Hey thank you so much for reading and reviewing.

Some reviewers on fb asked for a quick update.

So here is chapter 21.

Enjoy!

Chapter 21

After his men had silently left, Tréville went and tucked Athos in his blue blanket. Athos' eyes were closed, his face was buried in his pillow and his breathing was more even than in the past days. Slowly, Tréville smoothed the dark blue fabric. Absorbed in thought he rested his hand on Athos' forearm to settle him. If his Lieutenant didn't want the touch he could easily withdraw his arm, but the half awake man let him be.

Have I told the King too early that Athos is on the mend. This morning he looked so much better and then he had another relapse. We … I nearly lost you! God this is such a horrible poison … this devilish plant.

His thoughts wandered back to the afternoon at the palace.

Is it pure chance that this merchant O'Sullivan, a former soldier, presented those poisonous flowers to the King?

Is he behind the attack against Athos?

But why then show his murderous weapon in public?

Or did he think that we'd think it was the flu?

It is odd that he tells the Queen that his plants can help with battlefield medicine, to treat nasty wounds, but that they can't help to treat the flu.

If they could, no one would have died at the Palace.

I have to check on this Irish soldier more carefully. Maybe I can send Aramis to talk to him. From one soldier to another, from one medic to another. Aramis needs some distraction, seeing Athos so severely ill isn't good for him. He is too emotionally involved.

And Porthos, I wish I could tell him about his father, but it will hurt him too much. I …

Tréville felt watched. His hand still resting on Athos' arm, he looked into the young man's face. Athos' eyes were half opened, his green-black orbs scanning him, his body was trembling slightly and he was agitated. Tréville could see a sheen of sweat forming again on his warm forehead and he grabbed a cold and wet cloth to sponge his face.

"Try to sleep Athos, your body needs rest!"

"I wish I could, but … I think this medicine … is keeping me awake."

My heart is racing as my horse over cobbles.

It hurts … I am sure that it is not good … the Doctor was worried …

Arghhh … I need to do something to make it stop …

This sound in my ears … it frightens me …

Athos tried to ignore the heavy pounding of his heart that had returned earlier. It was always the same feeling, first it galloped very fast, beating in his chest and he could feel it in his neck, then, suddenly, it stopped, he felt the itch in his chest, it slowed down, only to start again. In order to calm himself he coughed and his heart slowed down again.

Thank God … the pain, the heavy beating is gone ...

Tréville locked eyes with the intelligent eyes of his Lieutenant seeing the distress in them.

"What is it? What is bothering you?"

"Anne … Milady … or whatever name she is using … right now." Athos swallowed and Captain Tréville stayed quiet and listened, but didn't stop bathing Athos' forehead. "Aramis says … he thinks … that the person who has poisoned me … was the one who followed me … as … scarf." Athos swallowed again.

"That the person who followed you that day as you brought your scarf to the dressmaker is the one who gave the order to poison you?" Tréville finished Athos sentence.

"Yes! … And if he … is correct … then it can't be … Anne. I … I … ssaw … her …" Athos stopped exhausted, the sudden sadness hitting him like a thunderstorm. Tears were glittering in his eyes.

Why did she return?

Why is she back in Paris?

And why … why of all men … has she decided to start an affair … with the King?

"Where did you see her?" Tréville had the dull feeling that he already knew Athos' answer.

"At the palace … kissing … kiss …" He stopped. He didn't want to say the last words.

My body is still playing tricks on me …

No, not again … please I don't want to have another fit …

Make it go away ...

He felt another shudder grip his body and he feared that the cramps would return.

"I know, Athos!" Tréville said quietly, resting his hand on his forehead, then softly stroking a few strands of hair out of his face.

Athos couldn't hide the tears anymore and Tréville wiped them away. He wanted to say something, but Tréville stopped him:

"I am sorry! I truly wish that she would not be the latest mistress of the King."

"The others mustn't know …" Athos sobbed.

"I won't tell them …!"

Athos gathered himself a bit more. His rational thinking helped him to cope with his emotions.

"So she has the perfect alibi. She has not followed me! But if not her, who else …" He stopped.

He felt so tired. His eyes started to droop again.

"We will find out, Athos! Try to sleep. I am here!" Anxiously, he watched his Lieutenant fall fast asleep.

XXXXX

Somewhere in the palace

He is still alive!

He should be dead by now!

Why? Hasn't the dressmaker given him all the poison?

