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Chapter Text

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Friday evening (30th May 1631)

Athos’ room

“Where did you meet Rochefort for the first time?”

      D’Artagnan looked with curiosity at Athos, who was sitting next to the fireplace. A fire was heating the room, drawing dark dancing shadows on his profile. He had his arms around his chest, curled forward as if the fire wasn’t enough to warm him.

      The small room was neither well nor massively furnished. A narrow bed allowed the owner to look straight at the sky night and day there was a small nightstand, a table and a few rickety chairs, just enough for the three, now four Inséparables. On the far wall opposite to the bed, an even more rickety table was used by Athos as a dressing table, or at least it should have been used, as the man wasn’t as preoccupied by his appearance as his elegant friend Aramis. Above this table were three shelves one of which supported a few richly bound books. They looked almost misplaced here, as was the beautifully crafted sword hanging above the bed. The binding of the books made of beautiful coloured and gold stamped leather shone in the dimness of the room when the orange light of the fire landed on it. If the rest of the room was dusty from floor to ceiling, these books were well-maintained and carefully aligned. No bookends but an old and heavy gilded hour-glass to steady the last book of the line. This shelf and its content made the rest of the room even more sad and gloomy. On the other shelves were a few candles, six neatly folded towels, a few pots, cups and bottles, and two candlesticks. There was a large dark wooden trunk in a corner where Athos had likely stored a few clothes and other useful belongings. Its lid was half-open which allowed the sight of a sleeve of a shirt hastily put in it , and the worn wool of a thick dark blue blanket. D’Artagnan had time to observe the room while he waited for a possible answer, discovering all the details he never had noticed before and this observation made him sad. The room looked like his owner and the owner looked like the room. How the young man would have been happy to make both more cheerful! He briefly thought that Constance could be a wonderful fairy in this place: cleaning, tidying up, removing the heavy brown curtains, adding a few lovely things like flowers or cushions … He was drawn from his daydreaming by a loud noise. Maybe a shutter. Or something falling somewhere in the garrison because of the strong winds.

      Outside, the thunder was rolling constantly. Athos had to admit that he was very glad to finally be inside his quarters. It had been raining throughout most of the exhausting day and he and D’Artagnan had gathered in his quarters to rest. It had been a boring day with stable duty and exercise.

      Athos, as usual did not speak at once. He stayed quiet and stared at the roaring flames of the fire. He felt miserable, his head was aching and his face was much too hot. He started to remove his scarf from his neck, that also kept his chest warm and threw it into the farthest corner of his room, where it landed in a heap under his bed. Next he got rid of his leather gloves which he had worn all day, his hands felt much too warm in them. With his bare chest not covered anymore, he felt slightly better, but still very vulnerable. His scarf had been a safety net for six years, protecting his broken heart.

      Poor piece of fabric! It had suffered a lot in the last five years. It had began its life as the soft but solid scarf of a country nobleman which had been given to him by his mother as a birthday present. Athos only wore it occasionally when he visited his farms or to ride in autumn or winter when the winds were too strong and cold. Anne even used it once to tie her long wavy hair as she was lounging in the grass near the pond after they had decided to have a picnic on a very hot day in July. They had been married for a month at the time …

      Athos shook his head to chase the memory away.

      Then, the scarf had literally been a part of himself. When he’d joined the Musketeers, abandoning everything of his past, the scarf had remained, as did the books, together with his grandfather’s hourglass and his father’s sword.
Then the scarf had been badly stained during fights: blood, sweat, grass. Some of them were now indelebile and the colour of the fabric had faded.

      Recently, the poor object had been used as a glove by D’Artagnan. Athos, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, had been about to laugh at the young man’s odd action. It was so instinctive, almost childish but so brave that Athos had felt his awe of his young brother increase even more. Of course he didn’t say it out loud, but he sent him a meaningful look which only Aramis witnessed as d’Artagnan was still frozen by the short tournament-like fight.
When the young Gascon had given it back, the scarf looked more like a cobweb or a net than a scarf so when everything had calmed down, when he had been sure that Porthos’ wound was healing properly and he had checked about Aramis’ doubts, he had decided to have it repaired. He could have asked Constance, but he would have had to explain the why, the where and the how, and it would have her worried about d’Artagnan. So, taking advantage of their last visit to Le Louvre, where they all had been scolded by the King in front of Rochefort, Athos had asked an old washerwoman who was always so nice to him, if she knew about a good seamstress except Madame Bonacieux. After listening dutifully to the King’s irritating babbling, he had let the others go back to the garrison and he’d headed to the domestics’ quarters where he knew he could find her. He had been warmly welcomed by the nearly blind woman. She had even offered to repair the scarf but he had declined. The elderly domestic, with her almost white eyes and her crooked and trembling fingers, couldn’t do it and she looked already so tired so she recommended him to a widow who had a small shop on the other bank of the Seine, opposite to Le Louvre, not far from Saint-Sulpice.

      He had worn his torn scarf for two more days then he had visited the small shop. The narrow alley where it was situated was dark, the sun obviously barely managing to warm the uneven cobbles at midday. He briefly wondered how a seamstress could work without daylight. It was late this afternoon and the streets were empty. As he turned the corner of the alley, he saw someone hurrying, undoubtedly, to be home before nightfall.

      The fifty-something woman welcomed him with a small but nice smile. Ten minutes later, and with the promise that the scarf would be repaired within three days, he left the shop, a hand on his neck where the warm fabric of the scarf was already badly missed and this wet wind wouldn’t stop. Athos grunted and headed back to the garrison, head bowed, looking at the slippery cobbles under the lowered brim of his hat, careful not to fall on unidentified waste.

Damn, I don’t need a cold right now.

      A few days later, in his dark room, and in spite of the young man’s presence, old memories came back from the time when he had not met D’Artagnan yet. Six years ago he had come to Paris both to flee his conscience and his wife who had killed his brother. Why, why couldn’t she just leave him alone? Yesterday, as he returned from the palace to the garrison, he had seen her. She was flirting with the King, laughing about one of his odd jokes and he could do nothing about it. His heart was pounding heavily in his chest at the thought of her. He felt ashamed, even now, after all those years, her beauty agitated him, even worse, aroused him. He thought he would have been over that, by now, but the other day had proved him wrong, after seeing her, he had felt like a teenager, driven by his senses, incomprehensibly aroused at the mere thought of her green irises, of the wafts of jasmine in each of her movements, at the sparkles of fire in her thick hair. Not trusting his body, the growing heat in his lower belly and the uncomfortable pressure even lower, he had tried to rush away as fast as possible but instead of returning to the Garrison, he had ended up in his favourite inn. Before he knew it, he had ordered a bottle of wine and if it hadn’t been for Porthos who had come looking for him, he probably would have stayed there the whole night. He shook himself. Why on earth had he had these sudden erotic feelings for her? He had wanted to kiss her deep red lips, touch her perfect pearly white body, pull off the beautiful silky blue dress she was wearing. His desire for her had left him in trouble much too often … Athos sighed out loud. Haunted by his past and these memories, he had wanted to flee his pain … and he somehow ended up with lots of bottles of wine and a commission as a Musketeer. But that was another story to tell.

      A knock at the door brought Athos back to the present. D’Artagnan turned his head when Aramis and Porthos entered the room. Their leather uniforms were soaked through and through with water.

“Come in and help yourself to a glass of wine”, Athos told his best friends and brothers, but noticed that every single word he spoke felt like the stab of a knife in his throat.

I am really getting ill. Damn. Maybe another glass of wine can help me to settle my throat.

      Aramis grinned: “That sounds fair enough for me.”

      After removing his dripping coat, leaving a wet trail from the threshold to the fireplace where he hung it to dry, he settled next to D’Artagnan, touching briefly the young man's shoulder. He stretched his legs and crossed them at the ankles in a very casual but elegant posture. Athos threw him a sceptical glance. How could that man seem so … so … so not like him …! Easy smile, elegance, levity, or at least an appearance of levity.

“What have you two been up to”, asked Porthos, who, after removing his jacket and just letting it carelessly drop in a soaked heap next to the door, was looking for a blanket.

      He found one and settled in the only chair that was still empty. One foot on a rung in order to form a human ball of warmth under his blanket and the other on a low stool Athos had procured him to rest his leg when he had been hurt several days before.

“I’ve just asked Athos when and where he met Rochefort for the first time, but I am still waiting for an answer.”
“Woah, you really want to go there?”

      Porthos looked into D’Artagnan’s brown eyes. Aramis closed his eyes and prayed to God. Unconsciously he touched the crucifix that the Queen had given him months ago. This question would bring up bad memories especially as Athos had suffered under Rochefort. He wasn’t sure if that evening was the right time to tell their youngest member. The thunder rolled again in the distance and a lightning brightened the room.
Aramis could see that Athos’ face had an unnatural reddish colour tonight. He wasn’t sure if it was from the rain and a possibility of a cold that his brother was developing or from the past the name Rochefort brought vivid memories again, or the fact that Milady was back in Paris. Maybe a bit of all these three things combined. Somehow he expected Athos to stay quiet and ignore the question, but on the contrary, Athos started to talk. If anyone could reach Athos, it was the young Gascon. Athos filled his empty glass with a new bottle of wine and started to talk very quietly, in a low and even tone of voice. His eyes fixed on something in the darkness of the room, in the darkness of his memory:
“Rochefort wanted to become a Musketeer and several years ago he came to Treville and asked for a commission. He overestimated himself and thought that being a Comte would make him a Musketeer at once.”

Why on earth am I talking? My voice sounds dreadful.

      He made a pause and breathed in deeply, because his lungs were missing oxygen. Even breathing seemed to be hard tonight and the dull pain in his throat increased. He took another gulp of his red wine.

“So, Rochefort was standing in the courtyard of the Garrison and shouted out loud that he wanted to see the Captain”, Aramis added. “Treville came out of his office and stepped on the balcony and stared into the courtyard. He was curious who was calling and looking for him, but as soon as he found out about the nobleman he went back inside without talking to him.”

      Porthos added: “The fool thought he could come and join the regiment that easily.”

“He was far too impulsive and arrogant and Tréville did not want to have men like him in his regiment,” Athos continued, his voice thick with a mix of emotion and anger and now staring at the fire in the hearth as if he could see the scene he was describing in its glowing blazes.. “He thought himself a hero due to the fact that he had helped Queen Anne to come to Paris several years back. So Rochefort left again and decided to join the Red Guards. That was the first time we three saw him.”

“And somehow we all knew that he meant trouble, right Athos?” Aramis added.

“What kind of trouble?”

      D’Artagnan was now eager to learn more about the man who had appeared several weeks ago. He had escaped from the Spanish imprisonment. D’Artagnan had seen the look Athos and Porthos had shared in the field as they stumbled over him. It had been a meaningful look and he had noticed the obvious disdain in Athos’ expression. Disdain confirmed by his further actions towards the blond Comte that had led Athos to punch Rochefort in his face. Porthos who just had finished his first glass of wine wanted to change the subject. He knew that Athos would be even more moody, if he had to retell and re-vive the past again.

     Hadn’t last night already been enough ?
     He wanted to move on to a lighter topic for tonight. He could hear and see the growing anxiety in his friend’s voice, moves and looks. And something else he couldn’t really point out.

“Oh this wine is luscious. Where is it from?”

      Athos ignored Porthos’ question and stared again into the fire. His headache was bothering him even more and he felt slightly lightheaded. Should he really tell the young Gascon about his suffering? His humiliation? Athos decided not to bother d'Artagnan with that.

“Well, Rochefort started his career at the Red Guards. After he had no chance to become a Musketeer. He was angry about it. As a nobleman he thought himself very handsome and loveable. People started mocking him because he had the attitude of a peacock. As men couldn’t stand his vanity, he sought the company of women whom he thought would be an appreciative audience. He quickly became insufferable and women became anxious about his behavior. He pushed them brutally around and thought they were his possession so we had to help them more than once. ”

      Athos summarised the most important facts. For he had no strength left to tell more tonight.

“And as the gentlemen we are, of course, we helped them!” Aramis helped.

      He realised very quickly at the dark glance in Athos eyes that he did not want to tell the whole truth that evening and something else was going on in his brother’s mind. He didn’t seem to be as focused as usually. He was speaking slowly and way too silent. D’Artagnan was too tired to register that look at this moment.

“So, we found out very quickly that Rochefort was an ignorant person who denied that he was not ready to serve the King.” Porthos added with a bright smile on his lips.

“That’s all?” D’Artagnan stared at his brothers.

“Let’s say that it is the beginning of another tale, but we are all tired and we should call it a night for today.”

      With these words Athos made clear that he did not want to talk any longer about it. His green eyes wandered back to the fireplace. His headache had increased in the last few minutes, and his vision was slightly blurred. He felt suddenly dizzy, but tried to breathe even, to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. He was familiar with these betrayals of his body when he had consumed too much cheap wine in a shabby tavern. It couldn’t be the reason. Not now, not this time. No, he really had caught a cold.

      D’Artagnan had seen the hurt in those green eyes and hadn't wanted to push the confession any further. So he stood up, said goodnight to his friends and headed for his own quarters. As he made his way to the door, d'Artagnan couldn't help but look back at his mentor before leaving ... Staring at this noble profile, he could see the orange light of the roaring fire reflecting in the odd wetness in his eyes ... Athos' face seemed to shine with an abnormal brightness, much too red, a few of his silky curls were plastered on his forehead. D'Artagnan suddenly worried, made a move towards him, but didn't know if his presence would be welcomed ... The floor creaked lightly under his boot and Athos' body seemed suddenly seized by a shudder. His hands tightened on the armrests and a tremor ran through his long elegant fingers.

Oh God, that hurts ...

      As d'Artagnan retreated to the door, Athos lowered his head and put it in his trembling hands, elbows on his knees. The curtain of his hair hiding his anxious face to the view of his young friend. The latter chose to quietly leave the room and he silently closed the door ...

      The last thing d'Artagnan heard before he left, was Aramis getting up and checking on Athos.

“Athos, what is it? You look like you are not feeling well. Please, allow me to check on you.”

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     Athos lifted his head for a short moment. It took him all the strength he had left, after suddenly feeling hot and cold at the same moment. He wasn’t sure what was going on. One moment he felt fine, the other moment he felt dreadful. His head felt like it wanted to burst, he couldn’t see clearly, and, again, he was sure that it wasn’t caused by the glass of wine he had tonight. Those headaches felt differently. His throat felt like fire. The long speech had even worsened the pain and even his precious wine had tasted odd and swallowing had become harder due to the increasing pain in his throat.

Maybe some cold water will help to ease the pain.

      He was ripped out of his thoughts as his heart suddenly started to pound furiously and his wish for more air let him open his mouth and he started to breathe in heavily. With his last willpower he forced himself to sound as bored and neutral as possible.

“Aramis, it’s nothing. I am fine.” He paused to breathe in deeply. “Just a long day! You know that!”

      He tried to look in Aramis direction but the light of the candle burning next to Aramis, was much too bright and he squeezed his eyes shut. Aramis looked doubtfully at his friend. Athos’ definition of “fine” had never been the same as anybody else’s definition.

“I know you, my friend. And you look anything but fine, right now. Please let me at least check if you have a fever.”

      Athos wanted to get up and draw back from Aramis’ hand trying to touch his forehead. But he felt too weak and light-headed to get up. He hated to be touched there and he hated to feel vulnerable and that he could not control it. He had felt bad all day long. But he had tried to hide that from Aramis and the others. He was glad that they had stayed at the Garrison that day. To evade Aramis’ concerned look Athos tried to think of something else. He thought back fourteen hours ago, and reflected how his day had started. Soon he was carried away by the review of his miserable day.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

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Friday, Fourteen hours earlier

Garrison’s courtyard

      Aramis looked curiously at Porthos who stood next to him during morning muster. At his side, d’Artagnan wished he had his own hat to avoid the heavy rain that dropped onto his blackish hair. Raindrops ran down his face and he shook his head like a dog to get rid of the water but it didn’t seem to help. He looked like a drowned rat, his long strands plastered on his face.

“Where is he?”

      He heard the concerned whispering voice of Aramis, speaking to Porthos. The big Musketeer wanted to answer his friend but at that moment Tréville appeared on the balcony and looked down at his Musketeers standing in the courtyard, more tired than usual and shivering. An idea crossed his mind to give all his men a day off or to tell them to take care of the stables and do weapons and light fighting training. His Lieutenant could organise this and help him to divide the Musketeers in groups. Maybe they could even make a small challenge to brighten the mood a little. The ongoing rain pulled on everybody’s nerves. He already wanted to give his orders, as a thought hit him: something was wrong. He checked the lines of the soaked hats with just one wet bare head: D’Artagnan - God! This boy needs a hat - and also noticed that one of his soldiers was missing.

Athos, he groaned inwardly, where are you? To make sure that his eyes had not betrayed him, he looked into the direction of d’Artagnan. Next to his youngest soldier were Porthos and Aramis, but not Athos. Another look at Aramis’ eyes and he could tell that the man was as confused and worried as himself.

      He hastened to give his orders to clear the stables and then shouted:

“Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan, to me, now!”

Aramis looked at Porthos and then at d’Artagnan.

“Please, tell me, you know where he is, because Tréville is going to kill him and then us.”

“Now, my office!” An angry Tréville repeated and without waiting any longer he stormed back into his office.

      Porthos looked at both his friends.

“I think I know, where we can find him and we should go easy on him.”

“Why? What happened?” asked d’Artagnan as he followed his two brothers up the stairs to the balcony Tréville had left only a few seconds before them.

“Let’s say that Athos bumped into his wife yesterday at the palace and afterwards he ended up in his favourite inn.”

“Milady’s return hurts him more than he wants to let us know!” Aramis said understandingly.

“So what shall we tell Tréville?”

“That he has caught a stupid cold and he asked us to let him sleep a little longer this morning and to excuse him.” D’Artagnan helped.

“Do you really think the Captain will believe this story?” Aramis looked at their youngest team member.

“I doubt it.” Porthos shrugged. “He knows Athos much too well, but he will give us time to check on him and drag him into the courtyard.”

      Porthos smiled at both of his brothers.

“Let’s give it a try.”

      With this said they reached the Captain’s office. Well aware that in the next five minutes they would be shouted at.

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      Athos woke with a start. He opened his eyes, only to shut them at the very next moment. His head was throbbing. He tried to remember why and it took him several minutes to register that he was in his room in the garrison. It was still dark outside, so he hoped he had not yet missed morning muster. Slowly he opened his eyes again. That was better. His eyes took a while to get used to the muted light. Slowly, very slowly he remembered what had happened the night before.

“No, no, no, not my boots, Athos!” Porthos had shouted at him.

       But it had already been too late. Athos had doubled over, landed on the dirty and muddy wet street of Paris, outside the inn, and had vomited the contents of his stomach on Porthos’ freshly polished boots. It wouldn’t have amazed him, if Porthos had left him right there but his big brother had bent down next to him, had wiped his face and softly asked if he was ready to continue. No blame at all, no hatred in his voice, Porthos’ big heart had already forgiven him his miserable state. Feeling dizzy he had tried to stand up, but it was Porthos who had helped him up, settling behind him and putting both of his hands under his armpits and pulling him up into a vertical position. Then Porthos had taken his right arm over his shoulder and half carried him all the way back to the garrison. Twice he had doubled over after the first one, and each time Porthos was there, waiting until his sickness was over and then continued with him through the heavy rain. Both Musketeers had been soaked through when they finally arrived at the gates of their home. How he had ended up in his room, he could not remember. Porthos had not once complained but he was sure his still not fully healed leg must have hurt him in the process of helping his drunk brother.  

      Suddenly the sick feeling hit him again. Athos managed to get up out of his bed and reach the wooden bucket he used to cure a hangover but he had no time to put his aching head in the cold water and he heaved into the bucket. His stomach was empty and all that came up was saliva. He tried to get his breathing settled again and sat down on the cold tiles of his floor. He felt a dull pain in this lower belly.

No way  will I make it to morning muster!

      He just wanted to get back onto his shaky feet and back to his bed when a knock at his door stopped him. He sat down again on the cold floor.

“Who is it?” He croaked.

      His throat hurt probably from the dry heaving. Instead of an answer, his door was opened and three pairs of eyes looked at his poor figure on the floor.

      Aramis was the first to react. With fast steps he crouched next to his brother.

“What happened to you?”

       Athos ignored Aramis’ question and tried to stand up. Together with Porthos and d’Artagnan’s help, they managed to get Athos back to his bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, showing no intentions of lying down again and instead he began to look for his boots. He found them neatly arranged next to the foot of his bed. He did not remember putting them there so ignoring the dull pain in his stomach and shaking from dizziness, he got up again.

“Wooaah! Where are you going?” A concerned Porthos pushed Athos back on his bed.

      Athos looked at him confused.

“What do you mean? Where am I going? Morning muster will soon begin, and I need to put on my boots.”

      He tried to free himself from Porthos’ hand still resting on his shoulder and tried to stand up again. But Porthos’ grip was hard to escape. D’Artagnan who had watched from the distance, crossed the room, picked up Athos’ boots and positioned them in front of his feet, in Athos’ line of sight.

“My friend, I am sure you can pull your boots on, but I guess morning muster will be a problem.”

“Why? Athos started angrily. “Just, because of a hangover, I will not neglect my duty!”

“Nobody said that you will neglect your duty. It’s just …”

“It’s what, Aramis?”

“Well, morning muster was thirty minutes ago. You have overslept.”

      He could see Athos’ disbelief in his eyes. How, he asked himself, could this have happened to him? He was never late. Even if he had drunk the night before, he always managed to be there in time.

“Enough jokes, Aramis!” Athos said a bit too loud. “Let’s go!”

      With these words he put on his boots hastily. Ignoring the still throbbing pain in his head and the tremors in his fingers.

“We are not joking!” Porthos told him. “But don’t worry we excused you to the Captain.”

Well at least we tried. Aramis mentioning Milady to the Captain, somehow managed to cool his angry mood down. He even told us to go easy with Athos the next few days. Our Captain still has a weakness for his Lieutenant.

      Somehow Athos doubted that. He already expected Tréville to shout at him and let him do the stable duty all alone for the next two weeks.

“What have you told him?” Athos inquired his friends.

“That you have developed a nasty cold due to the rainy weather and that you have asked us to excuse you for morning muster, to rest a bit longer, but that you would help with the duties that are expected later.” Aramis told him.

      Athos rolled his eyes in Aramis’ direction:

“Always the medic! And he believed you?”

“Well, he will, when he sees you. Judging by the fact you have overslept my dear friend and finding you this morning on the floor, I think that you are showing early signs of a cold.”

      Aramis had moved closer to his friend in the past few minutes. Well aware that Athos would have not wanted to be checked out  he observed him from the distance, to find out if his friend was going to be sick. His friend’s face was slightly reddish, his voice was harsh and his green eyes where shining a little so Aramis assumed that his friend had a slight fever.

“Why don’t you lie down a little longer and we will bring you some tea and breakfast? Tréville advised us to check on you and make sure that you are going to eat something.”

      Athos shook his head:

“No way am I going to stay in this room, I need to do something and I can’t sleep all day long, can I? ”

      Aramis sighed, somehow he knew that the stubborn swordsman would say something like that.

“Don’t tell me later that I didn’t tell you!”

      With these words. Aramis went to the door.

“Okay, then breakfast in the mess, because our bench is wet. There, we will fill you in about the duties of the day.

      Athos followed his three friends out of his room.

Ah, me having a cold. No, that was all Milady’s doing! Ending up in this filthy tavern yesterday. Oh, I have to apologize to Porthos, but not in front of the lad. Later ...

      Athos tried to follow the fast steps of his brothers towards the kitchen. Porthos, who still was not one hundred percent fit, waited for his brother, as they climbed the stairs.

From the distance Tréville watched his Inséparables enter Serge’s kitchen.

Thank God he is up, he sighed.

      He had a strange feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Nonsense, he told himself and returned to his boring paperwork.

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      Athos did not feel hungry even though Serge had put one plate after another in front of him.

“You boys must eat! Especially in this cold and wet weather!” He advised.

      Porthos laughed out loud and was busy eating a fresh baked and still warm piece of bread. D’Artagnan was happy not to have to hurry with the stable duty and Aramis was still studying Athos’ behaviour, but said nothing. The swordsman suddenly felt very thirsty and was glad to find a pitcher of fresh water next to him. Greedily, he filled his first cup and drank it in a rush.

Oh it tastes delicious.

      He hurried to pour himself a second and a third cup, until the jar was finally empty. In the meantime d’Artagnan filled his mentor in on the duties of the day.

“In the morning, stable duty and in the afternoon practicing with sword and muskets. Then in the evening we will have a little contest and the winner is allowed to have the next day off.”

      Aramis grinned into Athos’ direction:

“Now, that’s the idea, if you’re better than me in musket shooting, you can sleep in tomorrow morning!”    Athos groaned.

      He knew it would come, he had waited for Aramis teasing a little earlier. That he had waited that long, was unusual for him.

“I think we have waited long enough! Let’s get started with our work.” Athos ordered his three brothers getting up a little too fast.

      He nearly collapsed and needed both his hands back on the table to steady himself. The dizziness had returned and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. He felt a dull throbbing in his head. D’Artagnan was suddenly standing next to him, but did not say a word, nor made a move. Nevertheless he could see that he had raised his hands in case he should need help. Athos tried to ignore both the looks of his concerned brothers and the pain that had befallen his body.

“Let’s go, d'Artagnan. We will both take care of our horses and Aramis and Porthos will find out who will lead the fighting exercise in the afternoon.

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“What?”

      Aramis could see that Porthos was thinking hard about something. He was still sitting with him at their table in the mess, while the rain was continued to pour outside.

“I should have helped d’Artagnan with the horses and Athos should be here with you, Aramis. Here in the warmth, resting with you. He didn’t look that good this morning. Wasn’t that the idea of the Captain, to let him rest a little in order to work out what kind of tournament we shall have that afternoon! He is better than me in strategical thinking and …”

      Porthos grumbled angrily until Aramis interrupted him.

“Stop it, Porthos! We both know that your leg is still hurting and needs rest. I guess that it must have hurt horribly, as you carried Athos yesterday night all alone to his apartments, I should check on it and put on a salve!”

“Rubbish! It’s nothing, only some a small itching. I need to practice it.”

      Aramis sighed. Sometimes both his brothers could be very stubborn and ignore pain when it came to their own sanity.

“Besides, I think our dearest friend has a bad conscience that you had to help him home yesterday. He knows that your leg still needs rest. That’s why he acted like that. And … he can’t stand being checked over by me.”

      Aramis knew Athos too well.   

“Do you think it is just a hangover or does he have a cold?”

“I think it is too early to say. He’s still suffering because Milady has returned to Paris, remember the last time they met, he told her to leave and never return. Otherwise he would kill her. And now she is back and the King has forgiven her all her misconducts. So she stands under his protection. And Athos  can’t do anything about it, so maybe it is just that. Overtired, hungover and hurt.”

      Porthos looked sadly at Aramis’  explanation.

“I wish I could somehow take all this unnecessary pain away from him.”

“Give him time Porthos. All we can do right now is to be there for him and you  already did that last night, remember!”

      Porthos nodded in agreement.

“Let’s focus on planning this tournament. The faster we are finished, the sooner we can check on Athos and help them both with the stable duty!” Aramis clapped Porthos shoulder.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

      D’Artagnan could see that Athos was everything but fine and yet  the swordsman had made it clear more than once that he did not want to talk about it and the Gascon wanted to respect his mentor’s wishes. So what could he do?

      He decided to take over the  heavier work and worked harder than he probably would have under other circumstances. As a son of a farmer he was practiced in stable work and other Musketeers already had begun to bring in the hay.

“Well, Athos, if it is fine with you, I will clean the boxes and you can give the horses some carrots and fresh water to eat and drink. I am sure that Pierre and Henri can help with getting us the buckets of water in here.”

      With this said, d’Artagnan started to clean the first box. It was Aramis horse’s box. Athos was glad that he was taking care of the feeding, he went to the back of the stables where Serge always put some carrots in a crate for their four-legged friends. It took him longer than usual to cross the long stable and he had to rest as he reached the crate. Some sweat was forming on his forehead and chest. He had to lean against the wall, closing his eyes and concentrating on the feeling of his wet palms under his gloves and of his forehead on the uneven stones.

Why on earth, was I that stupid the other day to end up in that tavern.

      Athos wiped with his shirtsleeve the moisture of his face and did the same by massaging his hands over his chest that was covered by a fresh shirt.

      He then collected several carrots for their four horses and started to make his way back to the boxes situated in the opposite direction. Suddenly he felt dizzy and unstable and  before he knew what had happened, he stumbled over his own feet. The carrots he was carrying fell onto the floor and he ended up on two hay bales that stopped him from collapsing on the hard floor. For a moment Athos felt confused,his hands were very cold, he felt a short but dull pain in his chest that went away very quickly as he breathed in, panting slightly.

Today is not my day.  

      Athos sighed, that was the  second time he had ended up on the floor today - if he did not count the incident of the night. He could imagine more pleasant things. Exhausted, he sat on one of the hay bales and gathered his strength again. Some straws must have slid under his shirt, because he felt an itch near the sternum, which he absent-mindedly started to scratch. His skin was much  too fragile for a man’s skin, moreover, a Musketeer’s skin!

      In the distance he could hear voices. Porthos’ voice he could hear from miles away. He hurried to scramble to his feet, gathered the carrots and made his way slowly and carefully back to his friends. He was glad that none of the others had noticed the little incident. Otherwise he would have already found himself in the sometimes irritating care of the mother hen Aramis.

“Let me help you!” Aramis smiled at Athos as he saw him coming.

      Aramis wasn’t pleased to see his brother moving so slow and his breathing did not sound good.

“Rest and drink more water!”

      He took the carrots out of Athos’ arms, pressed him on another hay bale and motioned to Porthos to fetch some more water.

“I don’t need water!”

     Athos tried to fight Aramis’ caring by trying to send him his most terrifying stare which ended in a tired frown.

“You look exhausted. The cold water will do you good!”

      Porthos returned with a bottle filled with icy water. Athos thanked him and eagerly drank the whole bottle in one go. Aramis and Porthos exchanged worried glances. At that moment the bell from the mess rang for lunchtime.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Athos skipped lunch and headed for his quarters instead. He wasn’t hungry, he had refilled the water bottle at the well in the courtyard and was taking now the last gulp. The water helped him to cool his slightly swollen throat. He had laid down on his bed in order to take a short nap. Exhausted, he closed his eyes and rested for a while. A knock at the door woke him up again. He had fallen asleep.

“Athos? Can I come in?”

Suddenly the swordsman was wide awake.

“Of course!” He answered and tried to sit up.

Damn I must have overslept again.

“I noticed that you hadn’t been there for lunch, so I thought I should come and visit you. Aramis said that you have a cold?”

“Come in, please!” Athos waved his Captain to the chair next to his bed. “I think I am only a bit overtired, maybe a slight cold, but nothing severe.” Nervously, he scratched his chest, while looking at his Captain.

“Then you should rest the whole afternoon, Athos!”

“It’s alright, I have just rested a little and I feel refreshed enough to help with the tournament!”

“Are you sure?” Tréville somehow doubted every single word that he had just heard from Athos.

“I am fine, Captain!”

Fine, You don’t look fine, my son.

“I will tell you what, Aramis will check on you and if he says you are alright, I am fine with you helping with the tournament, but if not, you are going to rest in your quarters. Understood?”

“Yes, Captain!”

With this said, a worried Tréville left his swordsman and went looking for Aramis.

Chapter Text

      Aramis was not happy to see Athos standing next to Porthos under the balcony watching the tournament starting. He had wanted to check on him, but Athos had declined.

“Really Aramis, I promise you, I am fine!”

Fine? How much he hated it, when Athos used this word. In ninety-nine out of one hundred cases he was not fine then.

      But he let it go. Knowing too well that his brother was too stubborn and this way at least, he could keep an eye on him. The tournament had three challenges: First, pistol shooting, second, sword fighting and third, hand to hand combat.

      Tréville watched his men from the balcony. The rain had stopped and a few sun rays made their way through the clouds. They had drawn lots. Each Musketeer had a partner he had to beat in one category. The Musketeers who won could move on to the next round. Through lots they found out about their new partners. Aramis had already won against three other Musketeers, before Porthos was his next adversary. Of course Aramis was better than him, but Porthos had not expected anything less. Worriedly he looked for Athos, who was now sitting on the wooden bench next to d'Artagnan. Athos had lost his first round. Normally he was a good shooter. So he was a bit surprised, even more surprised to see the young Gascon sitting next to him. What had happened? D’Artagnan had seen Athos failing with his first shot, as the swordsman had tried to aim, his hand had shook slightly and he did not even hit the target. Confused about what he had just witnessed, d'Artagnan had followed his heart and not his head. Lacking in concentration he had also missed his aim, Porthos went over to them and sat down on the bench.

“Naahhh, why are we doing this? We already know who is going to win this contest.”

      Athos grinned a little.

“Well, I guess it is good for our womanizer to accept from time to time our reassurance that he is a Musketeer too.”

      D’Artagnan laughed out loud and Porthos laughed at Athos’ dry joke. Irritatedly Aramis looked over at them hearing them laughing and missed his aim.

Not again. I really have to practice that, when I want to shoot. I have to ignore any sign of distraction.

      Aramis’ distraction by a crying baby had caused the skirmish which led to Porthos being injured, this naturally weighed heavily on Aramis’ conscience. This time he lost against Jean-Pierre. Puzzled he looked at the aim, then at his gun. Then he blinked away the thought he just had and said:

“Jean-Pierre, today is your lucky day. I guess this gun is a little bit rusty.”

      Porthos couldn’t stop laughing, he got up and went over to Aramis. With his right hand he slapped Aramis on his back.

“Oh, Aramis, don’t blame your gun for not hitting the aim today. Even you, can be beaten  from time to time!”

      He let out another roar of loud laughter. Athos had watched the whole procedure without concentrating. His headache had returned and his throat was still hurting and he was still very thirsty. He drank another cup of water from the well. Sitting on the bench was relaxing and he soon felt better.

       Next was sword fighting and as fate would have it, he and d'Artagnan had to fight against each other. D’Artagnan was standing next to him and both of them started a good fight. Athos let d'Artagnan attack first and countered his move with a skilled trick. D’Artagnan had to withdraw and now it was Athos who went over into attack mode. The Gascon had to retreat yet more to avoid being hit by Athos’s sword.

“Remember head over heart!” He heard Athos saying softly as d'Artagnan withdrew further. “Concentrate where you want to attack me and don’t let your guard down!”

      Athos felt in his element, teaching his protégé some new tricks felt good. It was the first positive occasion for him that day. D’Artagnan was following Athos’ advice and changed the speed of his attacks, because he had noticed that Athos was a bit slower than usual. Forgetting that his mentor had not felt good that morning, he challenged the older man. Athos was taken by surprise as d'Artagnan made his first attack and nearly hit his left arm. Now it was Athos who was retreating.

       From the sideline, Aramis was watching the spectacle with a doubtful glance. All the other Musketeers who were not fighting at the same moment had gathered around them and watched their fight. Athos was the best swordsman of the regiment and watching him was always a highlight and they hoped to learn some new tricks.

      The Lieutenant now took another step back. Feverishly he decided to answer the Gascon’s attack with some quick strikes following the defensive attacks. D’Artagnan did not see that coming and nearly lost his sword. Withdrawing he gathered himself, he knew that in the next round, Athos would have him. It was always like that. He tried to figure out what the next steps of his mentor could be. Enquiringly, he looked into his face and was driven back. Sweat was dripping from Athos’ face. He had never seen that on Athos’ face, while fighting with him. His pale face was reddish and his eyes were shiny and d'Artagnan suddenly felt very guilty. He should have known better that Athos was unwell. He already wanted to find a diplomatic way to end their duel as Athos launched his next attack. Taken by surprise d’Artagnan raised his sword to parry the strike.

“What have I told you …. d’Artagnan … concentrate! Never ... let down … your … guard.”

      Athos was panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. Suddenly he felt very dizzy. He could only see a blurred picture of d'Artagnan, even though he was only three steps away from him. The worst was his heart hammering much too quickly  in his chest.

    Surprised, he took a few unsecure steps backwards, nearly losing his sword. He felt a sharp pain in his chest which took him by surprise and he fell. Dizziness hit him and he  tried to catch himself, but it was too late.

“Arghhhh …!”      

      Another stab of pain hit him and made him shout. The next thing he realised was that he was tripping over a stone on the wet ground. First his sword fell down to the earth and clattered in front of d'Artagnan’s feet, followed only seconds later by Athos, who passed out next to his sword. His face first, he landed on the heavy ground and did not move. D’Artagnan looked in horror at his fallen mentor. A murmur went through the ranks of the other Musketeers watching him fall. Aramis was the first one who responded, followed by d'Artagnan who had pulled himself together again. Aramis bent down over his brother and turned him over. There was a slight bloody scratch on Athos’ cheek, where his head had made contact with the hard ground. His eyes were opened but unfocused and he looked confused in the medic’s eyes.

What has just happened? I must have stumbled over a stone or slipped on  this muddy floor. My chest hurts. My face. Argggh … my head ...

      Athos slowly recognised that lots of Musketeers must have just witnessed his fall. He felt hot and cold at the same time, as he realised that he was still lying flat on the wet ground. He felt ashamed and wished to be far far away right now. He felt Aramis’ hand on his back which floored him a bit. His heart was still hammering much too quickly and he was panting for air, as Aramis turned him over into a foetal position.   

“Get back to your exercises!” A loud voice thundered from the balcony. “There is nothing to watch!”

      The voice was much too loud for Athos’ feeling and he squeezed his eyes shut. Yet he appreciated the order, because then it was only d'Artagnan and Aramis who were with him. Porthos who had been busy with swordplay against another Musketeer now moved over to them while Tréville hurried down the stairs from the balcony into the courtyard stopping at the last step of the stairs.

“Damn … stone!” Athos muttered to Aramis and d'Artagnan. “... must ... have ... slipped.”

      He made a first attempt to get up. But Aramis pushed him down again.

“Stay down and let me check on you first!”

      Aramis tried to calm Athos. But Athos knew that in less than a minute Tréville would be standing in front of him and his pride was still strong enough to not let his commanding officer see him still lying on the courtyard. This was humiliating.

“Help me up!” He growled at Aramis. “I am fine! Just that stupid slippery wet ground!”

      He made a second attempt to get up and felt a supporting hand in his, as Porthos pulled him gently back on his feet. Followed by Aramis’ critical stare in Porthos’ direction.

“Woahh, what happened to you?” Porthos voice was sounding irritated and worried at the same time.

“Nothing, just a slippery floor. I don’t like this weather!”

      He started to tap his wet and muddy clothes.

“Come! Let’s go over to the bench.”

      Porthos led his slightly shaken brother to the wooden bench, where Athos sat down groggily still panting for air. D’Artagnan, not sure of what else he could do handed him a cup of water. While Aramis took his bright-blue fabric that he was wearing around his hip. He dripped some cool water on it and pressed it onto Athos’ cheek. Then he started to clean his bloody face. Athos ignored Aramis fussing over him. He was even thankful for his help. Greedily Athos drank and tried to settle his nerves. He put down the cup and reached his right hand to d'Artagnan as Aramis had removed the fabric from his face.

“Congratulations! You have beaten me today!” He grinned weakly in his protégé’s direction.

One day he will be the best of us all!

      Athos remembered the words he had said to Tréville several months ago. Like a very proud older brother he had fought for d'Artagnan to give him a chance to secure a commission from the King.

“I think we call it a tie!” D’Artagnan said out loud. “If it hadn’t been for the stone and the wet ground, you would have beaten me. But I appreciate your gesture.”

      He smiled at Athos.

“Are you really alright?” He asked his mentor, while accepting his hand.

      Athos asked himself the very same question, as he massaged his chest, where the pain, now gone, had caught him during the fight. His skin felt irritated and itchy. Mindlessly he started to scratch the point under his shirt.

Really, the third time I’ve been on the floor today?

       Angrily he tried to push the thought away.

“I am fine!” He said much too loudly to d'Artagnan. “I simply had not seen that damn stone.”

      He did not register the sweat on his forehead or his much too red face. D’Artagnan laid his sword on the wooden table. Tréville was watching from the distance. He had stopped to give Athos some time to gather himself. The guard of his three brothers was obviously what the proud man needed right now. Seeing his Lieutenant fall had given him a stab in his heart.

Athos, you should have stayed in bed! That’s enough!

      He decided to ask him to help with some boring paperwork. His second-in-command was obviously not fit for duty today. Whatever it was, he did not want to see him get hurt any further in hand-to-hand combat. He left the last step of the stairs and approached the four Inséparables who had now gathered again around their favourite place and had formed a protective shield around Athos. The Lieutenant greedily drank his second cup of water and after that he put some of the water in his hands and he wiped his hot face with it.

“Are you really alright?” D’Artagnan asked again quietly in order to make sure that no one else, but Aramis and Porthos and of course Athos himself could hear it.

“Just a bit sore, don’t worry! I am fine!”

      Aramis rolled his eyes.

“Athos, a word please.”

      Tréville had reached their resting place. No shouting from the balcony, no loud words. He had even spoken softly, his eyes filled with concern. Athos sighed and stood up slowly.

“If you will excuse me gentlemen! The Captain is asking for me!” With these words he shakily followed his commanding officer back to the stairs.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Sit down!” Tréville said to Athos, as he stood in front of his Captain’s desk.

“I need your help with some papers. The diplomatic meeting is costing me my last nerves!”

      Athos had expected that Tréville would have asked him how he was. Of course the old fox had seen him tumbling to the ground. He had expected that he would be shouted at and that he would send him to his quarters to rest but nothing like that. Of course he had ignored the direct order of the Captain. He had not allowed Aramis to check him. So it took him a while to work out Tréville’s change of behaviour. Slowly he sat down. The chair felt comfortable.

“How can I help you, Captain?”

“Well, at first we should go through the security details of the summit on Friday. We have to check on the schedule of the King. Where he wants to go? What he wants to do? Then we need more palace guards than usual because we have a lot of noblemen there and some foreign statesmen have already arrived. King Louis wants to expand his trade market with French and foreign goods. I need your tactical intuition in this Athos!”

      The swordsman tried to concentrate on the things Tréville had just told him.

It’s warm in here. I need something to drink. Water. And I really need to refresh myself.

      He felt his bladder pressing and his clothes were wet and muddy. Athos was disturbed by Tréville’s questioning look. Something he just must have overheard right now.

“Athos?” Athos looked confused under Tréville’s bright blue eyes’ scrutiny.

“Hmm?”

“I just wanted to know if you’ve eaten anything today? I have asked Serge for some food and water, so that we can have dinner here and work a bit longer.”

       Athos nodded.

“That’s fine with me!”

      Tréville observed his Lieutenant,he looked fatigued, his face was reddish, his eyes looked feverish and he seemed to have problems following him, which shouldn’t have surprised him from what he’d seen earlier.

What’s wrong with you, my son? I need you right now. Milady’s return must trouble you but ... thank God you haven’t seen her with the King. Wait. Of course you are not that stupid. You must have seen her with the King at the palace. I am sorry that I couldn’t spare you this ...  But now, with the Cardinal dead and Rochefort trying to get more and more influence in the palace, I need your strategical and political thinking. And I need your coolness to calm me, so I need you focused and concentrated.

      He decided not to bother Athos with asking about how he was feeling, better to give him some time and space to find his own way back. Serge entered and brought plenty of food and fresh water. Athos excused himself for a moment and came back quickly. He drank more water and did not touch the food at all but they started working.

“What do you think about Rochefort’s new influence with the King!”

“You really ask me that? Athos stared at his Captain.

      Tréville gave him a faint smile.

“I mean … how can we prevent him from getting even more power?”

Athos sighed:

“My short answer to that is, we have to throw him back into a Spanish prison cell. There he can rot in hell. About my long answer …. ”

      Athos had lost his thought. A bit irritated he blinked.

“About that … I guess … I have to give it more thought.”

      With his hand he had started to scratch the itching spot under his shirt over the scarf again, as he tried to overcome his absent mindedness. He finished his sentence but Tréville noticed that his Lieutenant had trouble concentrating. Formulating his thoughts while reading the text the man had to squint as if unable to decipher the lines on the paper. He let his question go and both men looked at the papers that had arrived from the palace with all the important information about the summit. From time to time Tréville looked up from his own papers and observed him to make sure his Lieutenant did not need to lie down. Outside he could hear his men’s laughter as the last task of the tournament began. As Athos’ eyes started to droop, Tréville decided to call it a day and send Athos to his quarters to rest.

“Time for you to call it a night, Athos! We will continue tomorrow.”

      Athos was surprised but rose from his chair and walked unsteadily back to his quarters.

 ⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Friday evening, Athos’ room

      How he wished that his unease would be gone after finally sitting down in his quarters, but all his strength suddenly left him. He noticed that something was very wrong. Even more than during the whole past day.

What’s wrong with me? My heart is beating again much too fast as it was during my fight with d'Artagnan and then it suddenly slows down again. My chest ... arghhhh ... this pain is unbearable. I feel far too hot. Damn, I must have caught that stupid cold from the Dauphin. God is it sticky in here?My head … arghhh … I need fresh air and why is everything so loud and noisy around me? The light is so bright … It can’t be that bright … It can’t be ... I need to lie down, just sleep it off and tomorrow it will be better again. Just … my throat is on fire. I need air, why can’t I get enough air? Why is it so hot in here? I must have a fever, Aramis is right.

“Aramis, I … think ...” Athos tried to get up from his chair in order to open his window.

      He tried to gasp for air and managed to stumble a few steps in his room to his window. He felt very groggy and lightheaded and stopped in the middle of the room. Looking surprised at Aramis, he started to speak but his voice was low and he had trouble concentrating. He slurred:

“... I don’t feel so … what’s wrong wi... ?”

      Athos couldn’t finish his sentence. His eyes rolled back into his head and if it hadn’t been for Porthos’ fast reaction, who sensed that something was very wrong with his brother, he would have ended up in a heap on the floor. Porthos jumped into action. His big arms held him in a secure grip. Athos’ head was resting on his chest and his whole body went limp. The heat that emanated from Athos forehead and skin had Porthos worried. With his dark eyes he looked for help in the direction of Aramis.

“What’s wrong with him? He is out cold! And he is burning like a candle.”

“Let’s find out. Wait, I’ll help you to get him to his bed.”

      Together they managed to carry their sick brother to his bed. Porthos put up the blanket and tucked Athos up in it, after he had helped his unconscious brother out of his leather boots while Aramis started to check on Athos breathing, which was a little erratic. He could feel the heat that radiated from his brother’s forehead. That he was still unconscious was not good, not good at all.

“Athos! Athos, can you hear me! Open your eyes for me. Come on!”

      Aramis slapped lightly on Athos’ cheeks, but no reaction. His brother was still out cold. He started to remove Athos’ leather jacket from him, that he was still and always wore like an armour protecting his secret garden. Aramis discovered that Athos’ shirt had been soaked through with perspiration. He looked around in Athos’ room and saw a clean shirt lying on the nearby table.

“Porthos, can you get me some towels, some water and that shirt, please ?”

      He gestured in the direction of the trunk in the corner of the room. Porthos did as he was asked and together they cleaned their brother, put on his new shirt and got rid of his trousers in the dim light of the room. Aramis checked again for Athos’ pulse, which was pounding much too fast, his heartbeat was erratic. The medic put his hand flat on Athos’ chest and waited until he could feel Athos’ heartbeat under his fingers. His brother had palpitations. One moment Athos’ heartbeat was much too slow, the next it nearly jumped and became much too fast. His brother’s breathing was accelerated.

That’s not good, not good at all.

      While Aramis was checking Athos’ condition, the nobleman stayed unconscious. With a reassuring small smile into Porthos’ direction, the medic got up.   

“I will be back in a minute! I just have to get my medical kit and some herbs.”

      With these words, he left a perplexed Porthos, who took his guard next to the bed of his brother.

“Oh, Athos, why can’t you just tell us when you don’t feel well? Is that so hard?” Porthos asked in the silence of the night.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning (31st May 1631)

       Two dark brown eyes, surrounded by laugh lines greeted Athos the next morning. As he very, very slowly opened his eyes and stopped them half-open.

Why is Aramis face hanging over mine? And why does he smile at me as he smiles at his little baby-son. No, no, no wait … The Dauphin. Did I just say that out loud ... his son?

Have I been shot? Or injured?

       The last time he remembered Aramis sitting over him like that, with concerned eyes and a supportive smile was after he had woken up in the infirmary of the garrison. Athos closed his eyes again. Six years before.

