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“Ow!” D’Artagnan batted Porthos and Aramis away as they tried to help him after Zad threw him. “It hurts!” he whined and shot his horse a dirty look. Feeling a cuff to the back of his head, d’Artagnan glared at Porthos. “What?”
“It ain’t your horse’s fault a snake up and decided to crawl along the road we were travelin’.”
Rubbing the spot where Porthos hit him d’Artagnan bit back another moan as Aramis tended his right ankle. “How bad?”
“It’s definitely a sprain,” Aramis sat back on his haunches, pushing his hat out of his eyes. He could see the swelling already beginning. “You’ll not be able to put any weight on it for at least a week or more.” Standing back up Aramis went to his saddlebags to get something to bind the ankle in the meantime. “More than likely by the time we get back to the garrison it will be very inflamed. I’ll need to ice it right away. For now all I can do is wrap it up for you.” Porthos elevated the boy’s leg so Aramis would have an easier time tending to the ankle. “I’ll tell you right now that I don’t want to see any of your shenanigans until this heals.”
D'Artagnan bit back a retort at that. It wouldn't do to upset the man who was trying to ease his discomfort.
After Aramis’s ministrations were done, he and Porthos helped their youngest back into the saddle. D’Artagnan in the meantime glared down at Aramis but couldn’t see his friend’s eyes as the man’s hat was pulled low over his face. “Don’t worry I’ll follow your instructions,” d’Artagnan’s pout was extremely sad looking.
“That face ain’t gonna work on us none,” Porthos laughed.
“And I’ll believe the boy will follow my orders when Athos stops drinking,” Aramis snorted quietly to his huge friend. To D’Artagnan he said, “Once we’re home I’ll make up a poultice to take down that swelling.” Patting the boy’s leg in sympathy he glanced over at Porthos who already was on Roulette and shook his head. “Captain Treville and Athos are not going to be happy.”
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*Musketeer garrison*
As the three Musketeers rode through the gates and over to the stables Athos saw them and finished sparring with Rene. As he strode over he stopped at the sight of d’Artangnan’s bandaged ankle. Then he watched as Aramis and Porthos struggled to help the youngster off Zad. “Gentlemen, what has happened this time?” exasperation filled his voice.
“The lad took a mighty spill when a snake decided to make its acquaintance with Zad on our way back here.” Porthos had picked up the boy in his arms afraid d’Artagnan would decide he could walk the rest of the way.
“Can I just go to the barracks and not the infirmary this time?” d’Artagnan hissed as his ankle throbbed greatly paining him.
Seeing the discomfort the child was feeling Aramis nodded in agreement. “No reason not too. Whatever needs done can be accomplished there just as well. First thing we need to do is once we’ve got you settled down on your bed we’ll elevate that ankle. Porthos can put ice on it while I make that poultice I mentioned.”
Wondering what Gods d’Artagnan ever offended to have such rotten luck whenever he was on a mission, Athos hung his head turning right around and going straight up to Treville’s office. He needed to inform the captain that d’Artagnan lost a skirmish with a snake.
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*Musketeer barracks*
An hour after Aramis once more tended d’Artagnan’s injury found the young man trying desperately to get up to relieve himself only to be caught by a furious Aramis.
“D’Artagnan! I know I explained that with your sprain you’ll eventually be able to walk on it or hobble as the case may be, but not today!” Aramis yelled and flung his hat on the ground.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” d’Artagnan whispered feeling ashamed that he couldn’t manage that simple task alone.
Calming down, Aramis hummed softly to himself. “Well why didn’t you say so in the first place instead of making me lose my temper?”
“Apologies,” d’Artagnan gave his friend what the whole regiment referred to as his sad puppy look.
Trying not to laugh, but Porthos did anyway, he got a huge kick out of seeing Aramis’s frustration with their young one. D’Artagnan seemed to do everything the opposite of what Aramis had told him ever since getting him into the barracks. Watching Aramis now helping d’Artagnan was comical at best. He knew he shouldn’t find any amusement over his young friend’s pain and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been laid up in the same way as the lad, but d’Artagnan never seemed to do anything by halves.
“Argh!” d’Artagnan groaned. “It feels so stiff.”