Or did I give her the wrong mixture? …

Athos you will pay …

I need another plan and quickly … now is the time …

The figure walking through the dark corridors of le Louvre thought about a new attack, a new idea how to get rid of the Musketeer. Suddenly the figure stopped.

I have an idea … yes, excellent, this can work … and nobody will ever know …

XXXXX

Time passed, slowly and painfully. Tréville kept his hand on his soldier's arm. He couldn't bring himself to break this contact. His eyes were lost somewhere in the darkness of the room. Silence had slowly come back in the garrison, barely disturbed by muffled noises of hooves and neighs in the stables. He heard someone laugh loudly perhaps in the mess as, with this still rainy weather, his soldiers couldn't have their supper in the courtyard. He couldn't help but smile when he heard a fight between stray cats. Their voices almost human as they mewed a long and gloomy "nononononono". Then silence, again, and loneliness.

The fire was no more than glowing embers in the dark hearth. Tréville tried to breathe deeply but his throat felt constricted. He wasn't a gregarious man, he valued his time alone in his office, but now, in this room filled with this thick wet air, he was alone. Terribly alone. He startled as something brushed the shutters outside. He snapped his head and opened his eyes wider as if he could see through the thick wood. Then nothing, an owl maybe, or a bat, or one of the fighting cats. His heart was pounding in his chest, mirroring the pounding in the sick soldier's chest. It was still beating too fast.

He had lost count of hours when a light scraping at the door made him jump. His chair scratched the wooden floor and he could feel Athos react to the noise. He briefly squeezed his arm before heading to the door.

"How is he?" An anxious d'Artagnan asked, as if he had waited hours for this moment ...

"Calmer for now. He is fast asleep, still feverish. I think you shouldn't have too many problems with your charge."

D'Artagnan looked into the eyes of his captain.

"What is it, d'Artagnan?"

"Er … nothing. Sorry, Captain! It's just. I shouldn't give you orders, but … you … you look so tired. You should try to sleep. Please, sleep a few hours. Everything will be alright. I promise." The young man smiled, uncertainly.

"Young man, you are right, you shouldn't give me orders." Tréville snapped trying to look angry.

"S … sorry ..." D'Artagnan stammered, bowing his head, and Tréville could see him blushing in spite of his tanned skin and the dimness of the room.

"But I will follow your advice. You are right. I am not young enough anymore to be sleep deprived a whole night and be as right as rain come morning. Take care of him."

With a smile and a pat on d'Artagnan's back, he left the room.

XXXXX

D'Artagnan approached the bed and sat down again at his friend's bedside. Athos seemed calm even if a slight tremor continually ran through his body. He reached a hesitating hand to touch the warm fingers. Athos didn't react, so, unconsciously mirroring his Captain's action, d'Artagnan kept his hand there and with the other, he took the freshly soaked cloth and wringed it.

He sighed. He hated this silence which wasn't really silent, the night was noisy, actually, from the whispering and buzzing of bugs that spring had brought to life to the sounds of horses in the stables. D'Artagnan was on alert, his eyes were wide open and he scanned the room restlessly. He held his breath as his mind started to play tricks. Footsteps? No, it couldn't be. Hours didn't pass so fast, it was not yet the time for Aramis to take his place. So what was that noise? Silence again. Had he dreamt? He was becoming too nervous; he breathed deeply and he tried to focus on his charge. He didn't dare rewet the cloth as for now Athos seemed calm, no need to wake him up with cold water, so he folded the wet fabric and laid it on the pale forehead.

He tried to occupy his mind in order not to fall asleep like the last time he had to watch his brother. He waited patiently. No, he wasn't patient, he was only resigned, and he didn't have to be patient for long as suddenly he noticed a twitch in Athos' fingers. He looked up and saw his friend's eyeballs roll restlessly under the sweaty eyelids, the dark and long feathers of his eyelashes fluttering frantically on the translucent skin. D'Artagnan bent over his friend and brushed his thumb over the moving knuckles, whispering words of reassurance. A low moan escaped Athos' lips:

"Mmmhhh … no … you can't …you … It can't be … mmhh."

XXXXX

No. It can't be.

White silk and dark curls spread on the rug.

His back bent over the frail body.

Black leather.

Straw like hair.

Disheveled.

His head turns slowly, oh, so slowly.

No. It can't be.

Blood.

Icy blue eyes.

And the grin. This evil grin.

Icy blue eyes.

He turns back to his prey.

And she stands up.

And she smiles.

Green eyes, pearly skin.

No. It can't be.

Blue flowers in her hair.