“Come on Athos! Open those eyes of yours. Yeah, that’s it!”

       Athos heard his brother’s voice in the distance. He tried to focus on it and forget the horrible thoughts of what he had endured in the past. It had taken him quite a while to get back to his normal self after that unpleasant experience.

Am I in the infirmary? No, that’s my room!

       Athos slowly opened his eyes for the second time, turning his head and finding out about who was with him in the room. Aramis was sitting next to him. Porthos was sound asleep on the chair next to his now cold fireplace.

Why are they both here? I can’t remember that I have been injured.

       He checked for any sign that a sword or bullet had hit him. For any pain in his arms, chest, legs, feet. Nothing. Nothing, but a sore feeling in his throat.

“Yes, that’s it!” Aramis encouraged his friend.

“Aramis, why are you sitting next to my bed?” Athos asked the medic, confused.

       Aramis looked concerned at the swordsman. With a soft smile he answered:

 “How are you feeling?”

       Next to him Porthos yawned and stretched himself.

“Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is awake. And he is listening to your talk over him!” Athos said disgruntled, before adding still irritated, “Would you both please tell me why you are sitting in my room? I am fine!”

       At these words Porthos burst out in loud laughter, stood up and came nearer to his bed.

“Fine! Huh! Even the King does not dramatise that much as you do right now.”

“Why are you saying this, Porthos?”

       Athos still could not remember what had happened to make both his brothers sit next to him in his room.

“Because I declare fainting in your room and being non-responsive after that, is not being fine, my dear friend.” Porthos said much too loud for Athos’ ears .

       Athos squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Easy, easy, Porthos!” Aramis calmed his big brother.

“What happened?” Athos asked, his eyes still closed.

“You fainted!” answered Porthos trying to hide his grin.

“Men don’t faint!” Athos stated dryly.

“But you did.” Porthos emphasised.

“Alright, Athos, you passed out, is this any better,” replied Aramis.

       Athos tried to throw him his best glare but with his eyes closed it didn’t work as he would have wished.

“So, Monsieur de Je vais bien* , how are you, really? And no lies,” Aramis smiled, hiding his worry behind this poor joke.

“I am … f ...” Athos slurred.

“Ffffff … What … funny? Sure you are, Porthos laughed. But fine, no!”

“I need to get up,” Athos cried suddenly, bolting upright.

“Woah! Chamber pot?” Porthos asked!

“Wh … what? … No … it’s time to work!”

       Aramis and Porthos stood up to make him room as the man left his bed, ripping away blankets and sheets. Then he began to walk around the room. Bending to look under the scarce furniture. Opening the window. Closing it. Opening it again to take his bucket. Putting the bucket on the floor. Then getting back to the bed. Bending to look under it. His two friends stared at him, amazed and a little dizzy because of the crazy dance of their ill brother. At last, Aramis asked:

“Athos? ... Athos! …” He tried.

       No reaction.

“Athos?” He tried a little louder. “What are you looking for?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you? Is there another Athos in this room?”

“Who is Athos?”

       Porthos laughed nervously and looked at Aramis. The latter tried to smile reassuringly, but he began to worry, worry a lot. He tried to approach Athos and seized his shoulders, making the delirious ill man turn his haunted eyes towards him.

“Athos, look at me. Do you know who you are?”

“Of course! Are you stupid? Or mad? I am Athos … That’s why you call me ... Athos. Funny isn’t it?” Athos replied with a snort.

       Then he looked closely and very seriously at Aramis, his nose just a few inches away from Aramis’.

“What … are … you … doing, Athos?!”

“Thinking …”

“Thinking of what?” Asked Aramis cautiously.

“Did you ever try to braid your beard?”

“Wh … Sorry, what?!”

“Your beard is long, don’t you think? You will soon need to braid it! Let me try …”

       Aramis backed up slapping Athos’ eager hands. He heard Porthos stifle a laugh and would have stuck his tongue at his friend if the situation hadn’t been so dramatic. And suddenly, Athos smiled. It began with a light twitch of the corner of his mouth, then he smiled, then he grinned then he bent forward, hands on his knees trying to breathe while laughing like a madman!

“Athos!” Aramis shouted.

       And it ended suddenly. It ended as it had begun. And Athos froze.

“Athos?” Aramis tried again.

       Porthos came beside them.

“Athos, what’s the matter, my friend?” He asked anxiously.

       Athos looked at him, eyes wide.

“Porthos? Are you crying?”

       Porthos wiped his eyes with little discretion, but Athos didn’t seem to notice.

“Athos. Tell us. What’s the matter? What are you looking for? Why did you laugh? Why are you … Why are you crying now?” Porthos continued.

“Porthos, leave him alone. He is not himself right now. Athos, come back to your bed please.” Aramis said in a shaky voice.

“I can’t.” Athos said wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.      

“Why?” Aramis asked gently.

“Because I need …”

“You need?”

       Porthos had sat back on his chair, arms wrapped around himself staring terrified at his friend’s face where big childish tears were now running on his red cheeks, disappearing in his scruffy beard. Aramis wiped the tears with the back of his hand and Athos leaned into the warm contact.

“Athos, what are you looking for?” He asked even more softly than the first time.

“My claparnot … I … I think…”

“Your?” Aramis asked.

“My … I don’t know … I … Aramis, I can’t remember …”

       He bowed his head towards Aramis’ shoulder where he began to weep in earnest. Aramis curled his arms around him and murmured reassuring words, while throwing an anxious look to Porthos:

“Come back to bed, my friend. You need to rest …”

       He led him towards the bed, but Athos stopped abruptly.

“I need …”

“What do you need?”  Porthos asked joining them.

       Athos stretched his right arm towards something with a trembling forefinger.

“Oh, right, chamber pot!” said Porthos.

       Athos smiled through his tears. His expression a mixture of relief and shame.

“Do you need privacy?” asked Aramis.

“Please …”Athos replied “But … don’t …”

       He seemed to hate his pleading tone, but in his haze, he knew that he had to ask.

“Yes, my friend …” said Aramis, gently.

“Don’t leave me … I …”

“We won’t. We are just going to turn our back, then we will stay here.”

       So they did. Athos managed not to stumble nor break anything nor make something he would be ashamed of later.

“The crown of the targeihal est garl …”

       Porthos and Aramis turned back abruptly. Porthos moaned:

“Oh, no, not again, Athos, please!”

       Athos turned to look at them.

“I … don’t … I … want to …”

       Porthos jumped just in time to catch the sick man in his strong arms after his eyes had rolled back into his head.

“Jesus! What has just happened, Porthos?” Aramis sighed breathless.     

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Morning muster

       Tréville had to blink twice as he stared at his gathered Musketeers on Saturday morning. It had started to rain heavily and his men looked more and more like a soule* team than the outstanding personal guard of the King of France. Through the thick rain drops he tried to locate the Inséparables . But he had no luck. Not one, not two, not three … all four of them were missing. It wasn’t necessary to question the others about their whereabouts. He knew exactly where he would find all four of them and that fact made him not angry, but very worried. The only explanation why all four of them were not there, was that Athos must be worse than the day before. He had hoped that his Lieutenant would have beaten the cold or whatever else was bothering him with an early and long sleep. He was sure that Aramis had taken good care of the sick  Musketeer, that he had gone to bed early. His look moved back to his other waiting Musketeers. Their wet state made him hurry to give the orders of the day.

       He just wanted to go and check on Athos as a messenger from the palace arrived. The King expected him immediately to talk about the summit. He sighed, gave Jean-Pierre important instructions and hurried to leave the garrison.  

“Where is Tréville?” The young Gascon, d’Artagnan, hurried to Jean-Pierre.

“Why weren’t you at morning muster” Jean-Pierre asked curiously. “And where are the others?”

“Er … I … I don’t know … I overslept.” D’Artagnan mumbled.

“Tréville has just left to the palace. The King wanted to see him at once.”

       D’Artagnan sighed out loud. He had just wanted to check on Athos this morning after seeing his mentor nowhere in the courtyard.

“But if you are already here, d’Artagnan. The Captain asked us to ….”

       D’Artagnan only listened half-hearted. It was clear that he now was busy at least until noon.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Three hours later, Athos’ room

       He awoke to the horrible feeling that every fluid had deserted his body, leaving his throat parched like the pages of an old book, and to the heat of something at the foot of his bed. He propped himself on an elbow to see what the source of his discomfort was. In the dim light he first thought that a stray dog had entered his room during his sleep, because he spotted thick curly black hair on his bed. His eyes were getting used to the weak light, he noticed that the dog curled at the foot of his bed and on his own feet, was wearing a -formerly- white shirt. And the dog was snoring lightly, mouth open, drooling a bit on the sheet. His rosary had slipped out of his collar and shone softly in the barely existent sunrays. His hand was curled around Athos’ right ankle.  

“Oh, Aramis,” Athos smiled fondly.

       He looked around the room, trying to remember why they were still here. He spotted Porthos, slumped on a chair. His leg had been propped on the low stool but had slipped and the big man was now sleeping in an awkward position which would earn him a crick in the neck later. Athos smiled at the sight. The chair seemed so small and fragile under the heavy muscular body, but a thought hit him: Porthos was a sensitive fragile soul in a body like an armour.

       Except maybe being exceedingly emotional, Athos felt much better, even if he had no memory of what had happened earlier. Why were his brothers still here? No idea. Why was he still in bed at this late hour? The sun seemed much too high in the sky, as far as Athos could guess in spite of the heavy clouds racing behind the glass panels. So, had he missed morning muster? He tried to move his overheated feet without waking the human dog up. And he failed. The locks of black curly hair moved, Aramis closed his mouth and swallowed several times then raised his head, blinking his bleary dark chocolate brown eyes in Athos’ direction.  

“Théodore.” rasped Athos.

“Sorry?” Aramis stammered, trying to sit ignoring the pain in his back, his neck, well, every part of his body.

“Théodore,” Athos repeated.

“Oh, no, please Athos … not again!” Aramis moaned staring straight into Athos’ pale eyes.

“Again what?” Asked Athos sitting up, just a little dizzy.

       And suddenly, the realisation hit Aramis. No more haunted or insane expression in Athos’ eyes. Just a fond, slightly amused but still painful expression. Aramis scrambled to extract himself from the crumpled sheets and landed heavily beside Athos. He settled himself comfortably, crossed his legs at the ankles and bumped his left shoulder against Athos’ right.

“And … what do you think you are doing, Aramis?” A surprised Athos asked, not used to share his bed with a grown up and very tactile human dog.

“Enjoying a warm bed!”

“Aramis! Since when do you enjoy sharing a bed with a bearded human?” Athos drawled.

Aramis laid his head on Athos’ shoulder, grinning.

“So, Théodore? ”

“Who?”

       Aramis jumped. Anxious.

“Athos, I thought you were back with us, just for a moment, and …” Replied Aramis worrying again.

“Back? I wasn’t aware I had left you. Not an easy task with two watchdogs in my room. Well, two sleepy watchdogs. By the way, what are you two doing here? What time is it?”

What’s wrong with me? I can’t remember? Have I been injured? No, I think I have a cold. But somehow it must have become worse, otherwise Aramis would never be next to me right now.

“So, you don’t remember?” asked Aramis.

“Remember what?”

       Aramis laid a hand on his forehead, in order to check Athos’s temperature.

“I am fine,” replied Athos escaping the warm touch.

“You are not, but your are less hot. So, Théodore?”

“Yes, Théodore.” Athos smiled. A true smile. With a tinge of nostalgia.

“Théodore was my father’s dog.”

“And?”

“You reminded me of this dog when you woke up drooling on my feet, with your big brown puppy eyes.”

“Puppy eyes? Seriously Athos.” Aramis chided.

       Athos’ laugh rumbled against his arm. Aramis inched a little further against his friend. Athos scratched nervously in the collar of his shirt. Aramis sensed his tension and gripped his forearm in a reassuring and calming gesture.

“Théodore was a cocker-spaniel …”

“So not a poodle, I feel better!” Aramis laughed.

“So this cocker-spaniel used to come in my bedroom in the middle of the night with his muddy big paws. He loved sleeping on my feet or drooling on my pillow. His breath was a pure delight! And he was clingy as someone I know.”

“I like the talkative Athos! Even if I am compared to a clingy, stinky, muddy, drooling puppy!”

Why am I suddenly so hot?

“Now, can you leave my bed please?” Athos pleaded suddenly.

“No.” Aramis crossed his arms on his chest in a don’t-you-dare-ask-me-to-leave attitude.

“Look at Porthos,” he whispered in Athos’ ear. “What kind of dog do you think he is?”

“A Saint-Hubert* .”

“A what?”

“A Saint-Hubert, big brown hound with long ears, sweet brown eyes and a tendency to drool a lot.”

“I can hear you, you know that?” grumbled a barely awake Porthos stretching his limbs one by one. “How are you Athos?”

No, no not again. My heart is racing much too fast. My throat hurts so much ... I need ...

“Hot. And my bed is a little too crowded for now, but I am fine. I just need to … I need to, sorry ... I don’t feel so well … I …”

       Aramis jumped, kneeling on the bed to look straight in Athos’ eyes, taking one of his hands in both his.

“Athos, what’s the matter ?”

“I … don’t know … I …” He rasped, the lack of fluid he had sensed earlier more and more evident.

       Porthos stood up and went to the bed in two strides in spite of the pulsing pain in his numb thigh.

“Calm down Athos. Don’t worry, I will remove the cocker-spaniel from your bed. Aramis, get up, he is too hot with you in there.”

Why have I trouble breathing? I need water! My throat ...

       Aramis got up reluctantly and went to fetch a cup of water. Athos swallowed the whole content in one go, panting a little. Aramis filled the cup again and Athos emptied it at once.

“Woah, you know what Athos, you remind me of a thirsty labrador.” Porthos tried to joke half-heartedly. “Now, is it better?”

“Yes, thank you, Porthos.”

       A rasp at the door made the three men raise their head. The door slowly cracked open and d’Artagnan’s  head shyly showed itself.

“Speaking of puppies,” Aramis laughed .

       Porthos and Athos laughed. Yes, Athos laughed and it made d’Artagnan’s eye widen in surprise.

“I … I … came to see how you were feeling this morning …”

“I am better d’Artagnan, thank you, just a little feverish, nothing bad. I shall return to my duties this afternoon. Porthos and Aramis took good care of me.”

“Oh … I am … relieved … Yesterday, you seemed … you were ...”

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis interrupted, “Aren’t you needed elsewhere? I think that with three men missing, the captain will need your help.”

D’Artagnan startled not really understanding why Aramis wanted to dismiss him so quickly.

“No, please, come in d’Artagnan,” Athos said, glad to have his little brother with him for a moment.

       The four of them, laughing in the same room were moments he valued, even more when he wasn’t feeling well - and he wasn’t feeling well. He was still anxious, nervous and was beginning to feel restless. His throat hurt a lot but he wouldn’t tell Aramis.

       D’Artagnan crossed the threshold awkwardly, his arms crossed, hands under his arms in his favourite attitude.

“I … You … Are … I ...”

“Well, you are quite the orator, d’Artagnan,” Athos drawled, now sitting on the edge of his mattress, elbows on the knees, hands crossed.

“Says the one who mainly speaks with his eyebrows and these terrifying blue green eyes,”  Porthos laughed.

“Come and sit, d’Artagnan.” Athos encouraged the young man, patting the bed beside him.

       The silence stretched. Awkward.

“So, d’Artagnan, how was this morning? What is the news from the palace?” Aramis asked to alleviate the tense atmosphere.

Oh God, my head hurts …

       Athos was silent again. His head now in his hands. His fingers clutching at his curls.

“D’Artagnan,” Aramis tried again.

“Yes, sorry,” replied the young man who was anxiously staring at Athos. “Er … just … routine … you know … stables ... training … and the Captain has asked me to come and ask about Athos’ health … so …”

This boy is like a breath of fresh air. I shouldn’t think of him as a boy, but I can’t help. He doesn’t know how I need his presence now more than ever. Why? His candour is so refreshing, and his care so reassuring. Focusing on him makes the pains fade. I need some distraction. It’s good that d’Artagnan is here, now I can focus on him, it helps the pain to go away ...

“So you came and I am glad,”  Athos said in a low voice.

       And unexpectedly, he laid a hand on d’Artagnan’s forearm and squeezed. The young man blushed a little, stunned.

“Don’t be so worried!” Athos told him quietly.

D’Artagnan startled and raised his head to look straight into Athos’ eyes.

“I am not…”

“You are. Your thoughts are very noisy, you know that?” Athos smiled.

       D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow and his upper lip twitched in a perfect imitation of his mentor.

“Alright. But how are you? Really.”

“Really. Not very well but I am better than yesterday. It’s just a cold. I have a fever, a headache, my throat hurts, no need to be a qualified doctor to establish such a diagnosis.”

And my skin seems too small for my body, I am always craving for fresh water. I sometimes see things I shouldn’t see. And I feel, oh, so restless! I need some air. I need more air.

       Suddenly, after gripping d’Artagnan’s arm even harder, he stood up. He went to the window, running a shaky hand through his hair. D’Artagnan was about to follow him but Porthos stopped him.

“Let him be …” Porthos said in a hushed tone. And he added louder:

“So d’Artagnan, nothing funny or interesting at the garrison today?”

“Er … I …” D’Artagnan began, his eyes still fixed on the shivering back in front of the window. “Oh, yes, Alphonse knocked Mathieu out.”

“What?” Porthos cried. “But Alphonse is as strong as a bluebird and Mathieu is more like a percheron*. How did he manage to achieve such a prowess?”

“Mathieu was on all fours trying to find a coin he had lost in the courtyard and Alphonse accidentally dropped a bucket of water he was bringing to the stables, right on his head.”

       Porthos burst into laughter. Aramis, whose eyes hadn’t left Athos’ back during the whole exchange, noticed the hitch of the ill man’s shoulders at the loud noise.

“Thank you, d’Artagnan,” he said. “Now you should go and eat something. I assume that you are hungry and thirsty. Sorry, we only have fresh water in this room and you’ll want something stronger.” “I will go, thank you Aramis ... Athos, I wish you a fast recovery. I … we miss you. Oh, Aramis, I had forgotten, the Captain wants to see you. Now!”

“Alright, lead the way, I am coming.”

   D’Artagnan was about to leave but suddenly turned back.

“Er … Athos … I … brought you a little something … I stole it just under Serge’s nose … It’s a fresh pâté* … I …”  

       Athos didn’t look at him. He didn’t seem to have heard anything. So d’Artagnan left the small pastry wrapped in a white handkerchief on the table, sighed, and left the room quickly.

       Before leaving, Aramis took his coat and weapons and approached Athos.

“I will be back, my friend. Take it easy. You need to rest. We still don’t know what your illness is, so take care. Your body is fighting something, you mustn’t fight your body.” He murmured in his ear, his chin on the man’s left shoulder, a hand on his right clammy elbow.

       Athos nodded without turning around. Porthos sent Aramis an understanding and reassuring look. He would take care of Athos. Of course, he would. Maybe he wasn’t a Saint-Hubert rather a Saint-Bernard.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Earlier at the palace

        King Louis was pacing from one side of his large ball room to the other side. Back and forth, back and forth Tréville and Rochefort’ eyes following him.

For God’s sake , we are at the palace, not in a competition of Jeu de Paume 1 . When will they stop? 

“I don’t want to have him sitting next to me! And not in front of me!”

        Tréville couldn’t believe it. His urgent meeting with the King was about the seating arrangements during the feast at the summit! Of course he knew Louis and his extraordinary behaviour - especially after the Cardinal had died - but right now he was more focused on the health of his Lieutenant or the security arrangements for the party on Friday. Tréville was pulled out of his thinking. In a moment he would have to give his opinion on the choice of the desserts. Should they eat blanc-manger2 or macarons3? Insane!

“Captain, what would you propose? Where shall we sit the Duke of Savoy and his wife Christine Marie?” Rochefort asked, snappish.

“Oh yes Tréville, please tell us what you have in mind. Your ideas are always very helpful,” King Louis added.

        The Captain tried to look as neutral as possible, while inside he was fuming. His blue eyes scanned the whole ballroom. A long table occupied the space from one end of the room to the other, so long that its ends were reaching both sides of the room. Around him there was enough space to put in four more tables. He scanned the whole room again.

“Why don’t you advise your valets to make another arrangement. With several smaller tables. At each table we can sit six to eight people. This way you can mix the people, while you and the Queen can sit at an extra table on a higher podium. If I may, I will draw you a plan.”

“Excellent idea!” King Louis exclaimed. “This way everybody knows that I am still the most powerful man in the room and I don’t need to listen to all the lies my brother-in-law is going to tell me. I don’t want to listen to his stories about his hunting achievements.” Louis emphasised.

“See, Rochefort, I knew it would be a good idea to ask for a second opinion.”

“Of course, Sire!” With an evil grin Rochefort looked at Tréville.

“You will draw me this plan, Captain!” Louis smiled broadly. “Now, that we have solved this. We have to discuss about the security detail of our summit.”

        With curiosity the King looked around him.

“Is there something amiss?” Tréville asked.

“I was just thinking, I thought the Musketeer Athos would accompany you this morning. Where is he?”

        Tréville was taken aback, he knew exactly that the King could not understand if someone did not appear even if he had a cold. He tried to search for a diplomatic answer.

Rochefort was not helpful at all.

“Maybe he has overslept, your Majesty.”

“I doubt that one of my Musketeer would do this, Rochefort. Especially not our Musketeer Athos. He is always punctual and very accurate. So, where is he Tréville?”

“Your Majesty …” Treville cleared his throat. “The messenger from the palace only asked me to come this morning, but I am perfectly sure that we can discuss the security details with the help of Rochefort and I will inform him of the plans later.”

“Rochefort, I think you are the person we can rely on in these insecure times. I am very confident that with your help we will even have a much better security plan.”

“I am delighted to help, wherever I am needed, your Majesty.” He bowed with a smile.

“See, Tréville. This is an answer I prefer to hear. Come let’s go in my states room to discuss the important facts.”

        Tréville bowed his head slightly. Together with Rochefort they followed King Louis. Of course Rochefort used every single reason to criticise Athos but this bad talking about his Musketeer was unwelcomed this morning. Athos was right, Rochefort should have been left in his Spanish prison cell, forgotten. This man was pure evil and he had to deal with the fact that this man earned the trust of the King more and more every week.

        Treville missed Athos at his side. As he had said the day before, Athos had the ability to calm him, he had a natural talent for politics and knew how to act at the Court. He imagined how he now would have glanced at him. A small smirk on his face and rolling his eyes. He hoped that the King would forget about Athos soon so that his Lieutenant would  not have to deal with an unfair punishment.

        Suddenly he was well aware that he must be very cautious in front of the Captain of the Red Guards and he had to make sure that the Musketeers would cover the main part of the security in order to prove to the King that his Musketeers were the right men for such an important task.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Tréville came back around noon. He rode with his horse into the courtyard, pressed the reins into Jacques’ hands. Seeing d’Artagnan leaving the stables he shouted:

“Bring Aramis to my office, right now!”

        Without waiting for an answer, he hurried up the stairs to his office, entering it and closing his door angrily. He looked around in the chaos of his room. His table was covered in papers lying in a loose order everywhere. Usually Athos stored the papers he looked through in neatly ordered piles, but not this time. He needed to put them in order again later. He put his wet coat on the iron grid that parted his room into working space and bedroom. His wet hat ended on the small bed to the right side of his table.

        He sat down in his chair and started to massage his temples trying to get rid of a nasty headache that this stupid Rochefort’s high pitched voice had caused. He still could hear all the stupid ideas Rochefort had suggested to the King. Most of them had not worked and it had taken all his willpower and diplomatic skills to convince the King about others strategies and how to protect their noble guests. He had missed Athos by his side, he would have to return later that afternoon and he needed someone else with him. He doubted that Athos would be fit enough after what he had witnessed the other day.

        An idea crossed his mind, he would ask d’Artagnan to come with him. First he could help him with putting this mess into order and secondly the young Gascon was a good strategical thinker as well. Besides he knew Athos’ thinking and had learned some diplomatic tricks from him and most important of all, the King liked him. Not sure if it was still the case after the incident in the forest several weeks ago when King Louis had wanted to be a commoner and had ended up as a prisoner and the fact that d’Artagnan had refused to play the role of an executioner.

        Well, the King was very moody, at least he should give it a try. Maybe this way he could distract the King from wanting to see his Lieutenant but first he had to find out how Athos really was.

         A knock at the door interrupted his thinking.

“Come in!” He shouted with a gruff voice still mirroring his bad mood from the discussion at the palace. 

“You wanted to see me, Captain? I am sorry, I … we missed …” Aramis said.

        Tréville waved the medic with a simple smile to come into his room and didn’t listen to Aramis’ attempt of a justification.

“Take a seat, Aramis! I can guess why you have missed morning muster, so no excuses needed!”

        Aramis observed the chaos on Tréville’s usually neatly polished table, but said nothing. He could see that his Captain was still brooding over something.

“Thank you!” He sat down opposite to his commanding officer.

“So, how is he?” Concerned blue eyes met tired brown ones.

        He did not need to say who he meant with “he”.

Aramis sighed out loud:

 “I am afraid, Captain he is not much better than yesterday. I  think he is even worse. The rain and the competition yesterday have not really helped him. I think he has developed a severe cold. He is running a very high fever needing to be monitored all the time and …”

        Tréville listened alertly. His look slid over his desk and stopped at the whole chaos.

“I feared that he was worse … We sat down yesterday to discuss the security details for the summit at the end of next week, but Athos could not really focus or concentrate on the details. That’s not like him. I should have sent him to rest earlier …” He regretted out loud.

“Captain, I think it is his fever that makes him like this, right now. What he needs is lots of fluids. Lots of sleep and maybe ... tomorrow he will be better.”

        Tréville sighed inwardly there was no way, his Lieutenant would make it to the palace this afternoon. This was quite clear after Aramis’ description of Athos’ state of health.

“I wanted to ask you if Porthos, d’Artagnan and I, could take the rest of the day off, to take care of him. He is … how shall I put this … not hundred percent himself right now. The high fever confuses him and he seems to hallucinate. It would be better, if we could be with him in order to help him through this very unpleasant time for him.”

        Tréville smiled in sympathy at his medic. Of course, if one of the Inséparables was wounded the other three gathered around him and protected him as best as they could. He valued their protection and care for each other very much. Again his glance moved back to his table and he was reminded that he had to deal with a spoiled King, a nasty Rochefort and about one hundred guests who wanted to be part of the summit.

“As much as I appreciate your concern for Athos, I am afraid I can’t release you all from duty this afternoon. I will need a helping hand with this!” He pointed at the chaos of his table.

“Usually, Athos helps me to organise my paperwork so I can concentrate on the important aspects for the King. I could use a helping hand right now.” He cleared his throat. “The King even asked me about the whereabouts of Athos this morning. Can you believe that? Usually he forgets about the Musketeer’s doing palace guard and now, suddenly, he wants to have him around him. So I need a second Musketeer with me, otherwise he will want to see Athos.”

“Captain, in his state this would be impossible! I mean right now. He is in no condition to get up or even appear at the palace. He needs rest!” Aramis said forcefully.

“I know, Aramis! And I agree with you that my Lieutenant needs rest and a warm bed and caring friends around him. But I need someone with me to convince the King about our security concept. It would be good to have d’Artagnan with me. The King likes him at least I hope that he has forgiven him and d’Artagnan knows how Athos works and thinks.”

        Aramis nodded slowly.

“Was it that bad this morning?”

“Let’s say that Rochefort drives me crazy. He manipulates the King every time he opens his mouth.”

        Tréville looked angry.

“And the worst is that the King listens to every single idea of this jester, so having d’Artagnan around me, would help a lot. Do you think you can manage Athos alone. I mean with Porthos’ help?”

        Aramis stood up.

“I think we can handle him. I will look for d’Artagnan and tell him to see you, but first you should eat something!” He told his Captain.

“Same goes for you!” Tréville smiled at his medic.

“Make sure Athos gets enough rest. I will check on him tonight!”

        With that said, Aramis left the room and Tréville’s eyes followed him concerned. If Athos had a simple cold, he would have already stood in his room, asking where he could help. He had the dull feeling that his Lieutenant was developing something worse than a cold. He swore, angry that he could not check on him right now in person. But urgent matters needed his whole concentration.

Athos, get better soon, I need you!  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

Athos’ room

        A heavy silence settled in the dim room after the departure of d’Artagnan and Aramis. Athos was still staring at something outside. Or maybe at nothing. Porthos couldn’t tell. He didn’t dare to move fearing that his weight would make the floor creak scaring the nervous man who was still shuddering badly. So he called softly:

“Athos …”

        No movement, no sign of having been heard.

“Athos,” he tried again now moving carefully.

        Luckily, the floor didn’t utter a sound and Porthos could approach the man, slowly, carefully, making his presence known, leaving at least four feet between them.

“Athos, talk to me, please.”

I can’t Porthos. Please, don’t ask me anything for now. I need to breathe deeply. Why am I shaking like that? And my legs. It’s as if a colony of ants had decided to live in them. My God, this thought would make Porthos laugh out loud. I need to reassure him. Be brave, Athos! Fight these pains and fears, for him, for them, for you!

        Athos turned back abruptly making a stunned Porthos jump. The green eyes were darker, almost blue, bloodshot, and shone with unshed tears. Maybe it was from the fever, maybe not. Athos’ cheeks were still too red and his white eyelids made a painful contrast in this tired face. His eyelashes fluttered like long black feathers on the diaphanous skin. His pale lips couldn’t stop trembling.

“Sorry, Porthos.”

“Don’t do this to me again, Athos, you scared me, can I come beside you now?”

        He reached a hand in Athos’ direction as if Athos had been a terrified animal. Athos didn’t try to make a move towards the proffered hand but nodded sadly.

“Athos, what is it? You seemed so well.”

“I … don’t know … Sometimes I feel normal, sometimes everything becomes so … I don’t know how to say it, sorry.” He whispered.

“No need to be sorry. Are you cold? Can I touch you Athos? Please, I want to bring you a blanket.”  

“I won’t flee, you know.” He smiled sadly. “However, I don’t know if touching me right now is a good idea. I don’t want you to catch this flu or cold or whatever it is.”

“Oh, don’t worry, if I have to catch it, it’s already done,” said Porthos closing the gap between them and wrapping the thick blue blanket around his friend’s shoulders.

        Still unsure, he left his arm around the shivering back, Athos didn’t try to dodge it. A small victory. But the heat radiating from the man’s body worried Porthos and made him wish Aramis was there. And then Athos started to speak. A low rumble against Porthos’ side. The man didn’t dare to interrupt him but he knew they needed to sit down. Both of them needed it. But for now, the priority was Athos.

“This blanket … it was … it was one of her presents … She loved the colour … You know, the … sky … the … flowers … I ....”

        Athos stopped talking and turned towards Porthos. The latter removed his arm but took Athos’ elbow to steady him, looking at him questioningly.

“I … I need … I need to breathe. I want to go outside, please Porthos.”

        A violent shudder shook his fragile figure and Porthos had to tighten his grip.

“Alright, I don’t think Aramis will be happy to know about that, but we can forget to tell him. What do you think ?”

        Athos had become more and more agitated. Porthos wrapped his arm around him once again.

“I can walk by myself you know,” Athos articulated with evident difficulties, his voice more and more raspy.

“You can, but I can’t. Let’s say that you are my human crutch for the afternoon.”

        Athos pretended to believe this big lie and let Porthos lead him outside. As the fresh air entered his lungs, Athos felt like suffocating. But slowly he calmed down. Porthos tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder to make him feel safe. Athos tried to dislodge the heavy arm. As comforting as it was, he couldn’t bear the contact. The mere contact of his own clothes made him shiver violently. So Porthos just put a hand under his elbow, just in case. As Athos made his way towards the gates, Porthos steered him away.

“No, this way.”

“Oh? Al … alright. But why?” The exhausted man panted.

“There are too many people crossing this courtyard, if we sit for a moment in the cemetery, the occupants won’t disturb us, and the air smells better. No horse manure, no smoke from the smithy, no sweat,” Porthos tried to joke.

          Then he linked arms with Athos and as a lame couple they made their way to the back of the garrison.

         The place was quiet. As the sun tried to win its battle against the rain, a few birds began to voice their relief. The grass was soaked and they had difficulties finding dry spots where they could put their feet, but at last, they arrived under a large lime-tree shading, when the heat of summer burnt the place, an old stone covered in moss, maybe a vestige from an ancient building. They sat down on the stone. Athos immediately curled forward, wrapping his arms around himself. Porthos waited patiently. At last, Athos sat up and spoke:

“This blanket. I should have burnt it. As I should have burnt every mark of her time in my life. But I can’t Porthos, I just can’t. I am so sorry … I kept a few things. This blanket, it was a present. She loved this dark blue colour. I suppose she still loves it, even more when it’s set on a gold ring.”

        He snorted and stood up abruptly, dropping the blanket on the wet floor. Porthos just picked it up without taking his eyes from his friend’s slim figure. He didn’t dare to interrupt. He watched as Athos began to pace without even trying to avoid the muddy puddles. His anxiety seemed to increase and Porthos was about to stand up and ask him to go back into his room. But he also knew that the man needed fresh air, needed not to feel like a prisoner in his own room as he was already a prisoner in his own body.

“I… when I saw her … you know … I was the heir of this estate and my life had always been planned, but when I saw her, it was like …”

        He stopped and looked up at the sky.

“It was like that. Like a sunray breaking through heavy dark grey clouds. She was a sunray. I had never seen something so bright. Her eyes … You know … Her expression … She was … I … She wore a blue dress … and a plain brown hooded cloak … She … I … She loved these awful blue flowers. I don’t know why, they don’t even smell good. When she came across me in this dusty marketplace, I knew that she would be the sun in my sky. I thought, but she was a storm not a sunlight, she … but I … I still … I can’t … Why can’t I …? Please … Tell me … Christ! ... I can’t … why?” He stammered.

        He began to pant, trying to catch his breath, shaking like the lime-tree’s leaves in the wind. Porthos stood up and came to his side. Stopping him in his pacing, he silently put a hand on his chest. Athos just lowered his head and stared at the hand. Frozen. Under his palm, Porthos felt the strong, fast and uneven heartbeat.

“Athos,” he tried, “Please, you need to calm down!”  Porthos tried, worried to hear his friend spill out such a stream of words. It was the the first time in six years.

        Athos backed up under his touch, stumbling over the uneven and muddy earth until his heels hit an old stele, a tree root. Unexpectedly, he laughed. The laugh became mad. He couldn’t stop. Tears welled up in his tired eyes. Porthos couldn’t decide if it was because of this sudden and incomprehensible and crazy mirth or because the man had begun to lose his mind.

“Athos?” Porthos pleaded again.

“See, there is always something to block my path and as you see, it’s death. Death is following me, everywhere ...”

        Terrified, he looked at something above his friend’s shoulder. Porthos turned around but couldn’t see anything, just the weeds swaying softly.

“Athos, don’t do that to me, please, look at me. “

“She is there.”

        He pointed at something with a trembling finger. Porthos turned around again.

“Athos, you scare me, there is nothing over there.”

        Porthos began to doubt his own sanity.

“She is there, I can feel her … She smells so good, don’t you think? ... Why don’t you answer, do you hate her? I know you hate her.”

        And without warning, Athos suddenly seized the lapels of Porthos’ jacket, and driven by an incomprehensible strength, he pushed him back. Porthos stumbled on the muddy grass until his back hit the bark of the tree. He didn’t try to fight his mad friend. If he had fought back, he would have broken him like a twig. So he let him expel his rage and sorrow that way.

        Athos’ face was an inch away from Porthos’. The latter could smell the sour breath of the ill man and the rage suddenly vanished as it had come. Athos’ face crumpled and, loosing his hold on Porthos’ jacket, he suddenly fell forward. His forehead hit his friend’s chest. Porthos who had helplessly opened his arms wide, slowly and gently closed them around his friend’s trembling body while he wept inconsolably like a terrified child.

“Athos, my friend,” he whispered “Calm down, shhh ..., you will be fine, it’s the fever talking, don’t worry, I am here …”

        He continued his litany until the body in his arms went limp. He accompanied him as he crumbled down on the floor. He didn’t let go of the burning body, tightening his grip and looking around him helplessly. Why had he decided to come here where no one could see them?

        The pain in his thigh became almost unbearable as he laid his unconscious friend on his lap, waiting for a possible help. He reached for the blanket and covered them both with it. It was raining again, just a drizzle but enough to make him shiver under the dripping leaves.

        He waited anxiously. And at last, a figure appeared behind the corner of a wall. He shouted:

“Joseph, come here. We need your help!”

    The young man approached them with a shy and almost scared expression.

“Go and fetch Aramis, now!”

    The young cadet turned back immediately and ran.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Saturday evening

        Aramis had begun his watch over his bedridden friend, he was deep in thought, thinking about what had occurred earlier. It had been a frightening picture, seeing Porthos sitting on the wet floor in the garrison’s graveyard, holding their sick brother to his chest in a firm grip. Athos was unconscious and Porthos’ injury had not allowed him to carry him back to his room. Of course, it had been a stupid idea to go outside with their patient and now the rain had soaked the Lieutenant’s clothes. One look at Porthos’ face had told him everything. There would be no apologies, no explanation why they had decided to go outside. Aramis knew how stubborn Athos could be and he knew that Porthos felt guilty.

        Together they had managed to bring the helpless form of their sick friend back into his bed. A knock at the door startled Aramis. He was sitting on a chair next to Athos’ bed and he had laid his hand on Athos’ shoulder to reassure him. The man was sleeping restlessly. He turned his face to the door, as his Captain entered quietly. Slowly Aramis stood up, stretched himself and went to the door, where Tréville had standing. The Captain could see the state of weakness of his Lieutenant, the reddish face, the agitated sleep and the unsettled breathing. Aramis approached him.

“He is sleeping for now. But we try to wake him every hour to give him some tea in order to lower his fever.” He whispered.

“Go, rest and eat something, Aramis. You look tired and he will need you rested.”

“I have sent Porthos and d’Artagnan to eat and rest. They will be back in an hour, then I can go! We mustn’t leave him alone.”

“I can stay with him, Aramis. If he wakes up, I will help him drink some tea!” Tréville said softly but certain.

        Aramis hesitated.      

“Go, that’s an order!” Tréville encouraged him. “It is not the first ill soldier I have seen and I can help with his care! Go, now!”

        With a look back at sick friend, Aramis left the room. Relieved that he could find some needed rest for an hour. Tréville approached Athos’ bed. Before sitting down, he observed the patient more closely. Athos’ eyes were closed, sweat was beading on his temples and his thick light auburn hair was plastered on his forehead. The scratch on his cheek from collapsing in the courtyard the day before was still there. His eyes looked swollen, as if he had cried. Very untypical of his swordsman. His mouth was half open and he had trouble breathing evenly. The rest of his Lieutenant’s body was neatly tucked under a warm blanket. Tréville, in order not to wake his officer, sat quietly next to him on the chair Aramis had left only three minutes ago. Slowly, but softly, he started to wipe Athos’ face with a wet cloth.

Oh, Athos, how I wish I could help you! How I wish I could know what this illness is. Now I am not sure anymore that it’s a simple cold. But for God Sake, what is it?

        Athos became agitated in his sleep. He moved anxiously as if he had a bad dream.

“Easy Athos, easy! Try to relax. You are safe!”

        Tréville wasn’t sure why he had just used these words, but they seemed to work and the ill man relaxed a little. Tréville began to relax as well, while watching him sleep more peacefully. He thought of his crazy day at the palace. The talk in the morning with the King, d’Artagnan’s help with the papers and, later that day, another boring meeting with the King and Rochefort. He was glad that this time the King had already forgotten about Athos whereabouts and d’Artagnan had helped him several times with ideas, on how to secure the first meeting on Monday, which King Louis had accepted even as Rochefort started to talk against it.

“You have to listen to this young man, Rochefort. He is very experienced and he knows how to protect an area.”

        Finally they had finished their first meeting and both of them had returned to the garrison. D’Artagnan had spotted Porthos and went to join him for dinner and Tréville had hurried back to his office and was now sitting next to Athos.

Oh Athos, you would have been proud of our young Gascon. Rochefort tried to provoke him several times and every time, either he ignored it or he gave a witty answer, that made the King laugh. He is a natural leader. Such as …

        He was interrupted in his thoughts by a loud groan. With a start Athos had woken up. He was shaking and his chest must have started to hurt again. Obviously puzzled, he tried to rub the pain  away with his shaking hand. Another moan escaped his mouth as his breath became erratic mirroring the furious heartbeats pounding in his chest.

“Easy, easy, Athos!”

        Groggily and a bit irritated Athos opened his feverish eyes.

“What is it Athos, where does it hurt?” Captain Tréville asked him worriedly.

“Ca  .. pta … in” Athos slurred. He had troubles speaking. “What …?” He began and Tréville completed his question by answering him:

“I wanted to check on you.”

        The pain in Athos’ chest had vanished again and he relaxed a little.

“I am sorryyyy … Th … aa  tt …”

“Shhh, Athos, no need to be sorry. Each of us can be ill from time to time. Are you thirsty? Aramis added some honey in this tea to ease your throat ...”

        Athos nodded exhausted.

“Come on, I will help you!”

        Tréville stood up, came behind his officer and before Athos could stop it, he had pulled him in an upright position and put two more pillows at his back. Athos felt somewhat ashamed, but he was too spent to fight against the help of his Captain. On the contrary, he suddenly felt very comfortable and grateful for Tréville’s presence and caring help.

“Do you think you can manage to hold the cup on your own?” Tréville asked slowly, to give his Lieutenant a bit of his pride back.

“I will try!” Athos said very softly.

        Carefully he gave the cup to Athos who managed a few gulps, but stopped soon. His throat was on fire.

“What is it?” Tréville asked irritated as Athos wanted to give him the cup back. “Too hot?”

“No ... But my throat hurts.”

“Try to drink a little more!” He encouraged Athos. “Aramis says it is important for you to drink more.”

“Where is Aramis?”

        Athos felt a bit ashamed of not having asked earlier. He and Porthos had looked after him all day long.

“I have sent him to eat and rest a bit. He will be back in half an hour.”

“Can I have some water instead? Athos pleaded.

        Tréville looked around. He found a cup and filled it with fresh water. Athos drank the whole cup. Tréville noticed that his officer was in pain but had followed the Captain’s order and managed to drink all the water.

“How are you Athos? And I want the whole story and not the version you gave Aramis yesterday, before the tournament: Your “ I am fine !, does not work with me!”

        Athos sighed. How was he? He slowly checked his body. Tréville already thought that he would not give him an answer, but Athos started slowly:

“I have a head … ache, my throat hu … rtttsss, and I think I have a fev … er.” Athos managed. “And I think … I … am …. loo .. si … g …. my … mind.” He panted. “I can’t concen … trate, I am forg … etting … things …”

        Suddenly Athos’ eyes welled up with tears and he started to weep soundlessly. He tried to hide his feelings, but he failed. Tréville, slightly taken aback by the emotional outburst of his Lieutenant, gathered himself very fast.

“Shhh, Athos. It’s alright. No need to hide your tears. You don’t feel well, right now, but you will! Promise. Maybe you have caught the flu. It will take you a while to be better again, but you will be alright soon.”

        Athos’ whole body started to shake as he cried more and more.

“I want it to stop. I want to feel better again, but …”

“You will, Athos, you will. Give it time!”

“I am so sorry, Cap …!”

“Don’t be, Athos. Everything will be fine again. Promise!”

        Tréville smiled at Athos and made sure that the Lieutenant made eye contact with him. Athos’ eyes began to droop and the fatigue conquered his body.

“Don’t lea … ve me alone, pl … se!” He slurred as his right hand reached for Tréville’s.

        Tréville pressed his fingers gently and kept them in his hand, while Athos lost his fight to stay awake. As exhaustion won out over his body, finally, his hand fell weakly beside him and he loosened the grip he had on Tréville’s hand. The Captain stood up, lifted Athos’ head cautiously and removed the pillows. Then he laid him back. Softly, he pressed Athos’ right hand again before putting it under the warm blanket. He smoothed the blanket and let his hand rest on Athos’ right shoulder.

“No worries, I will not leave you.” He softly said into Athos’ right ear.

        Rarely had he seen his Lieutenant that emotional. And it took all of Tréville’s willpower to stay calm. He desperately wanted to punch something right now. It was not fair seeing Athos suffering like that. Hadn’t this man endured enough already? The loss of his brother, the loss of his wife, who somehow had come back and sown trouble and death in her wake. The loss of his title as a Comte, which he had left behind as he came to Paris …

        Helplessly he looked at the weak form of the patient lying next to him and he started to pray that his fine and competent soldier would soon be on the mend. He waited until Aramis came back later. Then, he slowly made his way back to his own quarters appalled about Athos’ state of health.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Sunday, 1st of June

Athos’ room

        Aramis tried to stifle a yawn. He  rose from his chair. It was early morning, still dark outside, and he had barely slept the last two nights. His natural high spirits were gone, instead his hazelnut brown eyes showed sorrow. His back to his ill brother, for the first time in hours, he was staring at the courtyard through the dirty glass of the half-open window. Life was slowly returning outside. Sleepy musketeers were gathering below the balcony, trying to  avoid the big muddy puddles created in the dirt by the last rains. The pale rosy light of this sad dawn was trying to make its way through heavy slate grey clouds. “Another rainy day” , Aramis mused. He sighed and raised his head. He stretched his stiff neck and righted his hair and moustache as a matter of habit!

“ How is he?”

        Tréville had entered the room as quietly as possible and Aramis looked up in surprise. In the dim light that a nearly burned down candle was providing, Aramis could see the exhaustion and worry in his Captain’s eyes. He sat down again taking Athos’ limp right hand in his . It felt hot, much too hot, like the rest of Athos’ body.

“His fever has increased tonight,” he sighed. “And he had this horrible nightmare about Rochefort again.”

“ How can I help?” Tréville whispered.

“ If he isn’t better in the next few hours, I would like you to send for Doctor Lemay, Captain!”

        Tréville raised an eyebrow. Aramis had usually enough knowledge to treat a cold.

“I have tried several herbs, have given him a lot of tea to drink, but nothing seems to work or help to break the fever. So, I guess, another opinion wouldn’t hurt!”

        Aramis stood up from his chair and walked a few steps in the room, stretching himself. His look went back to Athos who was still in a restless sleep, breath uneven. Aramis fetched a wet cloth, moved back to the bed and started to gently wipe away the sweat on his brother’s face. For a moment he studied the closed eyes of his friend then he touched lightly his clammy shoulder, turned around to Tréville and sucked in a deep breath.      

“I guess I need some fresh air, to gather my own strength. In the meantime can you please stay with him, I need to eat something. And I want to ask Serge if he still has some warm broth. He shouldn’t be alone if he wakes up. Maybe he will want something to drink again and right now he is too weak to even hold a cup.”

“Sure!”

        Tréville moved to the unoccupied chair and sat down slowly as Aramis left the room. The Captain checked his ill Musketeer. The blanket which should keep him warm had slid away from his upper chest and Tréville rose to put it up again. Aramis would have done that, if the medic hadn’t been overtired. The sweat had returned to the face of the sleeping patient. And the Captain did not mind at all taking care of one of his best soldiers. He gently wiped the new sweat away.

“Come on son, fight this, it’s about time for you to wake up!” He said quietly, more to himself than to the unresponsive patient, who was now still sleeping restlessly.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Outside, Aramis was greeted by thick drops. The horrible rain had brought his brother  to this situation. It had started three days ago. He should have told Athos to take it easy after he had seen the first signs of a cold on his face two days ago. But “wait” , he had told him. Aramis sighed. He was too tired. He knew that he couldn’t change another person, and he knew his brother too well. A little cold -as he had expressed it two days ago-, would not have kept him in his quarters and for sure he wouldn’t take it easy for the rest of the week.

“Oh, one day your stubbornness will get you killed!” Aramis said aloud to himself with a pang of sorrow.

        But he truly hoped that it wouldn’t be this time. With a prayer he sent to God by touching his precious crucifix, he made it to the kitchen to find Serge and ask for some broth for Athos and some bread and cheese for himself. Because he had noticed that he was starving.

        Just as he went  to open the door, d’Artagnan came out. They nearly collided.

“How is he?”

        The young Gascon was as much concerned as the rest of them all. Aramis could see that in the look d’Artagnan gave him at this moment. His big brown eyes were wide, questioning …

“Still not better! I hope that some broth can help to lower his fever.”

