Authors note: This story follows on from two one shots I wrote for Whumptober 2021 (but don't worry you don't need to have read them! - but if you are interested, 'Trapped Under Water' and 'Fallen' will fill in the blanks.
Athos looked ahead, he was aware of his surroundings, he did not need to look around. He was focused on his goal. The group of men ahead of him were looking around. They had the same goal as Athos and d'Artagnan. And the Musketeers were going to do everything they could to prevent the men from reaching their target first.
Porthos and Aramis were the quarry. Athos and d'Artagnan wanted to see their friends safe. The group of men wanted to see them dead. Athos could only envision one outcome. He and d'Artagnan had to be victorious.
They were lucky to have come across the small group of swarthy men an hour before. The two Musketeers were taking a moment to freshen up in a small fast-flowing stream. They were both crouched by the water's edge and hidden from view as the men walked past talking with urgency. Both Musketeers had listened with interest to the conversation from the men who knew which direction Aramis and Porthos had escaped. The men did not know how badly injured the pair were, but blood had been found at the scene of their escape and at least one of them had fallen a few feet when they scrambled out of a window.
Athos knew his friends would not give up even if they were injured. They knew that he and d'Artagnan would be looking for them.
D'Artagnan was glancing around, taking in the landscape. Athos knew he was searching for a likely hiding spot. In a fortuitous turn of fate, the foursome had enjoyed a conversation mere minutes before they were forced to split up the day before. That conversation had been about the very area they were walking through. The topic - where would you hide?
A few outlandish suggestions from Porthos and Aramis had lightened the mood before the four of them had worked out the best places to hide in different circumstances. And now, only hours later, Athos hoped his friends were recalling that conversation and following their suggestions.
'There are a couple of spinneys to our left,' said d'Artagnan quietly.
Athos nodded; he watched the men ahead of him pointing out various places where two men could be holed up. They were not indicating the places the Musketeers had thought of as sensible hiding spots.
'How far did Porthos say he would try to get away before stopping?' asked Athos, as he tried to recall the details from their conversation.
'Not a distance,' said d'Artagnan, 'he said he would want to be out of sight of wherever they had escaped from twice.'
'Twice?'
D'Artagnan nodded, 'I think he meant he would get to a point where he could not see where he was being held and then do the same distance again … but he would change direction slightly.'
'That is where we could have a problem,' remarked Athos. 'We know which way they went initially,' he pointed at the group of men ahead of them. 'But at the point where they would have lost a view of the chateau, which way would they have gone?'
'They would have lost sight of the chateau straight away in the dark,' d'Artagnan pointed out, 'but we know the wooded area is sparse, so, in daylight, they would have still been able to see it. The other side of these woods.'
They were walking through a wooded area. The two Musketeers were walking along the banks of the stream to keep themselves out of sight of the men they were following if they were to turn around. The trees were spread out, they could just about see the chateau behind them.
'Look,' said d'Artagnan, as he spotted something out of place. 'The ground there.'
Athos took a step closer and inspected the soft mud. The men they were following had not seen the telltale marks of boot prints.
'Two sets of prints,' said d'Artagnan. 'This has to be them; see the way the heel is worn on that print. Porthos was saying he needed to get his boots repaired a few days ago.'
'It looks as though one of them fell,' guessed Athos. 'The prints are erratic from them both … and here blood on these rocks.'
Athos did not like finding the spatter of blood on the sharp rocks. It was not much, but if his friends were already injured it would have added to their problems.
'This is where they changed direction,' said d'Artagnan who had walked to the edge of the stream and was indicating the other side.
The soft mud on the other side of the stream gave away their friends' movements. It looked as though they had tried to use the rocks to scramble over the stream but one of them had inadvertently left half a boot print in their hurry to get a safe distance from their captors. Fortunately, those captors were now searching in the wrong direction.
With renewed hope, the two Musketeers continued their search.
MMMM
Their escape had not been the stealthiest. Neither of them was uninjured. Aramis did not want to tell Porthos how much his head was hurting. It amused Aramis that to save his friend from an untimely death he was forced to hurt himself. The bang to the head and the bruising knock to the arm had left Aramis with more injuries than Porthos. Although both of them were sporting fine collections of cuts and grazes.
After the initial fraught dash from the chateau where they had been held and tortured, they managed to settle into a stumbled walk. As their breathing settled, they were forced to turn their minds to getting to safety. But finding safety might not be an easy task. The owner of the chateau also owned the land for miles around. They could not simply walk to the closest village and seek refuge. The chances were the villagers, through loyalty or fear, would turn them into the landowner.
No. Aramis and Porthos were very much alone. With only one small spark of hope.
Athos and d'Artagnan knew where they were and knew they were in trouble. The previous day the four had split up knowing that two of them would not make it to the rendezvous point. Athos and d'Artagnan would be on their way. Aramis and Porthos just had to evade recapture long enough for their friends to find them.
A disgruntled expletive from Porthos was followed by a sudden change in circumstances. Aramis managed to get his hand in front of him a moment before he crashed into the rough ground. One issue with offering each other support as they walked was that if one of them tripped or stumbled, they both paid the price. Neither of them was fit enough to prevent an appointment with the ground.
Porthos mumbled an apology as Aramis took stock of any fresh injuries. He had managed to scrape his hand across a sharply broken stone leaving him with a couple of bleeding cuts to the side and palm of his right hand. He stared at the blood for a few seconds. He did not think their day could get any worse.