He turns back again.

Black curls.

Dishevelled.

Dark eyes.

No. It can't be.

A smile. This childish smile.

He gets up.

Icy blue eyes.

A whip in his hand.

He strikes.

Blood.

Pain.

Again.

Red on white silk.

And she laughs.

She laughs.

She laughs.

XXXXX

"Shhh ... It's alright. Shhh …"

D'Artagnan tried to calm his friend but nothing worked. He tried the Gascon poem again but it didn't work, the more he talked, the more Athos became anxious and restless. He ripped the blue blanket from his bed and began to jerk his legs in all directions.

D'Artagnan tried to seize his ankles but, suddenly, Athos shot upright, his eyes wide open staring blankly at something above d'Artagnan's head. He tried to rip the sheets away, all the while moaning. Suddenly he roared:

"You! It's you! It can't be! Let her go!"

Big tears started to roll down his cheeks. D'Artagnan felt his chest tightening as he watched this picture of sorrow and despair. What were these phantoms who haunted his nights? The young man needed to calm him, to keep him from hurting himself. He let go of his ankles to seize his wrists but as he briefly lost focus on the man's face, he couldn't see the look of pure hatred in the haunted eyes, and he didn't see the fist coming.

First the shock silenced him. How had that man so much strength left? Then the pain radiated through his whole face and neck, he tasted blood on his lips, tears made their way under his eyelids, tears of pain, of frustration, but he had to react, and fast. The fight was not over. He was literally lying on his friend, the frantic wrists secured in his hands above Athos' head when Aramis entered the room.

"What ...?" He asked unable to move further.

"Help me! Please!" D'Artagnan pleaded out of energy, still crying tears of frustration, fear and pain.

"Get down, you scare him, he sees you as an enemy! But don't let go of his hands!" Aramis shouted.

"Sorry ..." D'Artagnan began, unable to hide his shame.

He bowed his head and knelt on the floor keeping Athos' wrists in one hand, slightly loosening his hold and leaving enough room for Aramis.

"Shhh ..., you did well, d'Artagnan. We are used to his nightmares, you aren't. You couldn't know." Aramis reassured him all the while stroking Athos' hair and cheeks.

The frantic legs wouldn't stop their moves so Aramis went to the bed foot and put his hands on the ankles, without squeezing, just letting his fingers rub at the sweaty skin.

The man began to calm down but continued to sob helplessly.

"Talk to him." Aramis said quietly.

"It didn't work."

"Now, it will work. I don't doubt it. Just try!" Aramis smiled encouragingly.

So d'Artagnan did. He spoke, his chin on the mattress, soft words in French and Gascon. He murmured and even hummed an old song his mother used to sing, and slowly, they felt the body relaxing.

"See, it worked. Now, let's cover him again. It's over."

Aramis stood up stretching his legs and arms.

"Come, let me see your jaw."

"It's fine."

"Oh, I think I heard this somewhere." Aramis smiled.

"Alright. It wasn't his fault."

"I know." Aramis reassured him while probing at the quickly bruising flesh. "You are right, it's nothing. But your complexion will have all the colours of the rainbow before tomorrow. Very original."

"Can I stay?"

"But, you need …"

"Answers. I need answers." D'Artagnan interrupted, glaring at Aramis, his dark eyes shining.

XXXXX

"You are lucky, you know." Aramis mumbled as he spread a smelly salve on d'Artagnan's jaw.

They were sitting at the table, keeping an eye on Athos, but distant enough not to disturb his now peaceful sleep.

"You will have to enlighten me. At which moment have I been lucky tonight?" D'Artagnan's eyes were two embers in the darkness. Aramis smiled, d'Artagnan glared.

"D'Artagnan, calm down, will you? You are lucky because it's not Porthos in this bed."

"I don't want to laugh. I want answers!" D'Artagnan said with emphasis.

"So ask your questions." Aramis told him, wiping his hands on a cloth before pouring a rich garnet wine into two cups and handing one to his young friend.

Athos has not once asked for some wine in the last few days. Aramis thought surprised.

"Tell me the whole story. Begin at … the beginning."

There was a commanding tone in his voice which impressed Aramis. The latter took a gulp of the strong wine and looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the past unfold before his eyes between the beams blackened by old smoke, he began to speak. D'Artagnan couldn't help but stare at the elegant hands crossed on the table. They were so clenched that the knuckles were slightly white.

"Six years ago, Athos wasn't the Athos you know now. He was a shadow of himself, a shell of a man"

"I think I have an idea of that."