“I can go to Serge and ask him for some broth!” D’Artagnan offered.

        They all had slept little in the past few days, but at least d’Artagnan had slept more than Aramis. They had decided to take turns and so d’Artagnan and Porthos were more than once thrown out of the patient’s room in order to get some rest and sleep for themselves. Aramis had pointed out to them, that he did not want to cure two more stubborn and ill Musketeers. One was already enough! They had listened to him, knowing very well that Aramis would not listen to his own advice.

        A weak smile formed itself on Aramis’ lips and he said:

 “Please, go ahead, just make sure that the broth has been boiled really hot and give it in small amounts to our dear patient. He is not awake right now, so I guess we should wait about half an hour and let him rest a little longer, before we wake him to give him the broth. In the meantime, I will try to eat something. We will all need strength.”

“Don’t worry I had an excellent medic as a teacher!” D’Artagnan shouted back over his shoulder before he returned in a hurry in the direction he had just come from.

        Aramis only shook his head shortly before following his comrade.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

He is alone. Alone to watch this part of the castle where they have been assigned during the visit of a few members of the young Queen Anne’s family. They haven’t been allowed to stay together. Why? Athos wonders. Tréville has assigned a group of twenty-five musketeers to this stupid and boring mission by orders of Richelieu. It should be enough to keep watch in front of each room of these noblemen and women, and even in front of each of their horse boxes. Ridiculous.

He is alone. Alone at the end of this long corridor. So long. So alone. He misses them. Why?

He is alone. He doesn't even know why he must stay here rather than in front of the huge pale green door closing the apartments of the young Ana-Josefa. A lovely seventeen-year-old little porcelain doll with black ringlets and dark sapphire eyes.

He is alone. He is sweating under his leathers. It’s so hot in that long corridor. He can’t keep his eyes open … And … In the silence … footsteps… but he is alone in this long corridor. He must have dreamt.

He is alone. And it’s so hot in this corridor. The floor shines. It’s a river of hot honey. Athos’ feet burn in his boots and he is alone. Suddenly … a scream … He turns back, staring at the pale green door. How can that happen? He runs, runs, runs on the shiny floor. He runs, runs, she screams, screams ...

He is alone. So alone ...

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Back from the kitchen, d’Artagnan slowly pushed the door of Athos’ room. Carefully he carried the hot broth. The hot earthenware of the pot was burning his hands. He realised that he had held his breath since he had put a foot into the room. Anxious at what he would find. At how his big brother would be. In the room the air was sticky and he wasn’t sure if he would be allowed to open the window.

He tried to breathe properly and to be as quiet as possible. Tréville nodded to him silently. D’Artagnan waited in a respectful distance. He had hoped that his mentor would have been better by now, but the early dim morninglight -due to the rain- that now came through the window, let him see the opposite picture. Athos’ face was still reddish. His usual light complexion had changed due to the high fever. He was sleeping, his eyes closed, and his breathing not regular enough. D’Artagnan was shocked. He felt tears well up in his eyes and wiped them angrily. He had to be strong. Athos needed him to be strong. “But it’s only a cold or at worst a flu, he will fight it.” He told himself.

        His mentor and guide, who always managed to not show too many feelings, started to be agitated, thrashing his head from side to side and tried to rip his blanket from the bed.  Tréville stood up and tried to calm him putting the feverish hands under the blanket again.

“Calm down, Athos! Calm! ... d’Artagnan, put that damn pot on the table and help me!”  

        D’Artagnan was frozen, still a foot away from the door, unable to move. As his shocked mind started to realise that he had to help his Captain, suddenly, without warning, Athos woke up, eyes wide and sat up, screaming:

“Believe me, I will kill you. Your days are numbered!”

        D’Artagnan jumped and watched helplessly as three things happened at the same time before his amazed eyes.

        Athos gripped Tréville’s neck and squeezed it with his long fingers, knuckles white with his efforts to destroy his enemy.

        D’Artagnan dropped the bowl which crushed on the floor spreading his greasy content on the dusty tiles.

        The door swung open and Porthos came in.

        After only half a second of hesitation - the moment it took him to register the terrifying scene- the big man pushed the unmoving d’Artagnan away to throw himself onto the bed.

“Athos! Please, stop that!” Tréville shouted already suffocating. “Wake up! I don’t want to hurt you!”

        He gripped the other man’s wrists. But Athos wouldn’t let him go. A furious, mad haunted look blackened, his feverish shining eyes. He tightened his hold, sweating, panting …

Why are you here? Don’t touch me, you devilish creature! I am not afraid of you. Why are you here? You won’t finish me. You tried, oh, how often you tried to destroy me! But you couldn’t and now, you are back to finish your dirty work … You will die ...

        The former Comte felt an intense pain in his chest. As if Porthos had hit him several times with his strong fists. He could hear the throbbing of his heart in his ears.

        Boom, boom, boom ….

        Much too fast. The pain was horrible.

“You will die. You deserve to die!” He shouted, leaning forward a little more.

Haven’t you already sown enough death on your road? You need one more …?  I won’t let it happen … Ah, you are struggling under my hand … Surrender…  My God, you are not human … this figure … These bright cruel pale eyes … Why are you here again …? I will kill you before you hurt anyone else … You won’t kill my brothers … My fingers hurt, I can feel your weakening pulse under my palm … Your dark blood will soon stop feeding your heinous heart … I will help you to meet your creator, God or Devil … Devil … Devil ...

        Angrily throwing away the pillows, Porthos slid behind Athos and encircled his waist with his strong arms as Tréville’s face began to darken. He laid his head against Athos’ temple, murmuring reassuring words in his ear. Then he began to gently move his hands, in an almost caressing way, up Athos’ side then down his arms. He seized his wrists where Tréville’s fingers had begun to lose their strength. Tanned long fingers against white thin wrists, he continued his calming whispering …    

“Easy, easy, woah, come on Athos, it’s us. You are safe.”

        D’Artagnan had his back against the far wall of the room, next to the door. Arms crossed on his chest, hands tucked under his armpits, staring at the scene. His face was that of a terrified child. He could hear some of Porthos’ words, his voice softly rumbling, almost purring.

“Athos, stop it, it’s a dream, just a dream. This is not real. Calm down. Listen to my voice, let him go, my friend … Remember … It’s your Captain … Listen to me … Breathe with me … Shh … Open your eyes, let go ...”

Wh … wat …? You are not alone … God, someone is helping you … I can’t let go … But that voice … I can’t help but listen to that soft thunder at my back… But no… I must fight … I must destroy you … Even this voice will be broken by your hate … I can’t let this happen … I know that voice … I want to lean into its comfort … But I can’t … I mustn’t … Must finish my work … Oh God, it’s so painful … I … You …

        Tréville was still weakly fighting to pry open the claws-like fingers. He was panting and his eyes were becoming bloodshot.

Helpless, Porthos swore out loud. This wasn’t good. Not at all.

“I am sorry Athos.”

        With an angry cry he clenched his fingers into a fist and hit his brother. Athos went limp. His head fell down on Tréville’s chest. Finally his hands loosened the strong grip around Tréville’s neck, arms limp.

        Tréville stumbled back, extricating himself from under his Lieutenant’s now unresponsive body, and ended up on the floor. Backside first, legs following. If it hadn’t been such a serious situation, Porthos would have laughed out loud. Instead he had tears in his eyes, which he tried to blink away, and he was busy laying Athos’ head back onto the soft, but soaked pillow. He gently massaged the spot where his fist had just hit his brother and then, looking for the cloth, he dunked it in the basin and pressed it to his brother’s temple.

“Guess we have to find him a new pillow.” Porthos said in a monotone voice. Not s ure of what had just happened and still in shock that he had to hurt his friend.

        Gasping for air, Tréville tried to speak.

“What … the hell. What is ... is ... t … is?”

        He was seized by cough. Turning towards d’Artagnan, Porthos told the scared young man:

“Pull yourself together, lad, go and fetch Aramis, NOW!”

“But … I … I can …” D’Artagnan began, in a trembling low voice, moving towards the bed, slightly slipping on the dirty floor.

“NOW! I can manage… for now! GO!”

Why? Why does he ask my little brother to leave. What has he done? No, I want him there … But he must have done something wrong … He is so hot headed … But what has he done? I can’t remember. Oh, no! What is it? My … mind … seems so … empty… Everything hurts … What did I just think? I can’t remember. It’s like walking in a dark corridor. My mind becomes blank and suddenly I am overwhelmed by memories and feelings and oh, so  much  pain … then … it is blank again. I should try to open my eyes … I … must be sleeping … Alright, I try … What’s the matter with me? I can only see the ceiling but it’s moving … like a wheel … The ceiling is turning like the wheel of a carriage … I can’t see the walls or the window … Where is the light …? Everything is dark around, as if I was wearing horse blinkers … my world is shrinking ... What’s the matter…? My chest is so clenched around my heart … Please, make this pain go away … I … I…

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Half an hour earlier, in the garrison mess…

         When Porthos emerged from his room eager to find something to eat, eyes still half closed and a little bleary from not enough sleep, he was surprised to find Aramis hunched over a table in the farthest corner of the mess. He usually withdrew that way in order to read his small leather bound Bible between meals and duties, but this wasn’t right, not today, as he should have already been in medic mode, Porthos thought. The man noticed, as he approached the table, that a plate filled with cheese, brown bread and two apples, was waiting for Aramis to break the fast of this short night.

“Aramis?” Porthos, called, voice low.

Aramis had his head in his hands, fingers clutching tightly at his dark curls.

“Aramis,” Porthos tried again, stepping forward.

        No reaction. What was the matter? Had he fallen ill as well and caught that nasty cold from Athos? Porthos became anxious and put a tentative hand on Aramis’ bent shoulder. The man jumped violently, as if he had been awoken by his friend’s gentle gesture. Porthos sat down beside him, his hand back on the man’s shoulder.

“Aramis, what’s the matter?

“... Don’t know… Sorry… I… I…,” He bleated in the voice of a child caught in a guilty act.

“Aramis, calm down, I just want to know how you feel?”

“Me, how I feel ?   Why are you asking?”

“Don’t know. You’re here, alone, and this plate begs to be emptied.”

“Feel free to help with that,” Aramis replied mournfully, shrugging to dislodge Porthos’ hand.

         He sighed, tugged at his long hair and suddenly, he raised his head and looked straight into Porthos’ eyes.

“I am scared, Porthos.”  

Porthos moved his chair closer, his comforting hand now on Aramis’ forearm.

“Hey, Aramis, don’t do that, please.”

“But, I…”

“You nothing, you’re tired, we’re all  tired and we aren’t used to seeing Athos like this, but he will be fine. You will see.”

“There’s something unusual, that I can’t put my finger on it. It’s like a foreboding.” Aramis grumbled .

“I can give a name to your foreboding, it’s exhaustion, so now, eat, drink, drink water I mean, and sleep for half an hour, and that’s an order!”

“Since when do you give me orders?”

“Since you are not yourself. In a minute you  will tell me that Athos has been bewitched. So, yes, I am giving you orders because I need my sensible friend back, is that clear?”

“Noted”, Aramis nodded dutifully reaching for his waiting plate.

        Before leaving, Porthos stole a slice of bread, laughing. His smile soon fade as he walked towards Athos’ room.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Later…

        Aramis could hear Tréville’s and Porthos’ voices at the far end of the corridor leading to Athos’ room. Something was wrong, very wrong, both men seemed to be in some  kind of stress otherwise they would not have started shouting like that and only one reason could be the cause of their agitation. Athos’ state must be worse. Aramis quickened his pace and started running, followed by a still breathless Gascon, who had filled him in about what had occurred earlier. Athos hallucinating was not a good sign, this meant that he was still in the grip of a very high fever. That stupid, horrible cold. They both reached the door and opened it without knocking. The scene they witnessed made d'Artagnan gasp, while Aramis hurried next to his bedridden friend. Athos was lying in his bed and shaking horribly. The convulsions running through his body shook every single extremity. His body arched in an impossible posture and his head was tossing  from right to left and back. His arms and hands were shaking uncontrollably and his body was trembling. His jaws were squeezed so tight that d’Artagnan, watching the scene in a state of trance, stupidly and uselessly thought that he would break his teeth. Athos’s eyes were rolling back, more white than iris visible. Tréville shouted at Porthos to hold Athos’ legs still, while he tried to keep his upper body on the bed.

“Come on, Athos stop it. Dammit, you’ll  only hurt yourself!” Tréville shouted in an anxious tone.

Why are they hurting me? Who are they? Leave me alone… Why don’t they allow me to sleep…? I don’t want to leave… Why are they restraining me?  I just want to sleep… No need to tie me onto the bed… My head… my head… The captain… he is angry… what have I done? My world is narrowing… The ceiling…. I can’t see it… Please, let me go and bring me some light…  

        Aramis laid a hand on the back of his Captain and stepped beside him.

“The fever is causing this seizure.”

        He ran a hand through his dark hair. A look into Porthos’ eyes told him everything. His best friend was pleading with his dark eyes to ease the pain of their brother. Together, they tried to calm Athos, Tréville gripping his right ankle, Porthos his left, and Aramis, now sitting at the bedhead behind Athos, both hands on his shoulder, murmuring comforting and pleading words into his ear. Nothing seemed to work, Athos seemed to fight them and fight his own body even more. Thick tears were rolling down  his cheeks now, and his face already flushed, was bearing a strange dark-red tinge, leaving only the eye contours in a scary translucent white. A trickle of saliva passed through his clenched jaws. Aramis felt a shiver running up his spine when he noticed some pink in this saliva… Blood , he mused. Hopefully, Athos had only bitten his tongue, but Aramis couldn’t help but think of something worse.  

“Captain, can you please send for Dr. Lemay? We need a second opinion about what we can give Athos to break his fever. Maybe he knows some herbs we can give him.”

“Easy Athos, easy … ” Porthos soothed from behind him.

“Stop it, you are hurting him!”  Their youngest brother suddenly cried.

        The three older men stood up as one. Porthos a little more slowly,  gripping his thigh and trying not to wince. It wasn’t the time or the place but this wound was still painful.  D’Artagnan’s voice had been more commanding than they had ever heard it. Now, the young man was looking at them sheepishly thinking:

I could tell you why I know what to do, as this memory will never leave my mind. One day, when all is over, I will tell you. I will tell you how Basile was trying to climb onto the neighbour’s orchard wall to steal his plums. He was a little younger than me and I should have helped him but I only laughed at his repeated failures. I will tell you how children are sometimes cruel. I will tell you how he tried one last time, and suddenly fell. I thought he had fallen because of one of the unsteady stones of the old wall, but when I came to him, I realised that it wasn’t that… I will tell you how I didn’t know what to do… How I felt so useless, terrified and how I felt so... young. I will tell you how I stared helplessly as my friend’s body arched and went so tense that I thought it would break like a twig. I will tell you how I saw, through my tears, his jaws clenching, his saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. I will tell you how I suddenly ran away from him, towards his father’s farm. It was not cowardice, I had told myself, just the need to find someone to help. Then everything  happened so quickly. Adults were comforting me, explaining to me how to react in such a case, saying the words “haut mal*”, carrying Basile to his bed where he  slept for two days. I will tell you how I was afraid of him because he had bitten his tongue and his speech had been slurred for days… I will tell you how it happened many times, how I knew from this day on what to do… But I WON’T TELL YOU how it ended… Because I mustn’t, because it’s too hard to think of Athos having the same fate… Because Athos is not a child, Athos is strong and he mustn’t leave me as everybody left me...

“Please…” He said in a hushed pleading tone, blinking back tears. “I know how it works. Let me do this. Just, you must know that there is nothing you can do, just wait.”

“But…”  Aramis tried.

“He is suffering”, Porthos added.

“Yes, but we can’t help him right  now.”

        That said, he approached the fighting body. He crouched at the head of the bed, his lips just a few millimeters away from Athos’ left ear. And he began to speak in a language Tréville recognised as Gascon, he began to talk to Athos. A prayer-like litany, spoken in his warm hushed voice, the sound reminding the listeners of a stream over pebbles. He didn’t touch the man, as if not to frighten him, but he had put his left hand above his head on the pillow… Not touching but almost, just to make the other man feel his presence.

A voice… Not an angry one this time, are they not angry anymore? Did I do well…? This voice… My little brother… He came back… They forgave him… What did they have to forgive…? I can’t remember… I have to bask in the warmth of this voice. I must… It doesn’t hurt my head…It’s like a purring…  It takes the fear away, it takes the darkness away, it takes the shadows away… I can’t remember… I want to sleep so badly… I feel something in my mouth… blood… it tastes like blood… Why? Am I hurt? I can’t remember… I want to sleep… There is warmth above my head… Someone is whispering in my ear… I can’t understand the words… Am I dreaming…?  The pain is decreasing… I want to sleep… Hush, my brother, I must sleep now… No, don’t stop… I need… I want… I…   

        D’Artagnan heard a scratching noise and an unsteady breath behind him. Porthos had sat down and without seeing the big man, d'Artagnan could feel his emotions. He knew that the giant was the most emotional of them all, but it was not the only reason. The young man remembered the trial of the last days. Porthos had been badly wounded and hadn’t shown his pain… As he was speaking and thinking, he almost missed a change in Athos’ state. He seemed less tense, and his head had rolled a little towards d’Artagnan, as if in his unconscious state, Athos was trying to locate the young man. As if he was the only thing that could bring him back to life, the rope that could take him out of these cold dark waters. Suddenly, the seizure stopped and his arched body fell back onto the mattress, limp, and under the amazed gazes of the four other men, Athos fell asleep, even snoring softly.

        A few seconds later, or minutes, he couldn't tell, Aramis slowly stood up from the trunk where he had sat down exhausted and he quietly approached the two men, mindful not to make too much noise. He crouched beside d’Artagnan and cupped Athos’ cheek with a trembling hand. Athos’ eyes were half opened, Aramis could see watery green eyes. He was awake.

“Welcome back.” He greeted softly, while d'Artagnan continued whispering words that Aramis couldn’t understand.

Athos wanted to speak but his throat was too dry and all he could manage was:

“Hu.. r.. ss”.

“I know my friend, I know. Don’t try to speak, I will give you some water.”

He looked for the cup, but Porthos was already holding it in his hand. D’Artagnan gently raised his mentor’s head and Porthos held the cup to his lips.

“Easy, only a few sips ... That’s good … ” Aramis encouraged the swordsman.

        After three sips Athos turned his head away. His throat hurt like fire.

“ … mis … huzz” he murmured.

        He closed his eyes again.

“Where does it hurt, Athos? Can you tell me? We want to help you, but we need to know where the pain is.”

        Athos tried to breathe in, but was shaken by a cough. Aramis gestured to Porthos and d'Artagnan to help Athos sit upright. Tréville fetched a few more pillows and together they sat the sick man up in his bed, the cough stopped. Athos whispered:

“My throat …. sto…..”

        With his right hand which was still slightly shaking he pointed at his belly.

“Your stomach hurts …  Hmm … Any other pain?”

        Athos squeezed his eyes shut, another cough wracked his body.

“My h... ead.”

        Aramis laid a refreshing hand on Athos’ still burning forehead.

“Rest my friend, try to sleep a little. I will make a pain potion with willow bark. That should help you to ease the pain and reduce the fever. We will wake you in a moment. For now try to sleep.”

“Willow bark?” Tréville asked surprised.

“Yes, I read it in a book. Actually, in several books. Dioscoride, a greek physician, describes its use. He used to make a decoction with the bark of this tree, mixing it with honey and even better with rose honey. He gave this decoction to women in labor to ease their pain and a few centuries ago, it was used to reduce the fever. Sadly, now, our good doctors seem to have better ineffective remedies like leeches or bloodletting, but I trust the elders and not our doctors who hide their ignorance behind latin words.” He finished angrily.

“Wow, impressive!” Porthos whispered in awe of his friend’s knowledge.

        Aramis stroked Athos’ thick and wet hair then he grabbed his blanket and pulled it up again. Some new sweat had formed on Athos’ forehead and Tréville was already busy sponging Athos’ face. D’Artagnan had stepped back again.

“Come here, son. Tréville ordered in a low voice. Can you continue?”

        He pressed the cloth into his youngest Musketeer’s hand and let him take his place, while he gestured to Porthos and Aramis to follow him outside the room. There, he spoke anxiously:

“It’s becoming worse every hour.”

“I know, Captain.”

Aramis looked in the still reddish face of his Captain. His blue eyes seemed darker, and bore the hint of the fear he had experienced a moment ago.

“What do you need? I will ask Serge to give you everything you need.”

“Where are you going, Captain?” Porthos asked curiously.

“I will go to the palace and make sure I find Dr. Lemay myself and bring him here as fast as possible.”

        With these words he left both his stunned men who came back to Athos’ bedside. Porthos was the first to speak.

“That was…”

“Terrifying.” Aramis completed.

“Painful, terrible, frightening.”,  d’Artagnan added. “But, usually, it’s not really dangerous. Even if sometimes…”

“Sometimes, what?”  Porthos asked anxiously.

“Nothing”,  d’Artagnan murmured, very concentrated on his boots.

        And suddenly Porthos was standing, menacing, his angry face just a few inches away from the young man’s, a fistful of d'Artagnan’s jacket in each large hand.

“You said, ‘even if sometimes’ ,  Now spit it out, we are not children, tell us!”

“I don’t…”

“Don’t what?”  Porthos shouted.

        Aramis came behind the big man and squeezed his shoulder.

“Porthos, don’t wake Athos, please. Leave d’Artagnan alone.   

“And if he doesn’t wake up?”

“He will, my friend, he will!”

“Yes, Porthos, it’s over, now and… I wanted to say that sometimes...sometimes…”

“Try again”,  Porthos growled.

“Sometimes the heart is not strong enough.” D’Artagnan whispered.

        Porthos sat down again, breathing heavily.

“So, we need to reduce this fever, convulsions are common in cases of such a high temperature.” Aramis said.

“So… What do we do now?” d’Artagnan asked.

“We wait for Lemay,” Aramis replied.

        The three men didn’t move. Each of them looking at something, somewhere, anywhere but at Athos, as if they were afraid of the man’s weakness. As if looking at him would wake up the fury they had just witnessed…

        D’Artagnan was the first to react. Turning  his head slowly toward the narrow bed, he watched Athos’ chest rise with an alarming lack of regularity, but it was rising. Athos was still alive, and they were here, on three chairs a few feet away from the bed and yet, in his unconsciousness, Athos missed the touch, the voices and comfort of his friends?

        The young man stood up and taking his chair with him, he approached the bed. After settling the chair, he went to the round table which Athos used as a dressing table. He took a moment to make the inventory of the objects on the dusty wood. A sharp thin blade, a brownish soap smelling slightly of lavender and olive oil, a broken mirror, a hair brush, a pot of some balm, maybe a present from Aramis, and to d'Artagnan’s astonishment, two dry blue flowers tied with a black velvet ribbon… The young man felt a pang of fear… Why had he kept those flowers? Couldn’t he forget this devilish creature? D’Artagnan chose not to tell the others, no need to worry them more. He took the basin where Aramis had poured fresh water and a cloth, then he came back to the bed and sat down ready to bath his mentor’s neck and chest in order to try to ease his pain and reduce  the fever a little. For the first time since the terrible trial of the fire in Pinon, he dared to touch him, and he began to drop water onto Athos’ neck by pressing the soaked cloth above him, he put the back of his other hand on the man’s forehead. He removed it quickly.

“D’Artagnan, what’s the matter?”  Aramis asked.

        He had seen all the young man’s movements but didn’t want to interfere, aware that the young man had been the more capable of making Athos feel better, if not physically at least psychologically.

“He is so hot.” The young man muttered. “It’s horrible.”

        Aramis sighed. Porthos’ head had fallen onto his chest as the man was dozing, exhausted by the trial of the day and the pain in his wounded limb. Aramis watched him with a fond smile and then turned his look towards d’Artagnan again as the young man called softly :

“Aramis, can you come here, please ?”

“What’s the matter?”

        When he approached the bed, he understood what d’Artagnan had seen. The acrid smell was an obvious clue of what had happened… Now it was time to wake Porthos up and to take d’Artagnan away. He didn’t have to watch the process of undressing and cleaning Athos. The older man wouldn’t forgive them for letting this happen, and Aramis assumed that he would hardly forgive them for doing it ... and he would never forgive himself for having been in that shameful state.

“It’s normal, d’Artagnan. He is deeply asleep and, I don’t know if you noticed it, but he has drunk a lot the last three days, obviously to ease the pain in his throat. Why don’t you go to my room and take one of my undergarments?”

“But, he must …”

“Yes, he must, but I don’t trust Athos with his laundry. Look at the dust in here. If the linens are in the same state …”

“Fine, I will go… How much time do you need ?”  D’Artagnan asked mischievously.

“Wha …”

“I am not so naive, Aramis. I understand, don’t worry.” d’Artagnan interrupted.

        Porthos, now fully awake, sent a wink to Aramis who smiled. The brightest smile he could manage.

“Now, what ?” Porthos asked after the door had closed behind the young man.

“Now you will have to help me. First I will try to find something in his trunk. No, stay here, rest your leg, you will need your strength in a moment.”

        Aramis turned to the far corner of the room and as quietly as he could, he raised the heavy lid. He found a few shirts, trousers and undergarments. None of them was folded. They had been thrown haphazardly in the big chest. He reached a hand towards the bottom of the trunk and found what he was looking for. As he came back to the bed, he found Porthos looking at Athos with such a sad expression that he winced.

“Hey, Porthos. He will be fine. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry?,   and you, aren’t you worrying right now?”  Porthos snorted.

“E r… yes, of course … like every time one of you is hurt or ill. This time is no…”

“... Not the same.” Porthos completed, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

        Aramis sighed. No, this time, it was different, a broken bone or a bullet in an arm, he could manage, even an axe in Porthos’ back but this, this was unknown to him. Nevertheless, he had to be strong, for Athos, for Porthos, for all of them. Easier said than done.

“Help me please. We will have to do it very carefully and try not to wake him up. First, we will have to change the sheets.”

“And how do you think you will manage that ?”

“I don’t know… Then, we will undress him, just his under cloth -he will keep his shirt- and dress him with a new one.”

        And the process began. Long, tiring, worrying as Athos stayed unconscious.They were both glad about that fact. Athos would have felt much too ashamed and in his already weak state, it would not help his recovery but dressing him was like dressing a rag doll, a heavy rag doll. Before dressing him again they had washed him with a cloth soaked in warm water. Not they, he, Aramis… because Porthos who had helped to lay Athos on the thick blue blanket spread on the floor, who had helped with the sheets, didn’t want to see Athos so vulnerable and naked, he felt as though he was betraying him. So he let Aramis undress him, wash him and dress him again.  

        At last, Porthos sat back in a chair next to the bed, exhausted. Aramis approached him and gave him a wet cloth, colder than the one he had used earlier. Porthos raised his head, questioningly.

“Yes ?”

“Do it, please. I need to put these soiled linens outside”.

        Before gathering the sheets and clothes, he squeezed Porthos’ shoulder and threw him an understanding look. Porthos nodded gratefully, he needed to make amends for his inability to help earlier, to make amends to Aramis, to Athos. So, with the utmost gentleness, he began to bath Athos’ face, neck and nape, until he felt a little calmer.

        Athos’ breathing settled under Porthos tender care and as Aramis returned he felt for the first time in hours some kind of relief, that with the help of Porthos and d'Artagnan they would fight Athos’ illness.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

He must run.

The floor is slippy. His boots feel heavy. The polished floor is like hot honey. He should run faster. It’s so weird, that feeling of running, running and not moving.

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

The door is closer now. He could touch it.

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

Now his hand is a few inches away from the golden door knob.

But it suddenly recedes.

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

Now he can seize the knob. He turns it.

The door opens and he can see. He can hear.

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

The figure. He can see the dark figure.

Ana-Josefa’s white silky dress. Her ringlets spread on the white bedspread.

Screaming. Running. Breathing.

A hand on his arm.

Squeezing. Hurting.

No more screaming. No more running. No more breathing.

The trap is closing.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

 Sunday, 1st of June

        Dr. Lemay was daydreaming. He was sitting in his small office at Le Louvre idly rolling a quill between his thumb and forefinger. He was so lost in thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that his fingers were now coloured in a bluish tinge from the dry ink. Thirty minutes ago, he had seen Constance and the Queen by chance, from a distance. They were both  returning from the gardens into the Queen’s apartment. She was cuddling her little baby son, healthy again in her arms. If it hadn’t been for Constance’s bravery, France would now be without a Dauphin and he, Lemay, would probably have ended up hanged. Being the personal doctor of the King could bring positive and negative aspects with it. He closed his eyes imagining how he would pull his hands through Constance’s wonderful dark-auburn hair. How he would kiss her. He sighed out loud, as a knock at the door disturbed his daydreaming.

Be honest with yourself, this woman is married. You will never ever have the chance to be with her.

He looked at the beautiful white and golden door and exclaimed reluctantly:

“Yes, please. Come in!”  

        He stood up from his desk. The door opened and the Captain of the Musketeers entered, his black hat held in his hand. His face appeared older than usual and Lemay could see deep black rings under the man’s eyes.

“What can I do for you, Captain Tréville?” Lemay waved him into his room.

“It’s Athos” Tréville said, still holding his hat in a deadlock grip. “He seems to have a cold, but he’s not getting any better.”

“Come, take a seat.” Lemay invited Tréville.

        But the Captain shook his head.

“We don’t have time for that, I’m worried that we are going to lose him. I can explain on our way to the garrison, if you could grab your medical equipment and follow as fast as possible, please.”

        Lemay was a bit confused. A man like Athos did not fall ill so easily but on the other hand the flu could be dangerous and deadly even for the bravest men of the King. Remembering that the King’s son had had a high fever only a few days ago, it was possible that Athos now had the same symptoms.

         A sudden thought crossed his mind as he gathered his medical kit.

“If you allow Captain, I will ask Constance to join us too, she seems to have an excellent knowledge when it comes to the flu and cold.”

        He grabbed a sheet of paper that was lying on his desk, wrote -with the feather quill he had been torturing a moment ago-  a short note to Constance, explaining that she should come to the garrison, because he needed her help with curing a cold. On their way out he spotted a page and gave him the note with the order to take it to Constance immediately. Then he followed Tréville down the steps and to the waiting horses. On their way down, they nearly collided with Rochefort who was entering the palace.

“Why in such a hurry, Tréville?”

        Tréville ignored the high unnerving voice of the blond Comte, he had no time for this right now. Dr Lemay who followed was stopped by the Comte’s hand.

“Don’t you think the King should know where his doctor is heading, in the case of an emergency?”

“Yes … errr … of course.”

        A bit insecure, the doctor came to a halt, he did not like this new leader of the Red Guards. As a medical doctor he suspected that the man was mentally ill due to the fact that he had been in a Spanish prison for much too long. Prison and especially torture could break a man but he was much too smart to say his opinion aloud. The palace had ears everywhere.

“Captain Tréville has asked for help, one of his Musketeers has a bad cold.”

        Rochefort looked a bit irritated at Lemay.

“The Captain himself has come to you? Why hasn’t he sent one of his men? Hasn’t he more important things to do for the King?”

        Lemay did not know what to answer. Tréville turned back towards the reptilian blond Captain.

“The King should know about Dr. Lemay’s departure, you’re right. So, if you have nothing better to do right now, just go and tell him. Good day Rochefort. Come doctor.”

        Lemay hurried after Tréville who was nearly running now. The Captain jumped on his horse like a very young man. Rochefort looked at the rushing doctor out of one of the windows of a large hall where he had retreated, fuming with anger. Which of the Musketeers could be so important that the Captain himself came to get the King’s doctor?         

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

In the meantime in the Queen’s Apartments

“I am so glad that my little boy is well again, Constance.” Queen Anne’s light blue eyes smiled brightly at Constance. She was was wearing a beautiful blue dress and held her little boy in her arms. Then she focused on her baby boy and held him up. “Oh he loves me to do this, I really wish his father would spend more time with him, but he is very busy with state affairs right now. I still can’t believe that he was so stupid to dress himself as a commoner. Sometimes I have the feeling that our son is much more adult than him.”

        Constance smiled at the Queen, but felt a shudder running down her neck, because King Louis wanted to be a normal person d’Artagnan had almost been killed.

“I am sure that the King will have much more time for the Dauphin, when he has this diplomatic banquet behind him. It’s in four days and the whole palace is already very excited. I have heard that the Duke of Savoy and his Majesty’s sister have already arrived the day before yesterday, the King must be delighted to have his sister and little nephew around. Now he can teach him more fencing tricks.” Constance said to Anne, remembering all the Queen had told her from their last visit.

“Of course he is happy that his sister is around, but he is already angry that the Duke is getting on his nerves. He wants a new and better trade pact, or he will ask Spain for better conditions.”

        Constance looked at her friend.       

“You should talk with Captain Tréville. He will find a way to calm and ease the whole situation.”

        Constance knew that after the Cardinal’s death, it was Tréville’s rational and tactful thinking that had helped the King to concentrate on important issues. Alas, in the last few weeks the relationship had cooled, after Tréville had neglected to become first minister of France. She wanted to continue, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

         A page entered and bowed slightly in the direction of the Queen and the Dauphin.

“Your Majesty, please excuse me, but I have a message for Madame Bonacieux. Dr. Lemay has asked me to give you this at once.”

        With these words he gave the paper to Constance and disappeared again. Constance wondered why Dr. Lemay would send her a message. She quickly broke the seal and read the note, she looked confused at the Queen.

“Dr. Lemay asks for my assistance, one of the Musketeers has fallen ill, they think he has the flu and he is asking for my expert knowledge.”

“Then you should go at once. You saved my son’s life and I am sure you can help this poor Musketeer too.” Anne told her.

        She sensed Constance’s fear.

“What is it, my dear friend?”

“Do you think it is d’Artagnan, who has fallen ill? Maybe something has happened to him and he has asked for me and in order not to let my husband ...”

        The Queen interrupted her:

“You know, the only way you can find out about it, is to go now. Now! Move, if it is really d’Artagnan who needs your help. He wants to see you sooner rather than later.”

        With a soft push, Anne forced her friend to leave the room. She asked one of her pages to organise a coach for her confidant so that she would be at the garrison in no time.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

Athos’ room

        The window was closed by a brown curtain, only a few rays of daylight were allowed in the small room that Athos had called his refuge for the last six years. The remainings of last night drinking were still on the table. Empty bottles, four cups, and melted candles.

         Athos was lying unresponsive on his bed, with Aramis who was sitting next to his brother stroking over the blanket, in whích they had tucked Athos again. He was gently pressing his friend’s hand which was resting under the linen. He quietly made room for Lemay, who nodded to Aramis as he approached his sleeping patient.

         He knew Athos from the palace guard but from the strong, healthy young man, he had seen several days ago, only a shadow remained. Lemay valued Athos who was a competent soldier of the King’s Musketeers. A strategical thinker and a good leader. He always felt secure and safe when he and his friends, the so-called Inséparables were around.

         Slowly he started his examination.

“How long has he been asleep now?” He asked looking around to the other concerned Musketeers, who were standing in a half circle behind him.

“He woke up about an hour ago, but he was very tired so he was only awake about ten minutes. We wanted to wake him up again, to give him some pain potion, but decided to wait until you had seen him. We bathed him and changed his clothing half an hour ago, but he slept through the whole procedure.”

        Lemay nodded.

“For my examination I will need him awake. I know he is a very private person and I don’t want to scare him right now in his condition by standing above him. Do you mind trying to wake him for me, Aramis?”

        Lemay took several steps back as Aramis kneeled beside his brother’s bed and softly gripped his hand in his own, the hand was much too warm as the rest of his body was. Aramis bent his head towards Athos’ and spoke softly into the sleeping man’s ear:

“Athos, it’s time to wake up. Dr. Lemay is here to check on you. Thanks to him you will be better in no time.” Aramis said to Athos encouragingly.

        He softly pressed Athos’ hand again. No reaction. Aramis spoke a little bit louder:

“Come on, Athos,wake up!”

        He softly touched Athos’ hot face, stroking his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, then, seeing no reaction he slapped him lightly on his left cheek.

“Mhhhhh …,” was the only reaction that Athos, made. His eyes still shut.

“You can sleep more soon. Come on, open those magical eyes of yours. Now!”

        Athos could hear someone calling his name over and over again. At first he thought it was a dream, but the pressure on his hand and face did not stop, he was confused.

What is going on? It hurts … What is this taste in my mouth?

        And so he drifted off again. Aramis turned to Lemay:

“I am sorry, but he is too far away.”

        Lemay stepped next to Aramis then he pushed with the knuckles of his right hand on Athos’ sternum. Athos let out a loud grunt and Porthos was nearly ready to grab Lemay and pull him away from his unconscious brother.

“Don’t stop talking to him.” Lemay encouraged Aramis.

“Athos, come on, open your eyes. The doctor is here to see you.”

“Mhhhh … g ...  oo   a ... way … mis.”

        Athos had still his eyes closed but he could feel the intense pain in the spot where the Doctor had pressed his knuckles down.

        Tréville was watching the whole process. It still hurt him to see his Lieutenant like this, Athos was lying weakly in his bed. His face still reddish from the high fever, several pillows had been placed under his head and now two blankets covered his shuddering body. The man needed sleep and rest to fight the cold, but Lemay needed him awake. The faster he could start with his examination the faster ... The Captain made a step nearer to his bedridden Lieutenant and he touched Aramis’ shoulder. The latter moved back, so that Tréville could move to the head of the bed. Tréville bowed down to the half asleep form of his swordsman and shouted.

“Wake up, Athos. This is an order!”

        D’Artagnan, back again against the wall next to the doorframe, cringed at the loud order which seemed so cruel. He could see Athos’ face flinching, his eyes were still closed, but finally he started to show the first signs of waking.

“That’s it, son.” Tréville said in a more soft tone. “Time to wake up. Can you open your eyes for us, please?” He gently touched Athos’ shoulder.

        The loud talking was back. Athos’ head was spinning.

Who is shouting at me?

        Suddenly the realisation hit him. It was Tréville. His Captain had just called him “son”. Something must be very wrong. Tréville never called him like that. With an immense force of willpower Athos slowly tried to speak:

“Ca … tai … n …”.             

        His throat was burning now and his tongue seemed to have doubled his size. Athos tried to ease the pain by starting to breathe more and more deeply through his now open mouth. Tréville smiled encouragingly, not that Athos could see it. He grabbed Athos’ hand and squeezed it softly.

“That’s it, come on. You can do that! Wake up!”

        Athos put all his strength together and managed to open his eyes a slit, only to close them at once again. Even the dim light in his room made his head spin.

“So ...  rry, Cap …” he slurred, unable to move his tongue without biting it again. “Hu … s mu ... hhh.” Tréville looked anxiously into the direction of Lemay.

        At that moment Aramis took over:

“Athos, try to open your eyes slowly. Dr. Lemay is here, he needs to see you.”

        With these words said, Lemay approached them again.

“Hello Athos.” He said softly. “It’s good to see you awake. I need to examine you, in order to find out what we can give you to heal you.” Lemay spoke very quietly, but Athos head started to throbb nevertheless.

        He still struggled to open his eyes so he decided to open only one, very, very slowly. Lemay noticed that Athos had started to wake and he grabbed his left hand.

“Athos, I need to check you, therefore I need to touch you. I promise, it won’t hurt much. Try to open your eyes, please. Yes, that’s good.”

        Lemay checked Athos’ pulse which was still very fast and then, he bent down to lean his ear on the man’s chest. D’Artagnan winced as Athos’ didn’t react. If he had been his usual self, Lemay would have ended up on the floor with a bruised face, no matter that he was a doctor or not. Lemay’s eyes widened.

“What?” Aramis asked anxiously.

“I don’t like that. Come here and listen.”

        Aramis did the same as the doctor and gasped, the heartbeat that hammered in the Musketeer’s chest was really worrying.

“Doctor, what about his lungs. They don’t seem congested, it’s strange don’t you think?”

“Yes, but, it’s just the beginning of the flu. We must wait,” replied Lemay bending again over his patient. Listening again to his heart and lungs.

“But you are right, the flu often begins with headaches, fever and cough.”

“His throat seems to hurt a lot.”

“So, the congested lungs may occur soon, we will have to ease his breathing by sitting him up. A cool cloth on his forehead and ankles will help to slow his heartbeat down, you could boil some water with mint leaves in the room and try to give him some of it with honey while the rest will help his lungs but for now, the lungs are fine.”

        Athos was half dozing again, weakly battering away the invasive hands of the two men, he sluggishly raised his left hand and tried to pull Lemay’s hands away but as Aramis tried to push it to the side, it fell like a dead bird onto his chest. Lemay softly slapped Athos’ cheeks to get him more focused again.

“Now, Athos, I need to check your eyes, I need both of them open. Only for one minute, I promise.”

        Athos pulled himself together and Lemay could check his pupils that were unfocused and widely enlarged.

“Alright Athos, you can close them again, but try to stay awake, I need to ask you a few questions.”                

        Athos’ head hurt even more, his pale eyes were shimmering but before closing his eyes again, he moved his head. He looked directly at Aramis, but his vision was blurred. Frustrated about what he had just discovered, he closed his eyes again. Lemay laid a comforting hand on his right arm.

“Well, Athos you seem to have symptoms of the flu. To sort out what I can give you, you have to tell me where it hurts. I will ask you a few questions and you are going to answer with yes or no. That will be easier for you. Is that okay ?”

“Yessss.” Athos managed to say very weakly.

“Does your head hurt?”

“Ye ...”

“Does your throat hurt?”

“Hmm ... L … ike fi … re,” Athos rasped.

“Do you have a pain in your stomach?”

“Ye … s.” Athos answered in a much more slurred way.

“Can you see clearly?”

“Nooo.” Athos sounded frustrated. His breathing became faster and he anxiously searched Aramis’ hand, which he couldn’t find anymore.

“That’s it, we are nearly finished. Just stay awake a few more minutes. I will give you a pain potion.”

        He beckoned Tréville and Aramis to step away from the bed in order to discuss the further treatment. The three men left the room to talk in private. Closing the door softly, they couldn’t see the look of fear and despair in Athos’ eyes as a violent pain suddenly blinded him.      

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

In front of Athos’ room

“So it is the flu?” Tréville asked, his voice filled with concern.

“Well, all the symptoms point to it, he has a very high fever and his heart is beating irregularly due to that fever. His eyes are unfocused, he has trouble breathing and his throat hurts him a lot. Have you noticed any other symptoms?” Lemay looked questioningly at  Aramis.  

“He was sick several times at the beginning of the illness, but maybe he had drunk too much the evening before.” Aramis added.

“Could be, but it is a common sign for flu as well and it explains why his stomach hurts.” Lemay explained.

“But what about his hallucination earlier? He thought I was someone else, an enemy, and he attacked me? Tréville wondered.

“The hallucinations are caused by the very high fever.” Lemay added.

“Doctor, will he be okay?” Tréville asked him.

“Captain, to be honest with you. The flu is not just a simple cold. The flu can be very dangerous and it can kill people. Right now the flu epidemic we are experiencing in Paris has already killed several people but most of them were children or old people. A man like Athos, who is young, strong and well trained, has a good chance of fighting this disease and of recovering completely.”

         Tréville had not noticed that he had held his own breath, but now he breathed out loudly, very relieved.             

“Nevertheless, he will need good care and a lot of time to recover; the coughing will start soon and so his throat will hurt more. His lungs are still free but he will need to be cared for  night and day in order to prevent him from choking on mucus and to help him with his breathing by sitting him up in his bed. You have to give him lots of fluids. Tea with honey, which will help with swallowing and easing the pain in his throat. I will give you some extra herbs to reduce his fever. This is the most important aim we have to reach. The high fever can kill him. So we will start by concentrating on this. Right now he won’t be able to eat due to his painful throat and his weak condition so try to give him hot broth instead of solid food. He will need salty nutritions and you also have to bathe him with cool clothes, especially his forehead, his hands and foot joints to slow his rapid heart beat. But don’t bath him in a tub for now, the water could kill him!”   

“I think we can do this. I have some herbs and teas myself, but I appreciate everything you can offer.” Aramis nodded eagerly. He hesitated then continued. “And … about … his tongue? He bit it during his seizure and it’s swollen and sore. He can’t articulate normally and it must be very painful as it rubs against his teeth when he tries to speak. What can we do?”

“There is nothing you can do to prevent it. So for now, lime blossom tea and honey to heal the cut and calm his pain because this kind of wound can hurt his throat too …” He paused and sighed. “Alright, I will check him over again, give him the pain potion and then I am afraid, I will have to return to the palace … You know our King, if he breaks a nail, he will need my science.”

         Lemay was interrupted by another Musketeer who appeared.

“Excuse me, Captain?”

         Tréville responded gruffly: “What is it, Henri?”

“Madame Bonacieux is waiting downstairs. She said that the Doctor has sent for her.”

“Ah excellent, I asked her to come as soon as possible. She helped to cure the Dauphin from the flu and is far more experienced with treating all the symptoms than me. Please, if you allow me Captain, send her to us.”

         Tréville accepted Lemay’s advice with a short nod.  Constance was anxious about who she might find ill. Never before had she been in the inside of the garrison. She followed Henri to the door of Athos’ room. Her heart beat faster as she approached Lemay, Tréville and Aramis. No sign of d’Artagnan.

“Doctor, Captain, Aramis. How can I help you?” She did not dare to ask if it was d’Artagnan who was ill. She heard the doctor say to Tréville:

“Your man has a good chance of recovering from this ill …” He was disturbed by the opening of Athos’ door …      

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

         In the meantime Porthos got up wincing again as his wounded thigh suddenly hurt as if it had received a hot ember.

“Naaahh, finally you are awake. You had me worried, all of us.”    

         He gestured in the direction of d’Artagnan who was watching quietly, still near the doorframe, as if ready to bolt away from the room for any reason, fear, help, anything he could do, good or not. Athos imagined Porthos’ supporting smile and his now sad eyes. He forced his eyes open again. He did not want his brothers to worry about him. His shining green eyes met Porthos’ dark-brown.

“There you are!” Porthos encouraged him. “I missed you today at morning muster.”

         Athos wanted to grin, but it did not work.

“I s...ee y...ou ...doub… ed, ...thos. H...ave I dr...unk too mu...ch ...” A coughing fit stopped Athos’ slurred talk.

“Easy, easy!” Porthos waited until Athos stopped coughing.

         The swordsman gasped and tried to breathe in more air. His breathing was irregular. Athos managed to point with his right hand at his chest.

“Pa….innnnnnn.”

         Porthos took Athos’ hand in his and asked.

“Your chest hurts?”

         Athos only managed to nod.

“Easy, alright, easy. I will tell the doctor.”

         Porthos wanted Athos to loosen his hand, but he fastened his grip. He was too weak to say anything more. His whole body was in pain, but Pothos’ presence gave him strength and hope. Porthos was a bit irritated, never before had Athos grabbed his hand. So he finally managed to sit on the chair Aramis had used during the last hour, held his brother’s hand and started to whisper little nothings from the mischiefs and adventures of his childhood to the funny moments of the garrison. He had no idea why but his words helped Athos to relax a little. Athos had his eyes closed again. His breathing was harsh and much too fast. Porthos turned his head to find d’Artagnan still standing and watching the whole scene. Porthos’ look … without words … was clear enough.

“Get the doctor back in here, quickly. Athos needs that pain draught. Now!”

         D’Artagnan made a u-turn and headed to the door, where the other three men were discussing Athos’ symptoms.

“Excuse me, but we think that Athos needs the pain potion. Now!” D’Artagnan interrupted the other men. Athos has told Porthos that his chest hurts.”

         D’Artagnan spotted Constance as Lemay and Tréville rushed back into Athos’ room. He could see the relief on her face, as she was standing in front of him but it was soon washed away with another worried glance. Constance wanted to follow Lemay and Tréville, but d’Artagnan held her back with a hand on her arm:

“Wait.” He whispered in her ear and closed the door behind him.     

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

         Lemay hurried next to his patient’s side.

“Athos, it’s Doctor Lemay. Can you tell me where your chest hurts?”

“Hmmm?” Athos groggily slurred.

“Your chest. Can you tell me where it pains you?”

         Athos let go of Porthos’ hand and pointed at the spot right above his heart. Limply his hand fell on the spot of his chest.

“Hurssss … Mmgghhhhhhh ...” Athos gasped for air.

         Lemay bend down over Athos’ chest again and put his ear on it, laying his patient’s left hand softly on the mattress and covering it with the blanket, he listened. Athos’ heart was beating very fast and irregularly. Concerned, he let his hand rest over Athos’ shirt as he looked up.