“It will feel much better after I soak it again,” Aramis sighed. “We’ll see how it goes after a few days and if I feel you can we’ll start exercising it and perhaps just perhaps you may be able to put some weight on it.” Seeing the positively miserable look on d’Artagnan’s face Aramis wished he had better news for him. “Were you this fidgety as a child?”
Thinking on it d’Artagnan shrugged. “Yes. I could never stay still.”
“Now that I can believe,” Aramis chuckled as he got d’Artagnan back in the bed.
Walking in Athos couldn’t help but overhear the last part of Aramis’s conversation with their youngest and could just picture d’Artagnan as a small child not doing what he was told. If anything things haven’t changed much in that respect. “I informed Treville you’ll be on the off duty roster until your ankle heals, d’Artagnan.” Hearing the boy’s grunt of pain he walked over and ruffled the child's hair.
“If that was to make me feel better,” d’Artagnan snapped, “try again.”
“My, my, someone’s in a snit,” Athos teased gently.
“Want to switch places?” d’Artagnan shot back sourly. He was never a good patient when not well.
“How about a nice hand of cards,” Porthos suggested with a grin splitting his face. He pulled up a chair and joined Aramis beside d’Artagnan’s bed.
“You cheat!” D’Artagnan knew he sounded like a brat but he was in pain and didn’t care if he came across sounding like one.
“You wound us greatly, boy! Calling Porthos... our Porthos a cheat!” Aramis announced dramatically.
Hiding his laughter behind his hand, Athos watched the display being performed before him. He could only pray that the boy’s injury would not require the entire two weeks recuperation or none of them may survive it.
“If Porthos cheats just once,” D’Artagnan left the rest unsaid as he calmed down and watched as Porthos dealt out the cards. He actually never made it past the first hand as he grew sleepy and nodded off.
“What did you put in his wine?” Athos glanced unsurprised at Aramis’s sly smile.
“Just a mild sleeping drought,” Aramis grinned. “To tell you the truth I don’t think I could put up anymore with the boy’s fits of temper.”
“Didn’t know he’d take it out on us like that,” Porthos said.
“Some of us make better patients than others,” Athos pointed out. “We now know which category d’Artagnan fits in.”
All three men broke out laughing at Athos’s remark. Since their youngest was asleep the men continued to play cards until they were tired. Aramis decided to remain with the boy to make sure d’Artagnan’s ankle didn’t get any worse during the night. He had seen some with similar sprains that took a turn for the worse and he wanted to keep his eye on it.
Porthos and Athos seemed to be of the same mind as they decided to use the empty beds in the barracks as well.
So an uneventful night was had by all until the morning.
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“Damn it!”
There was a loud crash which nearly gave the three inseparables heart attacks as they all shot up out of their beds, swords drawn looking for the enemy only to find poor d’Artagnan on the floor all tangled up in his blankets.
“Mon dieu! I thought another war had started!” Athos exclaimed as Porthos and Aramis rushed over to help the youngster.
“War of the blankets,” Porthos laughed jovially while d’Artagnan gave him the stink eye.
“What were you trying to do?” Aramis helped unwrap the tangle the boy had gotten himself into.
“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” d’Artagnan snapped. “I turned around in bed and ended up on my ass instead.”
“Got that part right,” Porthos snorted and struggled with his laughter as the youngster threw a pillow at him.
“Well since we are now all awake I will get dressed and see if Serge would prepare breakfast for us.” Athos turned away shaking his head at the amusing scene.
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*Garrison courtyard*
Serge was serving breakfast to quite a few Musketeers when Athos approached him. “Heard the young one’s hurt.”
“A sprain that will heal within a week or two. Nothing more,” Athos smelled the aroma of freshly baked bread and his stomach began to growl, reminding him that the night before he hadn’t eaten very much in his worry over the boy. “Would it put you out to have our breakfasts delivered up to the barracks?”
“Nah! In fact I’ll deliver it myself just to say hi to the boy.” Serge went back off to his kitchen whistling away.
“Athos, how’s d’Artagnan this morning?” Captain Treville too had worried all night over the boy’s welfare.
