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No Safe Place to Breathe
By Deana

My entry for the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for May!

Thank you Fleuramis for thinking up the title for this story!

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April and May of 1630 couldn't possibly have been more opposite than they were.

April was excessively wet, with several days of rain at a time and only a handful of days that were blessed with full sun. It was dreary, constantly cloudy, and very chilly, which was troublesome and depressing.

"April showers bring May flowers," the ever-optimistic d'Artagnan kept saying. He was thrilled to be a musketeer cadet, and nothing could dampen his spirits.

Then, came May, and with it excessive warmth. The trees exploded with growth after having been suppressed by April's weather, and the city of Paris quickly grew infested with mosquitoes…large ones that bit harder than their ancestors.

A baker had come up with a solution that he decided to sell in the marketplace: fresh lemongrass cut and tied in small bundles, to be placed on windowsills to ward-off the insects, who apparently didn't like the citrus scent. It worked even better when the lemongrass was burned, so that was encouraged to do at night, when the mosquitoes were more likely to be out.

The musketeers didn't realize what the man was selling, or they would never have allowed Aramis to set foot in the marketplace that day…or out of the garrison, for that matter, as the lemongrass was now gracing nearly every windowsill in the city.

Aramis was not only known for his deadly reaction to lemongrass*, but also for sneezing through the month of May. It was obvious that something growing was the cause, though he'd never been able to pinpoint exactly what it was. Every year, he simply sneezed over and over, and once the month of June began, it stopped. He knew that he just needed to get through May, and he'd be fine.

His stuffy nose was one of the reasons why he hadn't noticed the lemongrass scent as they rode through Paris. The four of them had gone on an errand for Captain Treville, and he kept sneezing, blinking dizzily each time.

"You better not fall off that horse," said Porthos, as he and Aramis rode behind Athos and d'Artagnan.

Aramis made a face at him. "I won't."

"I wish those doctors had been able to figure out why you get dizzy when you sneeze," Porthos told him.

"They did," said Aramis. "Lasting damage from that ear infection I had."**

"But what kind of damage?" said Porthos. "And will it ever go away?"

Aramis sighed as he sneezed again. "Medical science hasn't advanced that far," he said, blinking again.

Porthos sighed.

As they rode further into Paris, Aramis noticed his breathing growing labored. He couldn't smell the lemongrass in the windows, and his friends weren't noticing the scent for what it was. Once they approached the marketplace, he wanted to stop for some apples and they dismounted, leading their horses through.

Aramis struggled to take a deep breath and was confused when he didn't succeed. He felt like he'd just been running, and subconsciously placed his other hand on his chest as they walked. They reached the apple vendor, but Aramis just stood there, not removing his hand.

"Aramis?" Porthos said.

Aramis blinked before letting go of Bella's reins and taking a sack off the vendor's cart, placing seven apples inside and handing the vendor a coin.

"You don't look well, Aramis," the kind old vendor said.

"Nature's new growth…make me sneeze," Aramis told him, needing to pause in the middle of his sentence.

"Ah," said the vendor. "That's right. Every May, it seems."

Aramis nodded, before tying the sack to his saddle.

The vendor looked at the others. "Make this boy get some rest!" he told them.

"We will," said Athos.

They walked on, leading their horses further through the marketplace.

As Aramis walked, he sneezed again and his breathing grew more difficult. He couldn't understand what was happening, and kept assuming that it would go away. When it didn't, he coughed to try to clear his lungs, but that only made it worse.

Porthos was surprised when Aramis' hand suddenly clamped onto his arm, and he turned towards him.

Aramis looked at him with a frightened expression, breathing heavily.

Seeing uncommon fear on his friend's face sent a chill down Porthos' spine, and he quickly grabbed him. "Aramis? What's wrong?"

"I can't breathe," Aramis said, his voice soft and strained.

"You what?!" said d'Artagnan.

Athos grabbed him on the other side. "What did you eat?"

"Nothing," Aramis told him.

Athos wrapped an arm around Aramis and hustled him away from the crowds, sitting him on the steps of someone's doorway without even noticing the bundle of lemongrass on the windowsill less than two feet away. "What happened?" he asked, before digging through his saddlebag.

"I don't know," Aramis said, still breathing heavily. "It started after…we entered…Paris."

Athos took out the bottle of medicine that he carried. "Does it feel like lemongrass exposure?"

"That, or…the problem I had…as a child," Aramis answered, hand on his chest again.

"Problem?" d'Artagnan asked.

