Father Grandier, who makes an appearance in this chapter, is an OC introduced by BootsnHats in her story A Good Son. She was so kind and allowed me to borrow him for this story. Thank you, my friend! If you haven't read her stories by now, go and read them!

Also, chapter count changed from two to three.. ;-)

CHAPTER 2

The first day after Porthos' departure was filled with the usual tasks the King's Musketeers were bound to fulfil. Missions had to be accomplished, the royal family's security had to be ensured by the palace guard, and the Red Guard had to be kept in check, although that was not one of their official duties. The garrison buzzed like it did on any other day, unheeding of the fact that one of their number lay on his deathbed.

Newly added to their tasks were, by royal decree, the preparation for a possible outbreak of splenic fever in the hamlets outside of Paris and the prevention of a spread of the disease in Paris. Against Tréville's repeated, highly recommended advice, the king had ordered the slaughter of every animal, sick or not, within the radius of one league from the hamlet where the infected beasts had first been located. Not even Richelieu had been able to convince the king to use less drastic measures. It would rob many families of their only source of income, leaving them exposed to hunger and starvation. Tréville dreaded the task his men had to supervise, even had to carry through by force, if need be. Nevertheless, he was well aware that an outbreak had to be prevented at all costs.

Athos, who had spent the night in Aramis' quarters, helping the marksman through the night, spent all day in the saddle with d'Artagnan, Raoul and Arnaud at his side. They had been delegated to make sure the royal decree was obeyed in the convent of Sainte-Geneviève as well as three nearby settlements. The decree also included the search for sick peasants, and to segregate these people at the smallest sign of sickness by taking them to the convent's infirmary. Louis had ordered all sick persons to be gathered outside the city walls. While Athos had watched the mustering and slaughtering of the animals, the peasants' begging and crying and then the nuns' anger and withering glances with his ever stoic mien, he had been well aware of the Gascon's uneasiness having to watch so many healthy beasts, often as close to the peasants as family members, being killed. Athos said nothing, not until they had returned to the garrison after dark.

"The life of a Musketeer is rarely filled with glory and honour, d'Artagnan," he said when they dismounted in the courtyard. "Most of the time you'll spend doing tasks you don't like, you don't consent to or you don't understand. And you will fulfil them without batting an eye. That's the Musketeer's life. If you can't live with this, you'd better return to your farm now. Think about it thoroughly." Then he left the young man and made his way to Aramis' quarter to take over from Serge who had offered to look after Aramis while the Musketeers had been away.

D'Artagnan stood in the courtyard, staring after the retreating form of Athos. A lot of thoughts whirled through his mind. Finally, he clicked his tongue and led his horse to the stable.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The second day after Porthos' departure began much like the day before, except that Tréville had to leave for a meeting at the Louvre very early in the morning, leaving Athos as his second-in-command the duty of assigning tasks and taking Tréville's place in the garrison as long as he was away. When he came to Aramis' room to inform Athos of the day's schedule, Tréville noted that Aramis' health condition hadn't improved, but it looked like it hadn't deteriorated drastically either. He took it as a good sign.

Athos, who showed no sign of sleep deprivation, despite not having slept much for the second night in a row, made sure Aramis had everything he needed before heading to the balcony outside Tréville's office. He had increased the dose of opiate overnight, and also shortened the interval of the administration of the cough suppressant. The bubbling sound of Aramis' lungs had reminded him of the noise the bellows made in Remy's forge back in Pinon. Athos didn't know if it came from more blood now gathering in the marksman's lungs or something else, but he knew Aramis was running out of time. At least, his friend spent most of his time dozing, sedated by the medicine and without pain. That was all Athos could do for him.

Athos was quick to read out the duty roster and send every Musketeer on his way. He ordered d'Artagnan to ride again with Arnaud and Raoul, deliberately ignoring the boy's haunted look. Back in the captain's office, he busied himself with a stack of papers Tréville had asked him to look through.

Tréville returned an hour before the midday bell, looking utterly exhausted and glum. He listened to Athos' report without comment, dismissing his second-in-command afterwards without new orders.

