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Athos and Porthos are standing with Aramis propped up between them, his arms slung around their shoulders. He seems barely conscious, his head drooping toward his chest, dark curls tumbling down and partially obscuring what she can see is a bloodied face. There's more blood on his shirt, lots of it – far more than could have come from his face and head. d'Artagnan is kneeling in front of the fireplace arranging kindling to get a fire started, but pauses at the sound of Constance's voice, head snapping to look at her. His eyes are wide and frantic.
"We're going to need candles," he says.
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Written for Whumptober 2025 day 3, for the prompt 'candlelight'. -
Bookmark Notes:
really lovely