This is a somewhat short chapter today, for which I apologize. Sometimes, life creeps on us, and takes the time we had planned for other things.
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Anne was once again worried, and unable to do anything about it. Constance had relayed the information to her that Aramis had been injured and now lay unconscious, the victim of a bullet in the back from an assailant after an explosion had already injured him and his brothers. She had been so happy that the man responsible for attacking him over and over had been taken care of, and now this. Her poor Aramis!
She tried to keep her emotions from her face in front of the Court, and especially from her ladies-in-waiting, who loved nothing more than to gossip about her. That would only make the situation even worse than it was.
She couldn't go to him, not even at night. It was too big of a risk. But her heart was with the man she loved as he fought this new trauma. She fought back the tears as she knelt in her room, once her attendants had filed out the door for the night, and began to pray, asking the God she and Aramis loved to watch over and heal her lover.
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On his way back to the garrison, Treville began planning, happy that his meeting had gone exactly how he had hoped. He and Louis had decided to let Philippe think he was off the hook for a week or so, as he would be relaxed and unsuspecting when 'their' plan went down. Louis was like a child at times, and was revelling in being Treville's 'partner' in this. Treville's primary reason for waiting was to give his Musketeers time to recover. Athos could be at a disadvantage dueling with broken ribs, and Treville suspected that Philippe, figuring that they had to have been injured, would try anything dirty he could think of to win.
Aramis. Thinking of the injuries had brought his beleagured Musketeer to the forefront of his thoughts again. If he could just beat this infection, he stood a chance of recovering. At least, Philippe could cause no more harm. Louis had insisted that Treville assign rotating Musketeers to keep a discreet eye on him, concerned that such a dangerous man was living inside the palace that he himself lived in.
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Philippe was beside himself, gloating in his rooms. 'Everything' has gone according to my plans', he thought. And that cocky Musketeer! Not so cocky now with a blade in his back. He wondered to himself if the Musketeer had died yet, hoping so. I just wish I could have got the cold one, too. He carries himself for all the world like he is one of us with noble blood! How dare he? He isn't fit to clean the bottom of my boots! Aw well, no one suspects me of anything, so I suppose I could plan one more little incident for him, as well.
Leaning back in a comfortable chair in his private room, he continued on with his thoughts, secure in his mind that no one had a clue to his activities. He smirked as he lifted the crystal goblet of wine to his lips, enjoying the fire of the fine brandy as it slid smoothly down his throat.
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When Treville got back, he found that Aramis' fever had raged on through the day, and his brothers had had their hands full keeping him still with his nightmares, as well as working to get liquids into his system.
As soon as he had seen his other three Musketeers, looking exhausted and dead on their feet, he immediately insisted that they get some much-needed rest while he spelled them, over their vehement protests that they were fine. This almost brought a smile to Treville's face, as they used the same words Aramis always used when he was anything but fine. But he still insisted. Athos was trying to hide his exhaustion, while one arm was wrapped around his bandaged ribs. The other two were a little better off healthwise, but barely keeping their eyes open.
They finally headed for empty beds in the infirmary so they could stay close to their brother, but stopped after a few steps and turned, with Athos asking for all of them, "How did the meeting go with Louis?"
"Heal yourselves. In one week, Athos, you will be facing Philippe in a duel-to the death. Louis thinks he is the 'mastermind' with me on the idea." Here, their faces reflected complete surprise, and then the dawning grins broke out. "Louis only agreed on this instead of hanging Louis in public when I told him the duel would end with Philippe's death. That mollified him, and the fact that I told him hanging Philippe would do irreparable harm to the man's father, who was an honorable man, and to the family's title and fortunes for generations to come. He finally capitulated, and now even wants to be there in an unofficial way when Philippe gets his just desserts."
"Let us just hope Louis can keep this entirely to himself until the day comes," Athos said, and the others nodded in agreement. They all knew how fickle Louis was, and how he liked to brag, especially when it involved himself.
"I talked to Louis about that, and I think I got through to him pretty well. We will see." Looking pointedly to his three Musketeers now, he ordered, "Now, off to sleep for you three. I do not want to see you up again for at least four hours."
