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Just Breathe
A Musketeer story by Deana

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Aramis had never felt so hot.

Actually, that may or may not have been true. What made this day different was not only that the heat was unbearable, but he was struggling to breathe, thanks to a fall he'd taken the week before that had bruised both of his lungs. Every breath hurt, especially on the left side, which had taken the most damage. He'd already drank almost all of the water in his canteen and was trying to ration what remained, but Aramis really wanted to drink the rest. Doing that would mean that he'd need to ask his friends to share theirs with him later and he didn't want to do that, so he simply tried to breathe carefully.

Porthos wiped sweat from his brow and drank from his own canteen as they rode. The day had dawned showery and cool, so they hadn't expected the sun to soon be beating down on them with a vengeance. The air was thick with humidity, and he kept looking at Aramis, wishing that his friend had remained at the garrison.

Athos had the same thought; it felt like the sun was trying to bake them. It was getting hard for himself to deal with it, so he knew it would be near impossible for someone who was already having trouble breathing. If he'd had the slightest idea that the weather was going to turn out this way, he would've forced their still-recovering friend to stay home.

"You all right, Aramis?" he heard Porthos ask. Athos turned to look at him, finding that Aramis had fallen behind. His face looked flushed, and with his hat pulled down, it couldn't have been due to sunburn.

"Fine," Aramis answered, even as his head throbbed with pain from the stifling heat and blazing sun.

It was an obvious lie, and Athos sighed. There were no nearby trees to offer any shade, or he'd stop to give him a rest.

The reason for their ride was an errand for the king: dropping off a sizable payment for repairs done to one of the palace kitchens which had recently caught fire. It was something that only the three of them were entrusted to do—with the amount of money involved—and it seemed an easy mission for Aramis, who was bored and begging to get back on light duty, at least. But then the weather had taken them by surprise, and Aramis was suffering.

"Why don't you ride double with me," Porthos suggested. "Then you can rest."

Aramis shook his aching head; it made him dizzy. "I can make it."

"Drink your water," Athos said, halting his horse so Aramis would catch up.

"I am," Aramis told him.

"Right now," Athos commanded.

Aramis stopped his horse beside him and obeyed, opening his canteen and taking a drink. The feel of the water sliding down his dry throat was heavenly, and before he knew it, he'd drank it all. Aramis lowered the empty canteen, breathing heavily to catch his breath, wincing and stiffening in the saddle from the pain that laced through his lungs.

Porthos reached over and took hold of his arm.

Aramis tried to blink away more painful dizziness, feeling a rush of faintness sweep over him.

Athos shoved his own canteen into Aramis' hands before looking at Porthos. "We need to find a river," he said.

Porthos nodded, still gripping their friend's arm. He took Athos' canteen off Aramis' lap and shook it to see how much was inside, before handing it back. It was half full, as was his own. "You'd better tell us ahead of time if you plan to faint."

Aramis gave a short, breathless laugh. "I'll never plan to do that."

"Don't talk," Porthos said. "From now on, it's 'yes' or 'no'. Get it?"

Aramis didn't blame him at all for being worried; it was not good for someone with lung trouble to be stuck in stifling heat. "Got it."

"Good." Porthos took the reins of Aramis' horse and they started moving again.

Not having to direct the horse made things easier for Aramis, but the temperature climbed even higher, and he eventually realized that he'd drank all of Athos' water. He blinked dumbly at the empty canteen, feeling woozy and unable to remember finishing it all.

"Aramis?"

Still blinking, Aramis looked at his friends, who were watching him worriedly. "There's...no more," he mumbled.

Porthos looked at Athos. "He needs to get out of the sun, now."

Athos sighed. Aramis was breathing much too fast and was obviously in pain. They'd been heading towards trees that stood in the distance, but they were still quite a ways off. He rode his horse closer to Aramis and reached over, taking the empty canteen out of his hand and handing it to Porthos.

Porthos handed his own canteen to Athos, who put it into Aramis' hands. "Don't drink it all too fast," he said. "Aramis? Do you understand?"

Aramis looked at him, his eyes glassy, breathing as if he'd been running. He nodded, wincing from the pain in his lungs.

