"It's not too late for d'Artagnan. We can save him a lot of suffering—possibly have him well by tomorrow—if we get started on this treatment right away."
"Well, let's ge' started then," Porthos resolved. "I'll help you gather up anything you need, Cécile. If we can get d'Artagnan well by tomorrow, I'm willin' to do whatever it takes."
"If I had known d'Artagnan was sick, I would have brought everything we needed with me. We have plenty more in the infirmary, let's go Porthos." The nurse turned and left from the room with a newly-encouraged Porthos on her heels.
~§~
Cécile mixed together elderberry, ginger and boneset in hot water then allowed the tea to steep and cool to a safe temperature. Porthos readied the blankets and set them beside the bed. The large Musketeer then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled d'Artagnan upright into his arms, holding him tight against his chest.
"D'Artagnan, I need you to drink this tea." Cécile carefully brought the cup of tea to the Gascon's mouth. "It's going to help you get better."
The young Musketeer turned his head away, refusing the proffered tea. "No, I d-don't w-want it; I'll just throw it up again."
"Dammit, d'Artagnan, don't argue with the nurse." Porthos threatened with a low growl. "Do as she says and drink the tea!" the exhausted man snapped.
Aramis' eyes widened at the uncharacteristic yelling of his dear friend and eyed him with concern.
The Gascon obeyed the harsh orders and allowed the nurse to slowly pour the liquid into his mouth, taking little sips until he couldn't drink anymore. "No more, p-please."
"Very good, d'Artagnan, that's enough." Cécile patted his knee softly. "Okay, let's lay him down and cover him up with the blankets."
"Um, 'Mis," Porthos stopped short at seeing Aramis still sitting on the bed looking downcast. "You can't stay on the bed if we cover up d'Artagnan with these blankets, you'll get too hot."
"Why isn't there a third cot in here?" Cécile asked, looking around the room.
"'Mis, do you want me to go get another cot? Or would you like to lay on the bed with. . ." Porthos' voice trailed.
"No," Aramis sighed, "I'll sit in a chair." The medic got off the bed and moved to a chair next to Athos' bedside. He sat, quietly staring at his friend lying on the bed, in deep thought. "On second thought, I think I will lie down next to Athos." Aramis' face brightened as he looked to his larger friend. "Help me scoot him over, Porthos."
"Hold on a minute, li'l brother." Porthos patted d'Artagnan on the shoulder. "Be right back."
Aramis and Porthos worked together to push Athos to the furthest side of the bed so the medic could position himself before pulling the unconscious man carefully into his arms. He rested Athos' head against his chest then wrapped his arms around his friend; he turned toward the wall, closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Porthos returned to d'Artagnan's bedside, wiping his eyes dry. He readied the blankets then prepared to pull them over the young Gascon. "Alright brother, let's get you tucked in real good."
"No, Porthos, I'm going to get too hot under here." D'Artagnan complained as his body already was heating up from the tea."
"'At's the whole purpose, d'Artagnan. We want you to sweat so hopefully by tomorrow you are feelin' a lot better. Now just quiet yourself, close your eyes and go to sleep." Porthos pulled the blankets over the young Musketeer.
"Yes, m-mother." D'Artagnan wearily smiled as he closed his eyes, falling asleep instantly.
An exhausted Porthos smiled, though his tired smile was hidden by the mask.
~§~
Porthos was awakened by the sound of moaning, but his tired mind didn't register the urgency as he heard d'Artagnan mumble, "sick." The Gascon rolled to the edge of the bed as his stomach emptied, the vomit splashing over the top of Porthos' boots.
"Arghh. . . damn!" Porthos growled as he looked down at his wet boots.
There's never a dull moment around these boys! Cécile thought quietly.
"I'll get more tea made," Cécile was glad for the mask hiding her smile as she got up to prepare the tea. "We need to keep putting the herbs into his system, even if he just vomits it back up again later. The herbs will work eventually at reducing his fever—as well as work on the nausea."