“Porthos can you please get behind Athos. We need to get him in a more upright position.”

“Sure!”

         Porthos was glad that he finally could do something. Waiting, sitting around, was nothing he could stand very long. He needed action.

“Alright, Athos. We will lift your upper body now.”

         Athos felt Porthos’ strong arms lifting his weak body into an upright position. The pain in his chest still continued and he winced out loud:

“Mggnnhhh …”

         Porthos felt the former Comte pressing his head against his chest to feel his steady and comforting touch.

“Now, Athos, open your mouth wide and take a deep breath. In and out, in and out. In and out ...”

         Lemay repeated the words in and out , as Athos followed his instructions. He breathed in deeply and then out and again. Lemay still had his hand on Athos’ heart and could feel it slow down. Athos felt the pain easing and finally disappearing. His throat still burned, but, at least, the horrible itching was gone.

“Than... ssss …” He slurred and relaxed in Porthos grip.

         He felt exhausted. Again another slap on his cheek made him aware that he was not alone in his room. Aramis had taken over as Lemay had taken a step sideways to prepare a pain potion. While Porthos was still holding his sick brother in an upright position Lemay and Aramis managed to feed him the potion.

“Athos, open your mouth. Yes, that’s it. You will feel better soon. Only one minute and then you can rest again.” Aramis coaxed his bedridden friend.

         Together, with Lemay, they gave him the potion to drink. It was a tough fight. Athos tried to pull away after the second gulp, but Aramis didn’t let him go. Lemay massaged Athos’ larynx and from time to time, Athos grunted in pain. Sweat was collecting on his forehead, Porthos wiped it away with a cold cloth, which a fast thinking Tréville had passed him, while he still held Athos in a secure grip to comfort him. From the only experience he had had several days ago, he knew that someone else comforting you in such a situation felt good.

         After Athos swallowed his last gulp and pulled his head back, he looked disgusted by the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Po … os, your …”

“My what, Athos?” Porthos whispered.

“Thi … you’ll … urt … you … se … f.”

“Oh, Athos, please … Now, who is the sick man?”

“But … ,” Athos slurred again.

“No buts, just sleep, my friend, I will lay you down, don’t worry …”.

         Porthos smiled fondly and slowly moved his brother back into a lying position and laid his head on the pillow. Exhausted, Athos rolled on his side and curled forward in a tight ball of pain. Hiding his suffering like a wounded animal, he fell into a deep, but worrying restless sleep.    

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

I saw you.

The grip on his arm is tightening.

I saw you. I saw you doing this.

The grip is painful.

I saw you and you will pay. You deserve to die.

He can’t escape the hand. Fingernails are digging into the leather of his uniform.

Two arms now. Two hands on his arms. Pulling them backwards.

Digging fingernails into the leather, into the flesh.

A white silky dress, tears. You lead her away. She tries to resist.

But she is so slim, so fragile.

White as a porcelain doll. Disheveled jet hair falling in teary sapphire eyes.

I saw you. You broke the lovely doll.

Noooooo.

He is shouting like a madman. His throat hurts.

I saw him.

I wanted to help. I wanted to keep her pure.

I saw him.

Let me go. Where are the others? Let me go.

I just wanted to protect her.

I am so stupid.

I can’t breathe. I can’t ...

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

         Lemay stepped away and took Aramis to one side. Quietly he gave Aramis some instructions on how to treat their patient further. Tréville and Porthos were both listening.

“I have asked Madame Bonacieux to help with his care. So Aramis, she will help you with the pain potions and I will send her with some more medicine later. I will instruct her how she can help. If you will now please excuse me, I have to hurry back to the palace.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

         While Tréville had hurried after Lemay, next to Athos’ side, d’Artagnan had closed the door. Convinced that Athos would hate having Constance seeing him like this right now.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her.

“It’s good to see you too, d’Artagnan.” She answered a bit snippy.

“I mean are you alright?”

         D’Artagnan brushed with his hand through his hair to remove some strands falling on his face. Constance had made a move to do it herself but she had stopped it. She was still a married woman. But running her hands in the silky black strands was very tempting. She had to remind herself that it was not the time nor the place. Even if she was relieved that he seemed to be alright, she was still mad at him.

“Yes, I am, but I could ask you the same question. Who is the Musketeer who has fallen so severely ill?”

         D’Artagnan made a step backwards and looked at her beautiful but pale face.

“Who has told you that?”

“Dr Lemay has asked me to come and help, because one of your colleagues has fallen very ill. He said it could be the flu. So, who is it d’Artagnan?”

         Hearing that it came from the good doctor, d’Artagnan had a strange feeling. If he had to be honest with himself - and had he been less exhausted- he would have called it jealousy. Constance looked into his eyes. He looked tired. She hadn’t seen him for the last three days. A closer look and she could see not only fatigue but concern too. He only had that look … Suddenly she understood, shocked.

No … not him!

“It’s Athos, isn’t it?”

         D’Artagnan let his head fall. He turned away from her and tried to hide his wet eyes.

“Look at me, d’Artagnan. Talk to me. What is it?” She said, laying a soft and white hand between his shoulder blades, ignoring for a short moment that she was still angry and upset with him.

         D’Artagnan sighed painfully out loud.

“It’s not good Constance. He …” He paused to swallow. “He is very ill … and it seems it’s getting worse by the hour.”

         Constance listened to d’Artagnan’s words. Then she wound her arms around his neck and pressed her head on his chest ignoring that they had argued several weeks ago and tried to avoid each other since then but at that very moment, both of them had forgotten their dispute. D’Artagnan allowed her to comfort him, he could smell her hair, a dizzying scent of lavender and soap, and something he couldn’t identify, invaded his nostrils. He put his head onto hers and breathed out deeply. Her embrace grounded him for the first time in three days. They were both silent for a while, with Constance slowly running her hand through his soft hair. From the inside they could hear Athos’ moaning. Startled, d’Artagnan freed himself from Constance’s embrace.

“He will be fine. If it is the flu, he will fight this. I am sure of it. He is strong, d’Artagnan.”

         D’Artagnan listened to her soft, but convincing voice.

“I can come with you. I can help you … all of you.”

D’Artagnan hesitated. Knowing his mentor much too well.

“I think right now, he should be prepared for you to come and help him”

         Constance looked at him a bit rejected.

“You know Athos. He is a very proud and private person. Right now he isn’t himself and he will feel ashamed.”

“But he hasn’t to be ashamed. You know that. Everybody is ill from time to time.”

“I know that and you know that, but Athos …”

         Another groan drifted out from the room.

“I think I understand what you mean. Go back to him and I’ll wait for Dr. Lemay and then I will clear with him how I can help.”

         Somehow uncertain, not wanting to hurt her feelings, he pulled her in a short embrace. For a short moment he thought about kissing her softly on the forehead , but he didn’t dare. Undecidedly he took several steps backwards.

“I will ask him if he is prepared for you to come and help him, and if he is fine with this, I will get you at once.” He shyly smiled at her, then he turned around towards the door of Athos’ room.

         D’Artagnan was about to go back inside when the doctor left the room and asked Constance to follow him back to the palace in order to prepare more herbs for his new patient.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Monday, 2nd of June

          D’Artagnan wearily stretched himself, he had been up most of the night, to check on his bedridden mentor and after Doctor Lemay had left the day before, they had started to give Athos large quantities of fluids.

“We have to bring his damn fever down!” Aramis had told him and Porthos.

          After that, they had taken turns in caring for their brother. Most of the time they let him sleep, but when Athos showed signs of waking up, they encouraged him to open his eyes. Then they gave him broth, tea and pain potions to reduce his fever and to take his increasing pain from him. Most of the time Athos did not talk. It was too painful. It was as if a line of fire ran from his larynx to his tongue. He just couldn’t ... he had not the strength and anyway, he had nothing to say … He let his brothers care for him and succumbed afterwards to another restless sleep, driven by bad dreams and demons of his past. At least, it was Sunday so they were not needed at the palace. After helping Athos several times to the chamber-pot, which the former Comte endured, not having enough strength to let his pride talk, they had prepared him for the night. At least the fever had slightly dropped and Athos relaxed a bit with his three brothers by his side. During the night they had taken turns. Cooling his face with cold water and waking him from time to time when he had another bad dream. After that it always took him a while to settle down again. D’Artagnan had taken over the last shift of the night hoping that Aramis and Porthos would finally find some needed rest in their own beds.

          Now d’Artagnan could see the first signs of dawn and he got up to open the window and let some fresh air in. In the courtyard he could see Pierre and Alphonse who just ended their night guard. He did not envy their job, because it had rained through the whole night. At least, now the rain seemed to have stopped and some rare sunrays shone through heavy clouds.

It’s about time that this nasty rain stopped.

          He heard a noise and turned around. Athos was sitting upright in his bed and groaned. A ray of light had made it through the window and was falling onto his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“What is it?”

          D’Artagnan was immediately at his brother’s side.

“My he … ad hur … sss,” he slurred. “Arghhh … Why is it so … bri … ght in heeee … re?”

          D’Artagnan wasn’t sure what Athos was talking about. His room was still very dark. He himself had difficulties in seeing everything. Worried that his brother might have had another bad dream or was hallucinating again he laid one hand softly on his shoulder.

“Athos? Where does it hurt?”

“My head? Every … thing … is spinning. Can you ple … ase blow out  the … cand … le?

          D’Artagnan looked a bit irritated, all the candles were out. Suddenly he realized that it must have been the ray of sun that was resting on Athos face.

“Wait!” He stood up, went back to the window and closed the brown curtain. Then he returned to Athos’ side.

“Better?”

          He could hardly see in the dark room anymore. Only the dark shape of his mentor.

“Hmmm …!”

          Athos had closed his eyes again and fought against the dizziness. He tried to breath in and out, like Dr. Lemay had shown him the other day, but it did not seem to work. He felt the sickness well up and with his last strength he managed:

“Si … ckk!”              

          D’Artagnan who had heard his mentor’s breathing, reacted very fast. He grabbed the bowl standing on the table next to him where Athos, rolling on his side, vomited a gush of water. D’Artagnan helped him to bend over and drew circles with a gentle hand over his back.

“That’s it! Yes, let it all out.”

          Athos started to dry heave. D’Artagnan helped him back into a lying position. He then put the bowl away, feeling himself a little nauseous at the sight and smell. He took a cloth, sat down beside Athos and cleaned his mouth, beard and face. Softly he got rid of all the mucus that had come up. He noticed that Athos’ forehead was burning more than the night before and wished that Aramis were here. Athos had closed his eyes again and breathed more heavily than before. D’Artagnan, realising that Athos must have breathing difficulties got up again.

“Athos, I will lift your head a bit and put some more pillows under your back so that you can breathe more easily.”

“Hmm ...” Athos answered exhausted.

          He was grateful for the help of his younger friend. He fussed less than a mother hen over him, and Athos needed that right now. Not that he did not value Aramis’ support and care, but he was glad that this morning no one was lying like a dog at his feet . After d’Artagnan had pushed a few more pillows behind his back settling his weak body a little more upright,  he noticed that his breathing evened out slightly.

“Thankssss …” He still had problems with his articulation and he worried it would become even worse.

“I think your high fever is back, Athos?” The young Gascon told him. “Do you think you could manage another cup of tea.”

          Athos wanted to say no, but he knew that the more he drank, the faster he would get rid of this flu.               

“Hmm …” He sighed.

          D’Artagnan helped him to drink some more gulps, but he realised that Athos was too groggy. So he put the cup back on the table next to him.

“It’s okay for now. We will try later again. The tea was mixed with a pain potion. So it will be easier to drink later. Try to rest a bit more.”

          Athos nodded. He felt d’Artagnan put a tentative hand on his shoulder and basked in the feeling of the comforting touch. The dizziness went away again, his heartbeat slowed down and his eyes began to droop, the exhaustion pulled him back to sleep.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Where are you? You left me alone.

And now, they have me in their claws.

Where are you?

I am suffocating. Sweat. Leather. My nose and my mouth in the crook of an elbow.

Help me, I can’t breathe.

A voice. This voice, I know this voice.

I saw you. You broke her. What are you doing here?

Where are you? You left me alone.

What have I done?

He accuses me, I can’t think anymore. Nothing makes sense.

I just wanted to save her.

It’s so hot under this black and red leather clad arm.

A hand on my shoulder. Let me go. Please, let me go.

My sword, I need my sword.

Where are you?

You tried to rape her. You will pay Musketeer!

This voice. I know this voice.

I know you. YOU raped her. YOU broke her.

This laugh. I know this laugh.

No, it’s not possible. It’s a trap.

Where are you? You left me alone.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

          D’Artagnan hoped that Aramis would appear soon. He had the bad feeling that the medicine they were giving Athos wasn’t working. What else could they do? He wished he could ask Constance. She knew how to treat sickness. In his mind he made a plan, as soon as Aramis arrived, he would go and search for her, in order to ask her, what else they could do.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

          Athos woke up with a cold thing pressed on his forehead. Confused he tried to push it away, but his hand was stopped, by another cold item. Slowly, very slowly, he realised to whom the two cold items belonged.

“Shhh, Athos, leave your hand down. It’s me. I am only checking your temperature. It seems that your fever has risen again.”

          Athos felt a shudder going through his whole body. Please, not again. He feared another convulsion but the shaking faded again. Slowly Athos opened his feverish shining eyes, he was thankful that his room was still dark. D’Artagnan must have left the curtain closed. Only a little light was streaming into his room, but this time it did not reach his bed. He slowly turned his eyes to his friend, who had noticed his light trembling but had said nothing about it. Instead he had massaged his neck with his cold hands.  Thankfully, he looked at Aramis.

“That’s better, right?” The medic asked him.

          Athos only nodded. He did not dare to speak in order to avoid the pain in his still hurting throat.

“I have made you some tea with honey! That should ease the pain in your throat a bit. Let’s get you up and then I want you to try and drink it.”

          Athos let Aramis fuss over him, putting more pillows behind his back, elevating him more. While his brother helped him to get more comfortable, Athos started to scan his room. D’Artagnan must have left. He did not see or hear him. Porthos or Tréville weren’t there either. It was only him and Aramis.

“Where …?” Athos looked questioningly at Aramis.

“Oh, d’Artagnan had to go back to the palace with Tréville. Can you believe it, the King wants to do shooting practice at this early hour of the morning. Normally he never gets up before noon, and now, suddenly, with his brother-in-law as his guest, he’s become an early bird.” Athos wasn’t sure if he could follow Aramis fast talking. He slowly registered that Tréville and d’Artagnan had duty to fulfill.

“Who?”

“Oh, the Duke of Savoy is one of the guests of the trade summit. Remember?” Aramis filled Athos in.

          He realised that Athos still had problems concentrating, nevertheless he was thankful that he seemed to notice where he was and who he was.

          Athos was too tired to think about the arrogant Duke and what he might do this time during his stay.

“And …?”

“And Porthos is still in bed, at least I hope that he has listened to me. His thigh still needs time to heal and some more sleep will do him good, but I am sure that he will check on you as soon as he is awake. He wanted to stay in your room, but I told him a bed would be better and more comfortable.” Aramis smiled now at his patient.

“You know what. I am glad that you are more coherent than yesterday morning. I think this is a good sign.” He encouraged his brother.

          No need to show him, that he was very worried that his fever was still so high.

“What do you think, can you manage the tea with honey?”

Suddenly Athos felt a pressing feeling.

“La … ter … I guess … I need …” He panted.

“Of course, the chamber pot. Wait I will help you. Sorry, I think you are still very weak, so I’ll help you with it this time, we are alone. So no one will know.

          The need was too pressing and it was either the help of his brother or the humiliating feeling to have wet linens within the next minute. So he tried to push his weak body further up. The sweat on his forehead was forming again, as Aramis helped him up. He managed to get him in a standing position, after he had loosened his braies. Now Athos was ashamed that he had to relieve himself in front of his brother in the chamber pot. Aramis held him in a firm grip, but watched politely in the other direction.

“Done?” He asked after a moment as Athos started to shake again. Standing vertical was too much for his weak circulation right now.

“Hmm …” He managed.

          Aramis helped him to put his clothes on and then tucked him again up under the linens of his bed. Exhausted, Athos let his head drop against his pillows.

The light. Too much a moment ago, not enough now. My God, my world is narrowing. Darkness lurks around me. It hurts. Everything hurts. My chest is about to explode. Please … God help me!  

          He closed his eyes again, he had already been through this, he knew it now. He remembered his breathing became uneven. A fit, he had had a fit, but when? He couldn’t recall. The dull pain in his chest increased. Aramis coaxed him. He drew small comforting circles on his back as he encouraged Athos to repeat the breathing exercises the doctor had shown him yesterday.

“In and out! In … and out ....! That’s it Athos.”

          Aramis had expected that by now Athos would have started to cough, but no sign of coughing. Softly he laid a hand on the chest, where Athos’ heart was thumping very fast, but managed to slow down again.

“Alright Athos, I think it’s time for the tea now!”             

          Athos didn’t want to. He felt groggy from the whole procedure he had just gone through, only to use the chamber pot, more drinking meant using it again and he felt too weak to manage it again. As Aramis wanted to give him the cup, he rolled onto his side and let his head drop in the other direction. Aramis sighed. His friend could be stubborn even in sickness.

“Come on! I know it will hurt your throat, but you need it. I have sent for Dr. Lemay and he will check on you later that day. Maybe we’ll find another way to get your fever down, but right now, this is the only way to make you feel better!”

As the former Comte did not react to his encouragement, Aramis took matters into his own hands.

“I am sorry!” He murmured, as he gently raised Athos’ head a bit and pressed the cup on his lips. “Drink! Now!”

          Athos sighed, gave a killing glare into Aramis’ direction, but finally started to drink. And this time Aramis was right. The honey eased the pain in his throat a bit. He managed half a cup. Then he turned his head away again.

“Good, Athos! That’s enough for now!”

          Athos did not hear the rest of Aramis’ words. His eyes had already shut and he had fallen asleep again. Worriedly Aramis tucked his brother even more in his blanket, removed most of the pillows from his back and hoped that this time Athos fever would drop a little more.

I really hope that Lemay will be here soon. I have the feeling that we are running out of options here. Fight Athos! Fight this stupid flu!

          His fingers touched the cross hanging around his neck. He then crossed his hands and started to pray. It helped him to settle his own nerves and to calm a little.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

In the meantime at the palace       

          D’Artagnan was late. Early in the morning the Captain had been called to the palace and d’Artagnan was still busy with caring for Athos. As Aramis came to replace him, he had told him he should first have breakfast and then go and send for Lemay.

“Captain’s orders, you shall do this first and then go and support him with the King’s shooting competition.”

“The what?”

“Oh, it seems that King Louis and the Duke of Savoy are trying to work out who can shoot more glass-windows in the palace!” Aramis laughed.

          With a slightly irritated look d’Artagnan had left Aramis. Now he was searching in the palace for Dr. Lemay. Still no sign of Tréville or the King. As he went up the stairs to Lemay’s office he suddenly saw Constance, leaving the quarters of the Queen, she was deep in thought and did not recognise him at once.

“Constance!” He called her softly and she turned around.

“Morning!” She managed, a bit surprised to see him at this early hour in the palace. She watched him critically and she noticed his deep eyes and his hanging shoulders. He looked as if he had had very little sleep.

Of course he must have helped in the care of Athos.

“How is he?” She asked him softly, reaching him and putting her right hand in his hair, where a straw had hidden itself.

          She removed it. For a second he leaned into her touch, but realising that he was in the palace and in a public place, he drew himself back.

“I fear he’s not good, I am on my way to Dr. Lemay. Maybe he has another idea to bring his fever down. We managed it last night, but it has spiked again, perhaps you can come with me. I know that you helped with saving the Dauphine, perhaps you have an idea.”

“We should go and ask Lemay first. He will know what to do!”

          So both of them hurried along the corridors of the palace to Dr. Lemay’s office. The Doctor looked up from his desk as d’Artagnan entered. He was still busy with some notes so d’Artagnan cleared his throat loudly:

“Doctor, I am sorry, to disturb you, but it’s urgent!”

          Constance was standing quietly beside d’Artagnan. As Lemay looked again, he spotted her and smiled at her.

“Is it Athos, d’Artagnan or has another Musketeer fallen ill as well?” Lemay asked, looking at him more seriously.

          D’Artagnan had seen the look he just had given Constance, but he had to focus on other things now. Constance was an attractive woman, and he was not the only one who had fallen in love with her. He knew that.

“It’s Athos, Doctor.”

“Please tell me what his symptoms are?”

“He is still running a very high fever, this morning he was really weak, his vision was blurred and he reacted to light. It made him dizzy and sick.”

“Hmm … and have you given him enough to drink?”

“We have given him the herbs that you prescribed, tea, water, broth. We managed to bring the fever down a bit last night but it is high, even higher than yesterday now. Do you have any other treatment to get his fever down?”

          Lemay thought about the question.

"There are other methods like leeches. We could use some of the waters I tried to give the Dauphine but they did not work properly. Before I can make a further diagnosis I’ll have to check on him again.”

          He started to get up and pack his things.

“What about bathing him?” Constance asked curiously. “I have heard that it can help to drop the fever.”

          Lemay looked at her.

“It is possible, but we have to be very careful, his heart seems to be irregular right now and water which is too cold won’t be good in this moment.”

“Not too cold, warm water, a bit lower than his actual temperature. The women in my neighbourhood use this method when one of their children has a high fever. In most of the cases it works.

“Yes, that could work! Thank you for your advice.”

          Doctor Lemay went to the door, Constance and d’Artagnan followed him.

“I am afraid I won’t be able to come with you!” He told Lemay. “I have to stay at the palace.”

“No need to come, I know the way.”

          With these words said he left in a hurry. Suddenly stopping at the first flight of the stairs he called back:

“Madame Bonacieux can you please excuse me to the Queen. I will check on her court lady later.”

          D’Artagnan gave Constance a weak smile.

“Thanks for the idea with the bath. I guess leeches and Athos wouldn’t really work.”

          Constance smiled.

“Now, I really need to go!”

          Her eyes followed d’Artagnan as he hurried down the corridor asking around where he might find Tréville.      

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

          With her pale green eyes she studied the ceiling of her bedroom. She just had woken up to a loud sound outside her window, which she couldn’t figure out. She looked at the small, naked angels that looked down on her. The angels surrounded the virgin Mary, who was sitting on a cloud next to her son. The beautiful ceiling fresco that pleased her eyes showed the Ascension Day of Mary.

          Suddenly she had to laugh out loud, of all the rooms the King could have given her, he had given her the one which was dedicated to the mother of God. “You Milady are my guardian angel!” With these words he had thanked her for saving his life. “I am many things, but an angel is not one of them.”

          Pure luck had brought her back to fortune and wealth. After her husband had told her to leave Paris and never come back, she had had a hard time. She couldn’t work any longer for the Cardinal and her money was soon depleted. So she had to return to her previous job, working again as a trickster and a thieve. The last months had been hard for her, but now she was back and she did not want to lose the life of a noblewoman at the King’s court again. Now that the King himself had forgiven her, she was safe from her husband’s vengeance and had no reason to leave Paris anymore.

Had Athos seen me recently with the King? Milady wasn’t sure.

          Athos had had palace guard several days ago as she and King Louis had kissed each other in one of the corridors that lead to the state’s hall but the way Athos had left the palace, after she had recognized his presence, had led her to assume that he must have seen her.  She didn’t care anymore or did she? Athos had been the love of her life. True at first she had only wanted to find a way to leave the gutter. As they met by accident she started to flirt with him, but soon after that she really fell in love with him and the moments they had together before their marriage were the best moments of her life. She could still feel his strong arms holding her, their long days in the fields of his estate. The summer days they spent together, lying in the grass and doing nothing else, but loving each other. On one of these lovely summer days he had asked her to marry him. It was the best day of her life, she felt so happy, so wanted, so free. After their marriage Athos had not changed towards her but other courtiers began to treat her as an outsider, as if she had no right to marry a Comte. She was a common girl in their eyes and Athos had neglected his duty as the Comte de la Fère by marrying such an unworthy woman.

          And then that horrible day arrived. The day that had changed everything. The day Thomas’ life had ended by his own fault.The day her’s and Athos’ life had frozen for an eternity …well at least for a very long time.   

           Seeing his younger brother dead on the floor had hurt Athos too much. He had loved his brother and hadn’t seen his true character. He had been blind to what he was capable of and she couldn’t prove what he had done to her.

Their love hadn’t had any chance ...

          Another loud noise came up to her room, combined with loud laughter and the King was speaking. She was curious why he was up so early, so she let the past be the past again and walked to the window. It had a beautiful view over the King’s gardens. Glad that the rain had finally stopped, she could see a blue horizon, red and yellow flowers and a fountain, directly under her window. To her right she could see the King with his brother-in-law and Rochefort shooting at bottles. Next to them were four Musketeers who were busy securing the area. She could spot d’Artagnan who looked still very handsome, but right now very bored. Next to him, Captain Tréville tried to be polite and correct to the King as the shooting continued. If Tréville was around, Athos would be near him. So she looked at the other two Musketeers standing at the other side and guarding another section of the King’s garden, but she didn’t know them, maybe he had other important business to do for the King. Now with the summit coming up there were a thousand tasks to fulfill. She recognised that she was being watched from another person and as she looked down she could see Tréville looking up to her, his blue eyes stared coldly in her direction and she retreated by making some steps away from the window. She could hear Louis’ voice in the distance:

“Come on Tréville. You are so serious lately. Please join us in shooting! I am curious who is the better shooter, the Captain of my Musketeers or the Captain of the Red Guards!”

          The King’s loud laughter could be heard in the garden of the palace as the echo was reflected.   

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

          Athos wasn’t sure why two Dr. Lemays were checking him over. Since when did the man have a twin-brother. He squinted his feverish eyes in order to see less blurry, his throat still felt like fire. The pain potion Porthos had just given him had increased his suffering again and he hadn’t been able to hold the cup this time. He had tried to but his hand shook too much. Softly Porthos had taken it in his hand and waited until the shiver had gone away. Then he had lifted his head, pressed the cup to his lips.

“Try to drink! I am helping you.”

          As he wanted to turn away after the third gulp he felt another hand massaging his larynx again to make him swallow a bit more. Now he felt the itching pain returning in his chest. He could feel the doctor’s hand on his chest over his shirt on the spot that bothered him and he felt dizzy again, gasping for air, and groaning out loud, not knowing why he had trouble breathing. Suddenly he felt he was being lifted again and he heard the order to breathe in and out, in and out. He tried to follow it, every breath hurting his lungs, but it didn’t seem to help. His heart was hammering even worse in his chest. He let out another loud groan and pressed as hard as he could on Porthos’ hand in order to get the pain away.

“It doesn’t work doctor!” He heard Aramis voice from the distance.

          He felt the hand of the doctor once again on his left hand, then at his neck.

“Can you feel that?” Lemay asked Aramis.

          The medic bend over and felt Athos carotid, pulsing very fast.

No, it can’t be … My world is narrowing again … No, please, not again … again? … I can’t remember… Was there a first time? No, I am dreaming. That’s it. That’s a dream … But … the sounds … they are so hushed and hurting at the same time … I can’t breathe … I can’t ...

“We need to get his heart beat down, doctor, the breathing exercises don’t seem to work.”

          Athos started to shiver again. His whole body was gripped by a fit, worse than before and the three men stepped away from him.

No, please not again … ahhhh …

Again? No it didn’t happen … I must have drunk too much. That’s it. I will wake up …

Why is my body shaking so violently?

My hands … I can’t control them anymore …

My legs … why can’t I hold them still …

My feet are cramping … mmmhhh … help me … No, please stop …

Why can’t I fight against it?

Why can’t I control my body anymore? Mmmmh … God that hurts … my chest …

My mind is blank again. Again?....

Please, go away, please …

Finally …

          He could feel the convulsions hitting his body. He tried to escape them, wanted to get rid of them, wanted to fight them like a nasty enemy but he couldn’t, he was forced to witness how his own body was betraying him. His head was shaking, the cramps in his chest returned in a fierce way. He wanted to hide, at least to pass out but he couldn’t. Numbly, he waited until the fit finally disappeared.  Athos was lying shock still in his bed. His whole body was sweating and he felt ashamed as he noticed that he was wet around his thighs and legs. The pain in his chest hadn’t gone away. His heart was still bouncing in his chest.

No, no, no … not again …. Please make it stop. God this hurts, my chest, my heart …

I need … I need … I can’t … Please, where are you …? Where is he? Don’t leave me, please… I need … I need the voice … I remember a voice. It felt so good … the last time … The last time?

          Another loud moan escaped his lips. He felt again the hand on his chest. This time Aramis’.

Please, Aramis, make it stop. I can’t bear this pain in my chest any longer…

“Doctor we have to get his heart-rate down again!”

          He felt his sluggish upper body being propped up, a hand slowly touched his cheek and then he heard Lemay.

“Athos I want you to cough out!”

Why shall I cough? I don’t need to cough. My throat hurts. Only more pain. I am not sure how much longer I can endure this. What is happening with me … ahhh … it shall stop … why does my heart hurt so much? I want it over, I want darkness, I want to forget, please, let me go… Let me go, let me sleep, let me disappear, help me to disappear, help me be lost and safe into darkness … Do it … please … do it …

          Athos didn’t want to listen. The pain was much worse. Every single muscle was still hurting from the horrible convulsion. He tried to pull his head away but the hand on his cheek was there again. It was a cooler hand this time.

“Come on, I know you can do this, Athos! Just one cough! Open your mouth!”

Aramis? I remember … No … I … I can’t remember. White. Everything is white … fog ... Why do you sound so troubled, Aramis? Have I done something wrong? Please stop worrying! What shall I do ….?  

          Athos could hear the concern in Aramis’ voice and he didn’t want to hear his concern.

He opened his mouth and coughed. Suddenly the pain in his chest vanished, the throbbing heart went back in a normal rhythm and the itching pain was gone.

Whatever just happened … thanksss … ah that feels good … your hand feels good … ahhh ...

I need to close my eyes … I am so exhausted … so tired … so hot ... the coolness …

          Exhausted he opened his mouth, then breathed in more deeply. He felt someone making circles on his back and it felt good. Softly he was laid back in a horizontal position after another hand and ear had felt and listened to his heartbeat. His eyes started to droop. The last thing he noticed before the sleep caught him again was a cool washcloth resting on his forehead and Aramis’ voice.

“Doctor, we need to bring his fever down, now!”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

You will answer for that.

Again and again.

You will answer for your crime.

You will answer for that?

What crime?

He can’t think anymore.

Rough hands on his neck.

You will answer for your crime.

Rough hands on his neck. On his arms. On his head.

Bow your head. Bow your head.

You will answer for your crime.

Rough hands are  pushing him.

The floor is slippy.

The corridor again. So long. So hot.

Rough hands on his arms, on his back, on his neck. Bow your head.

You will answer for your crime. Now.

He knows the voice. The voice broke the lovely doll.

Doors. Large doors. Bang.

The voice.

You will answer for your crime.

Cold air now. Rain.

Rain on his face.

Cold air. Cold rain.

Rough hands push him.

His feet stumble. Muddy lawn. Trees.

Where are they taking him?

You will answer for your crime.

Woods.

Water.

Pain.

Cold.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Earlier at the palace

Could this day become even worse? Tréville wondered as he stood guard next to the King, the Duke of Savoy and a peacock called Rochefort.

        D’Artagnan had earlier appeared in the King’s gardens and had informed him quietly about Athos’ state of health and that Lemay was on his way to the garrison to check on him a second time. He could see the concern in the eyes of his young soldier. How could he comfort the young Gascon when he himself was now concerned too? He had hoped that the fever would have left his Lieutenant by now.

Why can’t he fight this flu? Why does it still have him in his grip?

        He noticed that a figure was looking out of one of the windows of the palace. As he checked for a possible threat he looked up and to his surprise he spotted Milady.

So the court gossip seems to be true, Milady is the King’s latest mistress. Does Athos know? Is that the reason why he can’t fight this flu as he probably could? Is she the reason why he is so severely ill this time?

        Tréville became angry. This woman was around and his brave and tough soldier became weak and acted like a complete fool or a hurt dog and most of the time he ended up drinking and he needed the strength of his friends to bring him back. Tréville lost himself in his thoughts.

        In the meantime the King had a great deal of fun, shooting at bottles a servant had prepared at a short distance. His shooting skills were not bad but he missed several targets and the Duke of Savoy, standing next to him, wasn’t sure if he really wanted to participate in the game. He was the better shooter and he knew it but he also knew how complicated his brother-in-law and host could be. Winning against him here and now with all the hopes he had put into this trade summit would probably lose him quite a fortune.  

        So he agreed to shoot some rounds too but ensured that the King was the better shot. When the Captain of the Red Guards also joined him, he was an even worse shot or so it appeared when shooting against the King.

Oh this Rochefort is good at manipulating Louis, he realised. It’s better not to trust him.                                                 

        Savoy looked at Captain Tréville standing a few paces away from them, doing his job and guarding the area. The last time they had met, he had fought against one of his Musketeers who had beaten him in a sword fight.

And what a fight!

        King Louis seemed to become bored and looked around, seeing Tréville who looked a bit confused and sad this morning. So in order to cheer him up he had a brilliant idea.

“Come on Tréville. You are so serious, lately. Please, join us in shooting! I am curious who is the better shooter the Captain of my Musketeers or the Captain of the Red Guards!”

Louis’ loud laughter brought Tréville back into the here and now.

A competition against Rochefort. Please, don’t ask me to do this!

        But too late, the King  had already asked him.

“Tréville what is it? You are looking a bit concerned this morning?”

“Please, your Majesty, I think my duty is to observe the area to prevent any possible threats. I am sure the Duke of Savoy will do another shooting round with you!”

“Tréville this is a lame excuse, besides, I am getting bored. I am better than Rochefort and the Duke!”

Tréville sighed out loud. He could not say “no” to the King again, not this time. So he  prepared himself to beat Rochefort as the Captain of the Red Guards stepped in.

“The reason why the Captain looks so worried today is that one of his officers has fallen ill!”

        Angrily, Tréville looked at Rochefort. Couldn’t this man for once keep his mouth shut?

“Really, Tréville? Who is it? And what does he have?”

        All alarm bells chimed in Tréville’s head. What should he say to the King? He couldn’t lie to him.

“It is Athos your Majesty. He seems to have been infected by the flu.”  

        Tréville expected an answer like “oh”, “but this is harmless” or some other nonsense, but the King surprised him instead.

“That’s not good, my son had that horrible cold! Wish him a speedy recovery from me!”

        He could say no more, because he was interrupted by the Duke of Savoy.

“You are saying your officer Athos has fallen ill?”

“Yes, My Lord!”  

“Is this the soldier who fought with me last year?”

“Yes, it is him! Why?”

“Oh, I was just curious. Wish him a speedy recovery from me too, he is a fine soldier, I hope he gets better soon.”

“Come Tréville. We’ve had enough exercise for the morning, we have to discuss some more important details for our trade summit. If you’ll excuse us!” The King told his brother-in-law.

        Without waiting for an answer he lead the way and Tréville, d’Artagnan and Rochefort followed their King. Rochefort hadn’t said a word about Athos’ condition, but Tréville was sure it would come. Something like, “I truly hope that your other soldiers will be fit for duty” or something like that. He was simply waiting for the right moment, he was always like that. Tréville sensed another headache coming on and he was glad as he heard d’Artagnan whisper to him:

“Well, that was an interesting move from the King. At least we don’t have to fear now that he wants to see Athos this afternoon at the palace.”  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Athos’ room

        While Athos was sleeping, Doctor Lemay talked to Aramis and Porthos.

“I agree with you, we have to get his fever down or I am afraid he will not survive the  night!” Doctor Lemay said to a shocked Porthos and Aramis.

“How can we do this?”

        Porthos looked frightened, as he tried to blink some unshed tears away.

“First, could you again name the symptoms he has had since the beginning of his illness?”

        Aramis started slowly:

“Headache, sickness, swollen throat, feeling dizzy, high fever, hallucinations, chest pain …”

“He hasn't had any coughing yet?” Lemay interrupted Aramis.

“No not that I am aware of … Porthos?”

“No, no coughing, only breathing much too heavily, catching his breath and he is very emotional. Much too exhausted, confused and very tired most of the time …”

And terrifyingly talkative. Porthos thought bitterly.

“Constance has told me that a warm bath can help to reduce a high fever, but I’m not sure if his heart will be strong enough to survive this.” Dr. Lemay added cautiously, while listening to the heart of his patient once again. “It’s still beating much too fast for my liking. The way he is complaining about his chest pains tells me that he’s in a great deal of pain, caused by his racing heartbeat.” Lemay sighed out loud.

“Try it with cold compresses first on his face, his wrists and ankles and try to give him more tea and water to drink. If this doesn’t help, try the bath, but ...” He became silent and Aramis was well aware what he didn’t want to tell them.

“How shall we bathe him, doctor?” Porthos asked, while Aramis tried to fight with his emotions.

        Lemay gave them some quick instructions, while Aramis and Porthos stared at the doctor feeling more and more uneasy.

“So this is all we can do for him right now?” Aramis asked obviously shaken.

“I am afraid yes and now I need to leave you. I have several other flu patients at the palace who also need my help. ” Lemay excused himself.

        Lemay left the three men behind, not sure if it wasn’t already too late for Athos and instead of a bath his friends should consider calling a priest.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

A few minutes later, still in Athos’ room   

“So, what do we do, now?” Porthos asked after Lemay’s departure. “We have to try the bath, Aramis. I doubt that bathing his face, which we’ve been doing all day long, will help to reduce his fever,  we have to bathe him! Now! We cannot waste precious time sitting next to him and doing nothing. He’s asleep so helping him to drink more tea, won’t work. It’s his last chance. I know the doctor hasn’t said it out loud, but he fears that Athos will … Aramis? … Aramis!”

        Aramis was sitting on the edge of the mattress, his right hip against Athos’ trembling arm, looking at his friend’s drawn features. His right hand curled around Athos’ wrist on the man’s chest, not breaking contact with his pulse. His left hand clutched at his rosary so tightly that the beads must have embedded themselves into his skin. His head was bowed and his black curls fell like a thick curtain on his face. Porthos, sitting at the table, had been staring at him for long minutes. The unusual silence of his friend made him feel uneasy … His thigh still throbbed intermittently and he cursed the day he had received this bolt. Bad timing. He so wanted to be strong. They would have to take Athos to the garrison’s bathroom, Porthos thought. This room at the back of the building was a small room heated by a huge fireplace whose hearth occupied a third of one of the four walls. There were no windows in order to keep both the privacy of the users and the heat. The thick door had two big rusty bolts. Three wooden bathtubs had been settled in the dim room separated by screens made of canvas stretched over wooden frames. The orange light of the roaring fire played with the translucent fabric of the screens and the white linens laying in the bathtubs in order to protect the user’s skin from splinters. Porthos remembered the smell of the room, a mix of smoke, sweat, herbs and sometimes soap made of olive oil and lavender -for the wealthiest of them who also used musky perfumes from Oriental countries-. In the silence, only broken by Athos’ ragged breath, Porthos tried to figure out how they could take Athos to that -so far away- room.

“We have to take him to the bathroom. We can’t bring a tub in here, it’s too heavy and none of us is strong enough. And it’s too cold here.” He began, breaking the thick silence.

    Aramis startled and raised his head. His eyes shone with an unmistakable wetness and they widened as Porthos talked.

“Sorry, Wh … what?” He stammered.

“We have to take him to the bathroom.” Porthos repeated. “We are not strong enough to bring a bathtub and one hundred liters of warm water in here.”

    Aramis looked at him with wide eyes, as if Porthos had spoken to him in a foreign language.

“Aramis, pull yourself together, dammit!” He shouted.

    And he immediately regretted his outburst as Aramis lowered his head once more. Slowly standing up, Porthos approached his friend and laid a hand on the thick silky hair.

“Hey … Sorry, Aramis, I am so sorry, but we …”

“You are right!” Aramis interrupted him in a firm voice. “If we don’t do anything, this fever will kill him … and us.” He added in a barely audible voice.  

    Porthos briefly scratched his friend’s scalp and removed his hand. Aramis looked up and a small smile wavered on his lips. He let go of his rosary, tucking it again in his collar and used Porthos’ right hand to stand up … and take comfort at the same time. They stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder, for a few seconds, their eyes unable to leave the shivering shape of their friend’s body.

The door softly creaked open. They didn’t turn around, not even caring who the newcomer was.

“Er ... ahem … Is he … tell me he isn’t …” Pleaded a hushed young voice.

    Realising how their behaviour could be misleading, Porthos turned abruptly with the brightest smile he could manage.

“Hey you! Look Aramis, here is our saviour!”

    D’Artagnan literally slumped from relief. Seeing the two of them standing side by side head bowed over the bed, had scared him. Now he could feel his heartbeat slow down and he slowly breathed out, his mouth forming a funny “o”. Porthos smiled fondly.

“Sorry, d’Artagnan. We scared you.”

“No … no … not at all ...” He stammered shakingly. “I … just … wanted …”

“To help us take that human source of heat to the bathroom.” Porthos finished his sentence trying to alleviate the tense atmosphere.

“But … I thought … I heard someone say that it … it could …”

“It could kill him, you are right.” Aramis whispered. “But this fever will kill him anyway.”

    D’Artagnan staggered and had to sit down on the nearest chair.

“Hey … not the time for you to faint. Let’s find a solution!” Pothos told him.

    D’Artagnan stayed quiet, staring at his sick friend. He sucked in a few deep breaths.

“The problem is that our friend is surely a lot thinner than Porthos … ouch!” Aramis cried as Porthos’ hand landed on the back of his head. “But, he is heavy.” He continued, instinctively rearranging his tousled hair.

    A silence, then:

“Stretcher!” D’Artagnan’s firm voice startled the two older men.

“How a farm boy can be so clever?” Porthos laughed clapping a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Of course, we need a stretcher!”

“I’ll go to the infirmary right now, to fetch one, wait for me!” D’Artagnan cried eagerly and he left.    

“Don’t worry, we're not going anywhere.” Porthos said with a snort to the uneven planks of the now closed door.

    During d’Artagnan’s absence, they discussed the terms of the trip they were about to undertake and how they would protect and keep their precious cargo warm.

Cargo? Did they say “cargo”? Are they kidding? I wish I could send them one of my glares that often make them lower their eyes … However, they said “precious”... My dear friends, I am so sorry to be such a burden. Not a precious cargo, a burden. An insane and weak and drunk burden. Why am I so weak and dependent …? I want it over… One way or another, I want it over, please … make it stop …

        A short discussion and d’Artagnan was already back, his trousers covered in mud and a large stretcher in his arms. He dropped it onto the floor, panting.

“That heavy?” Porthos laughed.

“No, but I wanted to be quick so I ran … er … and …”

“And?” Aramis asked frowning.

“And I fell in the courtyard.” D’Artagnan added sheepishly.

“My God!” Aramis laughed. “Now, how are we going to use that thing?”

“Er … like everyone uses a stretcher. We lay Athos on it and we carry him into the bathroom. What else?” Porthos asked.

“We need to protect him from the looks of the other men and from the cold and the rain.” D’Artagnan said quietly, staring at his sick brother with a worried look. “Oh, and I asked Roch to fill a tub with warm water.”

“Ah! At least there is one grown up Musketeer in this room besides me.” Aramis said before adding. “You are right d’Artagnan, give me that hideous blue blanket. We will cover him with it as soon as he is laid on that thing. I would prefer him awake, but he seems reluctant to enjoy the trip. I just hope he won’t wake up during our walk.”

        All these little jokes seemed misplaced, but they helped them to tame their sorrow and their fears. When Aramis laid a hand on Athos’ shoulder, the man shivered so violently that he was startled and removed it.  

“D’Artagnan, come here,” Aramis said gesturing towards the headboard. “Talk to him, talk to him like you did when he had this … you know … I don’t know what you said, but it helped him. Can you do that? In the meantime, Porthos and I will lift him. Both of you, warm your hands if they are cold. We need to stress him as little as possible.”

The voice … the words … please, don’t stop … don’t stop … don’t leave me ... My God … it hurts … keep talking to me, please … don’t leave me … talk to me ...

        And so they did. While d’Artagnan poured in Athos’ ear a stream of -maybe Gascon- words, holding his right hand and careful not to be in the others’ way, Porthos and Aramis lifted their comrade. The whole process went surprisingly well, but as they laid Athos on the stretcher, his body suddenly arched, he screamed and collapsed, unconscious. At least it was what Aramis hoped as he leaned, frightened, over his friend’s body frantically trying to find  a pulse.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

“He lives.” D’Artagnan muttered.

        Aramis raised his head, surprised.

“He lives.” D’Artagnan assured them in a steady voice.

        And indeed, Athos hadn’t let go of the young man’s hand, gripping it like a lifeline, his knuckles white on his young friend’s tanned skin.

“He lives, I can feel his heartbeat, it’s uneven and much too fast, but it’s here.”

        Aramis crossed himself. A strong and shaky breath made them look up. Porthos had clapped a trembling hand on his mouth and stared at Athos with a childish fear in his eyes. D’Artagnan tried to get up to go to his side, but the grip on his hand tightened. He smiled softly sending an apologising look at Aramis who stood up.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathed. “He is fine.”

“No, he isn’t!” Porthos replied sharply.

“No, he isn’t but he will, it’s just a fever, a very high fever, but still just a fever.” Aramis tried to reassure him half-heartedly.

“Just a fever!” Porthos snorted bitterly. “A fever which might kill him. Nothing works, I am sorry, but I am tired, Aramis.” He added in a dejected tone.

“I know, my friend, but right now, he needs us, so, let’s be strong and bath him. If it doesn’t work, at least he will smell better.” Aramis finished with a wry smile. “I’ll take the head, you take the back, d’Artagnan … you take … er ... the hand!” He finished with a lopsided smile, noticing how the two men were holding onto each other.

        And with a last wink at his friends he settled himself at the front of the stretcher. Porthos bent to seize the back and the third man kept his post. They slowly and carefully made their way to the bathroom choosing not to cross the courtyard but following the walls around it, to keep their charge away from the intermittent drizzle and the possible witnesses. The bathroom welcomed them with a waft of warm wet air and after closing and bolting the door, they laid their precious charge at a reasonable distance from the blazes, Athos didn’t need such a heat. Aramis went to the tub and plunged his hand into the warm water.

“Your elbow.” Porthos growled.

“What?”

“Lemay told you to check the temperature with your elbow, who’s the medic?”

“Oh, right, you are right, the water is still too hot, we’ll have to wait.”

“Or add cool water. Aramis, did you leave your head in Athos’ room? Shall I go and fetch it?”

“If you two could stop joking, please.” D’Artagnan laughed, relieved to see that Porthos seemed to feel more relaxed.

“Bring me a bucket of cold water, d’Artagnan, please.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Oh sorry, yes, I’ll go.”

        The grip on his hand had slightly loosened, but the young man wasn’t ready to leave his post. When Aramis came back, he poured half of the cool water in the bathtub and checked the temperature once more.  

“I think it’s good now. D’Artagnan … er … we … we will have to … you know.”

“Undress him, so what? You want me to leave again? No chance. Stop considering me as a child, please. Anyway, he doesn’t want to let go of my hand, so, I will have to do it … one handed … but I will do it! ”  

        Aramis crossed his arms on his chest, smiling.

“I don’t doubt it, now, please, go ahead.”   

        So d’Artagnan did. He bent towards Athos’ head, never letting go of the demanding hand and the two witnesses had to stifle a cry of surprise. As soon as the young man’s lips brushed Athos’ ear, the man opened his teary bloodshot eyes. They shone in the dim corner of the room where they had laid Athos as far away as they could from the roaring fire, so Aramis and Porthos could barely make out the figures of the two men on the floor. The red tinge his face had acquired was less scary in this room, the fire was coloring his skin with shades of ochre.

“Now, I need you to help me, Athos.” The young man murmured. “I know it hurts, I know you are weak, but we need to help you feel better. So, now, let go of my hand, don’t worry, I am not leaving your side.”

“How ...?” Athos rasped, his voice more scratchy than ever. “Where are we?”

“You will have a bath.”

“Noommmh …” Athos moaned.

“Yes you will.” D’Artagnan chided. “That’s why we need you awake now.”

“Need a hand?” Porthos asked.

“Shhh. I will tell you as soon as I need your help.” D’Artagnan whispered mindful not to speak too loudly. Then, turning back to Athos. “Now, can I have my hand back, please?”

