Hello everyone! I hope you're all enjoying the Christmas season and that Santa Claus was good to all of you! As promised, I have not forgotten this story, and with a little bit of time on my hands for the holidays, I plan on posting some more chapters before the chaos of school begins again. Please leave me a review after you have read the chapter and you have a moment or two. I'd really like to know that people are still interested in the story that I've started to write. It has also occurred to me that my paragraphs look a little jumpy because the dividers I had initially put in to show that I was moving to another person/location have not been working. I will be using the bolder horizontal line offered in the editing phase to try and sort this out for everyone! Thank you and Merry Christmas!

Chapter XIX

"Porthos, the door."

The tone with which Aramis spoke was firm, and Porthos did not hesitate to quicken his steps and push the door aside as they neared Katherine's room. While he currently appeared rather calm on the outside, he knew that his friend was sure to be in a state of panic internally as he moved through the doorway with his daughter in his arms, now unconscious from whatever it was that plagued her. It did not take a brilliant man to know that the girl had not simply fainted from being in the King's arms, or even from the exertion of dancing, as unaccustomed to it as she might be. Her skin was incredibly pale in contrast to the glow her cheeks normally held, and beads of sweat had begun to form on her brow, rolling down across her skin as she shivered beneath them. The difference was baffling Porthos as he watched, noting that while she was clearly warm beneath the skirts and bodice of her gown, her body seemed to be reacting in almost the opposite fashion entirely. He closed the door rather quickly once Athos had made his way inside and hurried over to the foot of the bed where Aramis had lain his daughter lightly across the top of the quilt. For a moment none of them moved, all eyes set on Katherine's still form as if they were momentarily lost for what to do. None of them knew what had caused her to fall so suddenly, nor had any idea that something might have been wrong with her at all. And yet here they were, trying to make sense of the situation.

"Porthos, I need cool water and a cloth for her forehead," Aramis said quickly, his voice in the same deep rumble as before. "We have to get her out of that corset, she needs to breathe," he added, almost more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "Athos, help me."

The older man moved himself around the edge of the bed quickly to help Aramis with removing the outer part of the dress from Katherine's body, fumbling with the complicated laces that bound the material so tightly together at her back. It was a far more complicated system then the one that he remembered his dearly departed wife wearing when they had been together, and so it took the two men a moment of tugging at them before Athos finally lost his patience with them and ripped them completely apart with the knife he had in his boot. As each piece began to fall away, Aramis was quick to brush them aside and off of the bed until they lay in a messy heap at his feet, soon joined by the layers of cloth that Katherine had been dressed in for the ceremony. Finally she lay there only in the underclothes that preserved most of her modesty, her hair having fallen in a tangled heap down her breasts while the underskirt had risen just below her knees. Sweat had begun to bead across her forehead as her temperature rose, beginning to soak into the thin layer of clothing that now remained on her body as she lay in her unconscious state.

Porthos moved back to the bed with the bowl and cloth in hand, but he found that Aramis was no longer looking toward him expectantly. Instead he had caught sight of something else when he was undressing his daughter, something that instantly made him sick with worry when he noted the greenish colour that seemed to appear from underneath the white material. His own dagger was out in an instant as he cut a hole in the side of the fabric and pulled it apart a little wider, careful not to nick her skin with the edge of his blade as he revealed to them all the horror of what had become of her side.

"My God..."

The wound was still rather open and fresh, oozing some sort of white puss as the edges of her skin had begun to become green in nature. Blood still ran from it and mixed with the other fluids of her body, creating a small stream down her side and onto the bed beneath her as they now ran freely, without restriction. In the time that she had been taking care of D'Artagnan, for whatever reasons, Katherine had neglected her own health. He had seen these kinds of wounds before, the ones that were set upon by infection because they had not been properly treated in time. Many people came into the monastery with such affflictions, but not many of them were ever able to leave on their own accord.

Horrified by what he saw, Aramis found that his body did not want to move from the position he was in as his eyes continued to stare at her side in disbelief. How could she be so foolish as to neglect herself in such a way? She knew what would happen if she did so, for Katherine had often tended to such things in the infirmary herself.

"Aramis," came Porthos' voice as he gently placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and pulled him away.

Athos stepped in with the water and cloth that Porthos had managed to hand to him, pressing the now damp cloth to the different points of her forehead in an effort to cool her. "We need to send for the physician," he said quickly, his own eyes upon the still form of his niece as he concentrated on his task. "The longer we wait, the more danger she is in."