They pushed themselves up to sit. Porthos rubbed at his knee. His breeches were ripped, showing grazes on the skin beneath the leather. He looked at Aramis apologetically.
Aramis shrugged, 'I think we've both tripped up twice now. We're even.'
Porthos pulled a damp handkerchief from his pocket. The crisply folded square of cloth was clean. Aramis wondered if it was the only item of Porthos' clothing that was untouched by dirt or sweat. Porthos looked at him expectantly. Aramis shook his head not understanding. He regretted shaking his head for a few seconds. It confused him when Porthos took his hand and began wrapping the unfolded handkerchief around it.
'How hard did you hit your head?' asked Porthos.
Aramis sighed, 'I could do with a few hours rest,' he admitted, as much to himself as Porthos.
'Not happenin' yet,' replied Porthos with a grim smile.
'I know,' said Aramis as he watched Porthos tie the improvised bandage around his hand.
He noted that Porthos' hands were shaking. They were both cold. There had been no chance to properly dry off after their soaking during the torture.
They struggled to their feet and continued their staggering, stumbled, walk. Porthos indicated for them to cross the stream they had been walking alongside. Knowing it made sense to avoid leaving further indications of their route, both men tried to keep off the soft banks of the stream using the assortment of rough rocks. The same rocks that were responsible for their most recent injuries.
MMMM
'There!'
D'Artagnan did not wait for Athos to respond, he broke into a run, reaching the overhanging rock in a matter of seconds. He had spotted their friends by chance. If he had been looking to the right during the few moments, they were visible he would have missed them. Their hiding place was good.
'Are they…'
Athos did not need to finish the question. D'Artagnan agreed that neither of their friends were showing any signs of life.
Until they shivered within a second of each other. D'Artagnan signed with relief as he crouched beside the two Musketeers.
Porthos was leaning against the rocky wall of the overhang. Aramis was leaning against Porthos. D'Artagnan suspected the pair had huddled together to maintain what little body warmth they still had. Neither man was wearing his doublet. Porthos' clothes were scuffed and ripped in places. He was covered in cuts and grazes, with nasty bruises circling his wrists. Aramis was similarly covered in injuries with additional bruising to the side of his face and a hastily bandaged hand. Blood could be seen staining the handkerchief that had been used as a makeshift dressing.
'We need to get them warm,' stated d'Artagnan. 'Can we risk a fire?'
'I do not think we have a choice,' said Athos. 'The men searching for them are already looking in the wrong place. It is worth the risk. Try to rouse them, I will get a fire going.'
D'Artagnan nodded his agreement. If the men searching for their friends found them, they would deal with the situation. Athos undid his cloak and handed it to d'Artagnan before moving off in search of suitable dry wood.
Porthos shifted slightly. He mumbled something before his eyes fluttered open. D'Artagnan reached out to his friend.
'Porthos,' he said. 'You're safe now. We've found you.'
Porthos blinked a couple of times before he focused on d'Artagnan. He managed a smile and a nod. He looked at Aramis who had not stirred.
'I don't think I've felt this cold in years,' said Porthos with another shiver.
'We're getting a fire going.'
D'Artagnan held out Athos' cloak to Porthos who reached out a shaking hand. D'Artagnan was forced to help his friend lean forward enough to wrap the heavy garment around his shoulders.
'Why are you both so cold?' asked d'Artagnan.
Porthos huffed out a laugh, 'they tortured me. Tried to drown me. He got soaked when he rescued me. We've been out long enough to have mostly dried off.'
D'Artagnan noted the damp patches on both the injured men's clothing. D'Artagnan pulled off his cloak and laid it over Aramis.
'How did Aramis get the head injury?'
Porthos shook his head, 'not sure. He was tied to a chair, I think he had to tip it, and himself, over to break free before he could rescue me, he's been struggling ever since. He bashed his arm as well. He came off worse than me out of all this … and it was me they were torturing.'
D'Artagnan hated to imagine what his friends had been through. And they were not entirely safe yet. There was still the chance the search party would double back and choose to look in other directions for their missing prisoners. He just had to hope that the men did not cross the stream in the right place and follow the rough track that led to Porthos and Aramis.
Athos returned with dry wood. He nodded to Porthos.
'You two have certainly kept us busy,' he said. 'We were lucky to stumble across the search party. Otherwise, we would not have known where to start.'
They spent a few minutes updating each other with what had gone on. As Athos built up the crackling fire Porthos finished off his tale of jumping from windows and inelegant landings.
'Did you tell them anything?' asked d'Artagnan.
Porthos tilted his head and glared at his friend, d'Artagnan smirked.
'I wanted to,' muttered Aramis before hissing as he tried to straighten up. 'But they just walked off.'
Athos helped Aramis to sit up and rearrange the cloak to wrap around his shoulders. The two injured men looked at each other critically for a few seconds.
'You've looked better,' said Aramis.
'I've felt warmer,' replied Porthos.
'Neither of you are particularly fit at the moment,' remarked Athos as he took Aramis' hand and undid the temporary bandage.
Aramis hissed as Athos poured alcohol over the wound and redressed it. They helped the injured men to clean the rest of their cuts and grazes.
Their friends were safe. They may have been cold and injured and unlikely to be fit for duty for a few days, but they were safe.
The End.
Whumpee(s): Aramis and Porthos. Featuring: Athos and d'Artagnan.