        Athos sighed and loosened his grip. D’Artagnan curled an arm around his back to sit him in an upright position. The man’s head rolled against his shoulder, settling in the crook of his neck. D’Artagnan looked at Aramis, worried. The skin against his was so hot! Slowly, with one hand, he began to untie the collar of the shirt but he froze as he noticed that Athos’ eyes were tight shut and that a lone tear had rolled down each cheek, disappearing into his beard. The process was too slow, Athos was clearly suffering from the position and surely from the realisation of what was happening to him. He could only silence his pride and his modesty. D’Artagnan managed to lift the shirt with his right hand and brought it up Athos’ upper body to his chest to remove the cloth entirely. As his hand met the clammy skin of his friend’s back, the young man jumped. He softly ran it once again along the bare back and felt again the strange lines which made a relief pattern on the smooth skin. He raised his head and looked at Aramis with an amazed expression. His lips began to form a question, but Aramis lifted a hand to silence him.

“Later!” He mouthed silently.   

         Now the urgency was to prepare Athos as quickly as possible. So, Aramis and Porthos -in spite of his pain- knelt beside d’Artagnan and helped him. As soon as they began to remove the rest of his clothes, Athos gripped d’Artagnan’s hand again like a frightened child. Once naked, he tried to curl on himself so Aramis quickly wrapped him in a clean sheet and between the three of them, they managed to make him sit in the tub. Athos sighed and shuddered as his burning skin met the water, but no other reaction, no convulsion as they all feared inwardly.  

        D’Artagnan slid a hand behind his head as a living pillow. Athos turned his head slightly to lean into the touch. Then with the utmost care and respect they sponged his arms, his chest, his neck, careful to always respect his privacy. As the fire threatened to die, Porthos went to the fireplace, added a log and stoke the embers. A few seconds later, a huge blaze brightened the room.

         Athos flinched and squeezed his eyes shut. D’Artagnan laid a hand on his face to protect his painful pupils, absentmindedly stroking his cheekbone with a soft thumb.

“Shhh, it’s alright. It will end soon.”

        He suddenly stopped, frowning.

“Aramis,” He whispered.

        And without removing his hand from Athos’ face, he pointed at something with the other one. Something that barely emerged from the troubled water. Just there, in the middle of Athos’ chest was a dark red blister the size and shape of a shiny garnet bead. The area immediately surrounding it was white, and the thin bluish veins seemed to palpitate under the  almost translucent skin. Around this strange spot, a larger area was covered in tiny spots and looked like a reddish piece of orange peel or sandpaper, thought Aramis as he ran the tip of his forefinger over the warm surface. Dry and burning.

“What … ?” Aramis breathed.

        This time d’Artagnan put a finger to his lips, now wasn’t the moment but the young man had recognised this new symptom. Porthos was back with them sitting on a low stool near the tub.

“What is it?” He mouthed silently.

“Later.” D’Artagnan replied in the same way.

“What are you two … talking … a … bout? D’Artagnan, even with … with your hand … on … my eyes … I know you … just … had a silent dis … discussion.” Athos mumbled breathless.

“Hey, Athos, you are with us? Welcome back, my friend!” Aramis said with a smile.

        And a surprising half smile appeared on Athos’ lips. Just a twitch of his upper lip, but a smile anyway.

“I know I … will … re … regret ... it … later, all of that, but … it …”

“Feels good?” Porthos answered, softly checking his temperature with the back of his hand. “You are less hot, you know.”

“Yes … It really is the best … best moment … I had in …”

        Athos fought to catch his breath, his heart trying to escape his chest. So he tried to follow Aramis’ advice. He tried to cough. And surprisingly, it seemed to help.

“But … I …”

        His teeth began to chatter.

“You are cold. Alright. Let’s get you out of this perfumed broth.” Aramis joked.

        A rasp made them jump as if they had thought themselves alone, protected in this world of warmth, white smoke and soft lights. Aramis stood up and went to the door.

“May I?” A hesitant Tréville asked quietly.

        As he stepped into the room a large smile appeared on his lips brightening his face.

“Athos, you are awake!”

        He knelt beside the tub.

“Barely,” Athos whispered. “But I feel better … Just … a little …”  

“Sleepy,” Aramis finished. “So, now, it’s time to be back in your bed.”

“With three … or four .... watch dogs?” Athos asked, a little slurred but with a hint of his usual dry humour.

“Of course.” Aramis replied.

        And they carefully dried their friend, dressed him with clean and soft clothes Aramis had lent and wrapped him again in the thick old -hideous- blanket. Then they slowly made their way back to Athos’ room.    

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Athos hadn’t felt so well since the illness had had him in its grip, he was still weak and very tired, but feeling slightly better. He felt the sensation of security as Aramis finally tucked him in the blankets of his own bed. Without the help of his brothers he wouldn’t be back on the road to recovery. A slight smile formed on his lips, as he felt Aramis’ presence. He had closed his eyes, mollified from the warm bath.

“Thanks!” He softly said to Aramis and opened his eyes for him.

        Aramis’ brown eyes smiled at his friend. He could see the much too wide pupils that were still enlarged.

“I just want to check your heartbeat, so we can decide, if you need to sit up or if you can stay in the horizontal position, Athos. He softly pulled the blanket covering Athos’ upper body away.

        Athos had closed his eyes again. He could feel the warm hand of his brother lifting his shirt. Aramis put his hand on the chest of his sick friend. His heart was beating faster than he would have liked it, but not as fast as it had been before. He let his hand rest a bit on Athos’ chest to calm him. Athos sighed, clearly enjoying the touch and Aramis couldn’t help but smile at the sleepy face. Then, after checking if Athos eyes were really closed, he opened Athos’ shirt revealing the rash d’Artagnan had discovered earlier. In the middle of Athos’ chest there was a red hot spot which Athos must have scratched because he could see the prints that his fingernails had left. The area was hot and he did not like the colour, he slowly started to check other parts of Athos’ chest. Around the bigger spot, there were smaller spots, probably transported there, through Athos’ scratching.

“Aramis, what are … you … do …?“ Athos panted.

“Shhh, it’s alright, I just want to make sure, that we have seen all your symptoms so that we can treat you better.”

        Athos did not like the sound of Aramis’ voice, something was wrong but he still felt good, still felt numbed by the persistent feeling of the warm perfumed water and the tender ministrations of his friends. So maybe Aramis was only in his mother-hen mode, making one hundred percent sure, that he was really fine and better. From the distance D’Artagnan, Porthos and Captain Tréville watched silently. Porthos felt relieved that Athos seemed to be on the road to recovery, but Aramis’ and d’Artagnan’s behaviour earlier did not give him any peace, something was going on, something that they did not want to say openly in front of Athos.

        Porthos could feel the stare of his younger brother in the direction of his bedridden mentor. His eyes fixed the part that Aramis was just checking and being curious he took  several steps nearer to the bed.

        Athos who heard him approaching said without opening his eyes:

“Porthos, come … sit with me, pl … “.

       Athos still had problems with his speech and his eyes still seemed to have problems with the light. Aramis pulled back the shirt and the blanket over Athos’ chest.

“I need to get a salve and some herbs, but I will be back soon, in the meantime Porthos will stay with you. I think one person with you right now will be sufficient, you must rest, my dear friend!”

       He exchanged a worried look with Porthos who understood at once. Stay with him, comfort him, I need to check on something and I need to talk with the others. I will be back, promise.

“What … is … it … not tell … me ….” Athos asked Aramis.

        Aramis sighed inwardly, even with his eyes closed his brother understood his gestures and behaviour.

“I’ve told you, I need to check on something but I will be back shortly.” He squeezed Athos’ right hand and went to the door.

         Tréville who had sensed that something was going on announced:

“Get better soon!” With d’Artagnan, he followed the medic outside.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Why?

Don’t be so naive. You know why.

Why?

Hate. Just hate.

A rope burns his wrists.

Why?

Jealousy. Just jealousy.

His shirt has been ripped. He is naked to the waist.

Cold. Shivers.

Arms stretched above his head, he waits.

He looks up at the crying sky. He welcomes the fresh water on his face, his back.

One.

He grinds his teeth.

Two.

He won’t cry.

Three.

He moans softly. He mustn’t show his pain.

His forehead on the rough wood of the pole.

He can’t raise his head anymore.

He can’t look at the sky anymore.

The whip tears the air, tears the tender flesh.

He can’t look at the sky anymore.

He closes his eyes.

Four.

He wishes he could pray.

Five.

Where are you?

Six.

He is so alone.

Seven.

His shirtsleeve muffles his cries.

Eight.

God, help me!

Nine.

He can’t take anymore.

Ten.

He screams.

He feels his knees buckle under his weight.

Why?

Insanity. Just insanity.

And darkness. Welcomed darkness.  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“It’s poison, isn’t it?” D’Artagnan burst out outside of Athos’ room.

       Tréville stood stock still, he couldn’t believe his ears, with his mouth open he first looked at d’Artagnan while wondering if his youngest Musketeer was hallucinating like his Lieutenant, but the Gascon looked healthy. So he moved his head into the direction of Aramis who was still gathering his thoughts and searching for the right words.

“Are you kidding me? Both of you?” The disbelief on his face was not to miss.

“Captain, I am not sure but the possibility that Athos has been poisoned is very high.” Aramis began slowly. “He has a scarlet rash on his chest and several other smaller rashes are next to it. It looks as though Athos has scratched himself several times there, his pupils are widely enlarged and he still has problems with his vision. He hasn’t told Lemay, but I don’think he can see clearly if people are standing directly in front of him, he’s reacting to light. Enlarged pupils can be an indicator of poisoning.”

          Aramis paused to gather his thoughts and wondered what other symptoms might speak for poisoning as d’Artagnan groaned out loud:

“No! Please, no! It can’t be. It mustn’t be!” The young man tried to hide his tears that welled up in his eyes.

“What is it?” Aramis asked his younger friend and Tréville looked irritated at him too.

“The symptoms you just have named. They can be caused by a very deadly plant. If you consume too much of this plant, I mean of its berries, you can die very quickly. In many cases people can die within several days. They have a dry throat, a very high fever, a rapid heartbeat …”

“Where do you know this from, d’Artagnan?”

        Aramis remembered that he had heard of such a plant too. Some prostitutes used it to prepare themselves for their lovers. In several cases, if they had taken too much of the serum of the plant they became insane and died shortly after taking the overdose. Aramis stroked his right hand nervously through his hair and rested it at the back of his head.

“I … we …!” D’Artagnan stumbled.

        Seeing Aramis’ anxiety, feeling his own malaise and watching his Captain’s understanding and worried facial expression, ready to explode because this day went from bad to worse. D’Artagnan cleared his throat and added:

“When I was a small boy one of our neighbour’s daughters thought the berries of this plant were cherries. She and her brother started to eat them. She consumed too many of them and shortly afterwards died, her brother was lucky, he had had all those symptoms, we have talked about … but he was lucky, because he had eaten less and was already bigger and older.”

        D’Artagnan tried to hide the emotions that came up, as he remembered the day his mother came to him to explain that he would not be able to play with little Jeanne any longer. He was about nine years old at the time. After her funeral his mother had shown him the plant and warned him to never taste its berries nor anything else from the plant.

        Tréville who had been listening quietly now cleared his throat. His eyes that had starred the whole time at d’Artagnan, now wandered back to Aramis.

“Could it really be this poison, Aramis?”

“Captain, I am not a doctor. I … we have to check with Lemay. He will know better, but I fear that d’Artagnan is right.” Aramis head was spinning.

If it is really this poison we can only pray for a miracle. I have never heard of any antidote and I am not sure how much of this poison Athos was given.  Hopefully not too much , but the heavy symptoms are suggesting otherwise. I … WE have to talk with Athos … ask him …

        He was ripped from his thoughts.

“Aramis, we have to do something! Now! The longer we wait…,” the young Musketeer looked frustrated.

“We have to ask him! We have to talk to him!” Tréville said.

“What?” Aramis looked at him.

“If Athos has really been poisoned … and I really hope that you have the flu Athos … he must have noticed something. This red mark must have come to his chest from somewhere. If it doesn’t come from the cold, flu or any other disease and ...”

        Tréville looked at his two soldiers:

“What plant are we talking about?”

“If it is what I think .... there won’t be any antidote ….” Aramis wanted to answer, but d’Artagnan was faster:

“Belladonna! The name of the plant is belladonna!”

        Tréville sighed in deeply. God please no, he groaned. D’Artagnan was right, if Athos was really poisoned with that plant they needed to act fast but how? Aramis said that there was no antidote. First steps first. He breathed in deeply then he looked at both his men.

“D’Artagnan! Go to the palace and get Doctor Lemay back here! He must check Athos’ chest as well.”  D’Artagnan hesitated.

        He hadn’t said a word to Athos as he left the room. Would his mentor still be alive when he returned.  Tréville could sense d’Artagnan’s thoughts but sending him in and allowing him to say his goodbye to Athos would only startle and agitate the sick man more and Athos needed all his strength to fight whatever had befallen his body.

“D’Artagnan! Now! The faster you leave the faster you can check on Athos yourself and be there for him.”

        D’Artagnan swallowed hard:

“Yes, Captain” He felt Aramis’ hand on his shoulder. He softly squeezed it.

“Come back as quickly as you can, Athos needs you.” He whispered in the young man’s ear.

        Tréville watched the touching scene between his men and tried to gather his own feelings. He needed to be strong now. If Athos really had been poisoned he needed to be strong for him and the other Inséparables .

“Alright Aramis, let’s make a plan how we talk to our patient …”       

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Porthos sat on the very edge of Athos’ mattress. He could have used a chair or a stool but he felt that when Athos had asked him to sit with him, it was that kind of closeness he longed for. So Porthos had very carefully sat down on the edge of the narrow mattress. He felt so heavy and large and clumsy. He didn’t know what to do with his long arms, his large hands and his painful leg. He gingerly stretched it.

    A sigh brought his eyes back to the thin figure at his side. He hadn’t dared to touch Athos since he had sat down on his bed, he slowly and gently laid a hand on the man’s forearm. Athos seemed asleep, his body still shaken by tremors. His skin was still too hot and red. His curls were plastered to his forehead and eyelids, which were closed much too often lately. Porthos couldn’t help but reach for his hand, but he stopped as Athos’ eyes suddenly opened. Athos blinked several times.

“Let me,” Porthos whispered and he gently removed the wet strands from the feverish eyes.

“Th … thirsty,” Athos rasped.

        Porthos reached for the cup on the nightstand. Athos tried to sit up, propping himself on an elbow but Porthos laid a hand on his chest.

“Don’t! I’ll help you,  you must rest.”

        He slid his left hand under Athos’ head and lifted it enough to let him drink, he shuddered at the heat radiating through the thick and wet hair. Athos drank the whole cup. He winced and moaned with each gulp but his eyes pleaded for another one. When he felt a little better he nodded his thanks to Porthos. The latter kept his hand on Athos’ nape and the man turned his head towards him, searching his eyes. He buried his face in the warmth of the arm supporting his head, basking in the comforting touch and he hated himself for that. He felt like a lost child. His expression was so distressed that Porthos felt a lump forming in his throat, the steady and strong soldier, the man who could scare them all with just a stare, with his self-control, his noble voice, with one thundering shout, this man was gone. Under Porthos’ gaze, there was only a young man, fragile, lost, scared. And Athos’ next words confirmed this feeling.

“Porthos … I am … sc …”

“Shhhh. I am here.” Porthos tried to hush him.

        But the blue green iris’ almost erased by the enlarged pupils locked with his were so full of fear, that Porthos felt that letting Athos speak, in spite of all the suffering it could bring, was the best he could do. So he removed his hand, put down the cup on the nightstand and waited.

        Athos slid a trembling hand from under the blanket but as he hadn’t the strength to hold it, it fell, limp, onto his chest. Porthos almost shyly, as if fearing to break the fragile limb, laid his large hand on it, feeling under his palm the dry skin and the still so fast heartbeat.

“Tell me,” he whispered, gently rubbing the white knuckles.

        Athos linked his thin fingers with his and they stayed a moment like that. Not leaving each other eyes. At last, Athos started to whisper:

“I am … d … dying.”

        It startled Porthos who fought to stay quiet and steady. He tightened his grip on the warm fingers.

“Don’t. Please, don’t.” He pleaded.

“Let … let me … spea …” Athos couldn’t finish.

        He tried to slow his breathing, he coughed and squeezed his eyes shut. Porthos waited, patiently, anxiously. He didn’t dare to intervene. He could have lifted Athos’ upper body, he could have comforted him, but he just felt unable to  move … He felt so useless … and Athos needed to feel strong and letting him calm his breathing by himself showed him that he still had enough strength. That he still could fight. At last, he opened his eyes, just a slit.

“I … I … know … I am dying.”

        Porthos looked at the ceiling, the lump in his throat threatening to burst. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply and looked down at his friend when he felt a weak pressure on his fingers. Athos tried to smile, just the shadow of a smile, but he wanted to reassure his brother.

“Don’t worry. I accept it … I think … I can accept it … it’s … just … I wanted … I so wanted to die … Six years ago … and it wouldn’t ta … take me … Death … forgot me … And now … now … I don’t … I want to live … I want to live, Porthos …”

        Two big tears escaped his eyes. Porthos wiped them with the back of his left hand, trying to rein in his own grief. His jaws hurt in his effort to keep his emotions at bay.

“I just … need … to … When … when …”

“Take your time, Athos, breathe.”

“I don’t have time, I …”

        Porthos reached for the cup and poured some fresh water in it.

“Drink.”

“No … no, it hurts … It’s just. When he … undressed … undressed me … D’Artagnan saw the … scars … I don’t know … if … if ... I ... have … enough … time … and strength left … to tell him …”

“You will, when you are healed, you will, don’t worry about that. He is not a child, he will understand and think no less of you because of it …There is no shame in what happened that day.”

“Don’t … be … naive, Por … os. Please, tell him … Explain … tell him … I … want … now … I want to sleep.”

        His eyes rolled back in his head that fell back on the pillow. Porthos took the limp hand in both of his where it disappeared and he let his tears fall.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

        Athos woke with a start, some sounds had brought him back from his restless sleep and he could feel the itching getting worse on his chest. He had tried to move his hand to the spot that bothered him under his shirt, but Porthos had managed to pull his hand back, every time he tried to scratch the itch. Why had Aramis checked his bare chest? His skin felt heated there and it was itching more after Aramis had touched the sore spot.

        He was distracted as the door was opened and he weakly turned his head to see who was coming. He opened his -less feverish- eyes and could see Tréville approaching him, the nearer he came the less clearer he could see him. He squeezed his eyes shut several times to get rid of his unclear vision but it did not work.

        In the meantime, Porthos offered the Captain his chair, but Tréville refused it and pulled another seat next to him. Aramis followed his example, so that they sat in a half circle around Athos’ bed.

“Athos, I need to talk to you … well, we all need to talk to you” Tréville made a gesture to Aramis “and we have several questions. Do you think you are fit enough to answer them?”

“Have I done … any … thing … wrong?” Athos gasped slightly agitated by the sudden change in his Captain’s behavior towards him.

        Tréville was completely taken aback by Athos’ question and tried to gather his thoughts before he continued. Gladly, he appreciated Aramis’ supporting input:

“No, not at all Athos!” Aramis helped. “Why don’t you relax and I … we’ll explain it to you?”

        Athos could sense the tense atmosphere and suddenly his eyes watered.

“It is … not … the flu … am … I … right?” He gasped.

“We don’t know for sure … my son … Athos!” Tréville said softly and rested his right hand on the sick man’s right hand.

“What is … it … then?” Athos’ breathing troubles had returned.

        He tried to stay focused and concentrated but all he could see were three blurred forms in front of him. Frustrated, he closed his eyes, he was tired of all of this. Tired of being forced to lie in his bed, tired of not knowing what was wrong with him, tired of the concerned looks from his friends, tired of his dependence on them.

        He sighed out loud and tried to catch his breath again, but it became harder and harder.

“I … can’t …!”

        Athos tried to breathe, but he had difficulties sitting up by himself. He was still too weak to raise his upper body without help. Tears were now running down his face ending in his beard.

“Easy, easy, it’s alright!” He heard Tréville’s soothing voice.

        He felt two strong arms lifting his torso back into an upright position. Porthos . He gently put some pillows behind his back and from a distance he could hear Aramis’ soft voice relaxing him. A warm hand was back on his chest and he heard the words In and out … in and out …

        Aramis’ palm rested on his friend’s chest and as Athos’ breathing started to even out he took a second look at Athos’ bare chest while opening the collar of his shirt again. The scarlet spot was still there. From this part of skin the heat radiated.

Oh Athos this must hurt so much. Why haven’t you said anything before? Wait, he had, but they had thought the pain was coming from his accelerated heart beat.

        Aramis softly searched the area and found a small spot that looked like a sharp needle  had injured the skin, now he was certain, Athos had been poisoned but when and where? They had to find out. While Aramis pulled back the blanket over Athos’ chest, Porthos had started to wipe Athos’ tears away with a wet cloth. Gently, very gently he dared to touch his friend’s face. Well aware that at the first sign that Athos was uncomfortable he would stop, but his brother accepted his help and comfort.

“I am afraid, Athos … that … we ...!” Tréville said very softly. “We think that you have been poisoned.”

        Athos felt dizzy, but somehow not surprised. He could hear Porthos’ surprised voice in the background as he tried to sort his own thoughts and feelings that hit him at this moment.

It never gets easier, never! You could take the easy path, a nasty cold, but no, you … you have to take the hard road with lots of stones on it, so that it is hard to pass and move onwards. Poisoned. But why? How? Where?

        His head was spinning, he opened and and closed his eyes several times to calm and steady himself.

“Woahh, who would poison Athos? This is ridiculous!” Porthos exclaimed.

        He put a protective hand on his friend’s shoulder. Angrily the street-fighter looked at his Captain.

Oh I know at least one person. Milady, Anne … Athos thought, thinking of her right now.                                     

        He was reminded of her soft touch, her good smell, her beautiful shining eyes and her bitter hatred and lust for revenge during the last year but he didn’t want to announce it out loud.  

“How certain are you?” Porthos asked a little more quietly, realising that his loud voice must have hurt Athos’ ears.

“A few minutes ago I would have said it is only one assumption of many, but I have again inspected your chest Athos.” Aramis made sure to not only talk over the head of their exhausted patient, but with him too. “You have a scarlet rash there, Athos.” He softly touched Athos’ shirt over the spot with his hand to mark it. “And I assume it must be itching very badly.”

“Hmmm …,” was Athos’ quiet answer as he again attempted to check the area of the spot with his right hand. Now that Aramis had mentioned and softly touched it, the itching had come back pounding heavily. He tried to scratch himself again, but Aramis held his hand tight.

“Don’t!” He said softly but firmly. “I will find something to ease your pain as soon as I can. Don’t worry. Calendula mix with honey is very efficient, it’s calming but, please, don’t scratch it like that, you will make the pain worse and also the state of your skin.”

        He wanted to put Athos’ hand back under the blanket but Athos fastened his grip around his wrist and so Aramis did not let go. With his thumb he softly drew small circles on the back of Athos’ hand, he sensed the anxiety from his brother about the news he still had to cope with but his questions would soon come and he feared them.

“I have found a very small spot that looks like the injection of a needle or another sharp item in the middle of your chest. Do you recall feeling a sting like a bee-sting several days ago? Let me see, on Thursday?” Aramis asked.

        Athos’ head was spinning. He tried to concentrate on what Aramis was saying, but he couldn’t. He felt confused and afraid at the same time. His hand gripped Aramis’ harder.  

“What …?” He groaned. “Why …?” And finally “Is there an … anti … dote?”

        Aramis felt so helpless in this moment. His brother wanted and needed answers and reassurance, but he himself had just stated in front of Athos’ room that there was none. At least he did not know about any.

        Tréville took over:

“Athos, listen to me, d’Artagnan is on his way to get Dr. Lemay. The doctor is very well qualified, I am sure he will know of a way to help you.”

        Athos looked into the pale blue eyes of his Captain, his reassuring smile helped the ill man to calm down a little. He felt Porthos’ mouth at his ear:

“Whatever it is, we will fight this together. Listen to me, you, my friend, will be fine again! That’s a promise!”

        Porthos’ unstoppable positive belief relaxed him even more and Aramis? He looked from Tréville to Aramis.

“If you were poisoned by a high dose of the plant venom you would be dead by now. So, you have survived the last three days and your body is still fighting against it. I am not an expert, but I think that the dose you have been given was high, not too high to be deadly immediately but you still need to fight against it.”

        He bent down over Athos and looked straight into his greenish eyes that shimmered blue, maybe because of the blue colour of his blanket.

“You are strong and you will fight this, I know you and we are here at your side to help you! Do you understand?”

        Athos nodded and exhausted, he closed his eyes. He felt the tiredness overwhelming him, too many questions were racing through his mind and he felt a headache coming on. After the bath his body was too weak and it succumbed to another restless sleep. Aramis felt how Athos’ grip became weaker until his hand fell limp onto his stomach. The medic decided that Athos needed the sleep, so he did not try to wake him up again.

“Let’s give our friend some rest, his body is still weak. We’ll ask him the important questions, when Dr. Lemay is here, we’ll have to wake him then anyway.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

        Silently, the three Musketeers stepped away from Athos’ bed and gathered at his door.

“Do you know what kind of poison we are dealing with?” Porthos whispered in Aramis’ direction.

“D’Artagnan and I think that it must be belladonna, because of the symptoms but Dr. Lemay has to finally tell us, if we are right.”

“That’s not good!”

        Porthos ran a hand through his hair.

“If it is really the poison of belladonna, then …”

        An idea formed in Porthos’ mind.

“I think I maybe can ask around about the treatment!”

        Tréville looked at him impatiently:

“How?”

“I am not quite sure, but I know some people in the Cour des Miracles , who are … let’s say ... experienced with that kind of poison.”

“What are you proposing?” Tréville asked Porthos.

“If Aramis and d’Artagnan both say that it’s belladonna, then I don’t need confirmation from the Doctor. We are losing precious time. Sitting around and waiting is not what I prefer to do. So, I will go in the Cour des Miracles and ask around.”

“Are you sure you want to go there alone?” Aramis asked. “Your thigh is still …”

“Aramis really, my thigh is healing very well and I’m old enough to walk through the streets of my former life, besides the people know me there, so I’ll be safe. Just make sure that he is still fighting and breathing until I come back!”        

“Porthos is right Aramis! We have to use every single resource we have to fight for Athos’ life.” Tréville turned to Porthos: “Make sure you come back alive!”

“I will!” He promised.

And then I will hunt this person or these persons down who did this to Athos! He thought angrily.

        With these words said, the streetfighter left the room. Tréville looked at Aramis.

“What else can we do?”

“Right now, Captain, I am afraid, we have to wait and we have to be there for him.”

        Aramis looked worriedly at his sick friend.

“Who has poisoned him?”

“I don’t know Aramis, right now we can only speculate, we’ll have to speak to him first. When we know where he was poisoned, we can start to trace back the perpetrator, but right now we don’t know, if it has anything to do with the trade summit or if it is a personal vendetta against him.”

        Tréville slowly returned to his seat and with a heavy sigh he sat down. This morning he had thought that his day couldn’t become any worse but he had been wrong. Aramis could see the worried look on his Captain’s face and realised that he needed some time alone with his Lieutenant.

“I will be back in no time! I just need to get some fresh air and I will try to find some more herbs with which we can try to reduce his fever. I also need to find a salve for his rash, there must be Calendula oil in the infirmary.” With these words Aramis excused himself and hurried outside.

        The door slammed and Tréville noticed the flinch in his Lieutenant’s body. A bit lonely he sat there, deep in thoughts.

Who has poisoned you? Did you overhear something that you shouldn’t hear or has Milady finally decided to get her revenge?

        He could see new sweat forming on Athos’ forehead and he started to sponge it. Quietly whispering encouraging words into his ear, he tried to calm himself and the fretful sleep of his sick Musketeer.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

Someone is shooting. Someone is shouting.

Fire on his back. Ice on his face.

Clattering of metal in his ear.

Metallic tang on his lips.

Someone is shouting.

He knows the voice. He knows the voices.

You will have to answer for your crime.

Words. Shouted words.

Crime. Trial. Rape. Die.

He knows the voice. The voice broke the lovely doll.

Another shout. Another voice.

So many voices.

Hands. Hands on his face. Hands on his arms. Hands on his hands.

Let me go. Don’t touch me.

Gentle hands on his face. Soft hair brushing his forehead.

Warm breath on his temple. Warm words whispered in his neck.

Hands on his wrists.

Warm soft leather against  his back. Warm chest against his chest.

You are safe, son.

We are here, brother.

Now he can fall.

Darkness again.

Welcomed darkness.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

A little earlier at the palace      

“Oh, I love to taste new things from other countries, Monsieur Van Dyk.” The King smiled widely at the Dutch merchant showing his white teeth.

“This new drink is called coffee, your Majesty. You have to drink it hot and some people pour honey and milk it it. It tastes very bitter. I have to warn you.”

“Excellent, I like exotic tastes, besides who wants to drink tea every time. Tea reminds me of cold and being sick and you say that this drink is a perfect drink to start the day.”

“Exactly your Majesty. I have experienced that I feel fitter and more awake when I drink a cup of it in the morning.”

“Then, I will give it a try. Come, Doctor Lemay, you should taste it with us.”

“Me?”

        Dr. Lemay looked a bit perplexed. He had just been to see one of the court ladies of the Queen. The poor thing had caught the same illness as the Musketeer Athos, the flu, but she had already started to cough, so he was sure that she would be on the road to recovery soon. He was more worried about the Musketeer, he hoped that they could have brought his fever down, otherwise he feared that Captain Tréville would lose one of his best men.

        He had just left the Queen’s quarters when the Dutch merchant arrived and before he could do anything about it, he was invited to join the King, Rochefort and several other noblemen and merchants.

“Now, now, Doctor, if the King wishes you to taste one cup of this “coffee”, you should be honoured and not ask such questions.” Rochefort teased the Doctor.

        The Dutch merchant encouraged Dr. Lemay. He poured the hot beverage into a beautiful cup of white porcelain adorned with blue and pink flowers and gave it to the doctor.

The next cup he held out to the King.

“Anybody else?”      

        Rochefort avoided taking one, instead he asked:

“I am sorry, I have forgotten, but from where did you obtain this exotic drink?”

“It is shipped from West Africa. It is quite expensive, but the people I have sold it too love it. The Arabs grow coffee beans in their fields and from these beans we obtain this hot drink. I have brought some sacks with me, so if you like it, I am looking forward to selling it.

“Please, try it, too!”

        Rochefort tried to refuse Monsieur Van Dyk’s offer, but he couldn’t. So he also ended up with a cup of coffee in his hand. He smelled the bitter odour and tried fervently to find a way to excuse himself.

“Come on, Rochefort! Where is the fun in it, when we don’t try new things?”

        King Louis was somehow delighted by the facial expression of the Captain of the Red Guards.

“If it pleases you, your Majesty, I am delighted to drink with you.”

        From the distance the Duke of Savoy watched the whole spectacle. Glad that Louis hadn’t asked him by now to join in this other form of a “tea party”.

        Rochefort took a gulp, he didn’t like the bitter taste, but he didn’t dare to say it. So he added: “I suppose with honey and milk it will taste much better. What do you think Doctor Lemay?” Rochefort glanced in his direction.

        The doctor took a sip. As a scientist he was used to trying different substances. He had thought he would despise it, but to his own astonishment he liked the taste which was a little bitter but not bad at all.

“Your Majesty, I like it.”

        He took another sip and now it was Louis’ turn. He too drank a gulp, but he had forgotten about the “hot” in the drink, so he ended up spitting it onto the marble floor.

        Noticing what had just happened the Doctor hurried to give him a cup of cold water and eagerly the King drank it.

“I think, Doctor, we have different tastes, it tastes awful, much too bitter.” Louis complained like a little child.

“Oh, I like strong and bitter teas. I should have warned you, your Majesty. It’s a habit I  accustomed myself to during my studies in Italy.” He slightly bowed in the direction of the King.

“Bitter herbs can help to cure diseases, if you will allow me, I will order some of the coffee beans for our medical supply.”

“Now, that sounds like a good idea. Don’t you think Monsieur Van Dyk?”

The King concentrated on the merchant who had paled several minutes before and now eagerly nodded.

“So, if that is settled I leave you in the hands of our good doctor, he will tell you how much he needs.”

“This way please, Monsieur Van Dyk.”    

        Lemay showed the Dutchman the way to his office where the doctor made notes on how to prepare the hot coffee. He had just stored several of the sacks when a loud knock on  the door startled him. Even before he could give an answer the door was opened and a breathless d’Artagnan stood in front of him.

“It’s worse, isn’t it?” Lemay feared that Athos had hardly survived the bathing and was now suffering from a heart attack.

“The bathing was good for him. We managed to take the fever down. But …!”

“But what?”

“We don’t think that Athos has the flu, we think he was poisoned with belladonna!”

        A shocked Lemay grabbed his bag and followed the Gascon to the horses. How could he not have seen the symptoms of belladonna poisoning, he asked himself. As both men mounted their horses a dark figure stood at a window in the palace, watching the doctor riding away with the young Musketeer. So my plan seems to have worked … farewell Athos, the Doctor will not be able to help you.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

       Lemay bent over the restless sleeping Lieutenant, lifted his shirt and checked the scarlet rash on Athos’ chest. He pulled the shirt back. Then he felt Athos’ fast pulse and quick heart beat. His body temperature was still high, but the bath had helped to reduce it a little.

       He had tried to wake the Lieutenant before but he was now in an even deeper sleep than the last time. He slapped his cheeks, but there was no reaction, calling him didn’t work either, so again, he had to press with his knuckles on the sternum of the soldier.

       Aramis winced and held his hand to stop Lemay.

“No!”  He began, but it was too late.

       Athos reacted to the pressure on his chest. The unbearable pain made him gasp, he opened his eyes and slurred:

“Go … away, … mis!”

       At this moment, Aramis took over, again softly slapping Athos’ cheeks and saying comforting words.

“Come on, Athos! This time it’s really me and it’s time to wake up! Open your eyes!”

Who is calling me? I want to sleep! I want it to stop. I want to go. Leave me alone. I …

Aramis? Why do you sound so distressed again?

       Sluggishly Athos recovered consciousness.

“Hmm … what … A … misssss?” He slurred.

“The Doctor is here to check on you again, he needs to see your beautiful eyes.” Aramis teased him.

“Go … way …”

“Sorry, I can’t. Because I promised you to help you to get better. Remember?”

       Confused Athos registered Aramis’ last words.

Better? What?

       Suddenly he remembered that he had been poisoned. They wanted answers from him, but he wasn’t sure, if he could give any to them.

“Athos, open your eyes!” He heard the gruff voice of Tréville.

       Slowly, very slowly he opened them. Lemay didn’t wait. He bent over his face and checked first an eye then the other one.

“His pupils are enlarged! It is one of the signs, combined with the rash on his chest, I think you are right.”

“Athos can you help me with your other symptoms? We have done that before, remember, I name some symptoms and your tell me yes or no. Do you understand?”

       Athos didn’t like the loud voice of the doctor, but he was here to help him.

“Yes!”

“Alright, I have already found out that you are running a high temperature, your pulse and heartbeat are too fast. Your throat is burning and hurts you a lot, you are very thirsty but the water doesn’t help to get rid of the dryness in your mouth. Sometimes you experience a dull or itching pain in your chest, followed by a bursting heartbeat and difficulties in getting enough air. Your friends told me that you had hallucinations, you have concentration problems remembering things, you are very moody. And we know that you are very exhausted and tired. Do you have a headache?”

       Athos had troubles following the many symptoms the doctor had just listed.

“Yeess ...!”

“What about your eyes? Can you see clearly in the distance?

“Yes!”

“And if I am right in front of you, do you see me blurred, then?”

“Yes!” Athos sighed.

       Doctor Lemay stepped away from the bed and approached Captain Tréville and Aramis, while d’Artagnan who had positioned himself beside Athos, softly laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey there!” He grinned at his mentor. “I am glad that you are awake again!”

“Only … to find … out … that I was … poi … d.” Athos again had difficulty in speaking clearly.

“Shhh, rest your breath. You need to help us to find out when, where and who did this to you, but right now we are waiting for the doctor’s opinion.”

       Athos closed his eyes, he could hear the whispering voices of the Captain, Aramis and Lemay in the background. He was not stupid, all the symptoms the Doctor had just named were signs of belladonna poisoning. And as far as he had learned, there was no antidote against it.

Will they tell me that I don’t have many hours left on this earth? Will Aramis ask me if I want to talk to a priest? I wish I could have been a far better mentor for this boy. He still needs me. Tréville needs me with this damn Rochefort making his life complicated and Porthos and Aramis, I need them and they need me. Who is going to protect Aramis when I am not here any longer. He is so stupid and will endanger himself, his child and the Queen. I need to watch his back, I can’t let them down. Not now. Five years ago, even one year ago, I was ready, but not now. I don’t want to die.

       He tried to blink back the tears welling up under his closed lids, but it didn’t work. He felt the hand of the young Gascon wiping them away, so softly, bending to speak:

“You will be fine again!” D’Artagnan said in his ear.

“I don’t ... want ... to die. Not now ..., not like … this!” He had spoken very softly and d’Artagnan thought that only he had heard him.

       The young Musketeer felt his own eyes watering now. He couldn’t say a word. Instead he kissed Athos on the cheek before standing again.

“You will not die, my dear friend!” Aramis had stood quietly beside them.

       He approached Athos, sat on the edge of the mattress and took his shaking hand in his. He held it firmly to his chest so that Athos could feel his beating heart, he locked eyes with him and suddenly, he could no longer look at this hurt expression. As a lump formed in Aramis’ throat he feared that the dams would break without warning, so he tried to hide his face and the only place he found was Athos’ chest. He slowly bent forward until his forehead hit the other man’s shoulder. Not letting go of the too warm hand, he breathed in deeply and tried to silence his sorrow. He turned his head and brushed his lips on Athos’ ear  to make his vow:

“Not, as long as I can help it! Do you hear me? You are not alone ! We will fight this!!! The doctor just told me how to move on with your treatment and he agrees with me that the dose you have received was less fatal than we thought.”

       He sucked in a shaky breath before continuing, not sure of the steadiness of his voice.

“Your body is still fighting against it and we are helping you. Porthos, right now is trying to find out more about belladonna and he is sure that he will find some information. In the meantime we should find out when and where you were poisoned. Alright?”

       Aramis had whispered his words into Athos’ right ear and felt the furtive brush of fingers on his head then Athos whispered:

“Al … right!”

       Doctor Lemay gave his last instructions and was just about to return to the palace as Porthos burst into the room. Breathless, he looked from one face to another, then he approached Athos and knelt next to him.

“I have just heard about an antidote, I just need to figure out where to find it and then you will be better in no time, so keep on fighting!”

       Athos tried to smile. That was Porthos.

“There is an antidote?” Doctor Lemay asked curiously.

“Yeah, an old woman from Africa has told me in the Cour des Miracles . Sometimes women are taking a bit of the juice of the fruit to make themselves … er … well ...”

“I understand!” Lemay nodded. “Move on!”

“It can happen that they take too much of this juice.Then they take a bean from Ethiopia, that is brewed as a hot drink, as an antidote.”

       Porthos started to look through his clothes.

“Here, I have some notes how often this drink has to be consumed.”

       Lemay looked at the small sheet of paper that Porthos had given to him.

“Do you recall the name of the bean?”

“Yes, it was … wait flea, no fee … it sounded a bit like the name of a friend of mine, but only the ending. Wait ... yeah ... coffee beans! That’s the name. The drink is called coffee.”

       Lemay made several steps back, gasped out loud and then grabbed his bag.

“Unbelievable!” He murmured as he started to leave the room.

       Tréville had to call him back:

“Doctor?”

“By pure chance, I obtained some coffee beans from a Dutch merchant today. He even explained to me how to prepare the beverage. I will … I will be back in an instant.”

“Take d’Artagnan with you. He’ll help you, Tréville ordered.”

       As Lemay ran out of the room followed by an astonished Gascon, silence spread in Athos’ room. Porthos went over to Aramis who wasn’t sure of what he should say. He patted his friend’s shoulder.

“See, sometimes you only need a little bit of luck.”

       Athos felt dizzy, the loud screaming did not help his headache.

“Hold on a bit longer my son! Help is on its way.” Tréville pressed Athos’ hand. Silent tears made their way over his cheeks.

       Tréville cleared his throat:

“So in the meantime, it is time to find out when and where you were poisoned. So we need you awake a little longer. Can you manage that?”

“I will … give it … a try!” Athos said weakly.             

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

       Milady observed from a distance the two men running up the stairs of the entrance of the palace. They were in a hurry and nearly collided with Rochefort who was on his way to leave the palace. Milady did not like the new Captain of the Red Guards, he had something devilish in him and he wanted more and more power. She tried to avoid him as often as she could, but with her new position at the palace that was not so easy. As she came nearer she recognised the two running men as d’Artagnan and Doctor Lemay. Curious, she followed them.

       Lemay looked hectically around his office. He had left the note for the coffee on his desk, he was sure. While going through his papers he prompted d’Artagnan to take one of the bags containing the coffee beans hidden on a shelf.

“Shall I take the whole bag with us?” The young man asked.

“I would advise it!”

“We have to prepare the beverage with hot water, I think it is better, to do this at the garrison. It’s easier for us to bring it to the patient then.”

       D’Artagnan lifted the sack onto his shoulder.

“Ah, here it is!” Triumphantly, Lemay held the sheet of paper in the air. He reread the text and said: “Yes, we can prepare this beverage in Athos’ room.”

       D’Artagnan was ready to return.

“Let’s go doctor!” He urged.

“Wait!” Lemay told the Gascon, remembering that he had read something about belladonna in one of his books.

       He went to his shelf, pulled a very heavy book out and quickly flipped through the pages. D’Artagnan tried to stay calm. Athos needed help and he needed it soon. He was just ready to say “can we go?” when Lemay exclaimed, “Glad that I checked it”.

       Without another explanation he stood up, went to the other side of his room and took a small package from a closed locker.

“This, my young friend, we will need as well!”                

“What is it?” D’Artagnan asked curiously.

“It is a potent drug that we can give to Athos for his immense pain. His throat is hurting him and it is very dry. I have read that patients with belladonna poisoning have difficulties with drinking and talking because of this unbearable pain. The pain can interfere with the breathing as well. We have to reduce his pain to take the stress from his body. But …” He looked at the Musketeer. “We can only give him a small quantity. It is called Laudanum . Now, I am ready to go.”

       Milady had approached the door of Lemay’s office and was eavesdropping. As she heard the men coming back to the door she hurried to take several steps away. D’Artagnan opened the door and nearly collided with her. Surprised, he took several steps back and nearly dropped the sack.

“What a lovely surprise!” Milady told d’Artagnan with a bright smile. “What are you doing here?” She asked him, moving her body like a cat hunting a bird.

       Her eyes shone and she was now too close, her jasmine perfume invading his nostrils like a drug.

“I am sorry Milady, not now, we are in a hurry!” Lemay had already passed him and was hurrying back to their horses. D’Artagnan wanted to follow him, but Milady blocked his way.

“Is a Musketeer ill?” She asked a little too curiously.

       D’Artagnan wanted to ignore her.

“I really have to go!” He tried to get out of her way.

“This is the way you respect me after I saved your life, d’Artagnan?” Milady said reproachfully.

       D’Artagnan still holding the heavy sack on his shoulder, looked at her.

“Another time we can chat, but right now I have to help the doctor. One of our Musketeers is severely ill and believe me, I am thankful that you saved the King’s and my life!”

“Who is it?” Milady wanted to know now and her tone had become urgent.

       D’Artagnan not having enough time for her games, fastened the grip on the sack. Then as he finally passed her he said:

“It’s your husband. Athos!”     

       Without turning around or waiting for a reaction from this scheming woman, he hurried after Lemay and prayed that Athos was still alive and fighting this horrible poison.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

In the meantime, Athos’ room

“Alright, let’s concentrate on Thursday! Porthos has told us that your first symptoms appeared in the night from Thursday to Friday. Can you remember where you were that day?”

       Athos had no idea what day it was. Confused he looked into Aramis’ eyes. Tréville had seen that expression before in his office on Friday afternoon. Athos’ eyes had looked in the distance and his normally awake eyes had been unfocused. With his enlarged pupils he definitely had difficulty seeing, but right now his stare reminded him that his Lieutenant felt lost.

“Athos, can you remember the day you helped me in my office with the palace guard!” Tréville tried to help.

       Athos tried to ignore the pounding ache in his head.

“That was the day … when d’Artagnan beat … me, right?”

“Let’s say it was the day when you slipped on the wet ground.” Porthos helped him.

“Yes, I … do ... recall.”

       Athos still had problems in articulating and his throat still hurt him a lot. Every time he had to speak or drink, he could feel the horrible dryness in his mouth and the pain both things caused.

“Alright, let’s get back to this day, before that, you helped with the stables.”

“Hmm ... I tried,” Athos admitted “... and ... I missed morning muster, I am so ...”

“Don’t think about that, Athos!” Tréville tried to stay calm.

       Athos needlessly blamed himself for everything. He was accurate, he was proud that he followed orders and he was much too stubborn to forgive himself a mistake.

“We know why you overslept that day. Poison. You know.” Aramis tried to help and ease the tense atmosphere in the room and the night before this morning muster, what can you remember?”

“Porthos had to carry ... me home. Por ..., I am … sorry … your … boots.”

“Rubbish, Athos. Forget the boots. You would have done the same for me. Can you recall something else from before that night?”

       Athos tried to remember.

“I ... was ... at the … palace … No … Anne … kissing ...” Athos sobbed.

       Aramis and Porthos exchanged irritated glances, while Tréville suddenly understood. Athos had seen his wife kissing the Monarch of France. A shocking situation even if the man had not been poisoned.

“And after that, you went to the tavern?”

“Ye … ssss!” Athos slurred.

       He wanted to sleep, to close his eyes and simply forget but his brothers wouldn’t let him forget.

“You have to stay awake for the coffee!” Aramis told him and slapped him slightly on his cheeks, so Athos opened his eyes again.

“That’s it! Were you stung by a bee or something that day?”

“Not that I … Mis. It stings … the woman … it’s dark, and … c … cold … the wind … hur … sss.” Athos slurred again and started to have difficulties breathing properly.

       While Aramis and Tréville tried to work out what Athos was trying to tell them, Porthos helped his bedridden brother to sit up again and pounded on his back.

“Try to cough! Yeah, that’s it!” Porthos encouraged him.

       He glared worriedly at the medic and his Captain and his eyes asked them how long they would be tormenting him with enquiries.

       As Athos’ breathing eased, Aramis spoke again.

“Good, Athos, are you with us now?”

       He laid a hand on his forearm and continued:

“You said, a woman, who is the woman?”

“The woman … in the alley … the wind is so cold and it hurts … and … no, wait … it’s not that day … after … I went …”

“Calm down, Athos, think, take your time.” Aramis soothed him.

“Time!” Porthos snorted bitterly.

“Hush, Porthos!” Aramis chidded. “Now, Athos, you know it’s important, try to concentrate. Who is the woman?”

“I … remember … now … My scarf …When d’Artagnan …”

       He stopped abruptly and tried to sit up. He scanned the room anxiously.

“Where … where … is …”

“Shh … d’Artagnan is fine. He will be back soon …”

       Aramis tried to sooth him again, taking his hand, but his friend was more and more agitated, moving his legs restlessly.

“So, what about d’Artagnan, the scarf and the woman? Is there a connection between that and your wound? Try to tell me, slowly, breathe deeply if you can.”

“Remember, the fight … d’Artagnan … he …”

       He struggled again to catch his breath. Aramis squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“D’Artagnan borrowed my scarf for the …”

“Oh right, I understand. He used your scarf as a glove … But what does it have to do with this?”

“It was … more … more …” He tried to smile. “More a cobweb than … my precious scarf … after that … so … I went to … Madame Mireault’s shop … Rue … rue …   can’t ... near Rue Férou … it’s so dark … I’m cold … he seems in a hurry … or ... sheeee … the fig … ure.”

       Porthos brought his fist to his mouth as Athos’ mind began to wander again. His eyes were huge with fear and sorrow.

“Calm down, shhh ... So you went to that shop to have your scarf repaired. Just say yes or no.”

“Ye … ss …”

“Then, what happened? You went to fetch it a few days afterwards?”

“Two …”

“Alright, can you remember something, or someone …?”