Still Aramis said not a word, his mind to overcome with the remembrance of seeing so many wounds like that before in his time as a musketeer, knowing the signs of dangerous infection before they claimed the lives of several of his friends. And now that same illness had fallen upon his daughter from her own hand as she neglected her health in order to save someone else. Were they now too late to save her life? Just the thought of losing Katherine made him weak in the knees, feeling as though someone had punched him in the stomach and cut out his heart all at the same time. Losing Katherine? No...no, he was not sure that he could endure such a thing.

Seeing his friend in such a catatonic state of being meant that he would not prove to be overly useful at the moment, and so Porthos gently guided him to a chair and lowered him into the seat before he moved back to Athos, trying to assist as best as he could.

"We need the physician," Athos repeated, his voice low as if not to disturb Aramis. "Find him, and quickly. Then go back to the ballroom and tell D'Artagnan, but stay with him. Someone needs to be there to keep an eye on Philippe."

There was but a small nod before Porthos was out the door again, racing down the corridor as if it was his own life that depended on the location of the physician who was sure to be somewhere in the palace. Others were quickly alerted along the way that the need for a medical professional was great, sending numerous others on the hunt for one who might be able to provide them all with hope that Katherine might yet recover from the injuries she had sustained. Servants and fellow musketeers alike were sent on the hunt, passing the message along themselves until at last Porthos was able to make his way into the ballroom, where the dancing had continued in their absence. Noting that Philippe was in conversation with Andre and carefully watched by other musketeers in the room, Porthos slipped over to the side where D'Artagnan stood near the Queen and bent forward to murmur in his ear.

"She is not well," he said quickly, eyes darting about the room to ensure that they were not being observed. "Her side has become infected and she has a fever that looks dangerously high. We have sent for a physician."

D'Artagnan's eyes widened as he looked over at Anne, who heard their small exchange and met his gaze with a look of concern. "Where is she?"

Porthos shook his head briefly, then nodded toward the regal figure who stood a short distance away. "We must remain here. Athos wishes for us to keep our watch over the King. He and Aramis are with Katherine now, but Aramis is in shock."

"I will go," came the gentle whisper of the Queen, leaning her body forward slightly to address the pair directly. "Athos will need help until the physician arrives if Aramis is not coping, and I am the only one who will not be questioned for my absence."

Neither man was given time to argue as Anne rose elegantly to her feet and the people around them began to bow and curtsy in her direction. They followed suit and lowered their heads to her as she passed them, knowing that Philippe would take notice of her leaving and surely come to question them of what was happening with Katherine. D'Artagnan could not ignore the quiver of fear that he felt in his heart, remembering the night when he had last asked to see the wound that she had received that night in the Bastille. She had refused to let him see it then, insisting that it was not something that required his attention at the time. And when Anne had come secretly to see him, his mind had been so clouded over that he had forgotten to ask his niece about it again. If he had been more concerned for her well-being then his own, then perhaps she might have been spared from the ordeal entirely. But what of Katherine's own intentions? Should she not have been caring for herself just as she had been caring for him? Was her health not a priority that she had taken careful watch of? Knowing that she had spent more time on him then she had on herself made the captain feel guilt crawl angrily around in his stomach, twisting it into such tight knots that he feared he might fall ill as he stood there.

Katherine, their Katherine, had neglected the needs of her own body in order to administer to his, sacrificing her health to ensure that he would recover from what might have otherwise have been a fatal stab wound. She should never have been allowed to accompany them that night, he thought furiously to himself as he recalled the shock that had overtaken him at seeing her there. No matter how stubborn she was, nor how much she had begged and pleaded with Aramis as they hid from the musketeers, she should never have been permitted to get involved. That one night was the entire reason for the situation she was in now. Only in guarding Philippe had Katherine permitted her guard to be let down, blood running from the gash in her side as they rounded the corner to hide themselves within the corridor…

"I know you want to go," Porthos whispered to him quickly, seeing the look upon his face. "But Athos needs us here, to protect Philippe."

Yes, of course. Someone needed to remain in the ballroom to keep an eye on Philippe and ensure that no one tried anything they shouldn't in the presence of the King. There were other musketeers wandering about the room with their eyes widen open for signs of danger, but nobody would guard the boy the way that D'Artagnan and his friends would, especially after all of the trouble that had gone into bringing the boy back into the world of the light. And as D'Artagnan raised his eye to scan the floor again for signs of his son, he saw that Philippe was already on his way back over toward the pair with a look of concern beginning to creep into his features.

