Hey there, thank you for still following our story and reviewing to it. I have said it before but I like to repeat it here, both our betas are doing such an amazing job. Thank you so much to Beth and Helensg!

Will we find out in this chapter what is wrong with Athos?

Enjoy! xx C

Chapter 4

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.

XXXXX

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.

XXXXX

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 is he?"

"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.

NOTES:

Monsieur de Je vais Bien : Lord I am Fine

The following words you can find described in Wikipedia-articles, alas ff net doesn't allow us to post the links to:soule, Saint-Hubert, Saint-Bernard, Percheron and Pâté.

Soule: wiki/La_soule

Saint-Hubert: wiki/Bloodhound

Saint-Bernard: wiki/St._Bernard_(dog)

Percheron: wiki/Percheron

Pâté: wiki/French_cuisine