Athos turned to look at the distant trees. He was sure that there was water there, but he didn't know if Aramis would be able to make it. "I'll go on ahead," he said. He swung down off his horse, feeling dizzy himself for a few seconds, before taking off the saddlebag containing the king's gold and motioning for Porthos to dismount.

Porthos did, quickly mounting Aramis' horse behind him.

Athos put the saddlebag on Porthos' horse before taking the two empty canteens and remounting. "I'll fill these and head back towards you."

Porthos nodded, watching as Athos took off at a gallop. He then reached his arms around Aramis so he could grip the reins. "Just relax, Aramis, you'll be all right."

Aramis leaned back against his friend, still breathing too fast; shallow breaths that weren't getting enough oxygen into his bloodstream. He winced when his back made contact, making Porthos remember what had happened the previous week…

The three musketeers rushed through the streets of Paris, chasing after a man who'd killed a merchant in the marketplace. The man was fast and they lost sight of him, so all three of them split up.

Aramis ran around the side of a building, just in time to see the murderer climbing onto some barrels and scrambling onto a roof. Aramis quickly followed, chasing him from rooftop to rooftop. "Stop or I'll shoot!" he exclaimed.

The man ignored him and kept running, leaping off the roof onto a shorter one.

Aramis lifted his pistol and fired, hitting the man in his left arm. The killer fell, and Aramis continued to run before the killer had a chance to get up and take off again.

In a move that Aramis wasn't expecting, the man threw the purse of coins that he'd stolen from the merchant, and it landed right in front of Aramis, who slipped on them and dropped off the roof. He landed hard on his back and the breath was violently knocked out of him. He laid there gasping like a fish out of water as Athos and Porthos—who'd seen them on the rooftops—hurried over and knelt beside him.

Porthos had been terrified, watching his closest friend fighting to breathe. They'd gotten him back to the garrison and sent for a doctor, who'd announced that Aramis' lungs were bruised. No one was very surprised; most of Aramis' back was purple and blue. It was a miracle that he hadn't broken anything, and Porthos knew that if Aramis had shot the man before they'd jumped down to the shorter roof, he would've fallen from a much higher height and been killed…

Aramis suddenly gave a breathless cough.

"You all right?" Porthos asked, coming back to the present.

"Surviving," Aramis mumbled.

"Hey, what did I tell you before?" Porthos scolded. "I said 'yes' or 'no' answers, remember?"

"Sorry."

"Hey!" Porthos said again. "Quiet."

Aramis chuckled, before coughing again. He hissed in a painful breath, trying not to groan.

"See?" said Porthos. "No talking."

"Porthos?" said Aramis, as if he hadn't heard him. Whatever he was going to say was cut off when he coughed again, and his head lolled off Porthos' shoulder as he went completely limp.

"Aramis!" he exclaimed, stopping the horse and jostling him.

Aramis woke right up and shifted his head back to where it had been. "What?" he mumbled.

"You just passed out," Porthos said.

"I did?"

"Yes," Porthos told him.

"Sorry." Aramis coughed again, and just like before, went limp.

Seeing the odd pattern terrified Porthos, and he jostled Aramis again, who woke groggily.

"Aramis, don't cough," Porthos said.

"What?" Aramis mumbled again.

"You pass out when you cough," Porthos told him. "It just happened twice. Stop scaring me, all right?"

Aramis was surprised. "I did? Twice?"

"Yes, now shut up, already, and just keep breathin'!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis fell silent, trying to think through his throbbing headache. He felt like the sun was baking him. His lungs were hurting badly and his breathing was too fast but very shallow...obviously when he coughed, his brain couldn't handle the lack of air, making him black out. Even as he came to that conclusion, his breath caught and he coughed again, before feeling Porthos' hands drop the reins to clasp his arms and shake him.

"Don't you dare, Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis closed his eyes against a dizzy spell, gasping in a painful breath as he forced himself to remain conscious. "Mmm…fine," he mumbled.

Porthos sighed, letting go of his friend with one hand to wipe his arm across his own sweaty forehead. The sun was cooking them alive...he couldn't imagine the effect that it would have on someone who was already having trouble breathing. He took off his hat and started fanning Aramis' face with it, hoping that it would provide him some relief as they continued on…

TBC