Chapter 20

It was no surprise that by the time dawn broke the following morning, the fever had completely taken hold of Aramis. The physician had been called during the night as he worsened and he had bled the sick musketeer out but other than get progressively worse, Aramis had shown no change. The physician had started to lose hope now, his harried features and unintelligible murmurings worrying everyone. Indeed by the morning he had sat back and declared that Aramis' fate was in god's hands now and there was nothing more medicine could do for him.

So it was with heavy hearts that Porthos and Athos left the garrison that morning accompanied as promised by eight seasoned musketeers.

"Alexander," Treville called the older musketeer, his eyes trained on the younger man lying still in the bed in front of him. He along with his best men had spent the night in the infirmary.

"Captain?" Alexander greeted him, following his gaze to Aramis. "How is he?" he asked. Treville looked into the eyes of the aged solider.

"The fever has taken hold of him… He is on the verge of death. I need you to send word to the safe house. As soon as Thomas is fit enough to travel, they are to return back to Paris," Treville ordered "I just hope it's not too late," he added sadly.

"I will go straight away," Alexander assured him, casting one last look at the marksman before turning and halting at the sight of the Queen standing at the door.

"Your majesty," he greeted her, bowing low before leaving as Treville appeared behind him.

"Your majesty." Treville simply said, giving her a bow. He did not need to ask why she was here. She had most likely heard of Aramis' condition. Anne looked into the room over the Captain's shoulder.

"Captain, I heard that he was found. How is he? Is there no hope at all?" Anne asked. Treville hesitated before shaking his head.

"When they found him, he was delirious and hallucinating. He even shot young D'Artagnan before they got him to calm down though the lad is fine now. His condition has only worsened since then. I would say that there is hope as long as there is life in his body, but the man seems to have lost the will to fight," he replied.

"Can I see him?" Anne asked, though there was a hint of authority in her tone. For a second, Treville thought about declining, What if the fever was contagious? Or what if Aramis came to during the visit and lashed out at the queen? He would never forgive himself if the Queen got hurt on his watch. However, one look at the woman's face told him now was not the time to show loyalty to the crown. Now was the time to be loyal to a friend, a son. He nodded stepping aside to let her in.

"God have mercy!" Anne gasped, her hand instantly grasping the cross round her neck as her eyes fell on Aramis and she lowered herself in a chair by his bedside. She let her eyes take in every part of the musketeer, she reached out gently pressing her fingers to his body, flinching as she felt how thin and frail he was. She turned her gaze onto the captain who stood silently just behind her.

"What happened to him...is he...will he die?" she asked quietly, not sure she wanted to hear the answers. Treville sighed deeply, sad eyes meeting hers.

"The fever is not breaking, your majesty. There is a good chance it will take him. The physician has said that he has tried everything and it is only a matter of when now… But then he doesn't know my men, he doesn't know how stubborn they could be especially these four." Treville did not know whom he was consoling, the queen or himself. Anne nodded her hand still grasping her cross the other taking hold of one of Aramis's cold ones.

"Is there anything I can do?" she questioned.

"There is nothing we can do for him, but keep him comfortable and settled," Treville replied.

"Then I will tend to him," Anne said resolutely.

"Your majesty I don't think..." But Treville was cut short as Anne turned her eyes back on him, a fierce look held in them.

"I would appreciate it if you send word to the king that I would be at the garrison until further notice, and that the royal physician is to be sent to the infirmary as well," Anne ordered, her voice brokering no arguments. "I will not leave Aramis. I owe that much to Marie. At least not until Emilie and Constance return," she added, her tone slightly softer.

Treville watched her for a few moments but he knew he had no argument instead he bowed, "As you wish your majesty. D'Artagnan will return soon from some rest. He will want to stay with Aramis," Treville warned her as he brought himself to full height. Anne nodded.

"I would like the company. Now go and relay my message to the King," she dismissed him. Hearing the door close, she turned her attention back on the dying musketeer. Taking a cloth, she tenderly dabbed at his forehead and down his chest in a desperate attempt to cool him. She could feel the heat coming from Aramis, see the sweat on his body as his weak body tried in vain to fight off the sickness that was so close to consuming him.

"Don't you dare die, Aramis do you hear me? You will not give up. You cannot leave your son an orphan!" Anne ordered him, stopping her work she dropped the cloth back in the bowl grasping his hand in both of hers and resting her forehead on it.

"Please hear me Aramis. You have to come back to us. You have to fight I beg of you, don't give up," she pleaded letting the tears that had been threatening since she first entered the room fall, as she prayed to god to spare the life of the only parent Little Thomas had left.

"Your majesty," a voice brought her from her thoughts a while later, causing her to turn around and see D'Artagnan leaning against the door looking exhausted, his left arm in a sling.

"D'Artagnan, come and join me. I could do with the company," Anne said, smiling warmly as the musketeer took a seat on the opposite side of the bed. Anne watched as his eyes fell on Aramis, worry and sorrow taking hold as he struggled to accept the fate of his friend. Leaning over she took his good hand in hers, squeezing it gently, causing D'Artagnan to lock brown eyes with her blue ones.

"He is still alive, D'Artagnan. Don't give up on him just yet. I haven't." Anne assured him, smiling sadly. He returned it, letting go of her hand and sitting back in his chair, eyes fixed on his friend.

"D'Artagnan, will you tell me what happened? How did you get shot?" Anne asked him gently. D'Artagnan did not answer immediately, instead he ran a soothing hand through Aramis's curls to calm him as the musketeer stirred slightly, not wanting him to wake.

"Aramis shot me. He didn't mean to. He was delusional and very very sick and I just startled him. It was my fault really, but then when he realized what he had done..." D'Artagnan stopped, not sure whether he should tell the queen that their friend had turned his gun on himself.

"Why did he have a gun?" Anne questioned. D'Artagnan looked at her for a second before answering her honestly.

"He had captured someone that he was torturing information out of. It's what we think he has been doing while he has been missing. He was about to kill him, I walked in he turned the loaded gun on me and shot me in the arm," he explained to her, watching as the queen stared at him in shock.

"That's not all is it? Tell me D'Artagnan," she pleaded. D'Artagnan swallowed hard as the memory of Aramis holding a gun to his head flashed in his mind.

"He...he turned the gun on himself...he was going to take his own life," he muttered at last, putting to words what had been infinitely more painful than getting shot. Anne gasped bringing her hand to her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

"He was going to give up," Anne whispered. The young musketeer nodded.

"He didn't know what was going on. He just said he wanted to be with Marie. He kept saying his head hurt. That's when we knew that his mind was no longer his own," he replied sadly, watching as Anne brought Aramis' hand to her lips, kissing it gently.

"We must pray for him D'Artagnan. Pray god gives him the strength to survive all he is facing right now," she told him. D'Artagnan merely nodded as they both fell into silence, keeping careful watch as the musketeer between them slept.