Whether Tréville had forgotten to assign him something, or had simply released him from duty for the day, Athos didn't know nor did he care. He felt worn out and would be glad if he could just sit by Aramis' bed for a while. He made a detour to the mess to grab something to eat. It occurred to him that he couldn't remember when he'd last seen Aramis eat something. So he went back to the kitchen to ask if he could have some broth.

When Athos entered the marksman's room, he was surprised to find d'Artagnan beside Aramis' bed, talking animatedly.

The Gascon's talking, however, stopped as soon as he spotted Athos in the door frame. Sheepishly he looked at the older man.

"D'Artagnan, you're back already." It was more a statement than a question, and Athos didn't expect an answer. He closed the door with a kick of his heel and crossed the room in two quick strides. Setting the bowl down on Aramis' bed stand, he asked, "How are you?"

"Hungry," Aramis replied in a thin voice, smiling at Athos.

Athos smiled back, warmly, for the first time in a long while. "Then it's good I've brought you soup. Here, let me help you sit up a bit."

"D'Artagnan entertained me with stories from his farm life. Did you know he can ride a boar?"

Athos perked a brow, looking warily at Aramis.

"It wasn't a boar and I didn't exactly ride it. It was rather a piglet and I was very small, like three or four years old, and simply..." D'Artagnan trailed off when he saw the look of mischief on Aramis' pale, disease-ravaged face. He sighed. He had still a long way to go if he wanted to be part of what some of the men in the garrison referred to as les Inseparables. Right now, d'Artagnan doubted he would ever be a part of the Musketeers, and much less part of these three men's close unit. Deliberately he shoved aside the thought that the Inseparables might in the near future only be two instead of three.

"So, you're already back. Are you finished for the day or has Arnaud sent you back?" Athos asked in an undertone of sarcasm, handing Aramis bowl and spoon.

"We oversaw the rest of it and are finished and Arnaud said he had no other task for me at the moment. If I wished I could go and see Aramis." There was a hint of anger in the young man's voice, but Athos ignored it.

Aramis spooned his soup, slowly and arduously, closely watched by both men until he was finished.

Athos had ensconced himself in the chair beside Aramis' bed d'Artagnan had abandoned earlier, and once Aramis had taken his medicine and seemed to doze again, Athos permitted himself to close his eyes as well. His thoughts wandered off to Porthos, once again calculating the distance the big man had probably covered by now, and once more coming to the same conclusion. No matter how much Athos juggled with figures, places and distances, Porthos would need at least three days, and only if he never slept, didn't spent more than half an hour at the port in Le Havre searching for a ship that had loaded the bark and was willing to sell it, and if the weather kept dry and warm all through his travel.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

D'Artagnan leaned beside the fireplace, raking the poker through the embers and staring into the flickering flames. He dwelt on his own thoughts. He knew he should probably leave the older men alone, granting them a few, possibly last hours together, yet he couldn't bring himself to slip outside. Somehow it felt right to be here.

A quiet settled over the room, and only the fire's crackle and Aramis' laboured breathing could be heard.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Athos knew he must have dozed off when he jolted up abruptly. He quickly scanned the room. D'Artagnan was still standing beside the fireplace and the light outside hadn't changed, indicating he couldn't have nodded off for long. Stretching his stiff neck, he heard Aramis' voice beside him.

"Athos, can you send for Father Grandier? I want to give confession, and also ask him to bring what he needs for the last rites."

Athos briefly closed his eyes, then patted the sick man's shoulder. "I'll make sure he's here within the hour."

D'Artagnan, still leaning in the shadows at the far wall, straightened and stepped into the room. "But you can't give up now! Asking for a priest only shows that you surrender. Do you not want to live?"

"D'Artagnan!" Athos hissed angrily. "How dare you say that! It's not your place to speak up, nor is it your business."

D'Artagnan didn't yield. "I thought you'd be fighters, I thought you'd never give up easily. Do you really want to simply give in now? Don't you think you owe it to Porthos to at least try to stay alive until he's back?"

