The Scarf

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: This story takes place during the season 2 episode, An Ordinary Man.

The scarf felt like a shield. It made him feel invincible.

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He held the scarf tightly in his grip. It still wound its way around his hand. It felt like a shield, it made him feel invincible – until this moment.

As he walked back toward the others, his knees began to buckle and he made a slow decent to the ground, and could feel nothing, hear nothing.

When he looked up from the ground, the trees were swaying; but he could not feel the wind. When he looked to his left, Aramis was screaming at him, shaking his shoulders; silence – nothing.

When he closed his eyes, he welcomed the darkness.

Athos rushed to them, and crashed beside d'Artagnan, "What's wrong? Is he injured?"

Aramis was raking his hands over d'Artagnan's head, shoulders, arms, looking for something – anything to account for this sudden fall. "I don't know I can't see what's wrong. Help me move him there, by the stream."

Aramis grabbed him under the arms and Athos under his knees and they moved as swiftly as the terrain would let them. Bruno Lemaitre limped slowly behind them.

"I did not see him strike a blow" insisted Athos, as they laid him by the stream. d'Artagnan made not a sound as they adjusted his limbs.

Athos looked down closely at his friend, and took in his battered face, the matted blood in his hair, his swollen lip and the cut on his cheek.

"Could it be something else?"

This stillness frightened him. It frightened him just as much as the rage he had witnessed when d'Artagnan flung the innkeeper from his horse and impaled him with his own sword. There were hidden depths in this boy. He had seen his temper – but this?

"I will look and see." Aramis began to remove his hat and coat and rolled up his sleeves. Athos removed his hat and sat beside them, waiting for instruction. He pointed at Bruno Lemaitre to sit nearby and with a glance ordered him not to move.

Lemaitre sat willingly, his leg throbbing, his endurance spent. He had never killed anyone before and today, to save himself from the noose, he had killed for his King, to help these Musketeers.

Aramis began to unfasten d'Artagnan's coat. "Help me", he said to Athos. Together they lifted him in a sitting position and removed his coat. Athos saw the blood first, "Here", he pointed out as the coat was lifted away, and the shirt was shown, striped with blood.

As they lifted and removed his shirt, Athos became still with fury.

There, on his brother's back were stripes from a whip. The thin lines trickled with blood. His torso molted with bruises.

"I need your help Athos", Aramis said sharply, cutting through his haze. "Let's put him on his side." With some maneuvering they placed him on his side.

Touching Athos' arm, he spoke again with an authoritative bark, "I need cloth from my bag, the wine, and we need water."

Before he could finish the sentence, Athos had bolted from the ground to the horse to retrieve the supplies. Once at the horse's side, he placed his head on the saddle and breathed deeply. He was seething.

He needed to get himself under control. He reached for the water skins and threw them at Lemaitre. "Gather water", he shouted, as he pulled the cloth, and wine from the saddle bag.

Lemaitre gawked for a moment, but sensed it would do no good to complain that he was in pain. He picked up the skins and hobbled to the stream.

Athos made his way back to Aramis' side with what he needed. "Has he moved?" he asked, handing over the supplies.

"No, but that might be a good thing. This is going to hurt."

He took the wine and poured it liberally over d'Artagnan's back, sure to dampen each stripe, then began to wipe over the injury. Once the blood was removed, it revealed three long, thin, stripes.

"Could this have brought him down? Do you see anything else?"

"Nothing else," Aramis answered him. "Bruises, contusions – there is nothing broken. I can see he has been through a lot. We'll learn more when he is conscious. Meanwhile, these do not need stitches, just cleaning to stave off infection."

Lemaitre moved toward them with the water skins and handed them over to Aramis, "Let us clean him up as best we can and make him comfortable."

Aramis then began the duty of washing d'Artagnan's back with water and the rest of the wine.

Athos collected wood and sticks to expend his anxious energy, tethered the horses and set about to make a fire, and lay out a blanket and saddle for d'Artagnan to rest on.

When he reached Aramis' side d'Artagnan still had not moved. It was decided to stay the night and catch up to Porthos, the King, and Milady in the morning.