D'Artagnan thought back at the night he had to pull Athos out of his burning chateau. The intense odour of fire and burnt wood was still in his nose. He shivered at the pure thought of how close he had come to losing his newfather figure that night. He remembered the pain Athos had endured: a face wetted by tears which made his eyes look even more bloodshot and his expression even more desperate. Drunk and confused and so unnaturally emotional, the former Comte had shared with him his biggest secret, hidden for so long from his friends. D'Artagnan had had to be brave at that moment for his mentor, and he had been brave and a sturdy presence at his side. His words, his guidance and his comfort had brought Athos back to the here and now and to his senses.

"Yes, when you saved him, I suppose." Aramis confirmed.

"He was so broken when I found him. I can't forget."

"As we will never forget what he had to endure all these years ago."

Aramis ran a hand through his hair and scratched nervously at the nape of his neck.

"After the Milady affair … You know the story now, but at the time we didn't know. He had just told us about a woman who had died. So after this affair, he was so broken that he tried to drown his sorrow in alcohol. I know it seems so common to say it like that, but it's true, he was a drowning man, and the only thing keeping him afloat was …" He paused, sucking in a shaky breath.

"You ..." D'Artagnan stated, smiling softly.

"Yes. He didn't want to make us suffer, but sometimes he couldn't help himself, and we had to rescue him in filthy taverns, to bring him back to his room where nightmares haunted his sleep. We learned to deal with them and I think it's when our friendship became so strong."

He squeezed his eyes shut and stopped talking.

"Aramis, I am sorry if…"

"Then things seemed to improve. I couldn't say that Athos was a merry man, but … he already had this dry humour you know …You have heard the part where this arrogant bastard came to the garrison."

"Rochefort?"

"Mmmh. A few months later Tréville assigned twenty-five musketeers, by orders of Richelieu, to accompany the royal family to a chateau in Touraine where a delegation from Spain would meet the King and especially the Queen. Tréville was moody, he couldn't understand why he had to deplete his garrison with such a large group of Musketeers for only eight members of the Spanish royal family, their courtiers and servants, but he had no choice. It was a rather small chateau in a quiet countryside, built in a valley where a clear stream was singing softly hidden amongst yellow irises and reeds, it was surrounded by gentle slopes covered in thick forest making it look like a gem on a green velvet cushion. It was protected from possible attacks by high limestone walls."

"So you went …"

"So we went. As soon as we arrived, we were assigned to a precise post. Porthos and me at the main entry, and Athos, alone in a corridor, to guard the room of a cousin of the Queen, a lovely seventeen-year-old young lady, with porcelain skin, black silky ringlets and big blue eyes."

"Aramis. Straight to important things, please." D'Artagnan chided gently.

Aramis patted his forearm, smiling softly.

"She was very shy and always stayed in her room or in the chapel, so Athos stood at the end of this very long corridor. He had been told not to go near the door of the room. It was a very hot day, in July, so, standing there alone in this stuffy place was exhausting."

"And what happened?"

A moan made them jump and look at the figure on the bed. Athos was whimpering in his sleep. D'Artagnan didn't wait, got up and knelt near the bed whispering in the man's ear. Athos relaxed and rolled onto his other side turning his back to the room. D'Artagnan quietly came back and sat at the table.

"See, you are good." Aramis told him.

"Maybe." D'Artagnan agreed. "So, the corridor?"

"Everything was quiet, but suddenly, Athos heard a scream."

"A scream? The young lady? But was there another entrance to her room? Or Athos didn't pay attention because of the heat and tiredness?" D'Artagnan asked anxiously.

"There was another door leading into her room, you know these chateaux, there are always secret doors hidden behind tapestries or bookshelves."

"You know more about secret doors than me, but I trust you." D'Artagnan smiled.

"So, Athos ran to the door of the room and tried to open it. He didn't have to try for long as the door, surprisingly, was not bolted, and what he saw made him freeze."

D'Artagnan's eyes widened.

"A man was bent over the young lady's thin body. She couldn't stop screaming, her dress was already torn apart, her hair disheveled, blood was dripping from her cheekbone. She was struggling under the slim but muscular body. Athos didn't recognise the man immediately but as he threw himself into the room to save the girl, the man turned around slowly, without letting go of the lady's fragile wrists, and Athos recognised him. Straw blond hair, icy blue eyes …"

"Rochefort!" D'Artagnan exclaimed, horrified.