"Shut up!" Athos growled, rising from the chair. He approached d'Artagnan and grabbed the lapel of the Gascon's doublet. "Get out! You've no idea what you're talking about, boy. It's not your place to speak to Aramis like that. I don't want to see you-"

"Athos," Aramis breathed weakly, "let go of him. He's right."

Athos, still gripping d'Artagnan's doublet, turned in disbelief. "What? He dares speak this way and you-"

"He's right. Porthos promised to be back in time and I promised to wait for his return. It would be discourteous of me to die before he's back." The speech had weakened Aramis and his head sank back on the pillow. "There's still time later for Father Grandier to hear my confession. I was hasty."

D'Artagnan stepped away from Athos, freeing his lapel with the movement. "You should at least give Porthos the chance to keep his word. He promised he would be back within two days. He has still half a day left to prove he keeps his word. How do you think he would feel if he returns in time and you've already passed away?"

Athos sucked in air sharply, biting down his anger and the harsh remark that lay on the tip of his tongue. D'Artagnan's behaviour was outrageous, and yet he was right. Athos didn't want to imagine the big man's reaction should that be the case. From the very first moment they had heard of the marksman's condition, Athos dreaded Porthos' reaction should this turn out badly.

Athos had buried his brother and killed his wife, yet he had the feeling both had nothing on Porthos' reaction should Aramis die. Even more so, should Aramis pass away before Porthos had had the chance to bid good-bye. Athos ground his teeth, but he had to admit that the boy was right. There was not much left that kept Aramis going, but allowing him to make his confession and get the last rites might just add the final touch to this confounded disease, the last push for Aramis to let go of this life and meet his maker. He glanced at Aramis.

"You're right. I should give him the time he asked for," Aramis mumbled with closed eyes. "He said he would be back today. I owe it to him to hang on until then."

Athos looked back at d'Artagnan, and for the first time he saw the young man in a different light. The Gascon suddenly seemed so much more than the rash and impertinent youngster who had stormed into the Garrison like a whirlwind, intent on killing him. There was an understanding and sadness and sobriety to the young man Athos had never seen before, or not cared to see. Athos remembered that the boy had lost his father only a few weeks ago. He cleared his throat. "Very well. Maybe he is right. There's still six hours until Porthos wanted to be back. Let's grant him that time," he grumbled.

D'Artagnan looked visibly relieved, his shoulders sagging and the tension draining from his muscles. He turned to leave the room, but was stopped by Athos.

"Can you stay with him?" It was as close to an apology for his harsh words as Athos would ever manage. He was still convinced Aramis should see the priest now, but he also knew Aramis' trust in Porthos knew no limits. "I need to see Tréville, if you could stay until I'm back I'd be... grateful," Athos grunted and, without waiting for an answer, strolled by d'Artagnan and left the room.

"Pay no need to his cutting remarks and sour mood. There's a shadow on his soul he cannot shake off," Aramis said, almost inaudibly, maybe only to himself and not even meant to be heard by the young man.

D'Artagnan resumed his seat by Aramis' side.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

"He asked for a priest, but d'Artagnan convinced him to wait and give Porthos the time he said he'd need." Athos slouched in the chair opposite Tréville's desk.

Tréville regarded the man in front of him. "And what is your opinion of this? Do you think it's wise to wait?"

Athos stared at a point on the desk and took a moment to answer. "I don't know."

"You know as well as me that it's as good as impossible to cover that distance in two days."

"I know. But on the other hand, it's Porthos..."

Tréville didn't yet know what it was with these three men, didn't fully understand what bound them together, but if Athos admitted he did not put it past Porthos to cover the distance in such a short time, for the sake of one of them, he was willing to believe it as well. "Lemay promised to come by as soon as he can slip away from the palace again. He wants to prepare those ingredients he already has for the remedy. Plus he wants to check on Aramis." He paused for a second. "What's your impression?"

Athos scratched his beard and took his time to answer. "Not good."

Tréville nodded.

"If you've no other task for me at the moment, I'll go and find Father Grandier. I'll not see Aramis go without giving confession and getting the last rites. I know how much those things mean to him."

Tréville pointedly looked at Athos.

"I didn't say I won't grant Porthos the time, but I'd like to be prepared. If he's not back in time, Father Grandier will stand by."