Athos helped Aramis place him on the blanket, and put on him one of his clean shirts, hoping all of the jostling would get some response. He sat beside d'Artagnan adjusting his head on his saddle.

He turned to Aramis, "What do we do?"

"We wait. He may wake soon." Standing he moved over to Lemaitre to ask about his injury, unable to ignore the pain of even the worst of men.

Athos then noticed his scarf still wrapped around d'Artagnan's hand. It was wound tight, and covered his palm neatly. He looked to his face again, and noticed that Aramis had cleaned his cuts and bruises, but blood was still matted in his hair, becoming stiff.

Athos grabbed his hand and began to unwind the scarf. He would use it to wash d'Artagnan's hair.

d'Artagnan then began to stir, clenching his fist. Athos stopped to wait – hoping this was a sign that he must be coming around. But then, he was quiet again.

Athos sighed, and gently removed the scarf. Taking d'Artagnan's hand in his, he opened the palm and inspected it closely. There was nothing there, not a scratch.

Athos shook his head in disbelief. He could still see the cold granite d'Artagnan's eyes had become when he pulled the scarf from his neck to face down the innkeeper. He wished never to see that look again in his young friend's eyes. He could see his own mistakes, playing out all over again in d'Artagnan, emotions overruling good sense.

He touched the side of d'Artagnan's head and felt the crusting blood.

He closed his eyes tight. d'Artagnan and the King had almost been lost to them today. That they had been dangerously close to having to navigate the waters in order to keep them from slaving away on a Spanish vessel was not lost on him.

It did not surprise him that he felt loyalty, and yet no sympathy for his King- but he would have sailed to the ends of the earth to get d'Artagnan back.

He was grateful it had not come to that.

Athos stood and made his way to the stream. Looking out over the water, he tried to bring himself back to center. d'Artagnan was alive. He was battered, but would survive this. The gang of slave traders was all dead. God forgive him, but if just one could have survived, he would kill him now.

He looked back toward Aramis and Lemaitre and had to turn away quickly. It would not do to murder the man the King had just pardoned.

He swallowed his anger and bent to soak the scarf with cool water.

His mind fell on the events of the day. Seeing Anne had taken him aback. He had not been prepared to see her standing there alongside the King. He had once sworn to kill her if he ever saw her again. If what d'Artagnan said was true, and she had saved his life, he was reluctantly indebted to her. What were her motives? They were always to further her own agenda, whatever that might be.

He shook his troubling thoughts clear. He needed to only think of his brothers now, the safety of the King, and meeting back up with Porthos. The dauphin's christening and possible scandal hammered at him.

Getting to Porthos was imperative. With all of his brothers together, they could overcome any obstacle.

Making his way back to d'Artagnan's side, he heard a moan.

This spurred him on and he rushed to him, wiping the blood from his hair, "You can wake now," he urged. "You are safe."

Hearing him speak to d'Artagnan, Aramis joined him, waiting expectantly.

d'Artagnan moaned again, and slowly opened his eyes. There, leaning over him was Athos, wiping his brow.

He was so confused. Where was he? He looked around, and saw the horses moving, and Athos saying something to him. He realized then that he could hear nothing. Athos was touching him, he was lying on the hard ground, but he could feel nothing. What was happening? He began to shake uncontrollably.

Athos looked frightened. If Athos was afraid, then what did that mean? He called Athos' name, but could not hear himself, so called again, and again, louder and louder.

"He is in shock" screamed Aramis over d'Artagnan's wailing, "We need to warm him up." He ran for his cloak, and yelled for Athos to hold him close to help keep him warm.

Athos did not hesitate. He grabbed hold of d'Artagnan pulled him up into his arms, and pressed him to his chest, rocking back and forth, yelling over top of his calls for him – "I am here."

Lemaitre stood dumb, not knowing what to make of this.

When Aramis returned with the cloak, they covered him and Athos gripped it tight around him, trying to stem the shaking convulsions.

"Hold on to him" instructed Aramis, "I'll make something warm for him to drink."

