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Here is chapter 25.

Enjoy!

Chapter 25

Aramis bolted out of the room and stopped, leaning over the rail of the balcony. He needed to breathe deeply before looking for that stupid boy. He had managed to contain his anxiety and his need to shout at his young friend during his examination, but now … now ...

His hands tightened their grip on the wood, enough to leave the semi-circular prints of his fingernails in the old wood. He breathed out with a whistling sound. He was boiling with rage and he knew that this anger was thoughtless. Head over heart, Athos would say. And the mere thought of the rumbling deep voice reignited his rage. Why had d'Artagnan left him without a second thought? Childish behaviour!

He let his eyes wander around the courtyard. The garrison was, as usual, like a noisy hive, but he couldn't find the missing bee. He ran down the stairs and passed a young cadet who was carrying a saddle.

"Jeannot, have you seen d'Artagnan lately?" He shouted.

"No, Sir, but I know that the Captain sent him to the palace earlier."

Aramis crossed the courtyard towards the stables. He let his eyes become used to the dim light, listened to the sounds of hooves, metal and the loud breathing of the horses. Slowly, he went along the boxes, the straw crunching under his boots. The air was heavy with the odours and the steam emanating from the horses.

D'Artagnan's horse was there and claimed a treat shaking his shiny ebony mane.

"Shhh. Alright, take this apple." Aramis smiled holding a fruit under the horse's sharp teeth.

He scratched the velvety muzzle asking:

"Where is your rider?"

The horse shook his mane again nuzzling Aramis' hand.

"Alright, you don't want to answer."

Aramis' anger seemed to fade a little in the dim light, the smell of the beasts and the soft deep eyes looking at him expectantly.

"No, no more apples, big boy."

Aramis left the black stallion and continued towards the end of the corridor where hay stacks were stored. And there, between two bales, he saw the crown of a black head. He had to speak, he had to let his rage leave his stressed body. He sucked in a deep breath.

"What were you thinking? Leaving him alone like that? Are you stupid? Can't you just use that head on your shoulders? I … You know he is weak … You know he can't fight … You … I …!"

The lack of reaction from the young man increased his rage. He flung himself at the slim figure. He caught him by the lapels of his jacket, hoisted him onto his feet and pushed him against the far wall of the room. Blinded by his rage he spluttered all the words crossing his mind, shouting, stammering.

"You idiot! Do you realise that that man could have killed him. And you? ... You? ... What were you doing? ... You were wandering in the garrison? What for? Can you tell me? ... Yes, I know … He asked you for something to eat. But … But you could have waited! No? You could have waited for one of us to come back! ... Why don't you answer?! ... Speak!" He finished in a cry, breathless.

"I …"

"You what?!" Aramis shouted tightening his grip on the leather.

D'Artagnan sighed. His eyes were shining in the dim light and his lower lip was caught between his teeth. He weakly disentangled himself from the grip of his furious friend. Aramis, taken aback by the lack of reaction and the pale face, let him move.

"What is it? What are you hiding?" He asked in a softened voice.

"Nothing." D'Artagnan's voice was barely a whisper.

"Show me." Aramis asked, all his rage having left him at the sight of his young friend's sad expression.

D'Artagnan gave him the crumpled sheet of paper.

"It's a letter from Lemay … the … note … it was really by his hand …"

Suddenly, all the rage left Aramis' body. He felt so tired, so helpless and so … sorry.

"I am … I am …" He tried.

D'Artagnan slid against the wall. He sat there with his arms around his bent legs, his forehead on his knees, his long hair a silky curtain hiding his face. Aramis watched him for a while, then he went to the wall and sat next to the young man. The massive bales didn't allow the smallest space between them.

"I am … I … I'm sorry, d'Artagnan." Aramis whispered.

A sniffle emerged from the human bundle at his side, but no words.

"I know, I shouldn't have let my emotions overwhelm me. But you know … I … I am scared … I still ..." Aramis continued.

He nudged d'Artagnan's shoulder with his.

"He ... er … rt" A muffled voice said.

"Sorry?"

"Head over heart." D'Artagnan repeated raising his head and pressing the palm of his hands on his bleary eyes.

A few seconds later, he turned to Aramis.

"I understand." He murmured. "Apologies accepted … You know, I am so scared too … We could have lost him … We still can …?"

His chocolate irises sought his friend's eyes.

"I … I don't know. I wish I could say no, but I don't know, really …" Aramis stopped, deep in thought. "But, no, I think he is better, a lot better, he will be fine." He tried to reassure him.

D'Artagnan didn't answer but suddenly he held his right hand to his older brother.

"Sorry. Sorry for my mistake." He murmured.

Aramis took the proffered hand in his left and squeezed it. Then he stood up and keeping his hold on the young man's fingers, he pulled him up onto his feet. They stood like that, face to face for a moment, then Aramis reached his free hand out to remove a straw from the ebony hair.