"Right. Dismissed."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Lemay came to the garrison in the afternoon. He examined Aramis, and afterwards his face was withdrawn and pensive. He started with his preparations, closely watched by d'Artagnan. When the doctor left the room to get a tankard of fresh water, d'Artagnan trailed him.

"Will the remedy help him? Is there still time?"

Lemay stopped. "I can't say. If we had started to administer the medicine two days ago, the chances would have been good, based on the Spanish doctors' observations. I don't know about the effect of the remedy if the condition has proceeded so far. It's almost three days since the acute phase started. We definitely don't have much time any more to even start the treatment."

D'Artagnan stared at Lemay for a moment, then turned abruptly and stalked back to Aramis' room.

Lemay sighed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

An hour later, Father Grandier came to the garrison. He carried a small satchel, and it was safe to assume that it contained a phial of anointment, the priest's tippet, a jar with a consecrated host and probably a bible. First of all, he bent his step towards the captain's office.

Tréville exchanged a few words with the priest and sent for Athos.

"Thank you for coming," Athos said when he entered the captain's office. "I'm not sure if Aramis is ready yet, we're still waiting for a friend to return. Nevertheless, I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

"If nothing else, I can at least pray with him and anoint him."

Athos looked at the priest sharply. "I said we want to wait before you give him the last rites. Our friend is due back in a couple of hours."

Father Grandier countered with a bland smile, sighing. "Sadly, it's a common mistake among the people that the anointing of the sick is reserved for the dying. It is not, it's rather for the benefit of a sick person, to help him heal. It's only that usually people only send for me when it's already too late. But we should ask your friend what he wants."

Athos didn't reply anything. He had never delved deeply enough into Catholicism to be aware of these things, nor did he care. Without comment, he led the way to Aramis' room. He knocked and entered, Father Grandier trailing behind him. "Aramis, Father Grandier is here."

The sheets rustled, then Aramis' weak voice could be heard. "Oh, is it already time?"

"No," Athos said hurriedly. "I just thought it would be good..." He trailed off.

"Maybe, while waiting for your friend's return, we can pray together. Or talk, if you want." Father Grandier rounded Athos, walking to the bed.

D'Artagnan, who crouched before the fireplace, stirring the embers, glowered at Athos.

Athos shook his head slightly and nodded to the door, requesting the young man to following him outside.

Closing the door behind him, Athos said softly, "It's for the benefit of Aramis, it doesn't mean we don't wait for Porthos."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

When the sun started setting, Father Grandier left to celebrate evening mass at his church.

Lemay had prepared everything he needed to finish the remedy once the Peruvian bark arrived. The jars and cups, and the mortar he would need to pestle the bark, stood ready to use in Aramis' room. He returned to the Louvre to get more opiate from the royal apothecary, and look again at his notes, and promised to return shortly.

From the balcony, Tréville had watched Father Grandier and Dr Lemay leave through the archway. He stood there for a few minutes, gazing at the clouds which turned from light pink to dark pink. Down in the courtyard, old Portellard lit the first torches along the wall. With a deep sigh, he turned and walked to Aramis' room.

After Athos had left the room, Tréville pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. "How are you, son?"

"Not so good," Aramis tried to joke, but the coarse whisper drained any wit from the reply.

Tréville nodded. "I've never told you, and maybe shouldn't, but you are one of the best soldiers and probably the best marksman I've ever had the pleasure to have under my command. The King often neglects to see it, but he should count himself lucky to have such fine men in his ranks."

Aramis smiled weakly. "Likewise," was all he could utter, but he saw that his captain understood.

Tréville inclined his head to acknowledge the compliment. "Lemay says there's not much time left." He stared at his hands, avoiding the marksman's gaze. "There's something I need to tell you. It's... it's been on my mind for too long."

Savoy had weighed on him since the day he had had to count and identify the slaughtered Musketeers and bring home the lone survivor, and it seemed the feeling of guilt and shame grew heavier and heavier the more time passed. He knew it would be for his benefit only, and not Aramis', that it was an attempt to lessen his guilt, but he couldn't bring himself to refrain from telling the truth now. Besides, it seemed right to tell the truth, the least he could do for this man who had suffered so much from the wrongdoing of his captain. Tréville took a deep breath before he continued. "I'm sure you remember that -" He was interrupted.

