So this is a short little one shot that popped into my head a couple of days ago. I actually am really proud of this. I hope you like it, too.
So anyway, I finished watching Hawaii Five-0 and wanted to rewatch the Musketeers again, but Netflix doesn't have it, and the streamer I usually use isn't working. Ughhhhhhhh this is so frustrating! I want to watch it so much! Do you guys have any advice? I really want to watch it again.
Either way, I hope you enjoy this little story. Make sure to review your thoughts. Your comments always make my day!
The job was finally complete.
As Aramis stuffed a very important letter into his jacket pocket, he kept thinking how he couldn't wait to finally get home and sit by a nice, warm fire. He sighed, almost able to feel the flames' warmth.
That feeling was gone when a violent shiver passed through the Musketeer's body. He rubbed his hands together quickly, and then got onto his horse. He patted the stallion's neck before clicking his tongue and directing the steed towards Paris. He was halfway through with this tiring, long journey, when he suddenly felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
You're just paranoid, Aramis tried to convince himself. You have nothing to be worried about.
Yet, he still couldn't get that strange feeling out of his heart.
Suddenly, a gunshot sounded.
Aramis' horse jumped, almost making its rider fall off. Once making sure the horse was calm, Aramis jumped down … and was then facing three bandits, who each had a rather strong arsenal of weapons. Aramis raised his arms in defeat.
"All we want is the letter you are to give to the King," one of them, the biggest one, said. The other two stayed silent. He was holding a sword in his left hand, and a dagger in his right. "Give it to us, and you will come out of this unharmed.
Aramis snorted. "Well, considering your ameture stance, and how you are holding your weapon of choice, I honestly do not think you would stand a chance," he said, letting his arms down, one hand reaching for his own sword.
The leader of this strange trio suddenly lunged at him, letting the fight begin.
Aramis took care of the smaller two bandits easily, sending a musket ball into one of them and a dagger into the other. But the leader was a challenge. He had managed to graze Aramis' cheek with his sword, smiling when he did.
But he made a clumsy move.
And when he did, Aramis took it to his advantage. He jumped at the man and shoved his weapon into his chest. His opponent went down, curling into himself.
Aramis kicked his sword out of his reach. "Now you know not to mess with the King's Musketeers, my good sir," he said, grinning. He turned around and was about to make his way to his horse, when the deafening sound of a musket exploded behind him.
The Musketeer stopped dead in his tracks, a numbing pain coursing through his body. He looked down and saw forming in his side. He gasped, his hands grasping at the wound to try and stop the bleeding. He looked back to where his, now, dead opponent lay, a smoking musket held loosely in his motionless hand.
Aramis forced himself to walk to his horse, his world spinning. Blood was seeping through his fingers and was staining the bright white snow. Snowflakes began falling from the sky. What Aramis once thought of as beautiful crystals of nature were now making his shake with cold. He really needed that fireplace right about now.
Getting back atop his horse proved to be more difficult than he thought it would be; he almost fell off, and he was extremely grateful that he didn't.
He began his journey home again. He kept his eyes closed the entire time, putting all his trust into the strong and loyal animal he was riding.
It was when he started to tremble violently that he began to worry. I have to make it back, he kept telling himself. It is my duty.
Finally, he arrived at the garrison; it was completely empty. Sighing with relief, Aramis felt all his remaining energy leave him…
… and he collapsed, falling into the wet, cold snow.
He tried to make at least some kind of sound, but failed. His eyes began to close, and then he was submerged into this lonely darkness, snowflakes making their way down on him.
Porthos walked out of his room and stretched, breathing in the freezing cold winter air, letting it burn his lungs. It was then that he saw Aramis' horse wandering aimlessly around the garrison. It wasn't like Aramis to just leave his horse like that, Porthos thought…
… and then he saw a shivering body, buried among the snow/
"No," Porthos whispered, rushing down the stairs and to what - or who - he thought it was.
He cursed when he saw his best friend lying on the cold ground, soaked and shivering. He was pale … to pale … and Porthos then saw the gunshot wound in his side. The poor man was barely breathing, each breath coming out as a soft wheeze.
Porthos bit his lip. What happened?!" he asked himself.
Without wasting anymore time, Porthos pulled Aramis' shaking form against him, gently brushing his comrade's wet hair out of his face. "Hey, Aramis, wake up," he began. "It's me, Porthos. You are at the garrison now. You're safe."
Aramis groaned, gasping. He opened his eyes slowly, his glassy brown orbs falling onto the man holding him. "P-Porthos?" he asked, his voice weak.
"Let's get you warmed up, shall we?" Porthos said, smiling when Aramis nodded and let his head fall on his chest.
The big man picked Aramis up like he weighed nothing, and carried him up to his own room. When he opened the door, he took Aramis and placed him on his bed. Then, he went to the fireplace and got a fire going. He then sat beside Aramis, placing his hand on the sleeping man's shoulder. "Mis, wake up," he said.
"That's it … can you tell me what happened?"
Aramis opened his eyes. "Ambush … bandits … killed them … leader got a lucky shot … forced myself home…," was his weak response. His head collapsed onto the pillow as his eyes closed again.
"What about the letter?" Porthos asked.
The Musketeer grunted. "Jacket pocket," he replied.
Once getting the letter out, Porthos got all the medical supplies he had and began mending Aramis' wound. Thankfully, the musket ball hadn't hit a vital organ. Porthos quickly took it out, wincing every time his 'patient' hissed in pain. Finally, it was out. The bigger man stitched the wound up and then bandaged it tightly. And then he left Aramis to rest.
He waited until his poor friend was completely asleep, and then he went to gather Athos and d'Artagnan so he could explain what had happened.
"I cannot believe he forced himself to travel back to Paris," d'Artagnan noted when Porthos finished with his story.
"What else could he have done?" Athos replied, running his hand through his hair. "He had a duty. He had to carry it out."
D'Artagnan sighed. "How about I bring the letter to the King?" he then offered. "Then I will also be able to tell her Highness what happened."
"Just as long as she doesn't come her to try and see him," Athos warned, receiving a nod in return.
And then d'Artagnan was off to the Palace.
Once he was out of sight, Athos asked, "Where is he now?"
"Resting in my room," Porthos responded. "His was locked. I started a fire and mending his wound."
Athos nodded. "We will wait until he wakes."
"Alright," Porthos said, following AThos back into his room, where they sat beside Aramis and began to wait.
Aramis woke up when he felt a familiar throbbing in his side. He couldn't hold in a groan. He opened his eyes slowly, finding himself in Porthos' room. And then he saw Porthos and Athos sitting next to his bed, sleeping. And the minute Aramis tired to shift into a better position, they both woke up, startled.
"Oh Aramis, you're back," Porthos said, rubbing his eyes. "You gave us quite a scare."
The injured man chuckled, but instantly regretted it. "You underestimate me, my friend," he said, smiling weakly. He felt himself shivering again, and realized that he was still cold. "I don't stay down that easily."
Athos laughed. "You're insane," he teased.
"Maybe," Aramis replied. "But that is why I am here now."
"Can't disagree with you there," Porthos said.