"What news of Katherine?" he asked them.

Porthos looked toward his friend, hesitant to share the news with the boy for fear of him wanting to leave the party himself to see her. It was painfully evident that he had taken a fancy to their niece in the time since they had come to stay at the palace, but to inform him of the truth at this moment would only dampen his spirits for the remainder of the evening and cause whispers to begin among his guests. For the time being, as he could see in the glance that D'Artagnan delivered to him, he knew it would be wise to tell him a small lie. He could be told later.

"She is resting, Your Majesty," D'Artagnan told Philippe with a small bow to acknowledge his presence before them. "Katherine is unaccustomed to such finery and I'm afraid she was rather overwhelmed."

But Philippe gave them a look that neither of them had ever seen before in his eyes, one that instantly told them of how much he disregarded their words. "She grew hot in my arms, and has grown far warmer over the past several days. I know she is not well."

A soft sigh escaped D'Artagnan's lips. "As soon as it is appropriate for you to leave your guests, we will take you too her. But you have to maintain your presence for a short while longer."

This did not sit well with Philippe at all. Despite the fact that he knew he shouldn't likely have any sort of interest in Katherine considering the amount of time that they had truly known one another, he couldn't help but feel that attraction toward her. She had been amazing that night in the Bastille, a goddess upon the earth who had stepped forward to save him from the death that otherwise might have been awaiting him. He knew that the others would have done their level best to protect him when they had found themselves trapped in that corridor, but they were outnumbered, there was no denying that. Only Katherine had stood between Philippe and the number of musketeers who had been ordered by Louis to kill him, a sword in her hand and held at the ready even as the blood rushed from the wound on her side. She had not allowed her injury to slow her or prevent any delay in the order she had been given by D'Artagnan to protect him from danger.

"Very well. But only a short while more.'

Both men bowed to acknowledge his words, taking great care to note the tone in which he spoke to them. They would not be able to keep him in the dark for much longer, but neither of them knew the extent of the damage that had already been done to her body by her negligence. And until they were able to leave the dancing and the music behind, none of them knew what they were to expect when at last they reached her chamber.

Sweat continued to bead off of her forehead as she shivered beneath the blankets and quilts that had been piled on top of her body, the cloth replaced upon her skin to try and cool her just a few degrees. The court physician had been found a short while before and immediately set about working on the girl he was presented with, giving orders to a few servants as he pushed the layers aside to better examine the side of her body as her father and uncle watched the movements of his body closely. It would be a lie for the man to say that he wasn't intimidated by the very presence of the two men who seemed to guard the young woman so closely in her immobile state. Even so, he went about his work as quickly as he could.

Aramis remained in the chair that he had been lowered into earlier, hunched over with his forehead pressed against his clasped hands and his eyes closed while his lips moved urgently in prayer. He had paid precious little attention to the physician after the man had been rushed into the room and directed to Katherine's side, but Athos was more than willing to take up the post that Aramis abandoned for the time being. Every single movement that the physician made with his body was noted in his mind, eyes carefully watching the way in which he handled the unconscious form of his niece to ensure that all respect was being paid to her. And when finally the corner of the quilt was placed down around her again, it was Athos who immediately moved to the man at her bedside.

"Well?" he asked, his voice almost demanding in tone.

The physician swallowed slowly to compose himself. "I am afraid that it does not look well for her, Monsieur. The wound has become infected and spread into her blood, which may well prove to be fatal if her fever does not break in the next day or two."

Athos turned back to Aramis, watching as he rose slowly to his feet after crossing himself and shuffled along the floor in their direction. It was at that moment that Athos truly saw the years being reflected in the face of the priest, noting how he no longer held that spark of youth that he had used to compel them all forward into this plot in the first place. The lines in his face seemed to be etched deeper into his skin, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever before. In that second, Athos saw far more of the old man that he had become then the young musketeer he had once been.

"So there is nothing we can do?"

The physician shook his head gravely. "Watch over her and pray."