They turned again reluctantly to their beds, but once in them, were out like lights within minutes. Treville settled down in a chair next to Aramis' bed, and took his hand.
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A couple of hours later, Treville felt a slight movement in the hand holding his injured Musketeers, and smiled when he saw Aramis' eyes opening at last. His hand went to Aramis' forehead, which felt much cooler than the last time he had checked an hour earlier. Finally, he thought to himself.
"Aramis, you with us again?" Treville asked him. He had spoken in almost a whisper but it was still heard by all three of his supposedly still sleeping Musketeers, who were gathered around the bedside within moments of his having spoken, faces hopeful again.
"How do you feel?" Treville asked.
Aramis' eyes revealed the pain and exhaustion he felt as he looked up at them. He was silent for so long, they were beginning to think he wasn't fully conscious yet.
Then, he responded, "Like a bullet hit me in the back," stopping to clear his raspy throat.
Porthos quickly held a cup of water to his lips, which he drank until it was pulled away, when he made a small, frustrated sound.
Porthos smiled and said, "That's what you do to your patients, Aramis, as we've told you before. You always tell us if we drink too much when we haven't had any for a long while, it will all come back up-hmmm?" Getting no response and fully aware that Aramis never liked his own words fed back to him,Porthos just chuckled, which earned him a glare from his best friend. That only made him chuckle more.
"Are you able to talk now, Aramis?" the Captain said. "We have been quite concerned about you. You contracted a very serious infection from the wound making contact with the debris from the explosion, and the dirt from the garden did not help matters either."
"I think it might be gone, Captain. I don't have a headache, or pain other than the wound itself, my temperature feels normal, and my head is clear. Is there any redness ringing the wound?"
After checking, Athos told him there was no longer any, but it had been present before.
"Very good!" Treville exclaimed. "I think we may safely say, unofficially, that you are on the road to recovery," glancing up at three very happy pairs of eyes. "You will, however, remain in bed until Dr. Lemay gives you leave to do otherwise. I will have him sent for at once," nodding his head toward d'Artagnan, who took off out the door.
"I can see that familiar look in your eye, son, but you cannot see yourself right now. Your eyes give you away. You look exhausted, and are still experiencing pain. You will remain where you are for the time being, and that is an order."
When he heard those words, Aramis' whole body sagged in defeat, which only caused his brothers to enjoy his discomfiture all the more.
None of them were good patients, but Aramis topped them all in rebelling against restrictions, even though he was a stickler for enforcing them when he was in charge of their care.
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By the next day, Aramis was sitting up for his meals, a smile on his tired face at the slight relaxation of his enforced recuperation. Serge had outdone himself, which he always seemed to do when it was Aramis who was laid up. A heaping serving of tender roast beef slices, with buttered potatoes and tiny peas filled his platter. To one side was a mouth-watering strawberry tart. As always, Porthos teased himself about stealing the tart. Aramis just said he would tell Serge, who would then 'accidentally' burn all of Porthos' meals for a month if he did. The grin on Porthos' face disappeared, replaced by a glum expression that delighted his brother no end.
Aramis continued to improve each day, his strength coming back finally.
Athos' ribs, after a few days, no longer plagued him as much, and he had ceased to have an arm wrapped around them for support. He was out in the yard working with d'Artagnan in sword practice, even though everyone in Paris knew he had never lost a fight with any type of sword. He took his mission deadly seriously, and all of the Musketeers, who had been at the opposite end of his rapier in practice, were convinced that his opponent was a dead man already.
Aramis, towards the end of that week, was finally allowed to get in some target practice. As good as Athos was with the sword, Aramis' was just as deadly accurate with firearms, but he always kept up his practice anyway. He wanted to be able to back up Athos in case Philippe tried any underhanded schemes.
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The day before the scheduled duel, they were having breakfast when Treville headed down the steps from his office, his face thunderous in expression.
Athos stood and caught up with him, asking him what was wrong.
"Richelieu is what is wrong!" Treville growled. "At this late date, he has, unfortunately, found out what is going on and is trying to convince Louis to stop it. Over my dead body!" he ominously said, before mounting the horse a cadet had led up to him,and storming out of the garrison in a thunder of hooves, leaving four Musketeers staring after him.
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The showdown will be in the last chapter next week.