Once again, Porthos pulled the young Gascon up into his arms while the nurse slowly offered d'Artagnan sips of tea. After drinking the tea, d'Artagnan was tucked back under the layers of blankets while the large Musketeer set out to clean the vomit from the floor.
After a while, Porthos checked on d'Artagnan and found his fevered face covered with a shiny layer of sweat. In the dim evening candlelight the Musketeer saw tracks of sweat where beads of perspiration had rolled down his hot skin.
"Constance. . . Constance. . ." The young Gascon repeated, mumbling the name as though calling to her in his fevered dream. Occasionally, d'Artagnan would moan in pain but, he never moved more than just his head as it tossed restlessly back and forth on the pillow.
"Can I at least wipe the sweat from his face?" Porthos asked Cécile as he watched a bead of sweat roll across his temple then disappear into his matted hair.
"You can dab at the skin with a dry cloth, but nothing more," Cécile answered.
Porthos proceeded to dab at d'Artagnan's sweat-soaked skin. He pushed back the matted hair from his face, carefully wiping around his eyes and around his throat. "I know you're hot, lit'le brother. Tomorrow, when you're feelin' better, it will all be worth it." He sat back in his chair to keep vigil on the youngest Musketeer, bracing himself for the long night ahead.
~§~
"Constance, please be okay. . ." D'Artagnan writhed under the covers, moaning in misery. Porthos saw the Gascon's eyes suddenly spring open as he turned to his side, "I'm going to be. . ."
Porthos grabbed the bowl just as the vomit poured from d'Artagnan's mouth. The healing tea was violently, almost defiantly, released in an agonizing and breathless bout of retching.
D'Artagnan gasped for breath as he hung over the edge of the bed, heaving every last drop of the tea until his muscles screamed in anguish. He clung to the mattress underneath him with a grip so tight his knuckles turned white. "Damn. . . it h-hurts. Please. . . make it s-stop!"
"Shh. . . I'm sorry, pup." Porthos rubbed the Gascon's back as he lay on his stomach gasping for breath, still gripping the mattress. "Cécile, do we have some more tea to give d'Artagnan while he's awake?"
"Yes, I'm making it now, Porthos."
"No, I d-don't want more t-tea. God, it h-hurts," d'Artagnan grimaced in pain, his breath hissing through his teeth. "It feels like s-someone is tw-twisting a knife in my g-gut."
"Brother, I'm going to sit you up so you can drink this tea." Porthos ignored the Gascon's earlier rejections. "It will help you sleep," he said. The large Musketeer pulled d'Artagnan up and supported him in his strong arms.
D'Artagnan screamed out in pain as he was moved into Porthos' tight embrace. Involuntary tears streamed from his eyes and rolled down his flushed cheeks.
"Don't cry, lit'le brother." Porthos' voice cracked as he wiped away the tears with his thumb. "Just hang on a lit'le while longer; it will all be over soon."
Over the course of the night, Cécile and Porthos prepared cups of the healing herbal tea for d'Artagnan, only to have him vomit it up hours later. The duo simply made more tea, helping d'Artagnan drink it down; the pair then tucked the Gascon back under his blankets so he could sleep.
Finally, after an agonizing ordeal of drinking tea. . . vomiting. . . repeating the entire process. . . a bone-weary d'Artagnan fell into an exhausted sleep. Sweat seemed to ooze from every pore on his fevered skin, drenching his clothes and sheets; the Gascon's hot skin shimmered in the soft candlelight. Porthos sat by the bedside dabbing at the sweat-soaked face, whispering words of comfort until satisfied his young friend would finally rest.
Several Hours Later:
Porthos' slumped frame filled the chair that sat beside the Gascon's bedside. The large Musketeer slept with his head hanging over the back, his arm dangled over the side with his long fingers touching the floor. Loud snores emanated from the exhausted Musketeer, competing with the soft snores coming from the bed where d'Artagnan was finally sleeping soundly under the pile of blankets.
