Aramis wasn't allowed to leave the tent for the rest of the day, not that he would've. He was still in pain and couldn't fully warm up thanks to the chilly autumn temperature. He couldn't get all of the water out of his lungs, and had a feeling that he would be coughing all night.

While the others tried to find out what had happened, Porthos wouldn't leave his side, gladly taking on the task of being Aramis' bodyguard. He had the cook bring in a pot of hot broth for Aramis to drink, but before he let the cook leave, he made him taste it himself, just to ensure that the cook wasn't the one who'd pushed Aramis into the river and would poison him now that the first attempt had failed to kill him.

Aramis waited until the bewildered cook left the tent, and then he burst out laughing...for two seconds, before he started to cough his lungs out.

"What?" Porthos asked.

Aramis could barely talk. "The...cook?" was all he managed to get out.

Porthos shrugged. "We dunno who it was...it could've been anyone." He frowned as Aramis continued to cough, and reached over to slap him on the back, hoping it would bring up some of the trapped water enough for Aramis to swallow it.

Aramis made a pained sound from the contact. "Don't!" His lungs hurt enough already.

"Sorry," said Porthos, removing his hand. "Thought it might help." He stuck the ladle into the pot and scooped some of the hot broth into a cup before placing it into his friend's hands. "Drink."

Aramis took a sip between coughs, nearly moaning with relief as the comforting heat slid down his raw throat.

A sudden gust of wind whistled outside the tent, and Porthos looked around and sighed. "This is ridiculous. The King sure picked the wrong day for this."

"Rain," Aramis said, as he drank the broth.

"Hmm? You think it's gonna rain?" said Porthos. He nodded. "Probably. That'll prevent us from leavin'." He didn't like knowing that a potential murderer was lurking around…especially when Aramis was their intended target.

Aramis finished his broth and handed Porthos the cup. Not thinking, he sighed at his friend's words, which started up another coughing fit.

The tent suddenly opened and Athos came inside. He headed over to them and watched Aramis as he coughed. "How is he?" he asked.

Porthos sighed. "Could be better."

Athos waited until Aramis stopped coughing before he said, "No one I spoke to saw you go into the river."

"Well he obviously did," Porthos said, sarcastically.

Aramis was trying to suppress more coughing, a hand on his chest as he tried to take enough of a breath to speak with. "Lying."

Athos nodded. "Whoever pushed you in. Yes."

"We need to figure out who did it before we leave, Athos," said Porthos. "Aramis will be a wide-open target on a horse."

Athos nodded his head. "I know." He sighed. "We can always ask the King if Aramis can ride in his carriage."

Aramis shot a sharp look at him. Riding with King Louis…he'd be bored to tears. "Rain," he said again.

"Aramis thinks it's gonna rain," Porthos told Athos. "If it does, we won't be goin' anywhere."

Athos nodded. That was definitely true.

D'Artagnan came in just then. "No one saw you go into the river," he said to Aramis.

"There's an echo in here," Porthos said, upset to hear that. "Someone is lyin'," he said, so that Aramis wouldn't have to speak again.

D'Artagnan nodded. "Most of them seemed genuinely surprised to hear that you were pushed."

"Most of 'em?" said Porthos, placing another cup of broth in Aramis' hands.

D'Artagnan made a face, watching as Aramis drank it. "Monsieur Clouseau had the audacity to suggest that you tripped and fell in, and made this up to save your pride."

Aramis didn't expect to hear that and inhaled the broth. He laughed and choked at the same time. "Clouseau?" he gasped out before coughing his lungs out again.

Athos and Porthos knew why that was so funny; two years ago, Comte Clouseau had been drunk at a ball and had fallen into a water fountain. The three of them had witnessed it and laughed for days. The Comte had no right to talk.

Everyone was alarmed to see Aramis choke, and Athos went to slap Aramis' back, but Porthos grabbed his arm to stop him. "Already tried that," he said. "It hurt's 'em." He grabbed the cup next before Aramis could drop it.

D'Artagnan knelt and rubbed Aramis' back instead. "I'm so sorry," he said, not realizing the reaction that his words were going to have. He knew that there must be a story here, and reminded himself to ask the others later.

Aramis kept coughing, and groaned at the pain that it sent through his lungs. He closed his eyes and hung his aching head, trying to catch his breath without coughing again.

Ever sympathetic, d'Artagnan kept rubbing his friend's back, shooting a look of dismay at the others.

Athos frowned at the sight of Aramis' hand painfully fisted in his shirt against his chest, and his anger at whoever had done this to him grew.

Suddenly, as Aramis had predicted, it started to rain, the drops plopping against the roof of the tent. Porthos sighed and picked up the cup of broth, placing it in Aramis' hands again.

Aramis drank it quickly, grateful for its soothing heat. When he finished, he handed the cup back. "Thanks," he said, hoarsely.

All three of his friends knew that he was saying it to all of them.

D'Artagnan moved his hand from Aramis' back to his shoulder and squeezed it before letting go. Athos reached forward and pushed Aramis back to recline against the saddlebags, adjusting the blankets to cover his arms again. "Rest." He looked at the others. "We'll take watches during the night."

Porthos nodded.

Night came with the abating of the rain, but not the awful cough that plagued Aramis after his near-drowning. It was hard for him to fall asleep, and when he finally did, everyone was relieved. Naturally though, it didn't last, as he frequently woke coughing through the night. Every time he did, whoever was on watch was there sitting beside him, offering him more broth, which they kept warm for him all night.

Aramis looked towards the others, hoping that he wasn't waking them as he tried to suppress his coughing.

"Don't hold it back," said Athos, who was on watch at the moment and sitting beside Aramis, facing him. "They understand."

"The whole camp...must hear..." Aramis said, still fighting against the spasm of his lungs and losing the battle a few seconds later.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened, and Athos instantly had his pistol pointed at the intruder. "Who's there?" he demanded.

Treville's head poked in. "Just me." He'd known that he would be facing someone's weapon and waited for Athos to lower it before he stepped inside, steering himself around the hopefully-sleeping d'Artagnan and Porthos. He headed over and knelt beside them, watching as Aramis coughed into a handkerchief in an attempt to mute the sound.

"Sorry...for...waking..." said Aramis, in between coughs.

Treville cut him off with a shake of his head. "I was already awake, watching your tent. I haven't seen anyone suspicious." He looked at Athos. "He's no better?"

Athos shook his head. "No."

Treville sighed. "He needs a physician."

Aramis tiredly shook his aching head. "Nothing...can be done." He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly to hopefully prevent more coughing.

Treville and Athos weren't surprised to hear that. It looked like Aramis would just have to deal with it until his lungs recovered. Considering the wheezing sound that they could hear coming from his chest, it was obvious that it was not going to be a quick recovery…

TBC