"So do we give him that or not!?" Porthos nervously asked.

Athos gave no answer, unsure. He suddenly noticed the bundle of grass on the windowsill near their heads, and he grabbed it and stuck his nose in it. "Lemongrass!" he said, handing it to Porthos.

Porthos sniffed it and nodded, before looking all around and seeing it in nearly every window. "It's everywhere!" he said, in shock.

Athos uncorked the bottle and handed it to Aramis, who took a swig of it.

D'Artagnan was baffled and nervous, but he held his tongue, not wanting to distract the others from helping their ailing comrade.

Porthos reached out and pulled Aramis off the step. "We gotta get him out of here," he said.

Athos nodded and they headed back into the marketplace, needing to get through to the other end to make their way to the garrison.

"Lemongrass!" they eventually heard someone exclaim. "Repel the mosquitoes with lemongrass!"

Porthos passed Aramis to Athos before stomping over to the man. "You're the one sellin' that stuff all over town?"

The man shrunk back, startled at what almost looked like a bear stalking towards him. "Yes?"

"Well it ends now," Porthos said. "And don't sell it to any musketeers! Lemongrass is deadly to one of us and he can hardly breathe just from bein' near it out here!"

The man frowned. "I already have."

"To how many?" Porthos growled.

"I don't remember!" the vendor answered.

"Well get rid of it!" Porthos said, before turning around and stalking away, hurrying to catch up with the others and wrapping his arm around Aramis again.

Aramis was still breathing heavily, but the medicine appeared to have helped a little.

Once out of the marketplace, Porthos hoisted Aramis onto his horse and they rode the rest of the way back. As they entered the garrison, they could see the lemongrass on various windowsills.

"I'm gonna kill them all!" Porthos muttered.

"Some of them might not know," said Athos. "Remember that."

"The ones who do have no excuse for bringing that stuff into the garrison!" Porthos said they stopped at the stable and he and jumped down to help Aramis.

"They might think that since it's not in Aramis' food, it can't hurt him," said Athos as he dismounted.

Their marksman looked pale and was still breathing too heavily. He let Porthos help him down, and he stood leaning against his horse. A soft wheeze in his breath was audible.

D'Artagnan was bursting with questions, but continued to remain silent until the crisis was past.

Wind suddenly blew by their faces, coming from the direction of the marketplace.

"Figures," said Porthos, holding onto their friend. "It's probably even blown inside his room!"

"Fetch the captain," Athos told d'Artagnan. "We'll be in the stable."

D'Artagnan nodded and ran off. He headed up the stairs to Treville's office and knocked, entering when a voice called out.

"Yes, d'Artagnan?" Treville said, looking up from his paperwork.

D'Artagnan was suddenly at a loss to describe what had happened, as confused as he still was. "Athos told me to fetch you; the others are in the stable."

Treville stood. "What happened?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "Aramis is having trouble breathing; they mentioned lemongrass as being the cause—"

Treville ran past him and was out the door in a second with d'Artagnan following.

"Didn't they have a bottle of his medicine?!" Treville said, sticking a hand into his breast pocket.

"They gave him medicine," d'Artagnan said. "But someone is selling lemongrass to repel the mosquitoes; it's all over Paris on windowsills."

Treville made a sound of shock. They reached the stable and headed inside, to find Aramis sitting on a bale of hay in the very back of the stable.

Treville grabbed him by his upper arms. "Aramis?"

A slight smile graced Aramis' handsome face. "Not...dying," he said.

Treville squeezed his arms, not sure whether to laugh or scold him for his words. He could hear the wheeze and looked at the others.

Athos explained the situation and mentioned the lemongrass that they could see in the garrison.

Treville closed his eyes in shock and shook his head. "Serge will have a fit," he said.

The others nodded, and d'Artagnan filed away another question in his mind.

"I'll get it out of everyone's windows," Treville said. "And make an announcement at evening muster." He looked at Aramis. "What can we do to help you? If it's in the air, how are you going to prevent your throat from closing up? Do we need to send you away from Paris until the city isn't covered in lemongrass?"

Aramis made a face, not wanting to leave. "Only as...last resort." He coughed and they could hear the wheeze.

"But there's no safe place here for you to breathe!" said d'Artagnan.

"You'll be livin' on that special tea of yours," said Porthos.

"He needs it now," said Treville. "D'Artagnan, come with me."

D'Artagnan nodded and threw a concerned look at Aramis before following. "What exactly is wrong with him?"

