Sorry fo my late post... I had a bit of editing to do and a busy day pushed be behind. This is another long one.

Thank you all for continuing on this journey with me!

Chapter 36

Aramis stood in the water and looked across the lake. He watched the glimmers of light reflect off the surface with each subtle wave that gently slapped the sides of the bank and forced the water at his knees to massage sore calf muscles. He had pulled up his britches and the tie strings that were usually hidden within his boots dangled toward his calves. The cool water felt good against his skin. He could hear d'Artagnan as he stoked the fire, the sizzling of fat on the flat stone, and then the frying of fish after each one had been deboned and filleted. The aroma of cooked wild onions and garlic filled the air and Aramis was grateful for the young man's talent.

Aramis inhaled and welcomed the fresh evening air. Pain didn't follow. Muscles didn't tremor or seize, and while he still felt tired, he knew his exhaustion would last for a few days. It would take time for his body to heal, to recuperate and renew with each gifted day. The sleeves of his voluminous blouse fluttered, and the collar shifted along his neck. He suddenly grasped the cross around his neck and ran his thumb over the jeweled shape. He felt the curves of the gems and the rough edges of the carved gold. Aramis thought about the queen, their time together, and he contemplated the fact that she may have borne his son. In his gut, he knew the boy was his, but his secret would die with him. He knew Athos would never speak of it, and for that, he was grateful. But while it was a joyous moment for some, it was painful for others. He would watch from a distance. He would watch others train the boy in swordsmanship, horsemanship, strategy, and nobility. Aramis, from a distance, would watch his son grow into a man.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan called. "The food is ready." He braced his left elbow on his knee as he dished the food onto dented, well-used, pewter plates.

Aramis turned and looked at d'Artagnan with a nod. He slipped his necklace beneath his blouse and then stepped from the water. He took several tentative steps to avoid the jagged edges of rocks, and an unfortunate fall as muscles and joints still pained him as they stretched and flexed, and then stepped onto the sand and felt it slip between his toes.

The moon's light was in full force and the sky continued to darken. The stars salted the sky and slow-moving puffy clouds shifted and morphed into different shapes. Aramis took a seat on a boulder, took the plate handed to him, and nodded in thanks.

"Do you think they'll arrive tomorrow?" D'Artagnan asked. He leaned back against his saddle, rested the edge of the plate against his chest and puckered his lips, and blew softly to cool his dinner.

Aramis licked his finger, chewed, and nodded. "I would hope so," he said. "It's been two days since we departed Autun."

D'Artagnan chuckled knowingly. "Two days that you remember," he corrected and cocked his head slightly to the left. "Remember, you slept through most of the first day."

Aramis winced, took another bite, and then exhaled slowly. He missed the comfort of his bed, his pillow, and his warm blankets. "If they're not, we should ride out and try to meet them."

D'Artagnan frowned and poked at his food as he contemplated his next choice of words. "Whoever targeted us… they may try to strike again?"

Aramis wiped his lips with his thumb and looked in the direction to Allier. "Keep the flames low… just in case."

D'Artagnan added more stones around the fire to hide the flames and then poked at the log that was burning. "We don't know who they are, how many, or what they might try next."

Aramis looked at the flames through the gaps in rocks. "Just another day living the life of a musketeer." He shifted his plate and ran his hand along his thigh. "We need to find the others." He worried his brow. "I think at first light we should ride out and hope we catch them along the road."

"You said that,"

"I'm saying it again," Aramis said and poked at his food.

D'Artagnan agreed and then looked across the water as it slapped the bank.

"I'm rested enough," Aramis said.

"Horseshit," D'Artagnan said. He narrowed his eyes and looked questionably at Aramis. "I'll let the fire die out and you should sleep. I'll take first watch."

They listened to the sounds of the owls, the frogs, the crickets, and the squirrels that chattered and jumped from branch to branch. The horses grazed peacefully on the grass along the water's bank and at the base of the trees. Smoke filtered upward, disappeared into the night sky in unison with bright sparks and ash.

It was peaceful, serene, and the slaps of water along the bank provided a welcomed sense of calm. D'Artagnan shifted, poked at the fire that continued to die while Aramis rested on his bedroll. He lay on his right side, his doublet and arm used as a pillow.

