"No!"
Porthos' eyes flew open at the sound of a distant scream. The large Musketeer squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the screams of torture and cries for help while steeling himself for the torment that surely would next be his.
"I don't know where it is! Stop… I can't breathe! I can't breathe!"
Suddenly, Porthos' eyes flew open again, "D'Artagnan?" Blinking his blurry eyes, the large man looked around the room then swallowed a sob when he realized he was safe; he was no longer chained in the dark, cold cell as a prisoner in the bowels of hell.
"No! Please, stop. . . it hurts!"
"D'Artagnan!" Porthos tried to sit up but was held back by the strong hands of Nurse Marta bracing against his shoulders. "Where do you think you are going, young man?"
"I've got to get to d'Artagnan; he thinks he's back in the dungeon!" Porthos writhed against the hands holding him down. "I can help 'im! I must help 'im, please."
"Alright, I will take you to him, but you must calm down before you tear your wound open again." Marta scolded the Musketeer as he continued fighting. "Stop, squirming or you won't be going anywhere!" she warned.
"Please, take me to d'Artagnan's room… please." Porthos calmed, obeying the nurse as he relaxed under her strong, firm hands.
"Adele!" Nurse Marta yelled across the hall. "I need your help in here," she asked as the other nurse ran into the room. "Help me get him on his feet." Marta instructed aloud as they positioned themselves on either side of Porthos to help him stand."
The nurses slowly walked with Porthos across the hall to d'Artagnan's room then helped him as he climbed into the bed. The large Musketeer pulled the young Gascon into his arms, holding him firmly against his broad chest. "I've got you lit'le brother," he soothed. "We're no' in the dungeon no more- it's over, remember? Athos and Aramis saved us; we're safe now," his voice hitched. "The buggers are dead; no one is goin' to hurt you 'gain."
"I'm back there in my dreams. . . it's so real," d'Artagnan shuddered. "I can't stop seeing their cold, angry eyes; I hear their voices… and they're laughing at me. They're laughing while they're hurting me. God, make it stop, make it stop…"
Porthos held d'Artagnan close as he finally broke down and sobbed. D'Artagnan's battered and sore body trembled with the tears; his entire body shook, despite the strong arms holding him tight. "I know, lit'le brother… I know… but we're safe now. It's alright, we're safe now."
D'Artagnan continued to cry, unable to speak through the sobs. The Gascon clung to the arms holding him, as though afraid he would soon be torn away for another round of torture.
The large Musketeer wiped away the tears spilling from his own eyes with the sleeve of his night shirt as he drew in a deep shuddering breath. "It's okay, let it out… just let it all go. We're safe now… let it all go, li'l brother."
Porthos held him tightly against his chest until the tears slowed and d'Artagnan's breathing evened as he fell into a restful sleep. "That's right, sleep." The large Musketeer let his head fall back against the pillows, letting his tired eyes close. "It's safe to sleep now… 'ey won't be comin' for us no more." Soon, the large man was snoring softly, clinging tightly to the young Gascon; his arms were wrapped protectively around his brother, unwilling to let go.
Adele and Marta exchanged glances, wiping away their own tears at the scene they had just witnessed. "I guess Porthos is staying in here now," Marta chuckled lightly. "Let's let the boys sleep."
The nurses smiled as they watched the young Musketeer sleep, held tightly in the protective arms of his brother; both men resting soundly at last. The faces that were marred by terror and tears were now calm, finding peace in sleep. For a moment, they could let go of their nightmares from the dungeon and find comfort and safety in each other's arms.
Aramis was startled awake when Athos began coughing, the shaking tremors against his chest instantly activated medic mode in the marksman. The Musketeer lieutenant tried to pull away but was too weak; the medic easily pulled him closer and held his friend upright to ease his breathing.
"I think we're going to need that steam tent, Doctor." Aramis shook his head as Molyneux listened to the wheezing breaths between coughs.
"Yes, Aramis, I think you're right," Molyneux agreed. "Nurse, we're going to need a pot of hot boiling water, a quilt rack, sheet, peppermint oil and lungwort leaves," the doctor listed. "Please do ask the servants for help, I don't expect you to gather and carry all of those supplies by yourself."
"Yes, Doctor," Maria smiled as she turned to retrieve the supplies.
"I'll help you," Cécile called as she ran after Maria.
"Athos, we need you to drink another glass of water." Aramis motioned with his head to the pitcher of water.
"No," Athos protested. "No more. . . water."