"Himself. The man smirked, and Athos didn't understand why. He reached for his sword."

"And?"

"And nothing. His arms were seized from behind by someone, and Rochefort let go of the girl who escaped by running into that long corridor. The snake came to Athos who was trying to fight his captor."

"But, he had seen Rochefort attempting to rape or raping this young lady. Rochefort could have escaped or fought him. The other man was an accomplice?"

"Yes, the other man was an accomplice and everything was just a trap. Rochefort wasn't interested in the lady, all he wanted to do was make Athos fall in a trap." Aramis answered sadly.

He poured more wine in their cups and d'Artagnan drank his in one gulp.

"Hey, slow down young man. A hit on the head and wine are not good friends, you know."

"It was not on the he …"

A sigh made them look at the sleeping man. Aramis stood, went to the bed, laid a hand on Athos' forehead and smoothed the sweaty locks. After letting his hand pause there for a moment, he laid it on the man's chest to feel his heartbeat.

"He is less feverish, I think, but we should be quiet, now." Aramis said in a low voice. "He needs to sleep!"

And I still don't like your fast heartbeat, Athos ...

D'Artagnan had crossed his hands on the table and put his chin on them. He blinked softly in the dim light. Aramis smiled fondly.

"Now, young man, you should go to your room and try to sleep"

"I am not …"

"Tired? You are, as we all are. We need you awake and not in that semi-conscious state." He gently mocked.

They heard footsteps on the stairs and they jumped. D'Artagnan reached for his sword … but it wasn't at his waist anymore. He had put it on the trunk.

"It's Porthos." Aramis said quietly.

"How can you know that?" D'Artagnan replied still on alert.

"Don't you think that I know how he walks?" Aramis smiled.

… And the door slowly creaked open.

"Quand on parle du loup!"* Aramis laughed.

"Funny," Porthos growled. "How is our sleeping beauty?"

Aramis stood and fetched a third cup for Porthos who sat beside d'Artagnan where he could face the bed. Aramis observed him silently. Porthos' eyes were bleary and Aramis wished he could wipe away the frown on his forehead. He smiled fondly as he noticed that the hem of his collar was printed on his left cheek. He had undoubtedly fallen asleep in one of his usual strange positions.

"He is better, less feverish, but his heart worries me, and he had a nasty nightmare during d'Artagnan's watch."

"And how it ended?"

"Look at d'Artagnan's jaw." Aramis smiled.

"Oh." Porthos winced.

"But our young friend dealt with it remarkably."

"Remarkably after you came." D'Artagnan finished sadly, cradling his painful jaw with one hand.

Strange colours from purple to yellow had already begun to spread on the left side of his face and surprisingly his eyelids were swollen. The blow had been violent.

"Now d'Artagnan, you can leave. Go and rest, please. You need it."

"No, I'll stay. Porthos, you go and sleep! I am not tired and Aramis has things to tell me."

"Alright." Porthos agreed, too quickly in Aramis' opinion.

It was obvious that the man had barely slept and was exhausted. They needed his strength. Porthos swallowed the whole content of his cup and stood up. He approached the bed and, before leaving, he ran the back of his hand on the sweaty curls of Athos.

Get better soon, you stubborn brother of mine. I need you sane!

Porthos crossed Athos' room and left. D'Artagnan continued.

"So. Athos was arrested?"

"No. Not at all."

"I don't understand. I suppose that Rochefort wanted to accuse him of rape. So he should have been executed"

"Of course. But he wanted to kill him himself." Aramis explained.

"Why didn't he just kill him immediately?"

"Because he wanted to make him suffer. A lot." Aramis added sadly.

D'Artagnan clapped a hand on his mouth. His eyes were wide open in an incredulous expression.

"My God!" The muffled exclamation came, barely audible.

"So they ... took him to the park, in an hidden place in a thick copse of trees. And …" Aramis stopped and closed his eyes. "Now, you should sleep, please." Aramis pleaded in a low shaky voice.

But d'Artagnan had understood. He still could feel the swollen patterns on Athos' back under the tip of his fingers during the bath. He still could see the haunted look in Aramis' eyes when he had looked up at him questioningly. So he finished in a hushed and horrified tone:

"He was whipped!"

Notes:

In Emilie (e4s2) Athos hears d'Artagnan and Constance talking about Milady being the mistress of King Louis. We decided that Athos already had seen the both of them in the palace before that episode. He's not blind, but he has kept it to himself.

Translations:

Quand on parle du loup: Speaking of the devil.