Treville sighed before explaining Aramis' deadly reaction to lemongrass. "On top of that," he said. "He had a bad set of lungs as a child, often suffering from breathlessness which he thankfully grew out of as he got older, but it comes back to haunt him when he's ill or if he's exposed to lemongrass."

D'Artagnan was surprised. "There was a child like that in my village once. He eventually died."

Treville nodded. "Aramis was lucky." He looked at all the windows of the musketeers' living quarters before gesturing towards the bundles of lemongrass. "Retrieve all of those and put them in a sack in my office. I'll get the tea that Aramis needs."

D'Artagnan nodded, though he didn't enjoy the fact that he was going into everyone's rooms without their knowledge.

"Captain's orders," Treville then said, as if reading his mind.

D'Artagnan nodded...he'd only be doing what he'd been told. "Right," he said, before heading inside.

It took him longer than he expected; when he was though, he went outside and looked up to see that he'd missed two, so he had to go back in. Once had had them all, he tied the sack and placed it in Treville's office before heading back to the stable.

He heard Aramis sneeze as he walked in, and found him still sitting in the same place in the back, as far from the scent of the lemongrass as he could possibly be. He had an empty cup in his hand, but his breathing didn't seem much easier.

"They're all gone," d'Artagnan said. "Unless someone else bought it and hasn't put it in their window yet."

Treville nodded.

"Thank you," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan nodded before asking the others, "How long does he have to stay in here?"

"After Serge had his predictable fit, he went into Aramis' room to clean it, in case any lemongrass got in through his window," Treville said.

"My window's closed..." Aramis said. "To keep out whatever...makes me sneeze."

"Do not speak," Athos scolded.

D'Artagnan didn't know them all well enough to read them the way they could read each other, but that was the first time that he'd heard real concern in Athos' voice.

"It still could've gotten in through the cracks," said Porthos. "You know that."

Aramis nodded, he just felt sorry for the elderly cook at the thought of him limping around trying to eradicate something that he couldn't even see. He tried to take a deep breath, but it only succeeded in making him cough.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder, and Treville headed out of the barn. "I'll go help Serge," he said as he left.

The three musketeers were left waiting, with d'Artagnan staring at Aramis.

"You have...questions," Aramis said, trying to catch his breath.

Porthos *tsked* "Questions that you haven't enough air to answer."

"Forgive me," said d'Artagnan. "To watch you unable to breathe was frightening."

"For us all," said Porthos.

"I'm used to it," said Aramis.

"Yet you're able to be a musketeer?" said d'Artagnan. "I've seen you fight many times and never have trouble breathing."

Athos reached out to put a hand on Aramis' arm in warning not to continue speaking. "He never has trouble," he told d'Artagnan. "Unless ill or suffering the effects of lemongrass."

D'Artagnan nodded. "The captain said that too. I just find the lemongrass thing to be..." he shrugged while looking for a word.

"Crazy," said Porthos. "It is...for a substance to be fine for some people but deadly to others. 'Crazy' is definitely the word."

Aramis suddenly sneezed.

"It's like that," Porthos said. "Whatever tree or flower or whatever it is that makes 'im sneeze...the lemongrass does much worse."

D'Artagnan nodded.

Treville and Serge came back not long after, with Serge clucking over Aramis like a mother hen. He was obviously very distressed and d'Artagnan felt that there was another story that needed telling.*

The six of them made their way to Aramis' room with Aramis holding a clean towel over his mouth and nose that Serge had brought, to keep him from inhaling any lemongrass that was in the air. Now that everyone knew about it, they realized that the whole garrison smelled like cut lemons.

Once in Aramis' room, Serge took charge. "I wiped everything down and we changed your sheets. That's your spare blanket instead that was in your chest," he said, pointing at the bed. Your shutters were closed but not bolted, so one of them was ajar. They're bolted now."

"Thank you, Serge," Aramis said, putting a hand on his arm.

Serge smiled and patted his hand. "Anything you need from me, send one of them and I'll do it."

Aramis nodded.

D'Artagnan watched him go, hearing a sniff and wondering if the spring air made him sneeze too.

Another cough from Aramis had d'Artagnan turn to see him sit in the chair beside the small table in his room.

"What are you doin'?" Porthos asked. "To bed with you!"

Aramis shook his head. "I'm all right," he said, though the wheeze contradicted him. He tried to inhale deeper and put a hand on his chest. "Could use...more tea, though..."