“I paid … her smile … she is so frail … she … her …”

“Athos, look at me!” Aramis seized his two hands and approached his face. “Look at me. Concentrate. What happened next? Remember, we need to know how you got that scratch on your chest.”

“Oh … She is a … good … seams … sss, but she … I’m so … happy … to … have it back … She fastens it … at … once … but … it …hurts, it hurts, my scarf … it hurts … there, just there …” Sluggishly he pointed with his hand on his chest.   

       He reached a hand to his neck as if to touch his scarf and closed his eyes trying to breathe deeply.

“No, no, no, no, Athos, please … don’t …” Aramis pleaded.

“And she … presses it … it hurts … but she presses even further … Her hand … She continues … But it hurts …” Athos continued. “I try … to … tell her … but she … smiles … why does she sm … her eyes … green ... wet …”

       Aramis cupped his cheeks and rubbed them frantically with his thumbs. At last, a small strip of green appeared and Athos continued, breathless:

“She is absent …”

“What?”

“The … face … absent  ...”

“Shh … Stay calm …” Aramis soothed him.

“Absent-minded” He made a pause. “She … I want to know … know why … it hurts, like a bee is caught … cau … ght in it … and … I ff … ind it.” He closed his eyes again.

“Athos, just one word. What did you find?” Aramis urged him.

“Two … f … aces …”

“Faces?”

“Aramis, leave him alone. Please!” Porthos pleaded in a weak voice.

       Tréville squeezed his shoulder. They had to know, even if it was a terrible ordeal for their friend.

“No … I want to sssay … the faces, in the fabric .... She had ll … eft it … in the fabbb … fabric.”

“Stay awake. Just one more thing, please, then you can sleep. Left what? What were these faces? Why are you saying left it ?”

“Aramis, stop it!” Porthos almost shouted.

“It’s … ight … Po … os.” Athos tried to reassure his friends, he had to tell them. “T … was … a  … a … pin … a long … pin.” He added breathless.

       They all stayed silent, trying to understand.

“Where is this pin, now?” Aramis asked quietly.

“Floor … Mmmmh … hurtsss …” He sucked in a shallow breath. “Thr … in the gutt … gutter … thr ...”

“Shhh…, now, I understand.”

       Aramis bent forward and brushed his lips on the feverish forehead before guiding his friend’s head onto the pillow.

“Sleep, my friend.”

       And his eyes met the hurt and terrified look of Porthos while Tréville tried to control his own emotions.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Calm.

Whispered words.

Someone’s face a few inches from his.

A low rumble in his ear.

Calm.

He closes his eyes.

He breathes in a fragrance of lavender and straw.

Calm.

Rough linen against his burning cheek.

Salted water soaking the pillow.

He tries to turn his head, tries to hide his shame.

A hand in his hair. Caressing. Soothing.

Calm.

It will sting. A lot.

He knows it will.

But he flinches nonetheless.

He tries to escape.

Turns his face again towards the soothing voice.

Two hands cup his face now.

The low rumble at his back.

The warm breath on his face.

Calm.

And the pain again. Excruciating.

Gentle thumbs caressing his cheekbones.

Let go. Let go.

He tries to stay awake.

He needs to know.

And the pain. Again. Again.

The voice at his back apologises.

The voice at his back is broken.

The voice in his ear is trembling.

Let go, brother.

Don’t fight.

The lovely doll? He asks.

Calm. Silence.

Deafening silence.

Safe. She is safe.

Now he can let go.

A hand wiping away his tears.

Let go, brother.

So, he lets go.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

        Tréville let Aramis do the questioning and he quietly stepped to one side. Hearing Athos’ slurring, having trouble remembering  and being in such  great pain, made him more angry with every minute. He had seen his Lieutenant suffering and his two friends, Aramis and Porthos, agonising with themselves, while trying to obtain vital information from the sick man. He wanted to shout at someone, wanted to punch someone, but he couldn’t. He had to stay calm and strong for all of them. He was glad that he had sent d'Artagnan with Lemay. At least, the young Gascon wouldn’t have to witness that he had ordered them to question a sick man to obtain answers and results. He felt guilty, dazed and his headache started to increase. He could hear Athos’ uneven breathing while his exhaustion pulled him into another restless sleep. He could see that Aramis and Porthos were both trying to hold their tears back and were ready to explode. They needed to talk about what they had just heard and they needed to reflect over it.

Is it an attack against us as Musketeers and you Athos have been the first victim?

Did  you overhear something you shouldn’t have heard regarding the trade summit and now they need you dead in order to reach their goals?

Or is it something personal? I need to think about that as quickly as possible.

        His glance wandered through Athos’ room. Aramis tried to gather himself, while sorting and checking his herbs and salves and preparing another pain potion. Porthos had returned to the chair at the head of Athos’ bed and was sponging his comrade’s still very warm face, ready to protect him from further harm. Tréville looked at the weak body of his Musketeer.

You would know what to do next, Athos. With your analytical thinking, you would already have formed a plan and how we should move forward  but this time you need us to do the thinking for you .

        His eyes suddenly spotted an odd item on the floor under Athos’ bed. It was dim because they still tried to keep all lights out of the room to help Athos’ vision problems.

What is this?

        Curious, he went towards the bed and bent down to pick up the cloth but dropped it at once. Aramis noticed his Captain’s reaction and, immediately, realisation hit him.

“Wash your hands, now, Captain!” He shouted at his commanding officer, ignoring that Athos was asleep.

        He grabbed a jug of water and poured it over Tréville’s hands giving him the brownish soap. Tréville began to rub frantically at his hands until they became a bright red. Angrily, he shouted:

“Those bastards, they did not only poison him with a pin, they even put some of the poison on his scarf. There is still an oily substance on it.”

“But how is it that Athos didn’t notice this substance on his scarf?” Aramis asked.

“You know Athos, he always wears his precious gloves, if the man could wear a mask, he would do it!” Tréville grunted.

        Porthos turned around. He looked for his gloves, put them on and grabbed the scarf.

“What are you doing?” Aramis asked his brother.

“I want this poisonous thing away from him. I will take it to my room and we can examine it later. But right now … it shouldn’t be in the room where he is fighting for his life!”

        With these angry words, Porthos left the room. Aramis took a second look at Tréville’s hands but he had been fast enough so the oily poison had not entered his skin. Relieved, he looked into Tréville’s frustrated face.

“Captain, I think it is best if Porthos and I go to check this shop where Athos had his scarf repaired. Maybe we will find  further answers  there ”

“Right now, I think it’s good for all of us if you two go and get some fresh air. I will wait here for the Doctor and d'Artagnan and we’ll have two guards all the time in front of Athos’ door.”

“Let’s wait for Porthos and then we’ll discuss what else we have to do!” Aramis suggested. “I think you have already made up your mind, haven’t you?”

“I will tell you as soon as Porthos is back here!”     

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Do you think Lemay can help Athos with this “ cof...flea ”, I mean coffee?”

        Porthos was walking with Aramis through the streets of Paris. They made their way through small streets, crossed a market place and looked for the shop where Athos had taken his scarf several days ago.

“I hope so, Porthos!”

        Aramis looked tired. He hadn’t slept in days and he had eaten very little. The worry about  his sick brother had not allowed him to take care of himself. Porthos tried to brush away his own worry for his friend. His thigh was still itching from time to time, but what he had endured several days ago was nothing compared to what Athos was experiencing right now. Athos would have told him that his thinking was nonsense. He missed his silent friend at his side. Aramis was deep in thought but Porthos needed to talk, to think  out what was going on, so he looked  at Aramis again:

“Do you think the Captain is right?”

        A little earlier, with Athos still asleep, they had listened to Tréville’s thoughts about the attack against Athos.

“Of course it can be a random attack on us as Musketeers, or perhaps it has something to do with the trade summit, but I doubt it. I think that it is something personal against Athos.” Tréville had stated in a quiet voice, anxious not to disturb his sick soldier.

“What makes you think that it is something personal, Captain?” Aramis had asked.

“Of course, I could be wrong, but it is the way he was harmed. Let’s say it has something to do with the trade summit. Let’s imagine that someone wants to try to kill the King and Athos has overheard something - knowingly or unknowingly - they would not bother to look for a poison,   they would have shot or knifed him, instead. Time would  be very precious, so that he couldn’t tell other people about what he’d heard . Besides Athos didn’t mentioned anything suspicious about the summit and the ongoing preparations. Even in the state he’s been in during these past days, he would have used all the strength he had left to tell us something.” Tréville sighed.

“True!” Porthos agreed, knowing that serving the King as a Musketeer was the most important duty in Athos’ life.

“And if it is an attack against us as Musketeers?” Porthos asked curiously.

“Then why only him?” Tréville spoke in the dark. “If there is someone who wants to attack us, as the King’s Musketeers, he would search for another chance to affect as many Musketeers as possible, by a bomb or poisoned food for all of us.”

        Aramis nodded in consent. He had  already speculated about this too.

“Then, it is something personal!” Porthos concluded.

“Yes, it is. The person doesn’t only want to see him dead, but wants to see him suffer first.” Tréville looked angrily in the darkness of the room.

        They could all hear Athos moaning in his sleep and Tréville told them to start with their research, while he was waiting for the Doctor and d'Artagnan to return.

“Aramis! … Aramis?” Porthos stopped and grabbed one of Aramis’ shoulders. Aramis came to an abrupt still stand.

“What? Sorry, I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I can see that!”

“What are you asking?”

“If you share the opinion of the Captain, that it is something personal?”

“I think the Captain has a point there!” Aramis said absent-mindedly.

        Porthos was angry with the world right now, the only person to come first to his mind was Milady, Athos’ wife. Last year she wanted d'Artagnan to kill Athos and later Athos threatened to kill her if she ever returned to Paris. Now she was back.

“Do you think it was Milady?”

“I asked myself the very same question, Porthos. But …”

“But what … the King has granted her his protection and forgiven her all her sins and she saved d'Artagnan’s life and even if she tried to kill Athos last year … I have the feeling that … that she wouldn’t do it. Not now!”

“We can go and ask her right now, Aramis!”

“Porthos, let’s stay focused. First we’ll  talk to this seamstress who Athos met for his scarf. Let’s see what she has to say. Besides I doubt that Milady would admit to such a deed if we were to ask her. The perpetrator wanted us to believe that Athos has the flu,  let’s play along for a while.”

        They had started walking again and were now in front of the shop of the seamstress. Porthos knocked with his fist on the door but no one answered, it was still daytime. Questioningly he looked at Aramis, then he opened the unbolted door. Aramis followed him into the quiet room. It was dark,  too dark,  bales of fabric were neatly stored on the shelves running along the whitewashed walls. They reached the low ceiling with its dark oak beams. The smell was suffocating: dust, plants used to dye, cold soot, beeswax and something more musky. Aramis left the door open to allow a little daylight to enter the room but it wasn’t enough to see beyond the old counter covered in threads, needles, pins and pieces of fabric and lace.

“It’s odd, the shop is empty!” Porthos said.

Nothing. But what had he hoped to find? The person who had done this to his friend?

“And it’s weird, it’s as if the seamstress has left her shop in the middle of working. Look, she was working on a dress. The whole shop is tidy if too dark and smelly, she wouldn’t have left without cleaning and at least folding the dress to store it somewhere  and all those threads on the floor. There is a broom there, so she would … oh ...”

        Aramis lit a candle.

“Look, here, a glass is broken on the floor. And this chair is broken too. Something happened.” Aramis said, worried.

        Slowly he looked around and noticed a second door that probably led to the private quarters of the seamstress.

“Hello, is anybody here?” He shouted louder than he’d expected to.

        The closer he approached the door, the more he became aware of an acrid smell, which he recognised very well. It was the odour of death. Slowly he pushed the second door open and on  a bed against the wall, the lifeless body of an middle-age woman was lying.  As he drew nearer to her he had to put his hand in front of his nose and mouth. A closer look and he could see both of her hands covered in a scarlet rash. The face of the woman was sunken and he could tell that she must have been dead for several days. Flies were droning around her body. He stumbled some paces back. Porthos who had followed him exclaimed:

“That’s not good! That’s not good at all!”

        Then he also covered his mouth and nose.    

“We can do no more for her so don’t touch her. Do you see those red spots on her hands? She was exposed to the same poison as Athos. I am not sure if she knew it, but he said that he could feel a pin in his chest. If I had to guess, I’d say that this pin was poisoned too. So whoever wanted to see Athos dead had forced this lady to poison him. He knew that she would be killed by the very same poison too.” Aramis couldn’t continue, he needed fresh air.

        He turned around:

“Let’s go! The best we can do is inform the priest and her family. She can give us no more information ...”

        Aramis quickly left the room and the shop. Once outside, he noticed that his knees were shaking and he started to tremble. He felt Porthos’ hand on his back.

“Woaah, Aramis!”

“It’s … it’s alright!” Aramis stammered.

“No, it’s not, but it will be!” Porthos looked concerned at the medic.

        Usually he was a man who had no problems viewing a corpse but now Aramis was trying not to vomit on the muddy pavement.  

I hope that this time my boots will stay unharmed.

        As Porthos looked down at the cobbled street, he could see something very small glistening in the reflection of the sunlight. Curious he went on his knees, looked at it and held a bloody pin in his glove.

“Aramis, I think I have found the pin which poisoned Athos!”

“How can you know that it’s THE pin?” asked Aramis.

“Blood.” Porthos answered sternly.

        Aramis had pulled himself together again, without being sick in the street. He tried to blink tears away as he looked at the pin in Porthos hand

“This is Athos’ blood on it!” He said bitterly.

        He suddenly began to cry and tried to compose himself but he was too distraught. Porthos put the pin in a secure place in his saddle bag, then he laid an arm over Aramis’ shoulders and guided him to the closest church, Saint-Joseph des Carmes. He pushed the door open and they entered the sanctuary. It had been consecrated a few years earlier, in the dark year when the Inséparables had met, and it was like entering a reliquary or a jewel box. A golden light bathed the high walls and the painted vaults. Pale sun rays licked the paintings through the small arched windows inside the dome above their heads. Porthos led the still sobbing Aramis to the next pew and then settled next to him. He let his gaze wander on the fascinating scenes all around them, on the dark pink marble columns on each side of the high altar, on the hieratic statues and finally, at the back of the choir, onto a reassuring picture of Christ dressed in white veils with a loving expression. He had hoped that Aramis would calm down a little, but the sobs continued to wrack his body.

“What is it, Aramis?” Porthos asked quietly. “You can tell me!”

        Aramis pulled himself together and still hiccuping, he looked into Porthos’ deep brown understanding eyes.

“First you and now, Athos … I …!”            

“First things first, I’m fine again.”

“I am sorry, Porthos, I wasn’t there when you needed me, I failed you!”

“That’s rubbish, Aramis! You have not failed me.”

        But deep in himself Aramis knew that it had been his fault that Porthos had been injured and captured by the Spanish soldiers. He hadn’t concentrated enough. As the baby cried he had changed his position to check. He stood up abruptly.

“I didn’t take the shot at the market place …!”

“You didn’t have any chance, there were too many people around, the whole thing was a trap for us! Forget about it, please.”

        Aramis sighed deeply. He couldn’t tell Porthos. His secret was too important, too dangerous to share. Oh, how much he hated that he couldn’t talk with Porthos about his affair, his child … Porthos gathered Aramis against him, tightening his grip when he felt a shudder running through his friend’s body.

“And now Athos … “ Aramis breathed. “Seeing this woman dead, if Athos …”

        Porthos loosened his hold to look at his friend.

“Hey, Aramis. Athos is strong and he can fight it, but he will need you for this. So now is not the time to be anxious! Understood!”

“If Athos had been exposed to a higher dose, he … How could we have missed  the red mark on his chest? How? Why didn’t I check him over ...?”

        Aramis clapped the back of his hand to his mouth and looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his tears from falling. He tried to breathe more deeply, to clench his jaw. He swallowed convulsively, but nothing worked. He turned his back to Porthos and brought both of his hands to his face, hiding his eyes. Despite his huge efforts, tears started to escape through his fingers. Porthos rounded him and laid a hand at the base of his neck.   

“Aramis, Aramis, look at me, look at me.”

        Aramis raised his wet face, his brown eyes were huge and tired and so sad, he seemed so young, so far from the soldier, the lover, the talker everyone knew.

“I am sure that Athos will fight it! And do you know why?”

“Why, Porthos?”

“Because he has you on his side!”

        Aramis looked up and his tears stopped.

“Not only me, all of us. You are right.”

“Maybe we can go back to this shop and look for any letters, notes?” Porthos told his friend in order to help him concentrate..

“You are right, Porthos and if that doesn’t give us any clue, we we’ll ask around. Someone, somebody must have seen something.”

        Aramis sent a silent prayer to God, asking him to let Athos survive and thanking him that Porthos was still with them. Catching up with Porthos who was now back at the door of the shop, Aramis grabbed his friend’s forearm. Porthos turned around.

“What is it, Aramis?”

“Thank you, Porthos.”

        Porthos smiled, winked and shrugged. Time to move on and to forget the tears.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

“An ...ne …”

“What?” Tréville opened  his eyes, confused.

        He had settled himself next to Athos, with a hand on his hand. His Lieutenant had started to breathe more evenly and he looked less restless. To nurse his headache the Captain had closed his eyes, still thinking about all the things that had happened in the past few days. He thought about the summit, about Rochefort’s penetrating voice, about the stupid ideas he whispered into the King’s mind, about Athos’ sudden illness, weakness and poisoning. Since the death of the Cardinal the world had become more and more complicated for him. A thought crossed his mind. Hadn’t his Lieutenant feared that with the return of Rochefort their lives would begin to become more insecure. With a new wanna-be-leader in the ring, they all had to struggle and they noticed that their King had turned more and more into a moody child rather than a rational statesman. He found himself wishing that Cardinal Richelieu was still alive.

Unbelievable. What am I thinking? He tried to kill the Queen!

        But at least he had known Richelieu and with Rochefort he never knew what to expect. Next to him an exhausted sick man tried to wake up again.

“Shhh ... Athos! It’s alright. Try to rest and relax a bit more, the Doctor is on his way with the antidote”

        Athos blinked and opened his eyes. His big black pupils were unfocused.

“Wha … !” He slurred his throat burning fiercely and he hoped that he could ease the pain with some more cold water.

“Easy!” Tréville bent over his weak Lieutenant and helped him drink out of the cup. Every single sip hurt Athos’ throat.

Well, that wasn’t such a good idea.

        After the fourth gulp he turned his head away and Tréville put the cup back on the nightstand next to his bed. Athos felt tired but agitated at the same time and he couldn’t sleep. Every time he tried to go back to sleep he had thought of Anne, his wife. Why? The realisation came  back slowly.

“Do you …. Anne … poi … me?” He panted breathless.

        He closed his eyes, angry with himself because he couldn’t see his Captain clearly and he still couldn’t articulate a whole phrase. Tréville groaned inwardly. Of course, Athos asked himself the very same question as they all did. He wanted to know who had poisoned him.

“Do you think she has done it, Athos? Did you see her before or after you were poisoned? Has she told you lately that she wants to see you dead?”

        Athos head was buzzing, he felt dizzy and suddenly the sickness hit him again. He tried to get up, but he was too weak, panting for air and struggling to breathe, he could feel his hands starting to tremble again, then his feet, then his whole body.

“I can’t …” He tried to tell Tréville that he couldn’t get enough air. He felt the water he’d just drunk coming back to his throat and he tried to swallow it, opening his mouth and fighting to catch his breath.

        Tréville had jumped from his chair. Seeing Athos having trouble breathing, he bent over, put a hand behind his back and moved Athos gently but quickly into a sidewise position, his head to the right side of the bed. After he had positioned his back, he helped to turn the rest of Athos’ body and the shaking legs as well to the right side. Athos opened his mouth, he couldn’t hold back the water any longer on which he had nearly choked and he vomited it onto the floor. Tears of pain and shame were swelling up in his eyes and made their way slowly over his reddish cheeks.

“It’s alright. Get it out, get it all out!”

        Tréville ignored that Athos’ stomach was only bringing back saliva on the floor.  While Athos was still retching and heaving he made small circles on his back. Athos stopped heaving, the dizziness left him and Tréville’s comforting hand on his back helped to calm him down again.   The trembling in his body stopped, and exhausted he tried to roll back onto his spine, but Tréville held him in this position.

“I think you breathe better when you stay  like this.”

        The Captain laid some more pillows to support his back and head so that he could not lie on his back again. Then gently, he started to wipe his face and in order to distract his soldier he started:

“Milady threatened to kill you, but she said it a year ago. Now she is back and the King has granted her forgiveness for all her deeds.”

        As Athos looked at him, a bit surprised, he added.

“Aramis has told me.”

        He stopped cleaning Athos’ face and put his hand back at his spine. He was now sitting on another chair to support the back of his soldier better. Athos’ breathing had settled a bit, but was still disturbed.

“So … don’t … thin …!”

“Honestly, I don’t know Athos.”

        Tréville locked eyes with him, but as he realised that Athos  could only see a blurred image he squeezed his shoulder instead.

“Aramis and Porthos are checking out the shop of the seamstress where you took your scarf. I am sure they will find answers.”

“We will find whoever has done this to you! I promise!”

        Tréville wanted to continue, but he was disturbed by a light knock at the door, followed by the entrance of Lemay and d'Artagnan. As he turned his head to greet them, Athos’ breathing worsened again.  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

A little earlier in Le Louvre

Vengeance tastes sweet.

        An evil grin escaped a figure standing at a window in one of the many rooms of Le Louvre.

The plan was brilliant and it worked …    

Soon, very soon, Athos of the Musketeers or the Comte de la Fère will be no more .

He will be erased from the surface of the Earth.

        Another grin escaped the figure’s lips watching the Doctor hurrying away.

No one makes me look a fool. No one!

You deserve to suffer, Athos, and you will never know that it was me who did this to you.

Never!!!

        Someone was coming. So the figure stepped away from the window and prepared the next plans.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

          Lemay’s clever dark eyes quickly assessed the state of his patient. He left d'Artagnan standing at the door and hurried next to Tréville.

“His breathing?” He asked the Captain.

“Yes, he has had problems and he vomited all the water he drank.”

“Athos!” Lemay called his patient and Athos sluggishly opened his feverish eyes .

“We will elevate your body slightly so that you can breathe more easily and you have to repeat the breathing exercises I showed you.”

         D’Artagnan drew nearer to the bed of his mentor where he could see and feel Athos’ distress. Without any words, he stepped next to Tréville and following the instructions from the doctor he helped to sit Athos up a little. Athos could feel the caring hands of d'Artagnan steadying his back, but he couldn’t speak. His throat was burning like fire and that made it difficult for him to breathe and vomiting onto the floor had further intensified his pain. He felt a touch on his chest. Lemay had laid his ear on it and listened to his lungs and his heart. He straightened himself up again.

“I think that the pain in his throat is making it difficult for him to breathe even though his lungs are free. Before we can start giving him any coffee, we have to give him laudanum and wait a while. We must reduce his pain otherwise he will not be able to let the coffee stay in his stomach.”   

“But the antidote, shouldn’t it be given as soon as possible?” Tréville wanted to know.

“Athos’ body is still strong enough and, with the bath,  you have reduced his high temperature. So, first laudanum, but only a small amount, too much won’t be good for his breathing either. Then we'll let him sleep for an hour before we try the coffee.” Lemay  decided.

         Athos was only half listening, he was very tired and busy trying to breathe. He recognised d'Artagnan whispering words in his ear and he simply listened and followed his instruction.

“Breathe with me! Open your mouth. In … and … out.”

         D’Artagnan repeated his instructions and Athos listened to his reassuring voice. As he slowly followed his words, Athos' breathing difficulties eased and he relaxed. Sluggishly he let his head sink onto d'Artagnan’s chest. Lemay stepped next to him.

“Open your mouth!”

         Athos followed the instruction. He felt a spoon enter his mouth and a few drops of a bitter liquid fall onto his tongue. It was a strange taste. Lemay asked him to swallow it and massaged his Adam’s apple to help him. Then Lemay removed all the pillows from his back, and d'Artagnan laid him flat again.

“Try to sleep!”

         Athos felt his eyes drooping. For the first time in days he succumbed to a nearly dreamless relaxing sleep and his breathing evened out.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Laudanum?” Aramis looked worriedly at Lemay. “Do you really think this is a good idea with his breathing difficulties?”

         He and Porthos had returned shortly after Athos was given the laudanum and Aramis checked over his sleeping friend. Sitting down on the chair next to him, he laid his hand on his brother’s chest to convince himself that Athos’ heart was still beating and his lungs were still working.  He could feel a slower heartbeat, it was better than it had been for several days and he looked surprised at Lemay.  The doctor who had observed Aramis worriedly checking over his friend valued the knowledge of the battlefield medic.

You would have been a fine doctor. He thought.

“ It's true that laudanum can be addictive and it can cause breathing problems if given too much but right now our priority is to calm the patient and ease the pain in his throat. Then he will be less distressed and able to drink the antidote.”

         He smiled reassuringly at the Musketeers who looked at him anxiously.

“Nevertheless we have to use as little as possible of this medication. It’s better when we try other things like herbal teas with honey, coffee and I would suggest you  bath him tomorrow again.His fever has decreased slightly and is not as high as it was yesterday. If possible try to keep him awake, speak to him, the more awake he is the better, that way you can measure his breathing and help  him if he starts to have difficulties again.”

         He made a short pause.

“I think I will start to prepare the coffee and maybe you, Aramis, can assist me with this.”

         He wanted to encourage the medic to learn a little more about medicine. Tréville looked at his exhausted men and his eyes rested on d'Artagnan. Sorrow and worry were written all over his face, but he looked much fitter than the rest of them..

“If I may, Doctor, I would like to borrow Porthos and Aramis. If something changes in the state of health of my Lieutenant I want to be informed at once but I think it is time to let him rest and the fewer people in here the better.” His eyes wandered around the room one more time and settled on his sleeping soldier.

“D’Artagnan can you help the doctor prepare the coffee? I will instruct our cook Serge to give you everything you need.”

         Even if it didn’t sound like an order, because Tréville spoke as softly as possible, Aramis and Porthos followed their Captain without any objection but of course, not without laying their eyes one last time on their sick friend.

         D’Artagnan went over to Lemay and asked him quietly what he would need. Tréville threw a last glance at his bedridden soldier.  His peaceful sleep had settled his own stressed nerves a bit. Now was not the time to sit around him and wait for him to wake up again. They had a doctor there and d'Artagnan would calm Athos. Now was the time to find out what his men had discovered and to move on with their investigation. He was sure that he would be needed at the palace sooner or later and he wanted to make sure that no further harm would come to Athos.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Captain’s office

         It was already dark outside and Tréville had lit the fire in his office. Aramis and Porthos had taken their seats at Tréville’s table, opposite to him. Thanks to d'Artagnan, his desk now looked clean and tidy. The important papers were in order in small piles. Tréville himself had asked Serge to bring up food and wine and he told him to give Dr. Lemay all that he he would need to prepare the antidote “coffee”. Porthos foot rested on a stool and next to his chair he had laid his saddlebag. Aramis was sipping at a glass of wine and half-heartedly chewing a piece of bread with cheese. Tréville looked at their little circle, they were all tired, exhausted and their nerves were on the edge.

“ Tell me about what you have discovered and then I want you both to go and rest. You need sleep, both of you!” He emphasised with a strict glare in their direction.

“I just wanted to advise you the same, Captain.”

         Aramis looked into the tired eyes of Tréville. He had aged in the last days. His  features looked exhausted, several wrinkles were plastered on his forehead and his hair looked more grey than blonde. In moments like this one, Aramis could always tell that their Captain cared for them. He was a fine Commander.  Porthos who was still angry with Tréville because he wouldn’t tell him more about his father, brushed his own wishes away to focus on the immediate matter. Who had tried to kill Athos?

“Alas, the seamstress can’t help us!” Porthos started his report.

“How that?” Tréville asked eating a small piece of cheese.

“She is dead!” Aramis answered gloomily. “I suppose that she was forced by someone to poison Athos’ scarf and hurt him with the pin. Maybe someone threatened  to kill someone in her family. We still have to investigate that.”

“We found the woman dead in her bed. She had the same scarlet red rash on her hands that Athos has on his chest.” Porthos added. “Poor woman, if she really was forced to do it …”

         Porthos tried to get rid of the picture of the dead woman. He shook his head before he continued:

“We shouldn’t tell Athos, he liked her, he said something like that this morning. He would blame himself.”

         Silence settled over the group. All three of them knew how Athos could blame himself for something for a very long time.

“Did you find something else, a note that maybe gives us a hint about who could be behind this dreadful attack?” Tréville asked.

“We checked her shop but we were unlucky. We tried to talk to neighbours but they have not heard from her in days or seen anything suspicious.” Aramis added tiredly.

He tried to forget that he’d nearly given up that afternoon, he caught Porthos’ anxious look. He obviously thought of the same moment and worried about his friend.

“So everything points to this shop.” Tréville concluded. “...and we have no answers because the only witness and  also the person who was forced to poison Athos is dead? Am I right?”

“We found the pin!” Porthos exclaimed suddenly. The lack of sleep had nearly made him forget about it. “It was outside of the shop, lying in the street.”

“What makes you so sure that it is the pin with which Athos was poisoned?” Tréville asked, exactly the same words Aramis had used this afternoon.

“Because there is blood on it!”

         Porthos took his saddlebag and took a handkerchief out of it. Carefully he showed the bloody pin to the Captain. The pin wasn’t a usual pin a dressmaker would use to sew. It was a thick long jabot pin, twisted in the middle as if it had been used to pierce a hard surface. But maybe a carriage had rolled on it after Athos had thrown it in the gutter.  Aramis, who hadn’t carefully looked at it when Porthos had found it, observed the object shining in his friend’s handkerchief. The small cameo at the top represented a strange face. Actually, two faces, back to back, or rather a same person with two faces. The figure stood out in cream-white on dark reddish orange.

You don’t see such a design very often. Tréville thought to himself.

“Let me see.” Aramis asked leaning between Porthos and Tréville.

“What is this monster?” Porthos asked.

“Mmmh … I think it’s Janus.”

“Janus?” Porthos asked.

“He was the God of the beginnings, of the doors or passages and of the endings. His eyes were turned towards the past and towards the future at the same time. He presided over war and peace and had something to do with trading and travelling.”

“Wow, Aramis, I am impressed! How do you know this?” Porthos asked baffled.

“I don’t only read Ronsard and Saint Luc or Saint Mathieu , you know!” Aramis smiled at Porthos.

“And the stone?” Tréville asked. “Is it a precious one?”

“I think it’s carnelian, not the most precious of gems. Some cameos are made of amethyst, emerald, garnet, which are more precious, but the object itself is precious. The pin is made of a rather pure gold.  It belonged to a rich person.”

“Now, we must find the rich man, or rich woman who decided that it looked better on Athos’ chest than on his own jabot.” Porthos growled, feeling the familiar anger coming back.

“At least we now have proof that Athos was poisoned in this shop and not somewhere else!”

         Tréville tried to be positive.

“With his concentration problems, it could have been easy for him to mix up places.” Tréville yawned. “Alright, let me summarise: This is what we have learned for now. We know where Athos was poisoned and we know the seamstress poisoned him and how she did it. Due to the fact that she didn’t survive we can assume that she was forced to do it.”

         Tréville paused and Aramis continued:       

“Someone must have watched Athos over a longer period to find out where he was going and what he was doing. He or she made a plan  not to kill Athos at once, but to make him suffer beforehand . The more we talk about it, the more I am convinced that this is something personal against Athos. You are right, Captain!” Aramis exclaimed angrily.

“But who would be evil enough to kill Athos with a devilish poison?” Porthos thought out loud. “Milady wouldn’t be that wicked would she?”

“She is the only person we know who has publicly threatened to kill Athos, even Athos is thinking about this fact.” Tréville told them.

“Does he think she has done it?” Aramis asked curiously.

“He is too confused right now, he doesn't know what to think. He is suffering and can’t think clearly enough in his condition, but I can tell you that he hopes that she had nothing to do with it!”

         Porthos pounded with his fist on Tréville’s desk making the other two Musketeers flinch.

“There must be a way to find out, I'll ask her, possibly threaten her ...”

“Porthos!” Aramis tried to calm him.

“What?” The streetfighter shouted angrily.

“We will ask her tomorrow, but we have to consider that someone else could be the perpetrator as well.”

“Who, Aramis?”

         Aramis sighed. He had thought about it all day long. Now he looked first at Porthos and then at his Captain.

“Remember, last year Athos had to fence against the Duke of Savoy and he beat him drawing blood! He humiliated him!” Aramis continued.

Tréville sucked in air.

“Aramis, without proof, don’t go there!” Tréville stated firmly.  

Aramis looked  at him angrily:

“Why not, this man killed twenty Musketeers for no reason and now he's back. He hates King Louis and was publicly humiliated by Athos. Aramis was now standing and directed the rest of his words towards Tréville

         Tréville stood up as well.

“Enough Aramis, I know that you are angry, I know that you are scared, we all are, but before we accuse King Louis’ brother-in-law, we need proof and without proof these dangerous thoughts could lead to war with Spain. So please, be careful before laying such a charge.” Tréville had spoken loudly much too loudly. He hadn’t wanted to shout at Aramis.

         Aramis was on his way to the door.

“Aramis!” Tréville tried with a softer voice, but Aramis was not able to return or to say one more word.

         He left the room but once outside he noticed that he was shaking again and tears were running down his face. He pulled himself together, wiped his face and made his way to Athos’ room. He wanted to find out how he could prepare this antidote called “coffee”. Porthos stood up too. He looked at Tréville:

“I think we all are a little overstressed right now!” He excused his friend’s behaviour.

“I know, Porthos.” Tréville smiled at Porthos but Porthos continued. “As you have stated before, we all need sleep tonight. I will check on Athos and then settle for tonight and tomorrow I will start my researches. I will ask d'Artagnan if he has seen or experienced any strange or odd behaviour towards Athos in the last weeks. He is young, curious and most of the time he and Athos are together and our swordsman sometimes tells him more things than he tells us. Goodnight Captain!”

         Porthos limped slowly to the door, then he looked one last time at Tréville.

“I really appreciate what you are doing for Athos right now, Captain. I only wish that when all of this is over and Athos is safe and sound that you and I can sit down and have a talk about my father. Secrets are poison too. You should know that.”

Porthos didn’t wait for an answer and left the Captain’s office. Tréville sat down at his desk, exhausted, angry and more than worried.

I only want to protect my men, Athos, Aramis and  you Porthos. If only you could understand this ...  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜     

“So, d’Artagnan, now, we have all the necessary items. Here are a few coffee beans, you must grind them in this mortar. The powder must be a very fine powder, I rely on your strength, young man. Remember, very fine, as fine as the grains of sand on a beach.”

“I am not very well acquainted with beaches.”

“Well,  the sand of the Seine is sometimes very fine and smooth too.”

         So d’Artagnan started his task. Soon, the only noise in the room was the scratching sound of the pestle in the stone mortar. The whole room filled with this smell so new to the nostrils of the young Gascon, a tangy, strong, warm and slightly bitter smell.

“Is the taste like the smell?” D’Artagnan asked. “There is something in it which reminds me of the smell of walnuts and … smoke … and … caramel ...” He sniffled again “And … rust?” He finished, unsure.

         The smell must have reached Athos’ nostrils or the sounds his ears as he stirred on his mattress.

“Is it enough?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Yes, I think it’s perfect. And your sense of smell is brilliant, it’s very useful in my work, you know. I should employ you and Aramis as my assistants!”

“Mmmh. No, thank you … I couldn’t stay confined the whole day, surrounded by vials and dry plants and other strange and unidentified things you must keep in your rooms.”

         Lemay laughed and took the coffee from d’Artagnan’s hands. He poured it into  a pot of fresh water.

“You don’t need to boil the water first?” D’Artagnan asked, surprised.

“It will boil, but slowly, in the hearth.”

“Oh, so, we have to wait.” D’Artagnan replied.

         Patience wasn’t his best quality but he would have done anything to heal his mentor.  So they waited regularly stirring the brown mixture. Lemay told him about his studies, about the countries he had visited. D’Artagnan told him about his childhood, the plants he knew from his mother and about convulsions and poisoning. And his eyes watered a little at the memory. Lemay hurried to change the topic and soon they were speaking of Constance … and both men became nervous. They were saved by a bubbling sound.

“I think it’s nearly ready.” Lemay said, rising to retrieve the pot from the hearth with a thick cloth. “Now we must let the powder settle at the bottom of the pot.”

          Silently, they observed the fragrant beverage. The smell was now more sweet, spicy and warm.

“How will he drink or eat that … er … mush?”

“He won’t consume this mush as you call it, but we will make him drink the liquid. Only a few spoonfuls. I heard that in Turkey, the powder settled at the bottom of the receptacle is used to read the future.” Lemay laughed.

“I wish it could work.” D’Artagnan replied sadly.

“Present time, d’Artagnan, present time. It’s the only important thing. Now, let’s wake our patient.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

          Lemay turned to Athos to wake him in order to give him the “coffee”. D’Artagnan had moved back to the chair next to Athos’ head after he had helped to prepare the antidote and now he was looking at his sick mentor. Athos’ face was still covered in sweat, but his forehead didn’t feel as warm as before, his breathing had settled down and his fast heartbeat too. As he watched the steady rise and fall of Athos’ chest he had the feeling that his big brother would fight this poison. Earlier he had not been that sure, but now he was convinced of it.

“I am going to wake him up now, he  will still be very tired so I will need your help.”

“What can I do doctor?”

“Talk to him, while I try to wake him up.”

         Lemay bent down over Athos’ face and talked to him while he slightly shook his shoulder.

“Time to wake up Athos!”

         As he had expected the Lieutenant was deeply asleep.

“Is it really necessary to wake him up now? Can’t we wait a little longer?” D’Artagnan asked protectively. “I mean, it is the first time  he’s slept without having a nightmare.”

“I know, that my behaviour seems cruel to you  d’Artagnan but right now, the laudanum is working. It is a strong pain killer. So when Athos drinks this coffee potion it won’t hurt him as much as it has done before, but if we wait for the effect of the laudanum to fade again I fear that we won’t be able to make him drink the antidote. He will be sick, as he was before.”

         D’Artagnan understood. Softly, he bent over Athos’ right ear and spoke quietly to him. Lemay didn’t understand what the young man was saying, but Athos seemed to listen to him, because he could see the first signs of waking. His patient moved the fingers of his right hand, he breathed stronger and he struggled to open his unfocused eyes.

“Athos!” He bent down again over the sick Musketeer. “We have the antidote ready. It is as hot as tea and you need to drink it. Not much, only a small cup. Do you think you can do this?”

         Groggy, Athos answered: 

“I’ll give it a try.”

         He realised that he could speak more easily and tried to open his eyes a little wider, only to close them frustratedly as he noticed that his vision was still blurred. A knock at the door and he could hear Porthos and Aramis entering his room. They waited in the distance. Athos who was happy to have all his friends around him said in a weak voice:

“Please, come in !” Again he was astonished that he could speak more clearly.

“Gentlemen, I am ready to give your friend the antidote, but we need Athos in an upright position.”

         D’Artagnan already wanted to help, as Porthos approached, squeezed his shoulder and positioned himself next to Athos’ head. He bent down over Athos’ face, smiled his big smile and then whispered in his ear.

“Time to recover! And no, you won’t die!”

         He then lifted the weak upper body of his friend into  an upright position. Lemay wanted to place the cup in Athos’ hands, but they started to tremble. Aramis laid his hands on Athos’ and asked:

“Shall I help you?”

“Yes please!”

“Alright, drink it slowly. It is very hot, so wait a bit after each sip.”

         Athos listened to Aramis and then he started to drink the beverage that should make him better. It smelled bitter, but every medicine is bitter, he thought. After five sips he turned his head away.

“It’s enough!” Lemay stated firmly, as Aramis tried to convince Athos to drink more.

“Now, try and sleep a little longer, your body needs to rest. We will give you the next dose tomorrow morning.”

         Athos looked in the direction of Lemay and said:

“Thank you doctor.”

         He recognised how Porthos helped him to lie flat before he fell asleep again. His heartbeat slowed a little more and his breathing evened too. Another peaceful sleep had befallen his weak body.  D’Artagnan stayed next to his mentor while Aramis and Porthos spoke silently to the Doctor.

“I will stay a little longer to see if his body shows any reaction to the coffee.”

         They thanked him, quietly said goodnight to d'Artagnan who volunteered to stay the night at Athos’ side and let their bedridden friend sleep. Lemay stayed a little longer checking from time to time the pulse, heartbeat and breathing of his patient. Satisfied that they had slowly turned back to normal he packed his equipment and said to d’Artagnan that he would return in the early morning. Then he left the garrison.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

        The room was silent. A deafening silence for d’Artagnan who stood alone, a hand clinging to the edge of the dressing table where a candle had been lit. Its flame was sooty, the wax had melted and was now leaking steadily onto the dusty wood. He stayed like that for a while, until he could see the flame even after closing his eyes, a persistent picture of the light printed on the inside of his eyelids. Not sure of what to do, he sucked in a deep breath and turned his gaze towards Athos. His own breath tried to match the rise and fall of the man’s chest. It hurt. Even if it had slowed down, it was still too fast, and it hurt the young man as he tried to feel what his mentor was now experiencing.

        He approached the bed and first sat down on the chair the others had left there, but he soon felt restless, not knowing what to do with his long arms and legs. He thought of laying pillows and blankets on the floor to build himself a comfortable nest, but he feared he would fall asleep and miss a sign of distress or a call from his friend. Finally, he chose the stool Porthos had used earlier to rest his wounded leg. Carefully, he took the chair away. The floor creaked and he flinched but Athos barely moved an eyelid. Relieved, he decided to remove his boots and he came back to the bed in his stocking feet lowering himself on the low stool. He didn’t dare lean on the bed, he didn’t dare touch the sick man, he even barely dared to breathe. His eyelids felt heavy. He had wanted to put on a brave face in front of the older men, but now, alone in this room, lulled by his mentor’s breath, by the soft orange flickering light of the dying candle, he felt his physical and moral strength decrease. Athos was peacefully sleeping on his right side. The young man crossed his hands on the edge of the mattress and put his chin on them leveling his eyes with Athos’. A few inches away from the quiet face, he could feel the heat radiating from the still too feverish body. He sighed and tried to stay awake. Outside, the wind was quickly becoming stronger.

No, please, no more rain. I hate rain. I hate storms and thunder.  

        This weather brought back bad memories and d’Artagnan tried to shake them off, squeezing his eyes shut until it hurt. A soft moan brought him out of his anxious meditation. He opened his eyes and looked at Athos.The man’s eyelids fluttered, his mouth trembled and he rolled onto his back but didn’t wake up. A cough, then nothing, his breathing becoming even again. D’Artagnan stretched his long limbs and resumed his watch in the same hunched posture. He was now fully awake, aware of all the small noises in the room, from the cracking sounds of the wood to the whistling of the wind through the shutters. Minutes passed and again, Athos moaned. He opened his mouth and tried to say something but he winced, obviously in pain. He began to move again, crumpling the sheets in his fists, tossing his head from side to side and nervously scratching at his chest. This time, d’Artagnan reached a hand trying to loosen the grip on the white fabric, and to stop the frantic moves on the chest. The contact seemed to calm the distressed man.  

“Shhh, it’s alright, I am here, I am here.” He whispered in the man’s ear. “Don’t do that, you will hurt yourself”.

        Suddenly, the hushed low voice seemed to work as Athos sighed loudly and his body  relaxed slightly. Then he whispered something, but d’Artagnan didn’t understand at once. Then the same word was murmured.

“Thomas ...”

        D’Artagnan felt his throat tighten and tears threaten to force his eyelids. He breathed deeply, feeling so helpless. Athos had rolled onto his side again, facing him.

“Thomas …”

        D’Artagnan suddenly remembered something, a memory going back to his early childhood. Now he had an idea of what to do. He knelt on the floor, took a shivering hand in his and began to whisper soft words, his lips against Athos’ ear:

“Quing plasé n’es pas ét aquô? *

Quing plasé toque les au cô?”

        He rubbed his thumb on the warm knuckles.

“Sleep my friend. Sleep. I am here, it’s me. I am not leaving your side.”

        He raised his head to look at his friend. His eyes were open but unfocused. He smiled not knowing if it would be seen but hoping that it would be at least … felt by the other man. And he continued this poem his mother used to read him when he was sick.

“Qu’esta tant que la bize hisse

Sarrak en üe boune perisse?”                        

“Again, please.” Athos croaked closing his eyes again and turning his hand to seize d’Artagnan’s fingers in a surprisingly tight grip. So d’Artagnan recited again, voice low, soft, soothing.

“Quing plasé n’es pas ét aquô?

Quing plasé toque les au cô?

Qu’esta tant que la bize hisse

Sarrak en üe boune perisse?”*

        Then, he saw them, and it frightened him. Big silent tears were washing over his friend’s face, and suddenly, as if he wanted to hide his grief, Athos rolled onto his other side, turning his back to the young man.

“Stay with … me … please … I am … I … feel … so … alone …” Athos whispered.

“You are awake?” D’Artagnan murmured.

“Mmmhh … yes. Please … don’t go … Where are you? I am cold … I … my face is burning but I am cold … please ...”

        D’Artagnan waited a few seconds and then, gingerly, he stood up and climbed onto the narrow mattress behind the shivering man. He hesitated, then, he softly laid his right hand flat on the shuddering back, careful to let enough space between them, because even if the man felt cold, his fever was still high and he didn’t need a human blanket in this state. But, at least, that way, he could feel his breathing and pulse. No matter who would find them in the morning, no matter what they would think and say, no matter what he would think himself later. For now, the only important thing was the welfare of his big brother.

“Sleep, I am here. You are not alone.”

        And he closed his eyes to the soft breathing of Athos.   

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜    

        In the early hours of dawn, Tréville got up after a much too short night. He had lain long awake, turning over and over in his bed and thinking about what Aramis and Porthos had told him that evening. He didn’t want to disturb his men while they were looking after Athos. They were all too emotionally involved. So he had decided to give them time and space, but the concern about Athos had woken him up early.

        The courtyard was still very quiet and the weak light coming from the misty sky was barely bright enough to discern the shapes of the benches, tables, stairs and pillars. Tréville hurried to Athos’ room. He stopped at the door and hesitated before turning the knob. He was anxious to see what he would find behind it, and what he found just made his heart swell with pride and affection. His best soldier and his youngest were sleeping on their side, facing each other, forehead against forehead, the latter had most of his body over the edge of the mattress obviously not wanting to invade the other’s personal space but their hands were linked together between their chests. Tréville slowly and silently approached the table and lit a candle. Then he came to the bed, carefully covered the two sleeping soldiers with blankets and sat down on the stool. He felt his knees creaking, reminding him that he wasn’t  a young man anymore. He silently watched the peaceful faces. In spite of the suffering and the tiredness, they looked so young, unaware of the world outside. He had to wake the young man up, but he was reluctant, so he waited. At last, the young Gascon stirred and realising that someone was there, he opened his eyes and his head snapped up.

“Captain, I … I am sorry …” He stammered sluggishly, looking at his Captain with bleary wide eyes.

        He tried to let go of Athos’ hand and to get up, but Tréville laid a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Shh …, it’s fine. Stay. You are good for him … How was the night?”

        So, still holding his big brother’s hand and absent-mindedly rubbing the fingers in his, the young man made his report to his Captain.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Tuesday, 3rd of June

        Now Tréville, sitting next to Athos’ bed, waited for his Lieutenant to wake up. D’Artagnan had told him that it had been a much too restless sleep for his officer. The lad had wanted to stay, but the Captain had ordered him to get at least three hours of sleep and drop morning muster, sooner rather than later they both would be needed back at the palace. His eyes wandered back to the sweating face of his Lieutenant. The breathing seemed to become agitated again, a knock at the door and Lemay quietly entered the room.

“How is our patient this morning?” He asked the Captain of the Musketeers, well aware that not every commanding officer would watch over a hurt or sick soldier.

“I don’t know, he has not woken yet. D’Artagnan told me that he had a restless night, moaning in his sleep and I think his breathing difficulties have returned.”

“Let me check on him!” Lemay started his examination.

What is it, something cold is touching my chest? Where am I? Why is everything so dark around me. My skin is itching. God that hurts. It’s getting warmer again. Why am I so warm?

        Lemay listened to Athos’ heartbeat, checked his breathing and lifted his shirt in order to see if the red rash had changed.

“Alright, our patient still has a fast pulse, but I think the coffee helped his heart. The beating is much slower but you are right about his breathing and it worries me.     