D'Artagnan looked up suddenly when both horses raised their heads and perked their ears forward. He ducked, slowly reached for the handle of his pistol and then his main gauche. He noticed Aramis hitch his breath and grasp his weapons belt.

"Aramis! D'Artagnan!" Porthos shouted.

Both men relaxed and released the breaths they had been holding.

"Here," d'Artagnan said. He looked at Aramis, who exhaled through puffed cheeks and sighed. "We're here." He stood, replaced his weapons into his belt, and dusted the backside of his britches. He looked at Aramis, who stood.

Porthos' big bay stepped through the brush, nickered softly, and then lowered his head to graze while Porthos dismounted.

"We need to go," Porthos said.

"Where's Athos?" d'Artagnan asked, and with a look of concern noticed the sweat along Porthos' mount's neck, flanks, and chest.

"He's back in Allier… at a farmhouse outside of town?" Porthos inhaled quickly, tightened his stomach muscles to control his breathing, and then suddenly leaned forward and braced his right hand above his knee. He was exhausted. He hadn't slept for nearly three days. He hadn't eaten, and he suddenly cursed himself when he thought about the untouched bag of food tied to his saddle. "I think Athos was poisoned… he's sick." Porthos looked at Aramis. "And he…" he inhaled sharply, flared his nostrils, and shook his head in frustration, "he can't see."

Aramis frowned and stepped toward him as several questions raced through his mind. He looked critically atPorthos. Dark circles hung beneath dulled brown eyes. His hands shook, and he held his left close to his chest. There was blood on the cuff of his blouse and sweat soaked his collar. "What happened to your arm?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Porthos frowned and pointed toward the road. "My arm is fine. We need to ride back to Allier for Athos —"

Aramis stepped forward and the light of the fire amplified his own fatigue and grossly pale features.

Porthos pulled in brows together in question. "What's 'appened?" He looked at d'Artagnan and then back at Aramis.

"Aramis was poisoned back in Autun — he spent two — nearly three days in bed," d'Artagnan said. He shifted his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. "He almost died."

Aramis winced, looked at the toes of his boots, and then looked at Porthos. "I'm fine now."

Porthos pulled his eyebrows together in concern, tilted his head to the right, and looked at Aramis. "That true?"

"Let me look at your arm," Aramis said, and then looked at d'Artagnan. "If there are anymore fish, cook them up — he needs to eat —"

"Aramis," Porthos said. His voice cracked, and he wavered. He looked closer at Aramis and flexed his jaw. Aramis was wearied, unusually weak, and while he tried to behave in a way that contradicted what he was feeling, the evidence was there for all to see. Porthos suddenly felt a sense of hopelessness. "I left 'im back there — 'e's askin' for you." There was an unfamiliar tone of desperation in Porthos' voice that caused Aramis to stop and look at him. "Athos doesn't ask."

Aramis swallowed, looked away to hide his remorse, and said, "You won't make it… you're a few minutes away from dropping yourself, Porthos, and if you can't show us where he's at… we may never find him… much less get to him in time." He grasped the sleeve of Porthos' doublet and pulled him closer to the fire.

Hesitantly, Porthos sat on the boulder, and with Aramis' help, pulled off his doublet. His fingers and wrist were still swollen, but not to the extent they had been. Aramis unbuttoned the cuff and then in surprise looked at the bandage and the cabbage.

"Don't look so shocked," Porthos said. "It helped."

"I'm not shocked. It's a common remedy… I'm just surprised you tolerated it for as long as you have." Aramis peeled back the limp leaf. He hissed as he looked at the bruise. The nearly black band that ran across the back of Porthos' forearm. Blood had pooled beneath the skin and hardened. Aramis gently ran his fingers over the injury and looked at Porthos for signs of discomfort.

"I need my bag," Aramis said, and stood. He paused to collect himself and turned. "I need to rewrap that, and you should soak it in the water," he said over his shoulder.

"What about Athos?" d'Artagnan asked as he tossed a fish onto the flat stone.

Aramis scratched at his jaw. "We'll find him — and," he said hesitantly, "we'll leave at first light."

"What if he was poisoned with the same thing you were?"