Athos entered after a quick knock. "Captain, Arnaud has arrived with an urgent missive. I think you had better come immediately."

Tréville looked between Athos and Aramis. It seemed his confession would have to wait, though he wasn't sure if he would pluck up the courage again later to tell the marksman the truth behind that cursed training mission to Savoy. He was torn between staying a couple of minutes more and getting it over with, and see to the urgent business Arnaud had been tasked with. His sense of duty prevailed. "I'll come back," he said, giving Aramis' arm a reassuring squeeze.

Athos took over Tréville's seat.

"Where's d'Artagnan?"

"Sitting in the courtyard, staring at the archway. I'm not sure he's blinked once within the last hour. He's trying to will Porthos back through sheer force of will." There was a hint of amusement in Athos' voice.

"Do you know what Tréville wanted?"

"No."

A prolonged silence followed.

"Have you ever loved? Found the one love greater than anything else?" When Athos didn't reply, Aramis carried on, in a voice that was no longer his; a voice that was stripped of the seductive warmth and soft deepness and genteel irony and vulnerable honesty that was Aramis. A voice that was barely more than a whisper now, abraded by the effects of an illness that was sucking the last drop of life from him. "You have, I can see it." He had to stop and draw breath; he couldn't get enough air into his lungs any more to speak more than a few words. And every breath hurt. "You can't fool me, I know the ways a man drowns in alcohol when he's lost the love of his life." Panting, he gulped in air again. "Believe me, I was there."

Athos raised a brow. Not so much because he was surprised by Aramis' ability to look through his carefully arranged façade so easily, right into his wounded soul. No, he was surprised by the way Aramis spoke of deep loving. He knew the marksman as the Garrison's grandest charmer and ladies' man, seemingly loving women as a whole, too much in love with women per se to settle his heart on only one. It seemed Athos had been wrong in his assumption.

"I have. Her name was Isabelle."

Athos was still searching for a pertinent reply when Tréville entered the room again.

"Athos, I need you and Bussonier for a delicate mission tomorrow, you must leave before dawn. Report to me an hour before sunrise." His gaze wandered to Aramis. The room was poorly lit by the fire, now that it was dark outside, and Tréville walked to the table to light some candles. "Where's the boy?" he asked casually.

"I presume he's still on his look-out in the yard," Athos replied. Porthos was overdue by a couple of hours now, and he wondered how long the Gascon would hold out at his post. Father Grandier had promised to come by after mass again, and Athos awaited him any minute.

Suddenly, there was commotion outside, and with a bang the door burst open, crashing against the wall. "He's here! Porthos is back!" d'Artagnan shouted excitedly, rushing into the room.

Outside, they could already hear the pounding of heavy boots on wooden planks, and voices calling through the courtyard. A moment later Porthos' big frame filled the doorway, and then he was inside the room and on his knees beside Aramis' bed.

"I'm back, mon ami."

Aramis looked him over. "You look awful. And you're late."

Porthos huffed and rose, only to sway dangerously once he was upright. Tréville stepped forward, grabbing his arm to support the big man. With his other hand, he dragged the spare stool over. "Here, sit down."

Porthos shoved the bundle into Athos' arms. "There's the bark. Should be enough for the whole regiment." Then he sank down on the stool.

Athos handed the bundle to Dr Lemay who had entered the room in Porthos' wake.

Lemay began unwrapping it, his eyes immediately lighting up when he caught sight of the amount of fine Peruvian bark. He instantly set about breaking away small chunks.

Athos regarded Porthos. The dark skin was pale, almost white, mottled with smudges of dirt and the half-lidded eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings edging them. His clothes were dishevelled and dirty and the sleeves smeared with blood. He looked utterly worn out.