"Over the last few hours you have had four glasses of water but still no urine output," Aramis countered. The medic stubbornly dug in his heals and refused to give in to his brother. "Now, either you drink the water or I'll attach you back up to the transfusion apparatus and have the water pumped into you."
"No!" Doctor Molyneux blurted, suddenly alarmed at Aramis' threat. "If you pump pure water into his bloodstream it could kill him. Only saline solution is safe for the blood," the doctor lowered his voice. "Such are the things we learn through experience, my young friend."
Aramis pinched the bridge of his nose as he breathed deeply, horrified at even the thought of making such a fatal mistake. "He's had four glasses of water already," the medic reported to the doctor with a shaky voice. "Either he has a very large bladder and can hold his urine well or. . ."
"Ar'mis, donn want. . . to talk 'bout it…"
"Aramis is correct, Athos," Doctor Molyneux quickly interjected. "After having four glasses of water, you should have had the urge to urinate by now; since you have not, it is a cause for concern. I do not want to alarm you, but if you don't produce urine soon, it may be a sign of. . ."
". . . sign of what?" Athos wheezed after coughing.
"It could be a sign of kidney failure," Molyneux replied bluntly. "As the kidneys fail, they lose the ability to remove fluid and waste from the blood—which is what our urine is. It's still too early to determine the certainty, but if you don't produce urine soon, kidney failure will be a logical prognosis."
"Great, wha' mmmore… c'n go wrong?" Athos drawled as he began coughing. He pulled his knees up to his middle and managed to roll onto his side as he slipped from Aramis' grip. The swordsman turned his face into the pillow with a fit of coughing so strong he couldn't draw breath. The congestion strangled the air drawn from his lungs as it forced phlegm into his throat, blocking his ability to breathe.
"God, not again," Aramis panicked as he heard Athos stop breathing.
Doctor Molyneux quicky turned Athos onto his back then straightened his legs out so he laid flat. "Come on, Athos, dammit, breathe!" Molyneux turned the Musketeer's head sideways and began massaging the muscles in his neck until he could feel the constriction of the windpipe ease.
"Athos, please," Aramis begged. "Breathe for me."
"I'm going to roll him onto his side," he instructed Aramis. "I want you to pound on his back to loosen the phlegm caught in his throat."
Aramis began pounding on Athos' back between the shoulder blades as Molynuex rolled him sideways then opened the choking man's mouth so he could examine his throat. "Alright, I'm going to roll him so that his head hangs over the edge of the bed while you keep pounding on his back."
Molyneux supported Athos' head as Aramis pounded on his back until they heard the sound of gurgled choking; he then vomited a great amount of water that splashed over the doctor's shoes and the floor.
"Ssorry…" Athos apologized weakly, spitting out the phlegm still caught in his throat.
"Don't be sorry, my friend," Molyneux wiped Athos' mouth with a handkerchief. "Spit again," he instructed, making sure all the loosened congestion was gone. "I only care that you are breathing again; I can always change my shoes," he chuckled.
Aramis bonelessly sank back against the pillows feeling sapped of his strength; he took shallow breaths in attempt to control the pain flaring through his chest. Tears of relief slipped from the corners of his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. "Thank you, God."
"Are you alright, Aramis?" Molyneux asked with concern as he observed the pale complexion of the medic and the beads of sweat forming on his brow.
"I'm fine," Aramis replied without opening his eyes or moving a muscle. "I just wish this would end; I want all of us to be healthy again and back at work. I want to hear Porthos complaining about it being too hot and that he hates flies. What I wouldn't give to be on guard duty at the palace and not here. . . not like this…" Aramis' voice cracked.
Athos opened his eyes and looked at Aramis with concern at hearing his emotional lament. "I'm s-sorry 'Mis."
"It's not your fault, Athos," Molyneux whispered to the Musketeer. "Don't apologize for being sick; you cannot help your condition. Unfortunately, we are going to have to start over again on the water since you vomited most of it up all over my shoes," the doctor smiled as he attempted to lighten the mood.
Athos' mouth twitched with a hint of a smile before it turned downward into a frown. "If I dr'nk m-more water, I'll float. . . away," the Musketeer coughed weakly and let his eyes slide closed.
"Ah, just in time." Doctor Molyneux proclaimed as the nurse and three servants entered the room carrying the necessary supplies to set up the steam tent. "Athos, I'm going to turn you over onto your back again and prop you up against the pillows; I want you to drink some more water. Once you're done, we'll get this tent set up and begin your herbal therapy."
Looking over at Aramis, the doctor smiled with compassion. The medic had fallen asleep, weary from the recent emotional drain putting such strain on his physical injuries.