"People might talk!" He laughed, earning a kick on the shin from an equally laughing d'Artagnan.

"Come on, little brother! Let's go and see our grumpy hero, but first, kitchen!"

XXXXX

In the meantime in Tréville's office

"... Yes … alone! She forgot me in that attic! Alone, tied to that damned pole." Porthos laughed.

"Alone? For how long?" Athos asked.

He was smiling, a tired smile, a trembling smile, but a smile. Porthos had tried to brighten his mood since Aramis had left the room visibly radiating fury.

"I don't know. Following my stomach, I would say, at least five hours."

A snort came from the bed.

"What?" Porthos frowned.

"Are you sure this adventure didn't happen to Aramis? It's more his type." Athos said a smile in his low voice.

"Wh … Oh, I see!" Porthos laughed, slapping his thigh and regretting it at once as it was his injured limb. "But I was five years old or something, and it was a game, I was the thief and she was the royal guard. I guess Aramis experienced it much later … I mean … Being tied by a ... lady, and it's not the same kind of game!"

"Porthos you are incorrigible." Tréville laughed. "And when did she realise that she had forgotten her prisoner?"

"Never. Someone found me."

Porthos suddenly stopped talking and gingerly stood up. He went, limping slightly, to the window, turning his back to the others who didn't dare to ask him what he had in mind, why his face had so suddenly clouded.

Porthos had hidden his very upset, confused and angry feeling behind his humour, but it was just a "façade" and now, his anxiety had come back at the mere mention of Aramis' name. Porthos' tired mind needed this short moment to clarify his thoughts and feelings, and, at last, he could show again his bright smile to his friends.

They all turned simultaneously towards the door as they heard footsteps and voices outside. Porthos instantly reached for his pistol but Athos held a hand up.

"Aramis and d'Artagnan." He said quietly.

"Not sure they would laugh like that together ..."

"You know them, big children, arguing one moment and laughing together the next minute." Tréville laughed.

The door swung open and the faces full of hilarity of their friends carrying a tray and a basket appeared. Aramis poked d'Artagnan's ribs with his elbow making him almost drop the tray with the bowl of broth.

"D'Artagnan!" Aramis chided. "Why do you want to feed the floor instead of Athos every time you bring him food?"

"Funny." D'Artagnan grumbled his smile sobering a little as he remembered why he had dropped the previous bowl.

"Children!" Tréville barked. "Behave!"

"Yes, Captain." The two musketeers replied sheepishly.

Leaving his basket of fruits and bread on the table, Aramis turned to Athos.

"How are you my friend? You look better."

"Fine."

"Fine? And?" Aramis asked with a frown.

"And nothing? Really fine for the first time in days. Exhausted, my body is sore as if I had fought a whole army and … I … I am hungry. So …"

"C'est une bonne maladie.* You are finally on the mend." Aramis replied relieved.

D'Artagnan approached the bed eagerly, the bowl in one hand and a spoon in the other one.

"Do you need ... help?" Aramis asked cautiously. "You know … to … because you are … still ..."

And he received this famous look they had missed these past days with a:

"Aramis, please." In a deep noble voice.

"Alright, I surrender, Athos, but there is no shame in asking."

"Alright. This smelly food reminds me that I can't remember my last meal." Tréville announced.

"Feel free to share, Captain." Athos offered.

"Mmhhh, no, thank you … I need something more … substantial. And the same goes for you Porthos, and Aramis, d'Artagnan, I trust you not to forget your own health and to eat something later."

"Yes, Captain." A chorus of voices answered.

"Come on Porthos, we have some work to do." Tréville called before turning to the door, a relieved smile on his lips.

They left, more carefree than a few hours earlier.

XXXXX

Porthos left the garrison with a very upset, confused and angry feeling. He had talked with Tréville during lunch about the King's plans and he could sense that Tréville was still struggling to find a way to protect Athos. Somehow they needed to find a way to stop this whole insanity. He let his mind drift off to what had happened earlier, while riding on his horse to the palace. He wasn't upset about d'Artagnan like Aramis had been. His reaction seemed so disproportionate. He could easily imagine that Athos had asked the young Gascon to go and fetch him something to calm his hunger. On the one hand he was glad to be finally alone for some minutes, he hadn't had his privacy for several days now, and his brother needed the loneliness from time to time to gather himself. On the other hand he must have been really hungry and sending d'Artagnan made Athos sure that his food wouldn't be poisoned. The swordsman's rational thinking was coming back and Porthos stopped his horse and smiled as the realisation hit him. A big smile formed on his face.

But he was still worried. Had this false doctor really acted by order of Lemay and was this all a huge misunderstanding? Did O'Sullivan just want to help. He had seen the former soldier the day before at court. He was fascinated by his knowledge about plants and that they could cure illnesses. The question still remained. Had O'Sullivan a connection to Gallagher? Or to Athos' past as a Comte or was the real perpetrator the Duke of Savoy?