Athos continued to hold on. In time, the convulsions reduced to tremors, d'Artagnan stopped screaming his name, and he took in a rattled breath. He had seen this before, and had hoped to never see it with d'Artagnan. It was the price of battle that many soldiers lived through, and some never recovered from.

He rocked his friend gently, and spoke nonsense, but knew d'Artagnan could not hear him. He took the scarf and began to wipe the blood from his hair, and knew he could not feel him. But he could see that d'Artagnan was aware of him. This was good.

Aramis appeared at his side with a cup, "See if he will drink this for you. It will warm his insides and help him to rest."

Athos nodded and tipped the cup to d'Artagnan's lips. The boy watched him with a frown on his face. He smiled and tried to soften his eyes to show him that everything was fine, to drink and all would be well. d'Artagnan opened his mouth and drank.

Aramis sighed and slumped down next to them. "We'll let him rest now. He'll be better soon." He clapped Athos on the back and helped to lower him back to the ground to sleep.

Lemaitre sat across from them and wondered at the closeness of these Musketeers. His own brother would have left him to die or killed him himself. He laid his head down to rest and thought on this.

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During the night, Athos did not sleep. He watched over d'Artagnan and the fire.

Aramis slept next to him the sleep of the exhausted, and Lemaitre slept the sleep of the guilty, tense and coiled.

Hatred seethed in his chest again, and he poked the fire fiercely, stabbing at it as if stabbing Lemaitre.

He made to calm himself by thinking of Porthos, and where he might be this night. Had they made it back to Paris, or were they out in the open as they were, waiting till morning to move on.

He looked over to d'Artagnan and brown eyes were staring at him. He carefully and slowly moved closer as not to startle him. He pointed to his ears. d'Artagnan shook his head no. He still could not hear or feel anything. But he felt better seeing his brothers nearby.

d'Artagnan began to tremble and Athos lifted him once again into his arms, and held tight, pressing his head to his chest.

Aramis woke then, sensing that his brothers were awake. "I'll fix something for him to eat; a broth perhaps to sustain him."

d'Artagnan could not understand, but knew Aramis was saying something. He lay comfortable in Athos' arms and wondered at his condition. Was he dying?

He lifted his eyes from Athos' chest and saw the scarf around his neck.

He remembered now, how that scarf had made him feel invincible. Nothing could touch him. The innkeeper had not landed a blow. He had never felt so strong in battle. He had been focused and determined.

He reached up and touched the scarf.

Gus, the innkeeper, was dead. His rage had taken over and consumed him. He had never killed anyone like that before. He now understood the lesson Athos had tried to teach him. Too much heart had felled him. But this man had killed Pipen. He had killed Pipen ruthlessly and with no regard; and it had been his fault.

He grabbed the scarf and pulled.

Athos looked down and d'Artagnan was pulling at his scarf; shaking and saying something was his fault.

He removed the scarf from around his neck quickly, grabbed d'Artagnan's hand and began to wind it around his palm, tight and secure.

When he finished, he whispered in his ear, "All is well. The King is safe. Nothing is your fault." He spoke it over and over, hoping he could break through.

Aramis returned to their side with a worried expression.

Then suddenly d'Artagnan could hear it, very faintly, Athos' heart beat through his shirt. He pressed closer and could feel warmth on his cheek. He could hear Athos' mantra pierce the silence.

Athos stilled, as d'Artagnan hugged him close pressing his ear to his heart, and waited a beat, "Do you hear me d'Artagnan?"

d'Artagnan nodded and spoke, "yes".

Athos held his breath. "Can you feel my arms around you?"

He nodded, "yes", and looked to the scarf wrapped around his hand. He could feel many things now, but most assuredly, he could feel the safety of Athos' arms around him.

Aramis lowered his head, and when he looked up he met Athos' gaze and smiled. Relief washed over him and he left to retrieve the broth.

Athos closed his eyes briefly, and secured his emotions, "We ride home tomorrow to meet Porthos" he declared as he lowered d'Artagnan to the ground and gripped his hand tightly.

TBC

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Thank you for reading. Please send a review. Your comments mean a lot. Have added a second chapter.