Porthos headed towards the fireplace. "You're gonna be the death of me!" he commented.

D'Artagnan watched Aramis' face, seeing the strain in his expression. "Does it hurt?"

Aramis opened his mouth to say 'no', but changed his mind at Athos' stern look. "A little," he admitted.

Porthos came back with the tea and handed it to Aramis, watching worriedly as he drank it.

Aramis noticed how nervous everyone was. "Not dying," he repeated.

Treville looked at Athos. "Do you have his medicine with you?"

Athos held it up.

"Aramis," Treville said. "With the lemongrass in the air, will you keep needing doses of that or will just the tea suffice?"

Aramis hesitated. "I might need it."

In other words, he thought it possible that his throat could still try to close up.

Aramis suddenly sneezed and took a gasping breath.

Porthos grabbed him by the shoulder. "I think my heart's gonna give out!"

Athos sighed. "We should ask the doctor who prescribed the medicine what to do," he said.

Treville nodded. "I'll have someone fetch him. In the meantime, Aramis...you should leave everything you're wearing outside in the hall and I'll have it all cleaned. Each of us might be covered in lemongrass for all we know...even if not, we're coated in whatever is making you sneeze, and you don't need that too right now."

Aramis saw the wisdom in that and nodded.

Five minutes later, his clothes were changed and he was sitting on the side of his bed drinking more tea. His hair was up in all directions after he'd brushed it with a wet comb outside in the hall, but his friends couldn't find any humor in the situation.

Athos and Porthos left one at a time to change their clothes too, and the doctor soon came and hurried inside with Treville. "You were the first thing I thought of today when I saw the lemongrass infestation!" the doctor exclaimed to Aramis. "I was literally on my way here when your messenger found me! How is your breathing?"

"Not normal," Aramis answered.

"He needed the medicine when we rode through the marketplace," said Porthos.

The doctor nodded. "I'm not surprised. I shook my clothes out in the hall to avoid filling your room with it," he told Aramis.

"What we need to know," said Treville. "Is how often is it safe for him to take the medicine?"

The doctor sighed. "It's made from arsenic, as you know. The dosage is small, at least, so twice a day should be fine. If he needs it a third time, let him have it, but then send for me immediately."

Fear shot through each of the musketeers.

"How many times has he had it today?" the doctor asked.

"Just the once," said Athos.

"How long ago?"

"About an hour."

The doctor nodded. "There's a special tea he can drink made from a certain bark—"

"This?" said Porthos. He headed towards the fireplace and grabbed the pot, bringing it back to show him.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, he can drink as much of that as he wishes. It'll help to keep his lungs open."

Aramis suddenly sneezed twice in a row, closing his eyes with a wince.

"The spring air makes him sneeze?" said the doctor.

Everyone nodded.

"I'm not surprised," said the doctor. "People who have reactions to a substance usually react to others, also. The spring air becomes laden with what's called 'pollen'. Some people can't tolerate it, while others are perfectly fine."

"Pollen?" said Porthos.

"I've been reading about it," said the doctor. "You know when your horse gets covered with a greenish powder? That's pollen. It comes from blooming trees and flowers."

Aramis suddenly coughed, and they could hear the wheeze in his breath.

Porthos poured him more tea, and they watched him anxiously as he drank it.

"You need rest," the doctor said. "Get as much of it as you can, and stay inside unless it rains. I'll make it my mission to rid the city of as much lemongrass as I can."

"The baker," said Porthos. "The idiot who was selling it..."

The doctor nodded. "I'll have words with him when I leave here." He looked at Aramis again. "Are you all right? How hard is it to breathe, exactly? The truth."

Aramis took as deep a breath as he could, so they could see. It wasn't very deep and ended with him coughing. "That hard," he said. "It could...be worse."

"Could be better," said Porthos.

"Still," said the doctor. "The tea is obviously helping. How much of a supply do you have?"

In answer, Athos opened the chest at the end of the bed and took out a large bundle.

The doctor was surprised.

"His lungs were bad as a child," Athos explained. "It comes back to haunt him when ill."

The doctor nodded. "It all begins to make sense," he said. "Keep the tea brewing at all times. Try it first before resorting to the medicine. If you need me day or night, don't hesitate; I don't care what time it is."

The doctor's vehemence was concerning, proving the seriousness of the situation.

Exchanging nervous glances, the musketeers all nodded, desperately hoping that they wouldn't need him again.

TBC

* 'Hidden Danger', story id: 12152923

** 'Off-Balance', story id: 12239330