Cécile tried not to giggle at the echoing snores as she watched Aramis shake his head at the noise rising from his sleeping brothers. "It looks like we made it through another night." Aramis smiled as the bright, early afternoon sunshine streaming in through the window.
"How are you feeling today?" The nurse whispered close to Aramis' ear.
"I feel much better; in fact, better than I have in days." Aramis licked his lips, feeling parched.
"Thirsty, huh?" Cécile handed a cup of water to the medic. "That's a good sign. I believe you are on your way to recovery, Monsieur Aramis."
Their attention was instantly directed to the bed where a long groan was heard underneath the pile of blankets. Soon, the blankets were sent flying off to the side as d'Artagnan cried out for cooler air. "Dammit, I can't stand it anymore under there! I'm dying under all those blankets," the Gascon growled.
"Um, poor choice of words, brother," Aramis quipped lightly.
"If I didn't know better, I would think you were trying to suffocate me under those layers of blankets!"
"How are you feeling, d'Artagnan?" Cécile asked. "Since you are grumbling with harsh complaints, it sounds as though you are feeling better," she chuckled.
"Miserably hot. . . and sore," d'Artagnan complained.
"Hot from the blankets, or hot from fever?" The nurse checked d'Artagnan's temperature then squealed with delight. "His fever has broken!"
Porthos woke with a grunt, moaning from the soreness in his neck. "His fever broke?"
Aramis got up and moved to sit on the edge of the Gascon's bed. He put his hand to d'Artagnan's forehead to check the temperature for himself, as though he couldn't believe the good news otherwise. "Yes, his fever is gone. Thank God," he crossed himself with grateful relief.
Porthos laughed heartily and clapped d'Artagnan on his left thigh. "You beat it, li'l brother; you did it!"
d'Artagnan smiled at his two big brothers. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you all for helping me get through this."
Aramis and Porthos nodded quietly, each giving d'Artagnan a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and leg.
"I guess you were right about that new treatment working, Cécile." Aramis smiled at the nurse and then at d'Artagnan. His smile disappeared as he turned to stare at the unmoving form of his friend on the other bed. "If only we could have known about sweating out the fever sooner. Maybe Athos wouldn't be lying in a coma, but would be recovering like the rest of us."
"Aramis, Athos is recovering—just not in the way you would prefer," Cécile reminded. "A coma was Athos' best chance at surviving catarrh. Due to his injuries and poor physical state, he probably wouldn't have made it otherwise."
"I know, that is true," Aramis agreed. "But the longer Athos is in a coma, the more dangerous it is and the more difficult it will be for him to awaken. We need to step up our efforts; we need to reach Athos and pull him free of the darkness or he may never wake up. We cannot let that happen; we cannot lose Athos!"
A/N:
Elderberry has been used for centuries as a tonic for colds, flu and infections. The 17th century herbalist, John Evelyn, referred to elderberry as a "remedy against all infirmities whatsoever."
Elderberry contains a compound that encourages perspiration and helps to reduce fever. Israeli virologists have found that it is proven to work against the influenza virus.
Ginger (root) has been used for thousands of years for nausea and flu-like symptoms—it has proven to kill the flu virus.
Boneset is the herb of choice, best for treatment of the flu as it helps reduce fever with its 23 nutrients; including calcium, magnesium, vitamins A and C, niacin and zinc, among others.
Sweating out a fever is a very old method used to overcome the onset of the flu. However, there are conflicting reports about 'sweating out a fever.' Some modern doctors advise staying cool by wearing light nightshirt with just a sheet to cover with; while "natural" (organic/herbalist) doctors swear by the sweating method.
Many natural doctors prescribe a hot tea of elderberry, boneset, yarrow, peppermint and/or ginger (can combine multiple herbs together safely) and then climbing under a pile of blankets and going to sleep. Allow yourself to sweat, soaking your clothes and covers, and by morning the fever should be gone.
Which is the correct method? I do not know. Perhaps, do as M. Molyneux did and experiment to see which method works best for you.