"Who did it?" Porthos asked. He looked from Aramis to d'Artagnan.

"We don't know," Aramis responded, and walked back to Porthos with his bag. "But…" he paused, "it's possible it might have been the Spanish." He rested on his haunches. "Apparently, they're after all of us —"

"Why the Spanish? Why now?" Porthos growled and watched Aramis pull a bandage from his bag.

"We don't know." d'Artagnan said. He poked at the fish while it cooked. "The man I captured was very precise in what he revealed."

"You captured one? What did 'e reveal?"

D'Artagnan winced and said, "No… but he told us how to treat it."

"We need to go," Porthos said frantically and stood. "Athos is fightin' this on 'is own."

"How, Porthos?" Aramis asked. "Your horse won't make the trip and neither will you. I'm barely on my feet, we can't see well enough in the dark to make good time. There's a potential threat and we have no idea what to look for or who to look for." He exhaled slowly and looked at the boulder Porthos sat upon. "We have to trust Athos to stay strong and wait for us."

"You didn't see 'im," Porthos said. "Whatever this is…" he took a sudden inhale of breath and looked away, "it's killin' 'im." He ran his hand over his head.

"No," Aramis said, "but I've experienced it."

Porthos flashed concurred eyes toward and for a moment they looked at each other before Porthos nodded once and looked away again.

"At first light, Porthos," d'Artagnan said.

The fire burned and the wood shifted. The horses snorted while they grazed along the water, and d'Artagnan removed the pewter plates from a bag.

"Can we assume our attacker is anyone with Spanish ties," Porthos asked. "Which is everyone." He hissed when Aramis tied the bandage around his arm. "I'd put my money on the cardinal from beyond the grave… It's 'is revenge — even after 'is death — for sneakin' the confession out of 'im."

"You really should soak this," Aramis said and stood. He grabbed his bag and retook his seat on the ground near the fire.

Porthos looked at Aramis and saw weariness written across his face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, the paleness of his features, and the helplessness written in his posture. There were moments in life when choices needed to be made no matter how difficult. While waiting until morning seemed like the wrong choice, Porthos swallowed, and looked at his horse that still bore the markings of dried sweat, and then he allowed himself to feel his own fatigue.

Aramis was right, they would never make it back to Allier without risking their lives.

"The cardinal is dead," d'Artagnan said and rubbed his brow while he squatted near the fire.

"We don't have time —" Porthos grumbled as Aramis rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Who else?"

"Who else?" d'Artagnan huffed. "Our attacker said it was the Spanish… who else could it possibly be?"

"The Spanish have deep wells," Porthos muttered. "An' a lot of gold."

"Could be a connection with the red guards —"

"Ha!" Porthos countered. "None of the red guards could plan somethin' like this. An' besides, the red guards couldn't find the ass on a whore with both 'ands."

Aramis paused, looked at Porthos with a cocked eyebrow, and said, "Both hands… surely you could give them credit for at least one?"

Porthos shrugged. "Maybe… but I wouldn't wager they could."

"It could also be the king's mother — we destroyed her chance at getting the throne back," d'Artagnan continued. "She's had enough time to put a plan into place — perhaps she's aligned herself with the Spanish Court." He shrugged. "After all, she was the one that helped the king design the necklace and the lace, which means she knew where the artisans were located, she just didn't know when the items would be retrieved and by whom?" He rubbed his brow and muttered. "Maybe she sent Rochefort to kill us."

"He's been in a Spanish prison for how many years? He may be a consummate arse, but I doubt he could orchestrate something like this in such a short amount of time." D'Artagnan added another log onto the fire. "Besides," he said, "he's too busy trying to impress the king."

Porthos paused and then shrugged. "Possibly," he said in a quieter tone.

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't have an informant on the inside," Aramis said. "It's possible that whoever is after us," he looked Porthos in the eyes, "has been waiting for us."

"How would they know the king would send us?" Porthos asked. He rubbed his temples with the fingers of a cupped hand. "I left 'im back there." He lowered his hand and looked Aramis in the eyes. "I just left him there."

"He's not alone is he?" d'Artagnan said.

"No," Porthos said. "But Eve an' Emry can't 'elp 'im — not with what he's sufferin' from."