“He will heal to that I have no doubt but will the rest of us survive in the meantime that I remains to be seen,” Athos responded dryly.
“That bad?” Treville grinned at the picture Athos painted.
“Last night was quite illuminating for all of us.”
“I’m not surprised if the lad showed a bit of temper. After all he is the one injured,” Treville reminded Athos.
“Spoiled brat is more like how he has been acting since they got him back.”
“It is to be hoped that in the few weeks it will take to mend d’Artagnan’s ankle they will move swiftly.” Patting Athos on the back, Treville went to get breakfast.
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*Musketeer barracks... again*
As Athos walked back inside he wasn’t sure what had happened. It looked like a storm had hit the room. Tables were overturned, chairs upended, and he didn’t see his three friends anywhere. Then he heard it. Three muffled voices coming from the other side of the room that was sectioned off for the privacy of bathing.
Approaching it cautiously Athos heard d’Artagnan complaining quite loudly to Aramis about the placement of his hand and that it hurt quite a lot. Then Porthos’s gruff voice telling the boy to shut up. Finally Aramis shouting at both of them to be quiet. He thought Aramis sounded a tad frustrated. Ah well, perhaps he should just go back and wait for Serge to bring their breakfast. It didn’t sound like something he needed to be part of. Whatever it *was* they were all doing in there. Though he admitted to himself he was a little curious.
Sitting down in a chair Athos put his feet up on a table and simply waited. When Aramis emerged the man looked exhausted and completely soaked. Athos wasn’t sure if he should make a comment on his friend’s appearance or leave it be. But a little imp inside him urged him on. “You looked better last night.”
“Ha ha,” Aramis ran a hand down the back of his neck and came away wet, dripping with water. “Next time it’s your turn helping d’Artagnan get cleaned up. We didn’t do it last night because I was afraid of jostling his ankle too much.”
“It would appear that you received a bath as well,” Athos smirked and then Porthos strode in looking worse than Aramis. And that’s when Athos lost it. He started howling with laughter and couldn’t seem to stop.
“Why is Athos laughing?” d’Artagnan called out from the other room.
“He won’t be for long,” Porthos muttered and in silent agreement with Aramis they pounced as one on their unsuspecting friend and dragged him out of his chair toward the room where d’Artagnan was in.
Throwing Athos inside they locked the door. Then hearing d’Artagnan’s yelp of indignation as yet another intruder invaded his privacy, Aramis and Porthos collapsed on the empty beds laughing so hard that tears ran down their faces.
A knock on the barracks door had Aramis getting up first to answer it. He thought it would have been Serge with their breakfast but instead it was Captain Treville.
“I thought I’d just check on d’Artagnan before I made my rounds.” Then Treville heard d’Artagnan’s angry voice shouting for Athos to get out. Out of where he did not know but seeing two very amused Musketeers before him he had a good idea that they did. “Do I even want to know?”
“No, sir,” Aramis and Porthos said in unison, glancing at each other as they tried to contain their amusement.
“Athos! Get that damn door open and get out!”
“Ah! Perhaps it would be better if you let the poor man out of wherever you've put him before d’Artagnan takes a rapier to Athos,” Treville said wryly.
“Athos is safe for the moment,” Porthos grinned. “All the lad’s weapons are out here.”
“Not exactly,” Aramis added. “That boy has a mouth on him that would rival any weapon we have in the garrison.”
Another knock on the door and this time it was Serge with their breakfasts. Placing their food on the table he looked around and didn’t see d’Artagnan anywhere but could clearly hear the youngster’s voice coming through a closed door. “Is the child in pain?” Getting no reply from any of the men in the room he wondered why no one was going to check on the lad. “Does he need help?”
“NO!” Aramis, Porthos and Treville yelled so loudly at poor Serge that the man jumped back a foot or two.
“I think you’re all nutters,” Serge muttered as he left and prayed that d’Artagnan was okay.
“Well that could have gone better,” Aramis rolled his eyes.
“Ya think,” Porthos growled.
“Better get those two out of there before their breakfasts turn cold.” Putting his hat on Treville walked out the door. He couldn’t wait to get the story out of d’Artagnan or Athos on what really was going on behind that closed door.