My throat ... arghh … the pain … the pain is back. Why can’t it vanish … why can’t it stop …? Please … make it stop. I can’t … Can’t … It hurts soooo muchhhhh to br … Argh … Mmmhhh …

        I think his throat is hurting him again, that’s why his breathing is uneven. I will wake him up and give him another very small dose of laudanum, then we will wait again for one hour and give him the next dose of coffee.”

        Tréville nodded, this  time Lemay woke Athos, more careful not to touch the red rash on his chest.

Why is all so dark around me? I can’t see … I … is this Tréville? Who else is there? I hear voices? I … I feel dizzy, my head … My eyes … Everything is blurred … the light … it hurts … I need dark … darkness … What is it, something is pressing in my stomach. Please make it stop … No, not again … Why … I need …

        It was still difficult for Athos to open his eyes and it took him several minutes to wake up. His body felt weak and he sensed a tense feeling in his bladder.

“How are you this morning?” Lemay asked softly.

        Athos thought about this question.

“Throat … hurtsss and I need …” Exhausted, he stopped.

“You need to use the chamber-pot?” Lemay helped.

        Athos nodded sluggishly. Together with Tréville, they helped the bedridden soldier to relieve himself.

God this hurts …. I want to …. Why can’t ….

Everything is so blurred around me …

I can’t … I … I need to lie down …

Why can’t I …

Mmnnhh …

        Athos moaned because his lower abdomen hurt and he had difficulties until the water finally left his bladder. His blood circulation played tricks on him and if it hadn’t been for the tight grip of Tréville around his waist, he would have ended in an unworthy heap on the floor. Tréville tried to calm Athos with encouraging words, recognising that his Lieutenant was becoming more and more agitated.

Fresh air … why is it so hard to breathe … I … I … need …

I can’t tell them. They have to help … I need ...

I need to stop panicking …

I nnnn and ooooout … Innnnn and oooooouuutt … Innnnn … aaaaannn

        Back in his bed, he let them put several pillows at his back, because the breathing difficulties had reappeared at an alarming speed, Athos barely spoke and his speech was more and more slurred. After another breathing exercise, Lemay bent down over his face again.

“Open your mouth please, Athos. I will give you another dose of laudanum.”

        Athos followed the orders of the doctor. After Lemay helped him again to swallow the bitter fluid, Athos felt the urgent need to sleep.

What is this in my mouth? It tastes bitter ...

What is the doctor doing with his hands at my throat?

I need to swallow, God, it hurtsssss ….

I want to sleep … I am sooo tired …. I can’t stay awake … I …

        He sank back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. Soon Lemay and Tréville could hear that his breathing had settled again. The laudanum did its work. Satisfied the doctor started to prepare the coffee, while talking quietly with Tréville about the trade summit. An hour later, Aramis entered the room and they woke Athos for a second time. Aramis helped him drink the coffee again, while Tréville excused himself in order to begin his day with the morning muster.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Tuesday morning, refectory

        Porthos yawned loudly.

This night was much too short!

He was sitting with Aramis and D’Artagnan in the refectory of the garrison. He was hungry and considered that he could eat some more bread and fruits. D’Artagnan had already finished his breakfast and Aramis didn’t eat anything. A worried Porthos looked at his friend.

“You know, you can’t help Athos at all if you are starving to death, eh?”

        Aramis looked at him with a bored expression.

“I know what you are trying to do, but I am not hungry.” Aramis said tiredly.

“How is he?” Porthos finally asked the question he had wanted to ask since they had met a sleepy d’Artagnan in the courtyard.

        D’Artagnan looked at them.

“He didn’t have a good night he was very restless and had another bad dream.

“Lemay gave him more laudanum and he hopes that the second dose of coffee will help him to get better. He wants us to bath him again later and one of us has to sit with him all the time. His breathing was uneven through the night and it settled a little this morning. He asked us to speak with him, so that we can monitor his breathing better, and I think this is what we are going to do today.” Aramis added.

“Oh dear, bathing. He will hate us. He will hate that he is still not better, and that we have to help him.” Porthos rolled his eyes.

“We will have to tell him that it is very normal” Aramis sighed, knowing very well that Athos would need a lot of support and encouragement to go through the whole procedure.

“Just tell him that he would do the very same for us! Alas, I won’t be able to help you this morning. I have to go back to the palace with the Captain, but in the meantime can you please enlighten me about what you have found out?” D’Artagnan looked at them questioningly.

        Porthos and Aramis gave the young Gascon a brief summary about their researches. Porthos ended it with:

“So we have Milady or the Duke of Savoy as possible suspects, but don’t let Tréville know that I have told you about the latter?”

        D’Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

“Why not?”

“Because, he thinks that we could provoke a war with Spain if we accuse the Duke of such a deed. Remember, we must always think of the greater good of France!” Aramis added sarcastically to hide his own anger and the pain the Duke had caused.

“So only two suspects?” D’Artagnan asked.

“Well that depends!” Porthos said.

“Depends on what? D’Artagnan asked curiously.

“Did you notice Athos being more suspicious lately? Maybe he told you that he believed he was being followed?” Porthos asked him.

“Or did he mention to you that someone threatened him, besides Milady?” Aramis continued.

        D’Artagnan looked at his two friends.

“You mean you think Athos would have told me something that he wouldn’t have told you?”

“You know Athos! Sometimes he can be very private and he doesn’t share his feelings and thoughts with everyone, even with us. But he talks to you.” Porthos explained.

        D’Artagnan blushed slightly and a smile crept over his lips.     

“Let me think, I don’t recall Athos telling me that someone threatened him or that he had the feeling of being followed but if I think about it longer, I have the dumb feeling that he has been brooding over something since he fought this soldier from Ireland last year but I am not sure why and he didn’t say anything about it. Maybe he is worried that such soldiers can be hired again to harm the Queen. He has stayed around the palace much longer lately, I think he still feels ashamed that all of us weren’t able to protect the Queen better at those holy waters.” D’Artagnan looked at his friends.

        Aramis ran a hand through his thick curls and sniffled nervously, his friends didn’t notice his behaviour.

“You do know what I mean? Athos sometimes needs more time than others would to forgive himself.”

        Aramis tried to avoid direct eye contact with their youngest team member, he groaned inwardly. The young Gascon was about to discover the secret that Athos and he tried to hide. Athos was right, staying longer and longer at the palace would, sooner or later, bring immediate danger to his loved ones.

I am sorry my friend, that you have to keep this huge secret for yourself and that I am such a burden to you. You neglect your own duty or you work only to be sure that I am safe. You shouldn’t Athos. You …

        Aramis’ thoughts were interrupted by Porthos.

“Yeah, I agree with you, d’Artagnan, there is something he’s not telling us. Can you think of anything else?”

“Maybe a friend of this Irish soldier … What was his name? … Gallagher. I think his name was Gallagher … He wants to avenge him. He found out that Athos was the one who killed him.” D’Artagnan thought out loud. “But if you want to know if Athos said anything, I am afraid he didn’t. Nevertheless he has been under a lot of stress and pressure lately. I have the feeling that the return of Rochefort has brought back old, bad memories and Rochefort trying to earn more power at the palace worries him. Besides, he cares for the well-being of our Captain and seeing that the King is treating Tréville more and more as an enemy instead of a friend, pains him too. He values our Captain a lot and he doesn’t like to see him being hurt. So, maybe the return of Rochefort made him lack concentration so that he did not realise the danger he was in and didn’t notice that he was being followed or the target of someone we don’t know yet.”               

        Porthos and Aramis nodded quietly. They too had recognised that the return of Rochefort had made their leader confront his past and they knew that the Comte had been the reason why Athos had to endure or suffer greatly during his first year as a Musketeer.

        D’Artagnan stood up.

“Anyway I have to go. If I see Milady at the palace I will start my inquiry. I don’t know when I will be back, but make sure that Athos recovers soon.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

In the meantime at the palace

        King Louis looked at the Captain of the Musketeers who was standing next to him. The man looked tired.

“Tell me Tréville. How is our dear Musketeer Athos?”

        Tréville had decided not to tell the King that his Lieutenant had been poisoned. Louis would be afraid that someone would poison him too. The last time he had seen Athos this morning he seemed to sleep so peacefully that by now he was convinced that Athos’ body had won the fight against the poison.

“He is on the mend, your Majesty. Doctor Lemay is a true specialist. He helped with a new medicine, I think its name is coffee if I recall it correctly.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic news, Captain!” King Louis clapped in his hands.

“Yesterday I ordered several sacks of coffee beans. I am glad that they are worth the high prize I had to pay for it.” King Louis said, his teeth shimmering in his face.

“So we can assume that Athos will help us during the trade summit?” Rochefort asked curious in Tréville’s direction.

Not again. I knew it. The next thing he will propose to the King is that Athos should stand personal guard on Friday, d’Artagnan where are you? My headache is coming back.

“Give him a break Rochefort, I wouldn’t ask you to be here after being so severely ill. The flu can be deadly. At least my wife told me that, the other day. Two of her court-ladies have fallen ill as well. And she is really worried about them. She has told me that they still need a lot of rest even after the body has beaten the flu. I listen to her advice and it’s very good. Your Lieutenant needs rest, Captain. That’s an order!” Louis looked straight into Tréville’s eyes.

Besides I think my Captain would look less worried, if Athos still could rest a little longer. Thought the King.              

        Now and then King Louis could surprise Tréville and he was glad that this was one of the rare moments he did.

“Now, come on, Gentlemen, we need to discuss some more details about what we need. There is an interesting man from Ireland here. He arrived two weeks ago and he’s offered me some new plants which we can use for medical supplies. It is very interesting to talk with him and for the battlefield I guess we can use those new medicines.” Louis explained to both Captains while returning with them to his quarters.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

        Athos’ room was still dark with only a few sunrays entering through the small window. The Musketeer was lying in his bed, half awake, too agitated to sleep. From time to time he opened his eyes, only to close them again, too frustrated that his vision was still blurred. After Athos had been given another dose of laudanum and an hour later a few spoonfuls of coffee, he felt better. He could swallow with less pain, the dry throat was still there but his breathing troubles seemed to have vanished. He was exhausted and agitated at the same time, somehow the medicine made him restless. Porthos and Aramis who had now taken over his care, used the time to give him more to drink and they even tried a bowl of hot broth. They encouraged him to drink more, even with less pain, he was still very weak and he needed nutrition to become stronger again. Aramis had sat next to Athos. With his main-gauche he cut an apple into small pieces, he gave them to him. “It’s good for your heart!” He said. So Athos listened to him and ate them one by one.  As the doctor had advised, they tried to talk with Athos. Telling him the newest gossip of the palace and what their fellow Musketeers had achieved during the last days. Soon Athos was exhausted again and they decided to let him sleep. They relaxed as they noticed that his breathing was normal again and his heartbeat became more steady, but all these signs of improvement changed suddenly around noon. Athos’ sleep became more restless, his fever spiked and he threw himself from one side to the other of his bed. He curled himself into a foetal position, as the intense pain hit his body again.

        Athos felt his heart beating fiercely in his chest. He tried to ease the pain, by opening his mouth and coughing, but it didn’t work. He tried to calm down, by doing the breathing exercises, but he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs. He felt hot and cold at the same time, he was dizzy, sweat was plastering his thick hair that fell onto his forehead, he wished it would stop, but it didn’t. The palpitations grew stronger and stronger and the itching pain in his chest wouldn’t go away.

“Mhhhh …” He groaned aloud.

        At this sound of distress, Porthos and Aramis who had sat quietly at the table stood up abruptly. Aramis knelt beside the bed and took Athos’ hand in his.

“Mmmhhhhh!” another loud moan escaped Athos’ mouth as he tried to ease the pain and slow his galloping heartbeat.

“What’s the matter, Athos?” He whispered.

“Make … it … stop … . plea …?” He closed his eyes and he panted for air.

        Porthos slipped quickly behind him to lift his upper body.

“Aramis, he’s not getting enough air!” He swore “I promised you, you will survive this. So stay with me Athos. Do you hear me? You have done this before! Breathe. Breathe with me!”

        Athos felt strong arms lifting him. He could feel a warm chest at his back, he could feel a steady heartbeat, so lulling and quiet. He pressed his head against Porthos’ chest and turned it slightly trying to look at his human pillow and suddenly he opened his mouth, desperate for air. Aramis tried to soothe him cradling his head in his hands.

“Look at me, Athos! Look at me! Open your eyes!”

        Athos felt the tickling of the black curls on his face and managed to open his feverish shining green eyes. Aramis let go of his right cheek and laid his hand on Athos’ chest right over his heart. He could feel Athos’ heart palpitating much too fast. He looked at Porthos and with his eyes he told him to speak to their patient.

“Athos, come on, breathe with me. In and out … in and out .”

        The sick man fastened his grip on Aramis’ hand and followed the instructions of Porthos. More weakly than the times before, he sucked air into his lungs and felt his throat burn as he breathed out. He felt horrible. The only reason why he continued was because of  his two friends talking and comforting him during his whole ordeal.

“That’s it!” Aramis coaxed him and he gave Porthos a sign to roll their brother onto his side.

        In this new position, still secured by Pothos’ arms, he started to inhale more air.

“I don’t like that.” Porthos whispered. The sweaty temple against his cheek was burning with fever. “My God Aramis, he is burning. I think his fever has risen again …”

        Aramis laid his cool hand on Athos’ forehead.

“You are right. We need to do something. I could give him another cup of willow tea, but I fear that he won’t keep it down.” Aramis murmured.

“Bath?” Asked Porthos not sure that it was a good idea.

“It’s our last solution. His heart won’t bear this fever and I don’t want to…”

        Aramis stopped, swallowed hard and looked at the ceiling, jaws clenched as he tried to rein in his emotions.

“To see him convulse again?” Porthos finished. “I know. I’ll stay with him, you go and prepare the bathroom. Make sure no one else comes and bothers us.”

        As Aramis stayed frozen, Porthos, laying a hand on his knee, urged:

“Go, Aramis. Trust me. I won’t let him go for a walk on his own.”

        He circled Athos’ waist with his two arms and laid his cheek against the sick man’s temple again.

“Hang in there!” Aramis bent over Athos’ right ear, squeezed his hand and hurried away.

        Athos could hear the mumbling of his friends but he didn’t understand what they were saying. His mind was too confused. He felt Aramis leaving and at the same time, he felt Porthos holding him even tighter. Tears were running down his face, he couldn’t stop them, but his heartbeat had slowed down again and through this new position he was able to take in more air.

“Where … go ...?”

“Shhh, Athos. Try to save your breath. Aramis is going to prepare everything for your bath. He will be back in no time so try to rest a bit. Close your eyes and breathe with me. Yes … that’s it.”

        Athos’ body sank deeper into Porthos’ embrace as he felt sleepy again. Porthos’ strength comforted him. He wanted to sleep, but he suddenly became agitated again. Restless, he felt his whole body threatening to convulse again.

“Nooo …” He slurred.

“Shh ... You will be fine.”

        Porthos’ right hand covered his forearm and he slowly ran it up the whole arm in a comforting almost caressing gesture.

“Port … s, if I …”

“Shh … don’t speak …”

“Let me … if I die …”

        Porthos froze. He stopped his move and tightened his embrace.

“You … won’t … die! Do you hear me? You will live! D’Artagnan needs you, Aramis needs you, Tréville is counting on you and I, my dear friend,  will not let you go. I need you too. Right now even more than you know!”

“I am ... sca … scared. I don't want … to die … before I know … who … and …”

        Athos shivered a little more, another fit hit his body, but the convulsions didn’t start. The cramp left him again, he turned slightly again to try to see Porthos’ face who had resumed his soft caresses.

“And why the person did it. I understand. We will know who and why, because you will be soon fine enough to help us find this devilish creature, but if you want to be fine, stop talking rubbish, rest and wait for Aramis.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        D’Artagnan was late. After breakfast he had saddled his horse and had ridden to the palace. Now he was looking for Tréville.

It’s either palace or gardens.

        D’Artagnan decided to look in the King’s rooms in the palace first. On his way he spotted Constance who was carrying some new fresh white linen.

“I am sorry that I couldn’t help during the last few days but Marguerite has the flu too. The Queen asked me to help her with the Dauphin and Dr. Lemay asked me to help Marguerite and another court lady to get better.” Constance excused herself.

“I am sure both women were in the best of hands under your care. Are they better yet?” D’Artagnan asked tiredly.

“Marguerite is on her way to recovery, but the other woman is still very sick, she has such a high fever, as you told me Athos has, and we are not sure if she will survive.”

“I am sorry to hear that. Do you know her well?” D’Artagnan asked.

“No. She is one of the Queen’s Spanish ladies-in-waiting and she is very close to her, but she is a noble woman and I am not.” She explained. “I really have to go and look after her but first tell me. How is Athos?”

“Still not good.” D’Artagnan sighed, and Constance could see the worry and tiredness in his eyes.

“He had a very bad night, his fever is still high and I …” He stalled.

“He is strong d’Artagnan, he will fight this, don’t worry. And …  he has you!”

        Constance gave him a supporting smile.

“I am trying to tell myself this too!” D’Artagnan sighed.

“Tell him that I pray for him!” Constance shortly pressed d’Artagnan’s hand. “I really need to go!”

        D’Artagnan looked in several more rooms before he realised that the King must be in his gardens. From the distance, Milady could hear both of them talking.

So Athos is not better yet? But he is still alive. She mused.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Doctor Lemay had hoped that the fever would have broken by now, that the body of his patient would have recovered, but the worst of his fears had turned out to be true. Again  he checked for a pulse and a heartbeat but he couldn’t find any. The still feverish face started to cave, bluish lips, pale and cold skin, were the evident signs that the body wasn’t receiving enough oxygen. He took a small mirror and positioned it at the mouth of his patient waiting for a sign of breathing but nothing, no condensation on the icy surface. The body of his patient laid now unresponsive in the white linens and the dark blue blanket covering it.

Too young! Too soon! He  thought bitterly.

        Around him, friends of the patient had gathered and in the background he could hear sobbing and crying. He checked a last time the wide open bluish shimmering eyes darkened by enlarged pupils and then with a deep sigh he closed them softly.

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

        Constance stepped next to him and softly laid a hand on his shoulder.The young woman, a court lady, had died several minutes ago, struggling to breathe, trying to speak a last time but not able to express herself. Her heart was beating much too quickly and suddenly stopped. He could do no more

“Doctor!” She called softly. “We have to inform her family!”

“Yes, we must! And we need to make sure we remove her body as soon as possible, it could infect other people.”

        He turned away. He had had another patient in a similar condition, but had she been poisoned as well or was it the flu? In the end it was not “the poison” or “the flu” but the very high fever, the weakened heart and the lack of oxygen that had caused the death. He wished he could find a way to keep his patients in a long sleep and to somehow give them oxygen through a tube, but he had no idea how. Giving a few last orders to some servants of how to take care of the corpse and what they had to clean, he gave one last glance to the dead woman and frustratedly, he grabbed his medical bag and went to the door. At least he was glad that his other patient at the palace, Lady Marguerite, was on the mend. She had cared for the sick Dauphin and had caught the flu this way. He only hoped that no more courtiers or the Queen would get the disease.

        On his way out he thought again of Athos. Would the coffee work? Would the heart of the soldier be strong enough to survive this horrible poison? He wasn’t sure about it. He tried to get rid of his dark thoughts. Looking back he watched Constance comforting another young woman.

Such a shame that she is married. She is not only intelligent but very beautiful. Even in such a situation of distress and sadness she can light a room with warmth and compassion.

        Holding onto this positive thought he finally left his dead patient’s room.  

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

        Aramis had quickly finished the preparations. On his way out he took the stretcher they had used the first time and hurried back over the courtyard, down the few steps to Athos’ quarters. He slowed down in front of his door, tried to catch his breath, to calm down a little and sent a fast prayer towards God touching the small golden cross the Queen had given him and pressed a kiss on it.

Please let him survive this bath. Let him survive this.

        Then with a reassuring smile, he entered Athos’ room and laying the stretcher down next to his bed, he bent down over his friend’s weak and hurt body.

“Ready for your second bath? Now, we will take you to the bathing room.”

“Hmm …” Athos managed, glad to hear Aramis at his side again too.

        Aramis gestured to Porthos to help him to put Athos onto the stretcher. Porthos spoke softly in Athos’ ear in order to not startle him.

“We will lift you now out of the bed onto the stretcher.”

        Athos could feel the blanket being taken away from him. The coolness around him hit him by surprise. Then he felt two strong hands at his legs.

“Now, Porthos!”

        Together the Musketeers lifted the much too weak body of their brother onto the stretcher and afterwards two hands pulled his precious blue blanket firmly over his slightly shaking body.

“Wha …?” Athos was confused as he was lying on the floor of his room.

“Sorry, Athos. This new mattress isn’t soft enough for your noble body, but don’t worry, we are on our way now.” Aramis smiled.

        And so the second trip to the bathroom began. Unlike the last time Athos was wide awake, sensing the cold air on his skin as they carried him over the courtyard and feeling every move of the stretcher. Scared, he wanted to escape and he started to become agitated. Moving and rolling uncontrollably from one side to the other on the narrow sheet.  

“Stop Athos!” Porthos tried to calm him but the confused man didn’t recognise his brother’s voice. Instead, he got even more agitated and tried to raise himself up, but he failed and fell limply back onto the linen of the stretcher.

“Wait!” Aramis said. “We can’t move on like that. He will fall from the stretcher. He has no idea what is happening right now. He is too confused and can’t see properly.”

        So they put the stretcher down. Without any further explanation, Porthos bent down with a grimace as his thigh throbbed and he picked up his sick friend. He took him in his arms like a bride.

No need to tell him later, Porthos thought.

        They carried him the last steps to the bathroom. Athos’ head rested on Porthos chest, gently lolling, and he tried to think what was going on.

Where am I? Why is it so cold? I am moving, without walking … ?

        Aramis hurried in front of him, opening the doors. Entering the bathroom nearly made Athos suffocate, the thick wet air was suddenly too heavy for his weak lungs. Slowly, he tried to breathe deeply and his mind registered the new smells. Soap, lavender, wet wood, smoke and something he didn’t recognise at once.

Air … I need air … my throat hurts … everything is so dry …

What smell is that? Where am I? I need to breathe …

Someone is talking to me … I know this voice … Aramis ...

“I’ve put mint leaves in your bath. It will ease your breathing.”

    Aramis folded a sheet into a makeshift pillow ready to be slipped under Athos’ head.

“Now, Athos, we will have to undress you. I know, you don’t like that, but you don’t want to have a bath all dressed?” Aramis told him with a soft smile.

No, not again, not with the boy around … why do I have to endure this?

“Where is …?” Athos whispered.

“Who? Where is who? Porthos is right here ... the stretcher … is Porthos.”

“No … I mean … d …”

“Oh!” Porthos laughed. “D’Artagnan? You need your new footman to undress you?”

“Nooo …,” Athos, moaned frustrated. “It’s not … I don’t want him … to …”

“Porthos, leave him alone, please.” Aramis chided. “He isn’t here, Athos, don’t worry. There are only the three of us. No other eyes on your white noble skin.”  

       Athos held a hand as if trying to smack Aramis’ head, but he was too weak and the hand fell. Aramis caught it and squeezed it a little, comforting him and conveying in the gesture all his understanding.

I feel so hot, so dizzy … I am so weak … I can’t …

No, stop, not my clothes …

       Porthos had started to untie the shirt and all the while chatting, they undressed Athos. They had sat him half on a stool, half in Porthos’ lap. Then, slowly, carefully, Porthos lowered his friend into the warm water. He felt him shivering as his burning skin met the slightly cooler water.

What is happening … Porthos what are you doing …?

Stop lifting me … my body is trembling … the water …

“Shh ..., it’s alright, I won’t drop you. You can still feel my hand on you. Can’t you?”

       Aramis reached a hand to support Athos’ head and guide it onto the folded sheet. The sigh escaping Athos’ lips made them look at him with a fond smile. They had feared his reaction to the water but the blissful expression on their friend’s face was a blessing. Porthos still had his right hand on Athos’ back and Aramis’ fingers gently scratched his scalp where the water met his tangled hair.

“Th … thank you … my friends … You can let me go … I won’t drown … in the …”

       Suddenly he stopped,  Porthos and Aramis froze, worried.

“What is it, Athos? Are you feeling bad?” Aramis asked.

       He was staring at the surface of his bath, eyes wide, lips slightly curled upward.

“You are smiling Athos?” Porthos asked. “Aramis, should we be worried?”

“I don’t think so. But tell us, Athos?”

“Is it really ... what I think ... it is?” Athos asked in his purest Comte’s voice.

“What?” Porthos asked anxiously. “Are you seeing things again?”

       But Athos’ smile was still there, brighter, and there was a glint in his eyes they hadn’t seen for days.

“You put thyme leaves in my bath and laurel leaves? Are you planning to … to … cook me?” Athos drawled.

       Porthos burst out with laughter and stopped abruptly as Athos flinched.

“Sorry, that was too noisy, sorry but it’s so good you know, it’s so good to see you awake, aware and … normal. My God! It’s so good.”

Don’t be so theatrical, Porthos, please. Athos thought.

Tears of relief and joy made Porthos' eyes shine in the dancing flames of the hearth.

“Don’t … don’t ask … me to spar with … you … right now, but … you are right … I am better.”

       Aramis curled an arm around his shoulders with a suspicious sniffle.

“Let me see your skin, now. I want to check if the honey and calendula worked. And for your information, thyme and laurel leaves ease the breathing, Monsieur le Comte.”

       Aramis softly touched the dry, hot and still reddish area on Athos’ chest. It seemed less scarlet.

“By the way, what is calendula?” Porthos asked.

“Souci.” *

“Don’t you think we have enough of that?”* Porthos asked. *

“Porthos, you big child. La fleur de souci. The yellow or orange flower. Latin name, calendula.” Aramis laughed. “Good news my friend, my mixture worked and …”

       Athos’ eyes were locked with his, a little more focused as the fever slowly decreased.

“I wondered if I could give you some honey to eat …” Aramis mused.

“To eat?” Athos asked quietly, quirking an eyebrow.  

“Yes it’s good for your throat and it’s fortifying. As you can’t eat anything else, it will help your body to rebuild its strength.”

“Alright. I don’t like it very much …”

“ Bourgogne* and chinon* are not on the menu for now, Monsieur le Comte, our inn only offers honey.”

“Aramis, don’t call me …”

“Alright … Monsieur le Comte.”

       The light banter between the three of them made Athos forget that he was naked, helpless, hurt and sick, in a bath where his two friends were tending over him as if he was a child. Aramis gently sponged his chest, removing the remnants of his salve. Porthos had picked up a cloth and carefully sponged his arms. Athos closed his eyes. For the first time in days he felt his heart slowing down. He felt calmer ... His breathing was deeper and slower and he felt he could sleep now … Tired, he closed his eyes, but Aramis and Porthos tried to keep him awake and focused.

“Now, Athos, are you ready to hear what your two best investigators have discovered?”  Aramis asked.

“And are you ready to help them in their inquiry?” Porthos completed.

       Athos sat up a little in the bathtub without help. It was a victory and he opened his eyes. Aramis noticed that the pupils were smaller in spite of the dim light. A good sign.   So, they told him slowly in a low voice, what had happened in the past few days, deliberately omitting Aramis’ break down in Saint-Joseph and carefully announcing the death of the nice seamstress. In spite of their cautious words, Athos squeezed his eyes shut when he heard that and, when he opened them again, his friends could see all the guilt they knew too well appearing in the blue-green troubled water of their friend’s eyes.

“It’s not your fault, Athos.” Aramis reassured him while checking the temperature of his forehead with the back of his hand.

“It is. But it’s too late, now … Everything is always too late with me.” Athos replied with great sorrow.  

“Athos. Our priority is to heal you and to catch that monster who did this to you. So we need your help not your self deprecation.” Porthos growled.

“Porthos!” Aramis snapped angrily.

“He is right, Aramis … Sorry … I will try to behave, now.” Athos told him with a smile both shy and mischievous, like a child seeking forgiveness.

“You did nothing wrong, my dear friend. Nothing. You are brave and I can tell you now that you are on your way to recovery and we are soon going to be on our way back to your room, because you don’t need to catch a cold. Moreover this smelly broth is becoming cold.” Aramis smiled. “We will continue this discussion in your apartments, Monsieur le …”

       A glare stopped him. The old Athos was back and it was so good!

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜   

Somewhere in the palace

"I am looking forward to Friday, Christine!”

“What did you just say?” Christine-Marie, the sister of Louis was busy playing hide and seek with her son in the two vast rooms they had been given during their stay in le Louvre . The rooms were beautiful, with a reddish-brown floor and colourful painted ceilings.

“I mean it’s time to go back to Savoy. I can’t wait for the trade summit to come to an end.”

       He looked bored, as through the window, he could see Rochefort and Tréville next to King Louis discussing something.

“Why do you want to leave so soon?” Christine wondered. “I thought we could stay a little  longer. Wasn’t it your plan to meet with some other allies? Besides the Dauphin is such a sunshine and I’d like to spend more time with Anne and my brother. Anne could use my help now with her little baby boy, two of her court ladies are sick and she needs support. Can’t you find something else to do, like hunting or sword fighting?”

“Don’t remind me of that. Last time I was here I lost against a common Musketeer.” He snorted angrily.

“Poor man, he has fallen sick.” He added. “But maybe it serves him right.” Christine looked at her husband. She sensed he was in a bad mood.

“Maybe it is really the best that we leave on Saturday. I will convince my brother that we will achieve a good price for our valuable goods.”

       The Duke of Savoy tried to smile at his wife.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Garrison

       Without asking, Porthos picked up his freshly dressed friend as he tried to walk out of the bathroom. Athos squeaked like a cat which was caught chasing a mouse.

“Let me go, Porthos, I can walk.” He hissed sending him the best glare he could in his state.

“No. You can’t.”

“I am not a damsel in distress.”

“You are my friend in distress . So be quiet and calm. Hey, you promised, remember?

       Aramis chuckled and trailed behind them carrying the soiled clothes and the precious dark blue blanket. Back in the room, Porthos laid a struggling Athos on the bed. At least, he tried, as Athos sat up at once.

“Woah! Don’t you think you had better lay down than sitting in this position?” Porthos tried to argue.

“I am fine.” Athos stated drily.

“Yes, you always are fine.” Aramis smiled bitterly. “Always fine, even when you see eight of us instead of two, when you can’t even drink water without crying or vomiting, when your fever is so high that you talk nonsense, when you …” Aramis’ voice was now broken with anxiety and a hint of anger.

“Stop it, Aramis.” Porthos interrupted. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t you think it’s you who needs sleep and rest, as well? Can’t you see that Athos is better? It’s over! This damn poison is leaving his body. It’s over Aramis.” Now his voice was as shaky as Aramis’.  

“Please.” Athos’ soft voice stopped them. “Please, stop. I am sorry. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it isn’t.” Aramis and Porthos cried at the same time.

“Shall we talk, now?” Athos asked quietly.

“Are you sure you want to stay upright?” Aramis gingerly asked.

“I am. Sit with me, please.”

       So they did. The three of them sat facing the room. Porthos on his left, Aramis on his right. Their backs to the wall under the beautiful sword. And they talked quietly, slowly, they told him about the inquiry and they began to ask him questions.

“Now do you remember anything which could be useful?” Aramis asked. “Did you see, feel or hear anything that we should know about, anything that could help to improve our research?”

“I remember the pain when she fastened the scarf around my neck. I … I … didn’t understand … She was so close … and she … but I thought that she still had a pin or a needle in her hand, you know, seamstresses always have a needle or a pin in their mouth or stuck in their sleeves or dresses ... and she … she didn’t notice that she had hurt me … So I didn’t say … anything …”

“Anything else?” Porthos asked.

       Athos tried to concentrate. He frowned and added:

“I … this figure … The first day … I remember … a figure. But it’s nothing …” Athos began.

       Aramis laid a hand on his forehead. He could feel that the temperature had risen a little again, but not in an alarming way. Still he thought they would need to stop soon. Athos’ weak body needed rest.

“So … You saw a figure? And was it a he or a she , that figure?” Porthos asked.

“I … I don’t know … The figure was hurrying through the rain, clad in a black fabric, a hood over their head. But … but maybe … this figure … was just ... just in a hurry … because the weather was … wet and windy and … cold … and it was late ... Athos squeezed his eyes shut, he paused and added, much more weakly, than before:

“Aramis, ... my head ... hurts …”

       His voice was a little slurred again, and his head gently lolled. The medic reached his hand out and checked Athos’ temperature on the sweaty forehead. He could feel the hot skin. Athos tried to lean into the cool touch.

“Aramis, I have to leave now.” Porthos interrupted after seeing the exhaustion of his brother. As an explanation he added:  

“You know, Tréville asked me to join him at the palace. You know what? You should sleep too. You need it. Athos, do you agree to have that big cocker drooling on your pillow again?” Porthos smiled fondly.

“He is ... welcome.” Athos answered with a weak smile.

“Be careful, Porthos. Stay safe.” Aramis called.

“You too, both of you!” Porthos stood up, ruffled Athos’ hair and left.

       The room fell silent. Aramis stood up and gave Athos a mix of water, willow bark and rose honey. Athos managed to swallow the whole cup and then the medic sat down again next to him, shoulder against shoulder, supporting his friend like a human pillar.

“So, Aramis, what is it?” Athos whispered unexpectedly.

       He was tired, exhausted, he wanted to sleep, but his brother’s behaviour had amazed him.

“Nothing.”

“Aramis.” Athos turned his head to try to catch his brother’s eyes.

       Aramis averted his eyes looking at the ceiling. He could feel Athos’ body trembling a little against his. The man was exhausted and needed to sleep but he knew that he wouldn’t do it before having his answers.

“I …” Aramis tried.

“You?”

“Well, I am worried.”

“Are you?” Athos tried to joke.

“Athos!” Aramis rolled his eyes smiling slightly. “There are several things. First you. You scared me. I … remember when … when … I thought I had lost you, all those years ago when this bastard had you in his trap and could have killed you … if … if …”

“But he didn’t, Aramis. You were there. Both you and Tréville. Just in time.”

“And again, you nearly died when you were accused again of another crime … and …”

“Again you were there … and d’Artagnan. You are always here for me.” Athos smiled nudging his friend’s shoulder with his in a reassuring gesture.

“But this illness … I really thought you would … you would ... d … leave us and I …” Aramis couldn’t finish, a lump swelling in his throat.

“... and you still think I could die …” Athos replied “... but I won’t die, I don’t want to die, not today ... I feel better, a lot better. Really! ... I know that … that … the … poison is still here and I can die … it’s still a … possibility … but I refuse to die!”

       Aramis was startled and ready to argue.

“I am not a child, Aramis. I know that these poisons can play tricks … bad … tricks … but … I will … fight … for you … the others … for me ...” He sighed, exhausted by this long speech.

“Thank you, my friend.”

       Aramis squeezed his forearm and left his hand on it.

“And?”

“And what?” Aramis asked.

“There is something else.”

“My … problems …”

“Your big secret, you mean?” Athos asked with a fond smile.

       Aramis, at last, turned to him.

“D’Artagnan and Porthos often go to the palace these days … and if … if they …”

“Don’t worry … don’t think about it right now … You are tired and your mind is tired ...” He stopped and thought. “Did I … did I … ?”

“What?” Aramis squeezed his forearm again feeling the tremors increasing in his friend’s body.

“When I was … confused … you said … you said … I talked nonsense ... Did I … did I … say … someth … something ... compromising?”

“No, Athos, no, you didn’t … You said … strange words … in a language your mind had invented, you saw things that didn’t exist, but no, you didn’t say anything … It’s just …”

“Just that you are exhausted … as I am …”

       Athos yawned and briefly covered Aramis’ hand on his arm with his warm and trembling fingers. The silence stretched between them. Aramis had raised his head again and seemed to observe the cobwebs swaying between the blackened beams and he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder. He looked down at Athos whose head was now in the crook of his neck. He was asleep, mouth open, his breath soft and even.

“Who is the drooling cocker now?” Aramis murmured smiling fondly.

       And he curled an arm around his friend’s shoulders guiding him on his lap where he had put a pillow. He resumed his observation of the ceiling, absent-mindedly running his fingers on the again feverish back and neck but soon, his burning eyes closed too.

To be continued ...

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

Le Louvre

        Of course Milady had heard about the latest gossip at court. The young court-lady of the Queen was dead. The flu had taken another victim and this time, not a young child or an old woman, but a young and beautiful woman in her early twenties.

        She had seen her several days ago laughing with the other ladies about a joke the King had just made. Oh yes, Louis was good at making young women giggle. He did it on purpose. She knew. She had just made plans to leave the palace for a walk as d’Artagnan approached her. She was wearing a beautiful blue dress, a present from her new lover.

        The young handsome man looked angry and he came straight to her.

“Oh no, d’Artagnan, what have I done wrong this time?” She said to him in a reproachful tone, before the young Gascon could say anything.

“We need to talk, but not here!”

        Curious, she followed him, balancing her silky skirt with a liquid movement of her hips.

“What is it?”

“I can imagine why you have returned to Paris.” The young man told her angrily.

They went into a small and dark room and d’Artagnan closed the door.

“But you could have left him alone! Don’t you think he has suffered enough?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, d’Artagnan?” Milady said, confused.

“He spared your life!” D’Artagnan spit in her face. He was in rage now. “The least you could have done was to accept that as a sign of truce.” His face had become reddish.

“I am still not sure what you are talking about. Is it Athos? I have done nothing!” Milady tried to think what was going on. “Has something happened to him?” She wanted to know.

“As if you didn’t know that already!” D’Artagnan locked eyes with her. She returned his stare and they stood for several seconds like that.

“D’Artagnan, I am not sure why you are mad at me. Perhaps you would have the courtesy to explain it to me?”

“You have poisoned him and right now he is fighting for his life!”

        D’Artagnan stepped a few paces away from her and tried to read her thoughts and gestures as he informed her about her husband’s state of health. But he wasn’t sure how to read her expressions. She was a good actress. He himself had experienced that last year as she tried to influence him in order to get her revenge on Athos. The only thing he could see was a shocked expression in her pale green eyes.

“Athos has been poisoned? I thought he had the flu? How is he?” She asked in a soft tone.

“Please, as if you wouldn’t know that. You know how poison works on a body. I thought you would leave him in peace, now that you are at the palace.”

        The next gesture was unexpected. Milady slapped his left cheek.

“You dare to shout at me like that again! Not here, not in the palace!” She cried her eyes blazing dangerously.

        Then with a step back and a lower voice.

“I have no intention to poison Athos … not anymore. I have made my peace with him.”

“Really?” The young Gascon mocked her. “You made many efforts, several months ago, and he threatened to kill you if you ever returned to Paris. Have you already forgotten about that?”

“Yes, he said that, but he would never do it. He still loves me! Oh, d’Artagnan you are such a fool. I have no reason to kill him and if I really had the intention to do it I wouldn’t do it in secret. I would want him to see me. I am disappointed in you. I thought you were smarter!”

        She turned around and walked to the door. As she was going to open it, she looked back at d’Artagnan. Her eyes focusing on his face.

“Tell him … tell him he shall fight this ...!” With these words she left a stunned d’Artagnan behind.

        He wasn’t sure but he thought her eyes shimmered a little and her voice nearly broke as she said her last sentence to him. If she really played this all - the not-knowing, the broken and sad voice full of sorrow - she was a brilliant actress. Her hurt look and her trembling voice as she gave her wishes to Athos sounded real.

I have to tell the others, either she is playing all that, or we really have to look for another perpetrator.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Le Louvre, state room

        Porthos tried to ignore the pain in his thigh. He stood next to d’Artagnan in the state room of the palace and they both witnessed how a certain James O’Sullivan, an Irish former soldier, presented King Louis several plants.

“Each of this plants has a special effect.”

        The Queen who sat next to her husband became curious. She needed some distraction. The death of her favourite lady-in-waiting had hit her hard, but nevertheless she had decided to attend the reception of some more guests for the trade summit. Now that she was sitting next to her husband the good-looking Irishman had ignited her interest.

“What do you mean with special effect?” She asked.

“All those plants are poisonous!” The Irishman continued.

        A loud murmuring echoed through the room from courtiers and merchants.

“Do you want to poison me?” King Louis asked irritated, hiding his own insecurity behind another bright smile of his.

        Rochefort stepped forward, his eyes glowing dangerously in the direction of the Irish merchant, feeling that his King was becoming agitated.

“Not at all, your Majesty!” The man hurried to add. “ The plants can be used as poison but given in small amounts they can save lives! For example they can help to cure a high fever, or those can help people to breathe easier or if they have heart problems theses can help as well.”

“So, you mean these plants can be used as medicine?” Lemay asked interested.

        He knew about some of them like the terrible foxglove which could cure heart problems but was a violent poison too, but these plants were new to him. The Queen’s light blue eyes watered and she turned away, suddenly sad .

Maybe these plants could have saved her.

        She blinked her tears back and addressed the Lord.

“I wish you had stepped up a little earlier. You have been here now for over two weeks and your plants might have rescued my dear lady-in-waiting who lost today her fight against that horrible flu.”

        Porthos murmured to d’Artagnan:

“Who died?”

“Constance has told me that it’s a court lady from Spain. She came with a Spanish delegation to work for her as a lady-in-waiting. The one with the dark hair and the dark blue eyes, like a deep lake in the summertime.”

        Porthos raised an eyebrow at the poetic description. D’Artagnan remembered meeting Constance again after his talk with Milady. Seeing her crying, he had gone over to her and tried to comfort her a little, finding out what had upset her so much.

“That’s horrible, Porthos said. I knew her. She was a beautiful young woman. Always with a smile on her face, especially when she saw Athos.” He grinned at that thought. “The woman had a crush on him. You know, always the strong silent man with the sad and protective stare.”

        D’Artagnan imagined this picture and grinned too, but he sobered as Porthos spoke again.

“Don’t tell him. Not now! We had to tell him earlier that the seamstress died of the poison she injected him with and as expected he didn’t take that very well. He feels guilty. He thinks that without him she would still be alive.”

        In the distance they both could hear the Irishman talking to the Queen, after he cleared his throat:

“I am very sorry for your loss, your Majesty. I am not sure if those plants could have helped with the flu. I am still experimenting with them. Right now, I know that they can be helpful for soldiers. I myself served several years in the army of my country and as the medic of my unit I could make a medication from those plants which helped, your Majesty. But we had to deal with wounds, not so much with the flu. Otherwise I would have contacted your doctor earlier. I even helped him with taking care of his latest patients.” He apologetically bowed before the Queen.

        Tréville watched the whole talk very alert and interested.

What is a soldier from Ireland doing here in Paris?

        A glance to Porthos and d’Artagnan told him that they followed the whole discussion as well. As he usually did, he scanned the whole room. Besides the King and the Queen, Rochefort and this Irishman, he could see Milady de Winter. She was standing next to other court ladies. Slightly hidden behind two gossiping elderly ladies. She wore a beautiful blue dress and she had forget-me-nots woven in her heavy braids. He thought about the fact that she was the new mistress of the King and groaned inwardly that the poor Queen had to endure her appearance at this gathering.

This woman is still poison. But has she poisoned Athos?

        At the other side of the room, next to his wife Christine-Marie, the Duke of Savoy was listening to the explanation of the Irish former soldier. Another glance to his two men and the Captain could see them whispering about something.

“How is he?” D’Artagnan hadn’t had time to ask Porthos yet.

“We managed to reduce his fever.” Porthos answered knowing that d’Artagnan was asking about Athos’ welfare. “We had to bath him around noon. After that, he felt better, but this poison is still in his body and it’s very nasty. We could ask him some questions ...” Porthos paused as he noticed the angry look of Rochefort saying You dare talking during an audience of the King. He ignored him and continued.

“He is still very weak. Aramis is with him now. I will tell you more later or Rochefort will start a duel with me and I am not sure he would survive that.”

        D’Artagnan had to grin at the thought of how Porthos would win against this snake of a Red Guard. At this moment the King spoke again.   

“Oh, my dear wife! It’s so sad that your young friend has left us much too early. I think everybody will understand, if you want to rest.” He shortly looked at her, softly pressed the hand he was holding in his and continued.

“This flu is so horrible, one of my Musketeers, Athos, has caught it too. But I am happy to announce that he is on the mend. Tréville told me this morning.”

“Athos has the flu too?” The Queen looked upset and shocked at her husband.

No wonder that I haven’t seen Aramis in days, she mused.

        Queen Anne had already missed his daily short checkings on her and the baby, not that they talked, but now and then he peered through a door, visiting Marguerite or smiling shyly at her.  

“Don’t worry my darling Queen! You will see, Athos will be fine and return to palace guard next week. I have told Tréville that his Lieutenant should rest this week to gather his strength again.”

        The Queen turned to Tréville:

“Please, Tréville send Athos our best wishes and I hope that he will be better soon!” She said sympathetically.

        In her light-blue dress she looked beautiful, her earrings, swaying slowly with each of her moves and catching the light, were a mesmerising sight. Tréville nodded at her grateful.   

        Porthos stayed quiet. He was grateful for the words of his Queen, but what else could  she have said? Last year Athos and Aramis had saved the Queen’s life at the Convent. His eyes wandered to the other courtiers listening to the King’s speech and he spotted the Duke of Savoy, looking annoyed and bored. Porthos made the decision to follow him as soon as he left the room.

        James O’Sullivan explained another plant and Porthos was not sure what to think about the Irishman. He was in his early forties, he was tall and well-defined, taut muscles stretched the sleeves of his green velvet jacket. His face was clean shaven and his ginger hair was short cropped, unlike the fashion of the time. But maybe the French good taste hadn’t yet reached these strange and barely civilised British islands. At least, that’s what the young King Louis thought when the former soldier bowed in front of him.

        Porthos carefully observed the square jaw, the straight nose, the ice blue eyes under almost feminine eyebrows. Something in this face was both angelic and devilish. Maybe the cunning glint in the eyes, or the ever present hint of a smile on his thin lips. A crease on both sides of his forehead gave his face a hard expression as if his past as a soldier, with all the horrors he had seen on the battlefields, had left its print, like the visible mark of a constant headache.    

        But why should this man have poisoned Athos? Where was a possible link between them. He could see Tréville checking the audience as well. The Irish medic had come to an end with his explanation and another merchant stepped in front of the King to show him his goods, while the Queen excused herself. The Duke of Savoy followed her but Porthos couldn’t follow him, because he would have left his post as palace guard.

I will get my chance. I will find out if you have done any harm to my brother.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜     

Athos’ room

It’s cool, on my neck, my chest. What? Oh, the Doctor is back. I must have fallen asleep again. What? I shall open my eyes. I’ll try, yes Aramis, I hear you. Let me sleep. I am tired. Stop touching my cheek. Ohhhh … My chest ... Cold on my chest.

What is he feeling? My heartbeat ... Why is he bending over my mouth? My breathing … I wish they could stop talking, I want to sleep, too tired …

Aramis could you please stop touching my face. No?

Yes, alright, … I open my eyes.

“There you are!” Athos heard Aramis’ soothing voice as he slowly opened his eyes fearing that his vision would be blurred again. He let his head drop to the right side and glared, irritated, at the medic.

“Where else ... should … I be?” He answered drily and squeezed his eyes shut again. He could see a still blurry Aramis, but just one Aramis not four, and the honey seemed to have helped, because his throat hurt less.

        Porthos chuckled softly in the background and on Tréville’s face a bright smile was plastered. D’Artagnan leant on the doorframe watching his mentor slowly waking.

Thank God, Athos’ charm is back, Tréville thought, as he heard the still weak voice of his Lieutenant.

“If you allow me, Athos, I need to check your eyes once more.” Dr. Lemay said, bowing again over his face. This time with a candle in his hand.      

        Athos endured the poking over him. He flinched as the doctor held the lit candle in  front of his eyes, checking if his pupils would contract, but they didn’t even if the bright light still hurt his eyes.

“Your eyes are still unfocused, but your pupils are less widened than this morning. It is a sign that the poison has started to leave your body. But nevertheless you are still very ill, your pulse is still too fast and so is your heartbeat, Athos!”

        Lemay paused. He tried to banish the thought of the corpse of the young woman earlier that day. Her heartbeat had been beating too fast in her chest and her body couldn’t endure that any longer. Here, Lemay had found the same symptoms. He rested his hand on Athos’ chest, over his heart, to feel it again.