Athos saw his sleeping friend as he was being turned over and his breath hitched in his throat at the sight. "Damn, Aramis…"
"Aramis!" Cécile gasped in alarm as she noticed the pale complexion and his sad demeanor, even in sleep. "Doctor, what happened while we were gone?"
"Nothing, Cécile, he's just tired," the doctor said, avoiding the question. "Aramis needs his rest and he needs to give his ribs a chance to heal; I'm sure he'll feel much better when he awakens. Now, Athos, drink this water while we set up your tent," the doctor ordered.
Athos' eyes widened at being told he was going underneath a cover. "No," he protested. "I want… keep an eye… on Aramis," he wheezed.
"Athos, we'll keep an eye on Aramis." Cécile squeezed the Musketeer's hand gently. "I promise you, we'll take good care of him. Now, let's get this water finished up, shall we?" The nurse helped lift the glass, supporting it as Athos drank until the water was gone.
Finally, the tent was set up with the refreshing aroma of peppermint and the earthy smell of lungwort permeating underneath the sheet. Athos took a deep breath and smiled as his nose and throat felt the cool zing of the peppermint's aroma, instantly clearing his breathing passages and chest.
He rested against the pillows as the doctor pulled the sheet over, closing him under the tent; he could finally breathe freely without wheezing for the first time in days. He allowed his droopy eyes to close, though he felt uncomfortable as his stomach sloshed with too much water. I've never wanted to make water so desperately in all my life. Please, let my body cooperate, he prayed as he finally fell asleep.
Sometime Later at Château de Blois:
A servant rushed into the château to alert Steward Fontaine that a rider had arrived in the courtyard asking to see Duke Gaston immediately.
"What is this rider's name?" the steward inquired. "Before I bother the duke, I must know this rider's name and his order of business."
"He said his name is Pierre La Porte," the servant answered. "He said that he was sent by Mademoiselle de Hautefort and that it's urgent."
The steward walked with the servant to meet Monsieur La Porte; he brought him inside to the parlor where he could wait until he was called on by the duke.
"I'm sorry to interrupt." Steward Fontaine bowed as he opened the door to the duke's office. "This is quite urgent, Your Grace. Monsieur Pierre La Porte is here to see you; he said Mademoiselle de Hautefort sent him."
"My God," Duke Gaston visibly paled. "Send him in immediately!"
"Your Grace," the steward said. He bowed with acknowledgement and then left to fetch the courier.
"Monsieur La Porte, Duke Gaston will see you now," the steward announced. "Please follow me, Monsieur."
"Your Grace, Monsieur Pierre La Porte," Fontaine announced to the duke. The steward closed the door behind him, leaving the two men to their business.
"Monsieur La Porte, why are you here? You are supposed to be with Mademoiselle de Hautefort on your way to Spain with the letter," the duke growled angrily.
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but Mademoiselle de Hautefort has sent me to warn you that there has been a change in plans; a rather large change in plans, Your Grace."
"What sort of change in plans?" Duke Gaston inquired.
"Your Grace, Cardinal-Infante Ferdinand is coming to the Château de Blois and should be arriving here tomorrow morning." Pierre La Porte held his breath in anticipation of the coming reaction; he knew it wasn't going to be pleasant.
"What do you mean, he's coming here?" Duke Gaston roared, his voice echoing between the wooden beams of the study. "I was not expecting him to come calling here!"
"The Cardinal-Infante began his journey to France several days ago with the belief that your order of business was too secretive and too important to leave to the uncertainty of secret correspondence," the courier replied. "The business at hand would be better discussed in person."
The shocked look on the duke's face soon turned to a smile as he realized his plan would be implemented faster than anticipated and, for the first time, Duke Gaston felt excitement to see his plan finally unfolding and taking root.
Should this secret plan succeed, it would forever change his course of destiny. More importantly, the fate of his brother, King Louis XIII, reigning King of France, balanced in the outcome; all was dependent upon the success of Gaston and Queen Anne's bold and daring plan. It now appeared that by tomorrow morning, he and the Cardinal-Infante would begin putting his daring plan into motion.
A/N:
Lungwort, also known as lungwort leaf, is a natural plant that has been used around the world for a variety of respiratory ailments, including coughs, colds, bronchial detoxification and catarrhal problems. Lungwort is helpful for reducing irritation and providing soothing qualities. It is believed that these beneficial properties are beneficial as a respiratory aid. Lungwort's high mucilage content is known to be helpful in respiratory conditions, namely asthma and, in particular, chronic bronchitis.