He gave a nod to the two men before he shuffled out the door and left them alone with their patient, almost wincing at the defeat that had sounded in the words lately spoke to him. It would certainly take a miracle from Heaven in order to keep that poor child alive, he thought, for he had seen many infections spread like that before, though none of them had ended happily for the people who had them. Her fate was entirely in the hands of God now. But he would go to the chapel and pray for her soul. A child that young did not deserve such an untimely and painful death such as that. He sighed lightly to himself. And she was such a pretty little thing too.

Athos continued to watch Aramis with attentive eyes, noting how his gaze never once left Katherine through that whole exchange. "You cannot blame yourself for this," he began slowly, reaching forward to place one of his hands atop of Aramis' shoulder. "None of us knew that she would disregard her own injury, not when we know of the things that Katherine has seen."

"Aramis."

The pair turned their heads back to the doorway in time to see Anne push it aside and quickly close it behind her again, crossing the distance between them just in time to raise a hand and prevent the pair from bowing to her. She still wore the clothes that she had chosen for the ceremony that night, telling them that she had been given the news and rushed away from the party in order to see how the young woman was doing with her own eyes. A single look at Aramis and Anne was painfully aware of how dangerous the situation really was, her dark eyes snapping to the immobile figure on the bed. It was only the steady rise and fall of her chest beneath the quilts that assured Anne of the life still within her body, her own heart beating rapidly in fright. Only hours before had this girl been in her company, and while she had seemed rather embarrassed by the attention Anne had paid her, she had seemed to be in far better health then she was now.

Anne moved slowly toward the bed, lifting her skirts so that she could sit down on the edge and place a hand against Katherine's burning skin. "I saw the physician leave," she stated simply, reaching forward for the cloth that lay within the bowl beside the bed. "I do not need to be told that he bore no good news."

To see the Dowager Queen of France looking upon his child like that as she placed the damp cloth to her forehead stirred something in Aramis, spotting a hidden emotion he had never before thought Anne to possess. While he had always loved her as his Queen, there had never before been a moment where her motherly instincts had been allowed to shine through the royal appearance that she had to maintain around others. But in that very moment that he stood there regarding her, he could see the concern that he felt within his own body reflect itself in the eyes of the Queen Mother. She of all people would understand the pain that a parent could endure while they watched their child suffer helplessly from the sidelines, wishing and praying that there was something they could do that might remove the strain from their bodies. And it was she who would surely feel the torment that was eating away at his soul as they stood there in the silence of the room.

"Porthos was informing D'Artagnan as I left," she murmured softly, as if she did not want to disturb the child in the bed before her as she spoke. She paused for a moment. "What ails her?"

Athos took a small step forward. "A wound on her side, Your Majesty, from a bullet fired at the Bastille."

Her dark curls moved slightly as she nodded at his words, her eyes otherwise unmoving from Katherine's motionless form. Fingers reached out to remove the damp locks of hair from her face with tenderness. "While she cared for D'Artagnan?"

"She ignored her own needs," Aramis confirmed, moving to place himself at the head of the bed as close to his daughter as possible. He looked down upon her for a moment, his shoulders slumping forward with a sigh. "Katherine always put the needs of others before herself. That was how I raised her to be."

Anne lifted her head, reaching out to touch his arm lightly in a manner that would have earned several stares and gasps from the guests downstairs. "You cannot blame yourself for this, Aramis."

But the priest shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor once again. "There is nobody else to blame but I," he told them both sadly as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Such habits are ones that were instilled as she grew in my care. I taught her to pay more regard to others then to herself for fear that she might develop a vanity about herself."

"You could never know that it would become a blatant disregard for her own health," Athos protested quickly as he ran a hand through his tangled hair. "You did not raise Katherine to be a fool. None of us did."

There was a truth in his words that rang clearly to Aramis, whether he cared to admit it or not. But the fact of the matter remained that his child was lying motionless in the bed before him and there was not a damn thing that he could to do ease her ailment. All that was left for the aging priest to do at this point was pray to God and hope that perhaps there was some form of mercy in store for Katherine in light of all that she had done for others over the course of her short life. Twenty years was far too short, he thought to himself, slumping down into the chair beside the bed despite the protocol that would never allow him to do with in the presence of the Dowager Queen. Compared to the number that he had enjoyed upon the Earth, twenty years was not nearly long enough for someone like Katherine, for she had so many more things that she had yet to experience. And perhaps a part of that was also his fault, for Aramis had kept her fairly sheltered in the monastery to prevent any dangers from entering her life.

Obviously he had failed her.

A soft sigh fell from his lips. "Lord, help us."