Against All Odds (BBC The Musketeers)

Chapter 2: The Aftermath

"He's still conscious, but I fear not for much longer," Athos' voice quivers as he starts to feel the coldness breach through his doublet.

Aramis lets out a breath of relief, a heavy weight having been lifted off his shoulders knowing that his brother is alive. He looks to Porthos, now noticing the consistent puffs of smoke billowing through his chattering teeth as he takes quick heavy breaths. Aramis scans his eyes down to Porthos' thigh to see Athos' scarf tied around it just above the wound. He pulls off his blue sash and ties it on top of the injury to protect it from contracting an infection. D'Artagnan is tethering the large musketeer's horse to his own, taking many glances of concern while he works.

"We need to get him somewhere safe quick so I can tend to his wounds," Aramis exclaims, darting a glance between his comrades as he adds his cloak onto Porthos.

"There's a village named Rambouillet up ahead," Athos remarks, tilting his head north. "It's not far."

The medic nods as they slowly lift their brother. It takes all three men to get Porthos safely onto the saddle without inflicting anymore pain.

"It 'ursss..." Porthos mumbles as they ride for Rambouillet. Aramis clasps Porthos' body even closer to his own and whispers reassuringly.

"I know, Porthos. We're almost there. Just hang on for a little longer, alright?" The large musketeer grunts weakly in response before his chin slowly droops to his chest as he mutters something inaudible.

Aramis' breath hitches at his brother's body going slack causing his heart to beat in rhythm with the steed's gallop. "Stay with me. Don't you dare give out on me now!" he calls out, heeling his horse in desperation to move even faster, hoping it's not too late.

At the Mercure Relays du Château in Rambouillet:

Aramis is nearly shouting at the frightened innkeeper to provide them with a room quickly as they haul Porthos through the tavern of the inn. She nods briskly, complying with his demands without any complaints as she has no means to anger him any further after observing the state his friend is in. The woman ushers the Musketeers to a vacant room as murmurs are heard amongst the occupants in the bar whose eyes follow the men rushing to the quarter.

They gently lie Porthos onto the bed, taking added caution for his leg and making sure it's stretched out straight. Blankets are wrapped around his chest and the hearth is lit by the bedside to provide him extra warmth. Porthos' head tosses and turns, moaning in pain as he mutters indecipherable words to no one in particular. The marksman let his shoulders droop from the relief of the musketeer's consciousness after the devastating scare that almost made him breathless earlier. He pats Porthos' chest gently, whispering reassuring words to his ear.

"It's okay, Porthos. You're safe now. We'll take care of you."

His heart wrenches into knots at the agonizing sight of his brother. The large musketeer's face is contorted in pain with knit brows, jaws tense, and sweat gleaming across his forehead. His fists are clenched together tightly from the mix of burning pain extending from his thigh and the cold shivering of his body. Aramis places a hand onto his cheek and it's shockingly warm causing him to frown with worry as a fever means an infection will be present - or most likely follow.

The medic composes himself and suppresses all his cluttered amalgamation of angry thoughts and emotions. So much is running through his mind. So many things he wants to say. But allowing his feelings to fester will interfere with his concentration in tending Porthos, who's life is still in danger.

"He has a fever and it's likely that the wound is infected," he says, trying to sound calm as his heart pounds with fear. "D'Artagnan, please get my kit, clean cloths, a bowl of water, and bandages," Aramis commands as he removes his doublet and sheds his belt of weapons.