"We'll get to him." Aramis said. He paused and then frowned when he caught a glimpse of an unusual reflection from the flicker of flames on Porthos' doublet that lay across his thigh. "You said Athos couldn't see."

"He can't see anythin'…" Porthos watched Aramis reach for his doublet and pull it from his lap and then look closely at the collar.

Aramis turned suddenly, reached into his medical bag, and removed a clamping tool.

"I've never heard him sound so desperate…" Porthos said quietly and watched Aramis pull something from the collar. "We stopped at a tavern to eat," he shrugged, "a fight broke out — The brigand that Treville mentioned." He nodded with a wince. "They're a problem. The town 'as been 'it several times." He rubbed his brow. "They've been stealin'… even killed a family — when the fight broke out… me an' Athos were tryin' to get out. Someone 'it me with a club of some kind," he looked at his arm and clenched his fist, "an' hit Athos across the 'ead with a stool… The mob went mad. It was chaos." He looked at Aramis, who again looked him in the eyes. "I figure that's when," he rubbed his neck in the spot where Athos had been struck, "he was hit with a dart of some kind… A poisonous tip, Eve called it." He took a deep breath, collected his thoughts, and again clenched his swollen hand uncomfortably.

"The mob went crazy… accused us of bein' a part of the band," Porthos continued. He described their escape out of town, Athos' sudden stop when his eyesight failed, and their need to find shelter and hide. He described the lightning strike, their fall, and then the old farmhouse. His voice had trailed off, grew more somber as he spoke, and the plate of food that d'Artagnan had placed before him had gone cold. "I left 'im." Porthos rubbed his face again. "I've never 'eard 'im sound so… defeated." He looked Aramis in the eyes.

D'Artagnan looked away and thought about the brief interaction he had with Athos when he discovered his wife was still alive. His moment of grief, remorse, despair, and utter loss that had surrounded him like the flames of his estate. It was a moment when Athos' vulnerability consumed him, and d'Artagnan had witnessed enough to understand the immeasurable defeat Athos experienced. His loss, his decision to carry out his duty, had been enough to force him to walk away from everything he knew, everything he loved, and everything that had defined who he was as member of nobility, a husband, a son, and a brother.

At what point does a man simply break?

Aramis paused and looked at Porthos. "At first light, Porthos. We'll leave at first light."

Porthos tiredly rubbed his face again. His body was betraying him. Every move felt heavy and his brain felt sluggish. His eyes burned and felt dry, and his hands shook. "He wanted me to leave 'im… to find you," he clenched his jaw and shook his head with a furrowed brow, "you know Athos… 'e won't tolerate bein' a burden to anyone."

Aramis inhaled deeply and rejected the thought. "Athos may suffer from melancholy, and he may carry heavy burdens on his shoulders, but he will fight until he has nothing left — he has since the day I met him." He looked at Porthos and continued to work at the leather collar. "He wouldn't dare surrender to his loss. It's not who he is." He turned to better expose the focus of his attention with the light of the flames and tugged again using his medical clamp.

The item was slow to move but shifted slightly and finally was pulled from the collar. Aramis squinted, furrowed his brow, and looked carefully at the broken point of a poisonous tip. He raised his knee, rested his right elbow upon it, and then said, "They tried to poison you too," he looked at Porthos and raised the point higher into the air for the others to see. "The tip," he moved his hand and turned the tip as he looked long and hard at it. "Whoever is after us…" he exhaled and rubbed his mouth with the back of his wrist, "isn't going to stop." He looked again at Porthos. "You need to tell us everything about what happened… how did you escape? Who did you see? Who were the men chasing you and who started the fight?"

"We need to go back," Porthos said.

Aramis pursed his lips. "Neither one of us is fit to ride that distance tonight, brother," he said sadly. "You need to eat and to rest and I need to regain more of my strength. If Athos is someplace safe… we must trust him to remain and fight this — if either of us collapses on the way," he hung his head, "we may lose more than just Athos." He looked Porthos in the eyes.

Porthos looked away from them and focused his attention on the horses that grazed. "I promised 'im."

"We'll find him," Aramis reassured. "But in order to find Athos and fight those who are after us, we must," he emphasized, "be stronger than what we are now."