“Take it easy for a while, even if you feel better. Your body will need a lot of time to heal. Remember that!” He said to Athos warning him not to overdo it, now that he felt obviously better. “Your fever is still high, but it’s been worse in the last few days. Let’s check your throat. Please open your mouth wide.” Lemay checked the still swollen and reddish throat.

“I guess it still hurts. But you seem to breathe better, so I think we can give the laudanum a miss, but I will give you another coffee potion, a little less than the last potions. I am not sure, but I think this medicine somehow makes the body more awake.”

        Lemay turned around to take the cup that d’Artagnan had brewed earlier.

“Thank you ... Doctor!” Athos whispered.

        His eyes closed again. He felt the cup at his lips and he drank it with less pain in his throat. Aramis who had helped him again with drinking the medicine asked him if he was up to some more broth and honey and he nodded groggily. Lemay patted his shoulder.

“I have to leave you, Athos, but I will check on you tomorrow again. Try to rest, to sleep. Your body needs it!”

        With a quick smile he looked at the other Musketeers and left.

“Alright, gentlemen, you have heard what the Doctor has said. Athos, you still need rest, so we shouldn’t all sit around your bed!” Tréville looked around in his Lieutenant’s small quarters which was now crowded by one sick man lying in his bed and four Musketeers sitting or standing around him. He could see the fatigue on their faces.

“We will take turns, Athos. We will not leave you alone. Even if you feel better, you have heard the doctor!”

        Athos opened his eyes to look at his Captain.

“I doubt ... that you would leave ... me … alone! With a murderer ... on ... the loose.” Athos stated the obvious. “I know ... that there are ... two guards ... in front of my … door. But you … should all eat … sleep. I am … better … really!” Athos said sluggishly, closing his eyes again.

        On the one hand Tréville was still apprehensive about the weak state of health of Athos, on the other hand he felt relieved. Athos observing wit was back and with it his care for his brothers. Athos was not finished.

“Have you found anything out? Who?” He swallowed hard. “Who has … poisoned me?”

        Tréville glared into the eyes of his other soldiers. His stare said. Not now. He needs rest.

“We are still investigating,”  Porthos said in a low warm voice as he sat next to Athos’ head. He softly pressed his shoulder, sensing Athos’ distress. “You are safe here! And now you should do as the Doctor has told you. Sleep! And we will take shifts and sit with you. Stop arguing!” He grinned as Athos wanted to say something against it, but was stopped by Tréville’s commanding voice.

“Alright, I will take the first turn, Aramis, Porthos, d’Artagnan go and eat something. Then d’Artagnan you will take the first shift, afterwards Aramis and then Porthos. I will see you in the morning.”

        They followed their Captain’s orders wishing their sick friend a good and restful night.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“What have you found out?” Aramis asked his two brothers while eating a slice of bread, followed by an apple. The rest this afternoon had done him good and Athos on the road to recovery helped him to finally relax too.

        D’Artagnan told them about his meeting with Milady.

“So she is either a very good actress … or …”

“She is a good actress and a dangerous woman!” Porthos grumbled. “Have you forgotten about last year? She nearly killed Athos!”

        His fist thundered angrily on the table in the mess. Serge looked at them frowning.

“Or?” Aramis interrupted Porthos’ angry outburst.

“Or she is innocent. She sounded worried as she heard that Athos was poisoned and she wanted to let him know that he should fight this.” D’Artagnan closed his report.

        Porthos still looked angry.

“Do you think she did it?” Aramis asked d’Artagnan, knowing that the instinct of their youngest was usually good.

“It is hard to tell. My instinct tells me no.”

“Your instincts or her slim waist or the way she moves her hips like a dangerous cat?” Porthos asked, eyes blazing.

“Porthos!” Aramis shouted angrily. “What are you talking about?” Then turning to d’Artagnan. “Don’t listen to him.” Then again to Porthos. “You are insufferable, Porthos, can’t you think before speaking?”

        Porthos bowed his head, aware of his childish behaviour.

“Sorry, lad.” He apologised to d’Artagnan.

        But his hate towards this woman had spoken before him.

“We have to find out where she was when Athos took his scarf to the seamstress’ shop. I think the person who watched and followed him that day is our perpetrator.”

“What makes you think that, Aramis?” Porthos wanted to know.

“Because this is the only way the devilish person could find out how to poison Athos. And even if Athos says it was nothing, I think that his trained skills have registered this bad person.” Aramis explained. “I only wish …” He paused, and both his brothers looked at him.

        Porthos laid a hand on his shoulder.

“We will get this bastard, Aramis!”

        Aramis sighed:

“So, have you found out something else?”

“I wanted to check out the Duke of Savoy, but I had to serve as palace guard. The Duke was in a reception of the King, but he left early and I couldn’t follow him. I will try my luck tomorrow. I want to have answers.” Porthos stated firmly.

“Not only you!” Aramis said tiredly.

“There was an Irish merchant at the reception telling us something about poisonous plants.” D’Artagnan told Aramis. “I think he is a soldier. But even if he knows about poison, I don’t know where the link would be between him and Athos. He said he is a medic, so maybe you could talk with him, Aramis!” D’Artagnan concluded.

“I will give it a try tomorrow. Maybe someone contacted him and asked him about a poisonous plant.”

“Anything else?” Aramis asked.

“Only the very sad news that the favourite Queen’s kinswoman died today. She had the flu.” Porthos told him.

        Aramis sighed heavily.

“Don’t tell Athos! He is still very weak and we shouldn’t stress him with sad news. He liked her.”

        D’Artagnan looked up:

“One day you both will have to tell me that story, but not now, I have to take care of our sleeping Comte. See you at midnight, Aramis.”

        D’Artagnan grabbed an apple and headed to the door. Porthos glared at Aramis.

“So if it isn’t Milady, and I am still not convinced she isn’t the perpetrator, we have to check on the Duke and this Irish merchant. Am I correct or am I missing something?”

“I still have the feeling that it is the Duke! He is odd. His whole behaviour at this summit, from what you are telling me, is odd. Guess we both should go and rest a bit then our thinking will work better.” Aramis added yawning loudly.

TBC

Chapter Text

⚔⚔

        After his men had silently left, Tréville went and tucked Athos in his blue blanket. Athos’ eyes were closed, his face was buried in his pillow and his breathing was more even than in the past days. Slowly, Tréville smoothed the dark blue fabric. Absorbed in thought he rested his hand on Athos’ forearm to settle him. If his Lieutenant didn’t want the touch he could easily withdraw his arm, but the half awake man let him be.

Have I told the King too early that Athos is on the mend. This morning he looked so much better and then he had another relapse. We … I nearly lost you! God this is such a horrible poison … this devilish plant.

        His thoughts wandered back to the afternoon at the palace.

Is it pure chance that this merchant O’Sullivan, a former soldier, presented those poisonous flowers to the King?

Is he behind the attack against Athos?

But why then show his murderous weapon in public?

Or did he think that we’d think it was the flu?

It is odd that he tells the Queen that his plants can help with battlefield medicine, to treat nasty wounds, but that they can’t help to treat the flu.

If they could, no one would have died at the Palace.

I have to check on this Irish soldier more carefully. Maybe I can send Aramis to talk to him. From one soldier to another, from one medic to another. Aramis needs some distraction, seeing Athos so severely ill isn’t good for him. He is too emotionally involved.

And Porthos, I wish I could tell him about his father, but it will hurt him too much. I …

        Tréville felt watched. His hand still resting on Athos’ arm, he looked into the young man’s face. Athos’ eyes were half opened, his green-black orbs scanning him, his body was trembling slightly and he was agitated. Tréville could see a sheen of sweat forming again on his warm forehead and he grabbed a cold and wet cloth to sponge his face.

“Try to sleep Athos, your body needs rest!”

“I wish I could, but … I think this medicine … is keeping me awake.”

My heart is racing as my horse over cobbles.

It hurts … I am sure that it is not good … the Doctor was worried …

Arghhh … I need to do something to make it stop …

This sound in my ears … it frightens me …

        Athos tried to ignore the heavy pounding of his heart that had returned earlier. It was always the same feeling, first it galloped very fast, beating in his chest and he could feel it in his neck, then, suddenly, it stopped, he felt the itch in his chest, it slowed down, only to start again. In order to calm himself he coughed and his heart slowed down again.

Thank God … the pain, the heavy beating is gone ...

        Tréville locked eyes with the intelligent eyes of his Lieutenant seeing the distress in them.

“What is it? What is bothering you?”

“Anne … Milady … or whatever name she is using … right now.” Athos swallowed and Captain Tréville stayed quiet and listened, but didn’t stop bathing Athos’ forehead. “Aramis says … he thinks … that the person who has poisoned me … was the one who followed me … as … scarf.” Athos swallowed again.

“That the person who followed you that day as you brought your scarf to the dressmaker is the one who gave the order to poison you?” Tréville finished Athos sentence.

“Yes! … And if he … is correct … then it can’t be … Anne. I … I … ssaw … her …” Athos stopped exhausted, the sudden sadness hitting him like a thunderstorm. Tears were glittering in his eyes.

Why did she return?

Why is she back in Paris?

And why … why of all men … has she decided to start an affair … with the King?

“Where did you see her?” Tréville had the dull feeling that he already knew Athos’ answer.

“At the palace … kissing … kiss …” He stopped. He didn’t want to say the last words.

My body is still playing tricks on me …

No, not again … please I don’t want to have another fit …

Make it go away ...

        He felt another shudder grip his body and he feared that the cramps would return.

“I know, Athos!” Tréville said quietly, resting his hand on his forehead, then softly stroking a few strands of hair out of his face.

Athos couldn’t hide the tears anymore and Tréville wiped them away. He wanted to say something, but Tréville stopped him:

“I am sorry! I truly wish that she would not be the latest mistress of the King.”

“The others mustn’t know …” Athos sobbed.

“I won’t tell them …!”

        Athos gathered himself a bit more. His rational thinking helped him to cope with his emotions.

“So she has the perfect alibi. She has not followed me! But if not her, who else …” He stopped.

        He felt so tired. His eyes started to droop again.

“We will find out, Athos! Try to sleep. I am here!” Anxiously, he watched his Lieutenant fall fast asleep.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Somewhere in the palace

He is still alive!

He should be dead by now!

Why? Hasn’t the dressmaker given him all the poison?

Or did I give her the wrong mixture? …

Athos you will pay …

I need another plan and quickly … now is the time …

The figure walking through the dark corridors of le Louvre thought about a new attack, a new idea how to get rid of the Musketeer. Suddenly the figure stopped.

I have an idea … yes, excellent, this can work … and nobody will ever know …

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Time passed, slowly and painfully. Tréville kept his hand on his soldier’s arm. He couldn’t bring himself to break this contact. His eyes were lost somewhere in the darkness of the room. Silence had slowly come back in the garrison, barely disturbed by muffled noises of hooves and neighs in the stables. He heard someone laugh loudly perhaps in the mess as, with this still rainy weather, his soldiers couldn’t have their supper in the courtyard. He couldn’t help but smile when he heard a fight between stray cats. Their voices almost human as they mewed a long and gloomy “nononononono”. Then  silence, again, and loneliness.

        The fire was no more than glowing embers in the dark hearth. Tréville tried to breathe deeply but his throat felt constricted. He wasn’t a gregarious man, he valued his time alone in his office, but now, in this room filled with this thick wet air, he was alone. Terribly alone. He startled as something brushed the shutters outside. He snapped his head and opened his eyes wider as if he could see through the thick wood. Then nothing, an owl maybe, or a bat, or one of the fighting cats. His heart was pounding in his chest, mirroring the pounding in the sick soldier’s chest. It was still beating too fast.

        He had lost count of hours when a light scraping at the door made him jump. His chair scratched the wooden floor and he could feel Athos react to the noise. He briefly squeezed his arm before heading to the door.

“How is he?” An anxious d’Artagnan asked, as if he had waited hours for this moment ...

“Calmer for now. He is fast asleep, still feverish. I think you shouldn’t have too many problems with your charge.”

        D’Artagnan looked into the eyes of his captain.

“What is it, d’Artagnan?”

“Er … nothing. Sorry, Captain! It’s just. I shouldn’t give you orders, but … you … you look so tired. You should try to sleep. Please, sleep a few hours. Everything will be alright. I promise.” The young man smiled, uncertainly.

“Young man, you are right, you shouldn’t give me orders.” Tréville snapped trying to look angry.

“S … sorry ...” D’Artagnan stammered, bowing his head, and Tréville could see him blushing in spite of his tanned skin and the dimness of the room.

“But I will follow your advice. You are right. I am not young enough anymore to be sleep deprived a whole night and be as right as rain come morning. Take care of him.”

        With a smile and a pat on d’Artagnan’s back, he left the room.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        D’Artagnan approached the bed and sat down again at his friend’s bedside. Athos seemed calm even if a slight tremor continually ran through his body. He reached a hesitating hand to touch the warm fingers. Athos didn’t react, so, unconsciously mirroring his Captain’s action, d’Artagnan kept his hand there and with the other, he took the freshly soaked cloth and wringed it.

        He sighed. He hated this silence which wasn’t really silent, the night was noisy, actually, from the whispering and buzzing of bugs that spring had brought to life to the sounds of horses in the stables. D’Artagnan was on alert, his eyes were wide open and he scanned the room restlessly. He held his breath as his mind started to play tricks. Footsteps? No, it couldn’t be. Hours didn’t pass so fast, it was not yet the time for Aramis to take his place. So what was that noise? Silence again. Had he dreamt? He was becoming too nervous; he breathed deeply and he tried to focus on his charge. He didn’t dare rewet the cloth as for now Athos seemed calm, no need to wake him up with cold water, so he folded the wet fabric and laid it on the pale forehead.

        He tried to occupy his mind in order not to fall asleep like the last time he had to watch his brother. He waited patiently. No, he wasn’t patient, he was only resigned, and he didn’t have to be patient for long as suddenly he noticed a twitch in Athos’ fingers. He looked up and saw his friend’s eyeballs roll restlessly under the sweaty eyelids, the dark and long feathers of his eyelashes fluttering frantically on the translucent skin. D’Artagnan bent over his friend and brushed his thumb over the moving knuckles, whispering words of reassurance. A low moan escaped Athos’ lips:

“Mmmhhh … no … you can’t …you … It can’t be … mmhh.”

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

No. It can’t be.

White silk and dark curls spread on the rug.

His back bent over the frail body.

Black leather.

Straw like hair.

Disheveled.

His head turns slowly, oh, so slowly.

No. It can’t be.

Blood.

Icy blue eyes.

And the grin. This evil grin.

Icy blue eyes.

He turns back to his prey.

And she stands up.

And she smiles.

Green eyes, pearly skin.

No. It can’t be.

Blue flowers in her hair.

He turns back again.

Black curls.

Dishevelled.

Dark eyes.

No. It can’t be.

A smile. This childish smile.

He gets up.

Icy blue eyes.

A whip in his hand.

He strikes.

Blood.

Pain.

Again.

Red on white silk.

And she laughs.

She laughs.

She laughs.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Shhh ... It’s alright. Shhh …”

        D’Artagnan tried to calm his friend but nothing worked. He tried the Gascon poem again but it didn’t work, the more he talked, the more Athos became anxious and restless. He ripped the blue blanket from his bed and began to jerk his legs in all directions.

D’Artagnan tried to seize his ankles but, suddenly, Athos shot upright, his eyes wide open staring blankly at something above d’Artagnan’s head. He tried to rip the sheets away, all the while moaning. Suddenly he roared:

“You! It’s you! It can’t be! Let her go!”

        Big tears started to roll down his cheeks. D’Artagnan felt his chest tightening as he watched this picture of sorrow and despair. What were these phantoms who haunted his nights? The young man needed to calm him, to keep him from hurting himself. He let go of his ankles to seize his wrists but as he briefly lost focus on the man’s face, he couldn’t see the look of pure hatred in the haunted eyes, and he didn’t see the fist coming.

        First the shock silenced him. How had that man so much strength left? Then the pain radiated through his whole face and neck, he tasted blood on his lips, tears made their way under his eyelids, tears of pain, of frustration, but he had to react, and fast. The fight was not over. He was literally lying on his friend, the frantic wrists secured in his hands above Athos’ head when Aramis entered the room.

“What ...?” He asked unable to move further.

“Help me! Please!” D’Artagnan pleaded out of energy, still crying tears of frustration, fear and pain.

“Get down, you scare him, he sees you as an enemy! But don’t let go of his hands!” Aramis shouted.

“Sorry ...” D’Artagnan began, unable to hide his shame.

        He bowed his head and knelt on the floor keeping Athos’ wrists in one hand, slightly loosening his hold and leaving enough room for Aramis.

“Shhh ..., you did well, d’Artagnan. We are used to his nightmares, you aren’t. You couldn’t know.” Aramis reassured him all the while stroking Athos’ hair and cheeks.

        The frantic legs wouldn’t stop their moves so Aramis went to the bed foot and put his hands on the ankles, without squeezing, just letting his fingers rub at the sweaty skin. The man began to calm down but continued to sob helplessly.

“Talk to him.” Aramis said quietly.

“It didn’t work.”

“Now, it will work. I don’t doubt it. Just try!” Aramis smiled encouragingly.

        So d’Artagnan did. He spoke, his chin on the mattress, soft words in French and Gascon. He murmured and even hummed an old song his mother used to sing, and slowly, they felt the body relaxing.

“See, it worked. Now, let’s cover him again. It’s over.”

        Aramis stood up stretching his legs and arms.

“Come, let me see your jaw.”

“It’s fine.”

“Oh, I think I heard this somewhere.” Aramis smiled.

“Alright. It wasn’t his fault.”

“I know.” Aramis reassured him while probing at the quickly bruising flesh. “You are right, it’s nothing. But your complexion will have all the colours of the rainbow before tomorrow. Very original.”

“Can I stay?”

“But, you need …”

“Answers. I need answers.” D’Artagnan interrupted, glaring at Aramis, his dark eyes shining.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“You are lucky, you know.” Aramis mumbled as he spread a smelly salve on d’Artagnan’s jaw.

        They were sitting at the table, keeping an eye on Athos, but distant enough not to disturb his now peaceful sleep.

“You will have to enlighten me. At which moment have I been lucky tonight?” D’Artagnan’s eyes were two embers in the darkness. Aramis smiled, d’Artagnan glared.

“D’Artagnan, calm down, will you? You are lucky because it’s not Porthos in this bed.”

“I don’t want to laugh. I want answers!” D’Artagnan said with emphasis.

“So ask your questions.” Aramis told him, wiping his hands on a cloth before pouring a rich garnet wine into two cups and handing one to his young friend.

Athos has not once asked for some wine in the last few days. Aramis thought surprised.

“Tell me the whole story. Begin at … the beginning.”

        There was a commanding tone in his voice which impressed Aramis. The latter took a gulp of the strong wine and looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the past unfold before his eyes between the beams blackened by old smoke, he began to speak. D’Artagnan couldn’t help but stare at the elegant hands crossed on the table. They were so clenched that the knuckles were slightly white.  

“Six years ago, Athos wasn’t the Athos you know now. He was a shadow of himself, a shell of a man”

“I think I have an idea of that.”

        D’Artagnan thought back at the night he had to pull Athos out of his burning chateau. The intense odour of fire and burnt wood was still in his nose. He shivered at the pure thought of how close he had come to losing his new father figure that night. He remembered the pain Athos had endured: a face wetted by tears which made his eyes look even more bloodshot and his expression even more desperate. Drunk and confused and so unnaturally emotional, the former Comte had shared with him his biggest secret, hidden for so long from his friends. D’Artagnan had had to be brave at that moment for his mentor, and he had been brave and a sturdy presence at his side. His words, his guidance and his comfort had brought  Athos back to the here and now and to his senses.

“Yes, when you saved him, I suppose.” Aramis confirmed.

“He was so broken when I found him. I can’t forget.”

“As we will never forget what he had to endure all these years ago.”

        Aramis ran a hand through his hair and scratched nervously at the nape of his neck.

“After the Milady affair … You know the story now, but at the time we didn’t know. He had just told us about a woman who had died. So after this affair, he was so broken that he tried to drown his sorrow in alcohol. I know it seems so common to say it like that, but it’s true, he was a drowning man, and the only thing keeping him afloat was …” He paused, sucking in a shaky breath.

“You ...” D’Artagnan stated, smiling softly.

“Yes. He didn’t want to make us suffer, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself, and we had to rescue him in filthy taverns, to bring him back to his room where nightmares haunted his sleep. We learned to deal with them and I think it’s when our friendship became so strong.”

        He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped talking.

“Aramis, I am sorry if…”

“Then things seemed to improve. I couldn’t say that Athos was a merry man, but … he already had this dry humour you know …You have heard the part where this arrogant bastard came to the garrison.”

“Rochefort?”

“Mmmh. A few months later Tréville assigned twenty-five musketeers, by orders of Richelieu, to accompany the royal family to a chateau in Touraine* where a delegation from Spain would meet the King and especially the Queen. Tréville was moody, he couldn’t understand why he had to deplete his garrison with such a large group of Musketeers for only eight members of the Spanish royal family, their courtiers and servants, but he had no choice. It was a rather small chateau in a quiet countryside, built in a valley where a clear stream was singing softly hidden amongst yellow irises and reeds, it was surrounded by gentle slopes covered in thick forest making it look like a gem on a green velvet cushion. It was protected from possible attacks by high limestone walls.”

“So you went …”

“So we went. As soon as we arrived, we were assigned  to a precise post. Porthos and me at the main entry, and Athos, alone in a corridor, to guard the room of a cousin of the Queen, a lovely seventeen-year-old young lady, with porcelain skin, black silky ringlets and big blue eyes.”

“Aramis. Straight to important things, please.” D’Artagnan chided gently.

        Aramis patted his forearm, smiling softly.

“She was very shy and always stayed in her room or in the chapel, so Athos stood at the end of this very long corridor. He had been told not to go near the door of the room. It was a very hot day, in July, so, standing there alone in this stuffy place was exhausting.”

“And what happened?”

        A moan made them jump and look at the figure on the bed. Athos was whimpering in his sleep. D’Artagnan didn’t wait, got up and knelt near the bed whispering in the man’s ear. Athos relaxed and rolled onto his other side turning his back to the room. D’Artagnan quietly came back and sat at the table.

“See, you are good.” Aramis told him.

“Maybe.” D’Artagnan agreed. “So, the corridor?”

“Everything was quiet, but suddenly, Athos heard a scream.”

“A scream? The young lady? But was there another entrance to her room? Or Athos didn’t pay attention because of the heat and tiredness?” D’Artagnan asked anxiously.

“There was another door leading into her room, you know these chateaux, there are always secret doors hidden behind tapestries or bookshelves.”

“You know more about secret doors than me, but I trust you.” D’Artagnan smiled.

“So, Athos ran to the door of the room and tried to open it. He didn’t have to try for long as the door, surprisingly, was not bolted, and what he saw made him freeze.”

        D’Artagnan’s eyes widened.

“A man was bent over the young lady’s thin body. She couldn’t stop screaming, her dress was already torn apart, her hair disheveled, blood was dripping from her cheekbone. She was struggling under the slim but muscular body. Athos didn’t recognise the man immediately but as he threw himself into the room to save the girl, the man turned around slowly, without letting go of the lady’s fragile wrists, and Athos recognised him. Straw blond hair, icy blue eyes …”

“Rochefort!” D’Artagnan exclaimed, horrified.

“Himself. The man smirked, and Athos didn’t understand why. He reached for his sword.”

“And?”

“And nothing. His arms were seized from behind by someone, and Rochefort let go of the girl who escaped by running into that long corridor. The snake came to Athos who was trying to fight his captor.”

“But, he had seen Rochefort attempting to rape or raping this young lady. Rochefort could have escaped or fought him. The other man was an accomplice?”

“Yes, the other man was an accomplice and everything was just a trap. Rochefort wasn’t interested in the lady, all he wanted to do was make Athos fall in a trap.” Aramis answered sadly.

        He poured more wine in their cups and d’Artagnan drank his in one gulp.

“Hey, slow down young man. A hit on the head and wine are not good friends, you know.”

“It was not on the he …”

        A sigh made them look at the sleeping man. Aramis stood, went to the bed, laid a hand on Athos’ forehead and smoothed the sweaty locks. After letting his hand pause there for a moment, he laid it on the man’s chest to feel his heartbeat.

“He is less feverish, I think, but we should be quiet, now.” Aramis said in a low voice. “He needs to sleep!”

And I still don’t like your fast heartbeat, Athos ...

        D’Artagnan had crossed his hands on the table and put his chin on them. He blinked softly in the dim light. Aramis smiled fondly.

“Now, young man, you should go to your room and try to sleep”

“I am not …”

“Tired? You are, as we all are. We need you awake and not in that semi-conscious state.” He gently mocked.

        They heard footsteps on the stairs and they jumped. D’Artagnan reached for his sword … but it wasn’t at his waist anymore. He had put it on the trunk.

“It’s Porthos.” Aramis said quietly.

“How can you know that?” D’Artagnan replied still on alert.

“Don’t you think that I know how he walks?” Aramis smiled.

    … And the door slowly creaked open.

“ Quand on parle du loup !”* Aramis laughed.

“Funny,” Porthos growled. “How is our sleeping beauty?”

        Aramis stood and fetched a third cup for Porthos who sat beside d’Artagnan where he could face the bed. Aramis observed him silently. Porthos’ eyes were bleary and Aramis wished he could wipe away the frown on his forehead. He smiled fondly as he noticed that the hem of his collar was printed on his left cheek. He had undoubtedly fallen asleep in one of his usual strange positions.

“He is better, less feverish, but his heart worries me, and he had a nasty nightmare during d’Artagnan’s watch.”

“And how it ended?”

“Look at d’Artagnan’s jaw.” Aramis smiled.

“Oh.” Porthos winced.

“But our young friend dealt with it remarkably.”

“Remarkably after you came.” D’Artagnan finished sadly, cradling his painful jaw with one hand.

        Strange colours from purple to yellow had already begun to spread on the left side of his face and surprisingly his eyelids were swollen. The blow had been violent.

“Now d’Artagnan, you can leave. Go and rest, please. You need it.”

“No, I’ll  stay. Porthos, you go and sleep! I am not tired and Aramis has things to tell me.”

“Alright.” Porthos agreed, too quickly in Aramis’ opinion.

        It was obvious that the man had barely slept and was exhausted. They needed his strength. Porthos swallowed the whole content of his cup and stood up. He approached the bed and, before leaving, he ran the back of his hand on the sweaty curls of Athos.

Get better soon, you stubborn brother of mine. I need you sane!

        Porthos crossed Athos’ room and left. D’Artagnan continued.

“So. Athos was arrested?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I don’t understand. I suppose that Rochefort wanted to accuse him of rape. So he should have been executed”

“Of course. But he wanted to kill him himself.” Aramis explained.

“Why didn’t he just kill him immediately?”

“Because he wanted to make him suffer. A lot.” Aramis added sadly.

        D’Artagnan clapped a hand on his mouth. His eyes were wide open in an incredulous expression.

“My God!” The muffled exclamation came, barely audible.

“So they ... took him to the park, in an hidden place in a thick copse of trees. And …” Aramis stopped and closed his eyes. “Now, you should sleep, please.” Aramis pleaded in a low shaky voice.

         But d’Artagnan had understood. He still could feel the swollen patterns on Athos’ back under the tip of his fingers during the bath. He still could see the haunted look in Aramis’ eyes when he had looked up at him questioningly. So he finished in a hushed and horrified tone:

“He was whipped!”

Chapter Text

 ⚔⚔

 Wednesday, 4th of June

        Porthos felt as though he was being watched. He wasn’t sure why. He had been up from the first light of the day and crossed the muddy and still wet courtyard. He needed fresh air and he wanted to check on his horse. The stable door was open, usually at this time it was closed. Inside, he could hear the neighing of horses and in the box next to his own horse, Roger, Athos’ horse, was agitated, sensing that something must be wrong with Athos. Porthos looked around again.

“Hello, hey, is anybody there?”

        But as there was no answer he went over to Roger to calm him and to give both horses some carrots as a treat. Again he heard footsteps as he left and although the courtyard was still dark, he could have sworn he’d heard something or someone. Suddenly he had a very bad feeling so he hurried down the courtyard to their quarters and to Athos’ room.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        In front of the door, he nearly collided with Aramis and Tréville who were just coming out of Athos’ room.

“So Aramis, I am glad that you can come with me this morning to the palace!” An irritated Tréville said and recognising Porthos, he added. “Is something wrong?”

“Is he alright?” Porthos answered Tréville’s question with another question and continued:

“Who is with him?”

        Now Aramis was worried.

“Doctor Lemay has just left and we decided to step out and speak outside of Athos’ room so that he can sleep a little longer …”

“So right now, there is no one else with him? D’Artagnan?” Porthos interrupted his brother.

        Anxiously, he looked at the closed door.

Something is wrong! Something is odd? Something is going to happen, I can feel it.

“D’Artagnan is sleeping.” Tréville explained.

“So, Athos is alone!” Porthos exclaimed angrily.

“Not quite. D’Artagnan is fast asleep on his floor.” Tréville smiled.

“Porthos, would you have the courtesy and tell us what’s going on? Something is bothering you!” Aramis asked Porthos.

        But instead of giving both irritated men an answer, Porthos pushed the door to Athos’ room open.

“Porthos, don’t wake the boy up, please.” Aramis warned.

        The room was dark, no candle was burning and only a few rays of light were shining through the half closed curtain of the small window. Athos was lying on his bed, covered with his thick blue blanket and sleeping. Porthos could hear his less agitated breathing. Quietly, Porthos stepped into the room and looked around. On the floor at the head of the bed, d’Artagnan was curled on a nest of blankets, snoring softly. His cheek was worse than the night before showing a spectrum of dark colours. Porthos reached quietly to pull up a blanket which had slipped off his thin shoulders. The young man didn’t move, he just sighed and curled a little more on himself. He seemed so unaware of the world outside that anyone could have entered the room without waking him up. He was sound asleep and peaceful like a child.

        Porthos looked up at Athos’ scant belongings. Nowhere to hide, except under the bed. Porthos hunkered down, squinted a little to see better in the dim light, and looked to see but there was nothing. He sighed out loudly. Aramis who had silently followed him was now more than worried. He laid a hand on Porthos’  forehead, while Tréville was ready to catch or hold him.

“What are you doing, Aramis?” Porthos said to Aramis quietly, but disgruntled.

“Checking if you have a fever. You are behaving oddly this morning!”

        Porthos took a step back, looked at his Captain and Aramis and made a gesture that they should discuss this outside Athos’ door. As Tréville went to shut it, Porthos put one foot in it and shook his head.

“I am not sure, but I think that there is someone here in the garrison.” He whispered.

“What do you mean with “someone”?” Tréville asked more irritated than before.

        Aramis suddenly understood.

“You expect another attack on Athos?”

“Well, it could be …” Porthos tried to settle his nerves.

        Tréville breathed in deeply. He had sent the guards at Athos’ door away to have breakfast but Porthos was right, as long as the perpetrator was on the loose Athos wasn’t safe.

“I have a very strange feeling in my gut! And I think I heard someone this morning at the courtyard. The stable door was open and as I went in to check I could hear footsteps outside. So I checked, but no one was there. If it had been a Musketeer I would have seen him or he would have made himself known.” Porthos explained.

“I don’t want to risk anything, Porthos!” Tréville decided. “You are going to stay here with him. I will send the two guards back and d’Artagnan and you will be with Athos until noon.” He paused, then looked at Aramis. “I just wanted to ask you Aramis, if you could accompany me to the palace. We need to do some research on this Irish merchant. He is a former soldier and he has told the King that he is a medic. I think it would be wise if you as our medic could talk to him. Find out if he has any connections to Athos.”

        Aramis nodded.

“And Aramis, stay away from the Duke of Savoy! I will try to do some research or Porthos can do it this afternoon.” Tréville added in a warning tone.

“Alright, Captain!” Both friends agreed.

“Wait, let me see, yes, with d’Artagnan’s swollen eye and purple jaw, I think it is better if he stays the whole day with Athos.” Tréville added.

        Aramis groaned:

“Athos will feel guilty!”

“You do know that this is a habit our dear Comte has now and then!” Porthos grinned, looking fondly into Athos’ direction.

“We will see each other later! He announced.

“Take good care of him. He was restless tonight and he has still a high fever, but he is better than yesterday so no trip outside today.” The medic added mockingly. To alleviate the stressed atmosphere “just try to keep him calm. This coffee makes him agitated and the poison causes him to have dreams,” Aramis informed Porthos, before he prepared for his day at the palace.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜       

        Aramis’ boots echoed over the floor as he rushed down the long corridor leading to the Queen’s quarters. Around him the walls were covered with beautiful paintings. He had promised Athos not to to be stupid, but he had heard that Marguerite had the flu and at least he wanted to check on her. He knocked on her white and golden door and when it was opened he was surprised to see that she was already up. She still looked pale, but much better than Athos.

“Aramis! What a surprise!” She greeted him with a delighted smile.

“How are you?” Aramis asked as he entered.

“I am better! But it is odd I can’t feel really happy right now. It is so horrible that the other poor woman didn’t survive, she was so young. She was such a warm and lovely person. Sometimes she was sad and she seemed to be afraid to meet men, but she was so beautiful and had a very good character. It seems that God always wants to have the good people near him in heaven.” She tried to blink a tear away.

        Aramis reached out to her. With his thumb he softly wiped the tears on her cheeks away. He came closer and hugged her. Then he placed a kiss on her forehead and buried his chin in her hair smelling lemon and orange. He loved that smell.

“Be careful I don’t want you to catch the flu too!” Marguerite tried to free herself from his soft embrace but he didn’t let her go.

“Shhh … it’s alright! If you are up by now, you aren’t infectious anymore. I am so sorry for your loss, but I am glad that you are still alive. I will pray for your friend’s soul.” He softly spoke into her ear.

“I missed you Aramis!” She soothed into his ear. “Where have you been these past days?”

        Aramis looked into her beautiful blue eyes still wet from her tears.

“Athos … He is very ill too … I had to take care of him.” He paused. “As the medic of the garrison, I have to take care of him.” He explained.  

“Does he have the flu, too?”

        Aramis didn’t know what to answer. Should he stick to this story? If he told Marguerite the court gossip would go faster to the throne room than he himself could walk there.

“Yes, he has a really bad form of flu and he is very ill!”

“I am sorry. Please tell him that I am praying for his fast recovery.” She finally loosened his embrace. “I have to go Aramis and check on the Dauphin. There seem to be two different versions of the flu!” She added. “The Dauphin and I were lucky, the most horrible thing was the high fever followed by the coughing, but strangely Nita -as the Queen called her-, never coughed. She had only a very high fever and her heart couldn’t deal with that. Thank you for checking on me, Aramis. I know that you are very busy.”

        Aramis had listened carefully:

“What other symptoms did she have?”

“She had a swollen throat. It hurt her so much that she couldn’t drink much and in the end she refused to drink at all. She was complaining about a headache and she was sick several times, why? Does Athos have the same symptoms?”

        Aramis evaded the question.

“I am not sure. I will ask Doctor Lemay!”

“Sorry, I really have to go now, Aramis!” She hurried away.

        As Aramis left her room he was spotted by Rochefort.

What is this Musketeer doing in the Queen’s quarters? Rochefort wondered.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

        Now alone in the dim room, Porthos was sitting quietly on the trunk, all his senses alert, he couldn’t help but listen to the noises and watch everywhere. The garrison slowly returned to life. He could hear muffled discussions and laughs, pounding of hooves on the cobbles and clatters of metal. The room was like a world apart, soft light, hushed sounds, stifling air. Porthos sighed and caught himself observing a thin finger of soft light slowly making its way through a slit between the shutters. As the sun rose, the finger came to gently brush d’Artagnan’s silky and disheveled hair colouring it in auburn shades.

        Suddenly, at the same time, which made Porthos smile, both Athos and d’Artagnan stirred and sighed. D’Artagnan tried to open his eyes but winced and moaned as a dull pain throbbed in the left side of his face. He reached a hand and covered the damaged flesh. He sat up and immediately looked at Athos blinking frantically as the morning sun blinded his still half-asleep eyes, shedding a new light on the nasty bruises, creating a shadow-play which worsened their aspect. Bleary green eyes were staring at him with an unreadable expression.

“What…?” Athos croaked.

“Oi, Athos, how are you?” Porthos asked cheerfully.

        But Athos didn’t listen to him. The only thing he could see was the bruised-coloured face eye level with his. He tried to sit up.

“What happened to … your face?” He articulated slowly.

“Nothing …” D’Artagnan bent his head to evade the suspicious glance.

        Suddenly, Athos flexed his right hand and winced.

“I … I … I did that to you?”

“It’s nothing. I swear. You were … dreaming. It doesn’t hurt … at least … not too much.”

“I did that to you.” Athos moaned, a hand clapped on his mouth, eyes watering.

        D’Artagnan jumped to his feet and sat on the edge of the mattress with his hands up to stop the man from spiraling into guilt. Porthos sat at the foot of the bed and gently stroked Athos’ ankle in a reassuring gesture.

“It wasn’t you, Athos, it was the dreaming you .” D’Artagnan said softly.

        Athos had rolled onto his side to turn his back to them.

“Athos, let me tell you a short story. Something that happened to me when I was fifteen, not a child, nearly a young man.”                                                                              

        No reaction.

“Athos, listen to me, please. So, one night, I was sick and I had a bad nightmare. My father came and tried to wake me up but he couldn’t, he tried to calm me but nothing worked. I fought like a demon and …”

“And?” Porthos asked curiously.

“And I seized his hand and squeezed with so much strength that I broke his forefinger.”

        Porthos was looking at him with a weird expression.

“You are a liar.” Athos’ muffled voice came from the crumpled sheets.

“Alright, maybe a little … but I swear, I hurt him. But it wasn’t me, it was a dreaming me . So please, look at us now and tell us how you feel.”

        Athos sighed, and tried to sit up. D’Artagnan held his hand to help him. Athos accepted it and sat up. D’Artagnan froze at the sensation of the palm in his. It was terribly hot and clammy.

“Athos. How are you feeling?” D’Artagnan asked alarmed.

Why is it so hot in this room? My body … my head … I …. I …. No, not again, please not … What? What did you just ask ...?

“I am … fine.” Athos answered uncertain.

Stop this … please … I am feeling so hot … nooo … I … I can’t control my body …

No, not again …. D’Artagnan help me … Porthos, what’s wrong … I ….

        He swayed a little. D’Artagnan tightened his hold around the burning fingers and looked at Porthos.

“He is burning again.” He whispered. “Athos, lay down, please, you have a fever and I can feel your pulse drumming. Please.” D’Artagnan pleaded.

Everything is so blurred. I … I need to … I …

“He is right, Athos, you must rest. I will bring you a glass of water. Wait a moment and I’ll be right back.”

        Porthos stood up quickly and went to the table where he poured some water into a cup mixing it with a spoonful of rose honey. He had just finished when he heard Athos’ choked cry. When he turned around, the sight terrified him.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

“Lady Marguerite, you shouldn’t receive visits from men in the Queen’s quarters! You are well aware of that!” Rochefort’s high voice startled the governess of the Dauphin.  

        The little monarch was lying in his cradle and playing with a rattle which Marguerite was holding in front of his little round nose. She raised her pale face and her eyes met the well trimmed beard of Rochefort, with his skin as smooth as the skin of the royal baby, with his rosy cheeks, his icy stare and his heinous thin pursed lips.

“It was … only the Musketeer Aramis, he had heard that I was ill and wanted to check on me!” She excused herself.

        Rochefort looked at the slightly shaky and still pale woman in front of him. She couldn’t avert her eyes from the cruel blue irises, but her head was slightly bowed in the posture of a child waiting for a punishment. He casually touched the rosary he was wearing as a necklace enjoying the way Marguerite’s distraught eyes followed the movement of his hand slowly sliding down his chest.

“I am glad that you are up again!.Do you really feel fit enough to look after the Dauphin?” Rochefort moved nearer to the boy’s cradle and smiled oddly in his direction.

“Yes!” Marguerite confirmed. “I have already told the Queen that I will take care of the Dauphin on Friday, so that she can attend the trade summit feast.” She smiled with uncertainty.

“She is very lucky to have you.” Rochefort told her in an unpleasant tone and excused himself.

        Marguerite shuddered, every time she was stopped by this man she felt uncomfortable and scared. She felt the longing for Aramis’ protective arms around her.

How different men can be! She told herself.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜  

Athos’ room

        Athos’ body arched, taut as the string of a bow. Porthos could only see a flash of white in his red rimmed eyes rolling back into his head. D’Artagnan was kneeling on the bed facing him and had his left hand on the nape of Athos’ neck, holding him upright to keep him from hurting himself with the headboard. His other hand had never left Athos’. He was whispering in the man’s ear, calm and steady. D’Artagnan wasn’t a sleeping child anymore, he was a grown up Musketeer and Porthos admired his self-control as he himself began to tremble like a leaf. He sat down on a chair, unable to make a move, unable to speak.

“Do you … need … er ...” He tried to ask.

“Shh, no, it’s alright, Porthos.” D’Artagnan reassured him.

“Alright?” Porthos huffed. “We don’t have the same idea of that word.”

“Shhh, Porthos. He is relaxing …” Then he continued his litany “ Diu sie toun gouarde cos: Diu sun dit escriue. En papé de toun cos sa lei, qui toustem biue !”

        Athos’ body suddenly became limp and he slumped head first against his young brother’s chest. D’Artagnan let go of Athos’ slack fingers and ran his hand in small circles on his back, then he guided him until he laid back on the pillow, snoring softly.

“Did he…?” Porthos asked shyly.

        D’Artagnan bent over the bed and reached a hand to touch the sheets.

“No, he didn’t. It wasn’t a strong fit. He didn’t even bite his tongue. He will be fine now.”

“Fine!” Porthos snorted. “Do you have the same definition of fine then?”

“Calm down Porthos. It’s all we can do for now. You should drink something, you are … grey.”

“Rubbish, it’s the light. And … C’est l’hôpital qui se moque de la Charité ”*

“Porthos, there is no shame in being scared. You barely slept in the past days, you are not used to this kind of fit. And you are old.” D’Artagnan laughed gently. “Seriously, I would be scared if I were you. Now give me a wet cloth, I will keep it on his forehead, and … while you are at it soak two more cloths for his wrists.”

        When he came back with the cloths, Porthos asked:

“What was it, the things you told him?”

“A Gascon poem, it means: May God be your bodyguard, may his finger write his law on your body, like on an indestructible sheet of paper.”

“Alright. Sit with me now, a good old glass of red wine will help us, the Athos’ method.” Porthos tried to joke.

“Porthos …” D’Artagnan began, barely audible as he sat down next to Porthos, facing the bed. “Aramis didn’t finish the story last night. About the whipping …”

        Porthos startled:

“He told you?”

“Yes, I want to know, I need to know. Don’t you think I deserve it now? I can’t help him, I can’t help you if you don’t trust me with this terrifying past … Aramis stopped as Athos was taken to the woods to be whipped.”

        So, slowly, taking small sips of wine, Porthos spoke. Eyes closed. A deep frown creasing his forehead.     

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Le Louvre

“So for Friday, how shall we start our trade festival?” King Louis asked Rochefort and Tréville.

        Tréville was still tired, but he tried to be constructive.

“What about fireworks?” He suggested.

“We had fireworks last year, besides our feast will start in daylight. No, we can have fireworks at night, Tréville. What else? Any ideas. We need a good opening ceremony.”

“Some music and dance?” Tréville tried again.

“Oh, Tréville that is boring. Everybody has dance and music. No, I want something to make more of an impact.”

        Rochefort cleared his throat.

“I have an idea, your Majesty! If I may!”

“Yes, please, enlighten us!”

“One of my men has told me that last year the Duke of Savoy had a duel with Athos. He said it was a very good and entertaining fight and Athos won. Maybe we can do such a thing this year. A duel.”

“Oh, Rochefort that is such a good idea!”

“So I will ask two of my men …” Rochefort implied.

“No, no, no Rochefort that is boring! No, we will ask the Duke, as a participant of this summit to fight against Athos again. A revenge! That would be brilliant!” Louis looked like a child, smiling in the direction of Tréville who was stunned.

“Your Majesty, I … I think we have to find another Musketeer to fight against the Duke, Athos is still not well enough to fight.”

“Ohhh, but you have told me yesterday that he is on the mend. I am sure that he will be fit enough to fight that duel in two days, don’t you think?” The King said looking at Rochefort.

“Oh, I absolutely agree with you, your Majesty. I have seen Lady Marguerite this morning she had the flu too, but she is already up again and taking care of your son.” Rochefort grinned.

        Tréville was speechless. Athos wouldn’t be fit on Friday to fight a duel. He even wondered if he would have the strength to walk on his own to the palace that day, he doubted it.

“Your Majesty, if you allow me, I would be delighted to fight against the Duke, but Athos is still too weak!”

“Oh come on, Tréville don’t you think you are overprotecting your soldiers. If a woman is already fit, a soldier must be fit as well. I will inform the Duke of our plans and then I expect Athos to fight against him on Friday! Rochefort, as always, you have the most entertaining ideas. It is so good to have you around!”

        Tréville knew that he had no chance to argue against it. He needed to find an idea to keep Athos from being harmed, an idea to stop this insanity. Rochefort smirked at Tréville and the Captain of the Musketeers knew that this was the move of Rochefort he had expected to come much earlier.

        Always trying to find the weak spot in the Musketeer’s regiment, always trying to find a way that would force him to speak against the King first. This man knew how to trick him, how he had to talk and to act to make him look like an incompetent fool, gaining that way more power and more influence. Tréville tried to think frantically about a way how he could spare Athos this ordeal.

⚜⚜⚜⚜⚜

Athos’ room

“Porthos?” D’Artagnan called softly.

“What?” Porthos asked opening tired confused eyes.

“You were deep in thought. I am sure you forgot my existence for a while and my question too.”

“Er ... sorry. Yes the whipping …” He made a pause, rubbing his hands over his scratchy cheeks.

        D’Artagnan waited patiently watching intently the breathing of his sleeping brother, listening to the sound of Porthos’ hands on his stubble and of his heavy breathing.

“We had just finished our watch. Another team was due to relieve us. Tréville came to see if everything had gone well and we, the three of us, decided to go and see if Athos was fine. As soon as we arrived, we noticed that something was wrong. All doors were open, even the bedroom door, and Athos was nowhere to be seen.”

“Where was the lady?”

“We searched the room there was no one, but we found a few drops of blood on the counterpane. So we went back into the gardens and searched for a while. More and more worried we decided to split. Tréville searched the orchard, Aramis the park around the pool and the rose garden and I searched in the woods.”

“How did you find him.”

“Noises. Muffled cries and …”

        Porthos hid his eyes behind his large but surprisingly delicate hands, he kept them here as he continued, breathing deeply:

“You know, it’s a sound you don’t easily forget. The whip cutting through the air, cutting through … human flesh … through your friend’s flesh.”

        D’Artagnan winced and felt again the swelling of the -not so- old scars under the tip of his fingers.

“I shouted, both to make them stop and to warn Aramis and the Captain. Rochefort wasn’t alone, he had three men with him, three rogues, I should say. One of them drew his pistol and fired. I ducked behind a bush just in time and fired too. He fell, a bullet in the knee, screaming like a pig. Tréville and Aramis arrived. Tréville fired his pistol toward the sky and Aramis aimed at the remaining brutes. Rochefort stopped his nasty job, whip raised, eyes blazing. His accomplices tried to flee but we drew our swords and a fight began. Tréville approached that blond bastard and put the tip of his sword on his skinny neck, just here, where the life pulses, you know.”

        Porthos showed his own throat with a feral snarl, his teeth a flash of white in the dark room.

“Rochefort let go of that damn thing and began to argue, trying to justify this abomination by accusing Athos of attempting rape.”

“My God.” D’Artagnan breathed.

“But Tréville wouldn’t listen.”

“So, how did it end?”

“We quickly beat the two cowards so Rochefort had lost his allies. While Aramis and I took care of Athos, cutting the rope and wrapping him in my cape, Tréville assured Rochefort that Richelieu would know about that.”

“And what happened?”

“Richelieu covered it up. He couldn’t lose face by punishing Rochefort in front of everyone, it would have been a shame for him too. So he sent him to Spain as a spy. He justified it by arguing that without witnesses, except the guard who had arrested Athos, who swore that Rochefort wasn’t there, and the young lady who was too shocked to say anything, there was no proof of Athos’ innocence.”

“Bastards!” D’Artagnan growled.

“Porthos … it …”

        The raspy voice came from the bed, they both jumped on their feet.