthos was hurt.'
'Porthos is fine,' said the woman. 'They are all fine. They were exhausted from caring for you. I ordered them to rest.'
The woman nodded towards the only source of light in the room. A small fire was crackling in a hearth on the other side of the room. Porthos was lying on a chaise long, he was covered in a fine brocade blanket. Aramis was stretched out on the floor next to his friend, lying on his side facing away from Athos. He appeared to be asleep. D'Artagnan was settled in a chair on the other side of the fire, his head to the side nodding as he took each breath.
'I was almost at the point of drugging them to make them rest,' said the woman nonchalantly.
Athos managed a smile, he found that he liked the woman.
'You had a fever. You nearly died. Your friend Aramis was almost at the point of calling for a priest. Although it was clear he did not want to give up on you. None of them did.'
'My leg?'
'Is still attached, you were shot, but it was not difficult for me to cut the ball out.'
Athos stared at the woman.
'They think I am a witch - not your friends - the villagers. But I have saved enough infants and helped enough labouring women that they know I have use.'
Athos nodded his understanding. The persecution of intelligent women was something he could never understand.
'Aramis is a fine field medic, he probably could have dealt with the injury himself, but between the two of us I am sure we have got you through the worst of it.'
Athos shifted slightly and suppressed a hiss of pain.
'You still need to heal though,' said the woman who lay a hand on his chest as he rode out the pain, he had caused himself.
Athos settled his breathing and nodded.
'Lalaing, the landowner, has said you can stay as long as is necessary. You've already been here several days. Long enough for your friends to tire themselves out in their worry for you. D'Artagnan got into quite a state when we first thought you would not make it. Sam, one of the servants here, had to practically drag the lad out of the way as Aramis and I tended to you.'
Athos looked across to d'Artagnan, who despite being asleep, looked troubled.
'When they wake,' said Athos, 'tell them I am annoyed that they thought I would be felled so easily.'
The woman smiled, 'Porthos said you were stubborn. I will tell them, and they will know the words came from you. Now, rest. You need to regain your strength.'
Athos nodded, 'thank you,' he said, as he felt the pull of sleep overtaking him.
'You are welcome,' said the woman.
The End.
Whumpee(s): Athos and Porthos. Featuring: Aramis and d'Artagnan.