When Father Grandier appeared in the door frame, looking surprised to find so many men in the small room, Tréville promptly took the matter in hand. "All right, everyone out, except for Dr Lemay. Porthos, you look like you are going to faint any minute. Go to bed. D'Artagnan, help him. Father, I'd like to speak to you for a moment. With you, too, Lemay, when you're finished here." While talking, Tréville ushered everyone out and closed the door. As Porthos stumbled by, Tréville clapped him on the shoulder. "Well done."

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The following two nights and two days – almost the exact amount of time Porthos had needed for his trip – they feared for Aramis' life more than ever. The remedy seemed not to be having any effect, no matter how much Dr Lemay administered, or experimented with the dosage. Sometimes, Aramis was so short of breath and struggling for air that they feared he would suffocate. The fever remained high and his body was racked with shivers, and pain. He wasn't able to stomach anything any more and often had to throw up, and worst of all, he was barely responsive most of the time. Only the cough had eased off, and he was no longer coughing blood.

After d'Artagnan accompanied Porthos to his room and tucked him up in bed – fully clothed, only stripped of his boots and doublet – Porthos had slept for fifteen hours, dead to the world. After waking up, he had eaten three times his usual amount, and then he had sat beside Aramis' bed and not moved from the chair since. Once or twice he had nearly fallen asleep, swaying in the chair.

D'Artagnan had spent as much time as possible with them, and had been given a full report of how Porthos had managed to outwit time and make the trip in just a bit over 48 hours. He had listened in awe, and more than ever longed to be part of this fellowship of men. He knew he had it in him to one day become as fearless and daredevil as the Inseparables.

Athos had been away on mission a day and half of the ensuing night, and then returned to Aramis' room to check on his comrades. He had silently slipped from the room after he had assured himself that Aramis was still alive and being cared for; his condition had not made a turn for the worst, even though it hadn't improved either. Instead of making his way to his favourite tavern, he had slumped on the bench at their usual table in the courtyard and filled a cup with the cheap red wine the garrison provided for the Musketeers. It would have to suffice. There he had sat, brooding, until the first foreboding of the new day had put out its feelers on the dark night sky.

At nightfall on the second day after Porthos' return, finally, Aramis opened his eyes, and they were no longer glazed with fever and fatigue. When he spoke, his voice had lost some of its scratchiness and panting. "Tell me, mon ami," he said to Porthos, "how did you manage to mistreat your health in the way you did, looking like a walking corpse when you arrived back here, and still not be on time?"

Porthos' relieved, booming laughter not only startled d'Artagnan from his slumber in the far corner, but also reached Tréville and Athos who were standing on the balcony, discussing the next steps in a tricky matter. They paused, astounded by the sound, looking at each other. A smirk appeared on Tréville's face. "I think Aramis is out of the woods."

Athos nodded. It was the only sound explanation for Porthos' loud, liberating laugh. He lifted one corner of his mouth, countering his captain's relieved smirk. The sound of Porthos' guffaw, joined by d'Artagnan's, took a heavy load off Athos' mind. Now, finally, he could return to the daily routine without having his mind elsewhere.

A/N

I have absolutely no knowledge of medicine, and no idea what might work or not. Everything about the remedy to cure pulmonary splenic fever is made up by me, however, that doesn't mean it wouldn't possibly have worked. Maybe.

Argentum colloidale was used until the beginning of the 20th century for infectious diseases caused by bacteria and mycosis.

Propolis, or bee glue, is said to have – to a certain degree – antimicrobial, virostatic, antimycotic and antibiotic effects. So that sounds pretty good to help cure a lot of things!

Peruvian Bark is, or was, a remedy for all forms of malaria. It's indigenous in the Western Andes of South America and was first described and introduced by Jesuit priests, hence also the name Jesuit's Bark (or China Bark or cinchona bark). A greater distribution in Europe resulted from the large quantity brought over by a Jesuit priest who came to Spain in 1643, from there it proceeded through France and thence to Italy. Incidentally, Peruvian bark allegedly cured the young Louis XIV while still dauphin, effected by Jesuit Father Bartholomé Tafur, but maybe that's just a story made up by someone else. In any case, I'm convinced our fantastic Dr Lemay would have been able to put together some kind of remedy with these ingredients to save Aramis. It just had to work!