He mustn't fight against the Duke it will kill him!

He heard Aramis' warning voice in his mind as he entered the first gate of the palace. He wasn't sure what he could find out about O'Sullivan but Porthos had come to the conclusion that he needed to talk to the Duke. He would go to him after palace guard and ask him to fight against him on Friday and if the Duke denied his proposal, he would challenge him to a duel. This way the Duke wouldn't lose his face and Athos would be safe.

XXXXX

Tréville's office

Tréville's office became silent again after their Captain had left with Porthos. They could only hear the scratching noises of the spoon and the slow and laborious swallowings of Athos. Aramis cut an apple in thin slices then looked at Athos whose hands had begun to tremble again. D'Artagnan was staring anxiously at his friend, ready to intervene.

"S … sorry … I can't." Athos whispered handing the bowl over to d'Artagnan who had jumped to his side instantly.

Aramis went to the bed.

"What's the matter, Athos?" Aramis asked softly sitting down next to him on the mattress.

"It … hurts … and I don't think … I …"

"What hurts, Athos?" D'Artagnan asked sitting at the foot of the bed.

"My stomach … I am … sorry … I can't take …"

"It's normal," Aramis reassured him. "Your stomach isn't used to this food. We have accustomed your noble organ to honey and water for days, so carrots … you know … are not … delicate enough."

Athos curled on himself and wrapped his arms around his body.

"I am sorry …" He mumbled.

Aramis put a hand on his neck.

"Shhh … You will be fine. Take your time, rest, we will try again later."

They heard a sniffle from behind the curly hair and Aramis let his hand linger on the trembling neck and d'Artagnan squeezed Athos' ankle. They waited for a moment, no one daring to move. Then, feeling the body relaxing a little under his hand, as the cramps subsided, Aramis said:

"You know what Athos?" He said running his fingers through the thick matted locks. "This beautiful curly hair needs to meet water, soap and scissors very soon."

Suddenly, Athos' body shook. They watched anxiously until he raised his face which was brightened by a large smile. He shook his head to dislodge the invasive hand.

"I think I could eat a little bit of this apple now, Aramis, please."

XXXXX

Le Louvre

Palace guard was as boring as ever. Porthos looked at Henri who tried to hide a yawn. Porthos was still trying to figure out what was the best way to approach the Duke of Savoy when the Duke himself suddenly spoke to the King. Rochefort had just finished revealing one of his ideas about the trade summit. Porthos had been too bored to really listen to his high noisy voice.

"Excuse me, your Majesty, I have thought about your proposal from earlier that day, that I should duel with the Musketeer Athos on Friday."

"What is it, do you fear that he will beat you again?"

"I doubt that. I think that the illness will make him weak. So it wouldn't be a challenge for me."

"So, what do you propose? Captain Tréville has offered to fight against you."

"Well, last year I dueled with a Musketeer and we found out that your Musketeers are very good. This year, I think it would be an honour for me to find out how good your Red Guards are."

Louis smiled and turned to his brother-in-law.

"I agree with you this is an even much better idea!" He shouted out loud and clapped his hands.

"And to fulfill the challenge I would propose fighting against the Captain of the Red Guards himself. He must be the best fighter, otherwise he wouldn't be your Captain."

Rochefort's eyes went cold as ice as he turned to the Duke. But he didn't say anything. He hadn't expected that. He had to admit to himself that he didn't know that much about the Duke of Savoy. He had underestimated him.

"Ha ha, Rochefort! My brother-in-law wants to duel with you. What a joy. You must fight against him. He is so right, this will be much more exciting." King Louis looked into the unimpressed face of the Comte who slightly bowed.

"As you wish, your Majesty, I will be delighted to show you my sword skills. But wouldn't it be amazing to let Athos watch the whole spectacle." He asked. "So he can see that he is not the only good swordsman."

"Rochefort, I am sure that he will be happy to see you fighting. He will serve as a palace guard that day." The King decided. "I will let Tréville know." He finished.

Porthos couldn't believe it. At least Athos now was saved this humiliation from Rochefort. This Duke of Savoy really astonished him. But was that only a trick to sidetrack that he was behind the attack against Athos. This false doctor had been here for several days. They could have easily met before and talked about poisonous plants. Nevertheless Porthos was relieved that he hadn't needed to push the Duke for a duel. As much as he would have loved to do it and to fight against him, he was responsible for the death of twenty Musketeers, Tréville would have been furious at him. Better not to be confrontational right now. He still wanted answers from Tréville about his father and the less angry he would be about him, the better were his chances to find a quiet moment and to ask him his burning questions.

Notes:

C'est une bonne maladie: (French expression): It's a good disease. If the patient eats, it means that he is recovering. Being hungry is a good sign.