Aramis had managed to stay away for nearly an hour, returning with a much calmer countenance and with both food and wine for them to sustain themselves with. Later that evening, Dupuy had returned and, with Aramis' permission, had examined both patients and was largely pleased with their state, save for d'Artagnan's sporadic coughs. He had assured both men that the other patients had experienced similar reactions and were now being carefully watched by his assistants and the Comte's staff. The physician fully expected that everyone would begin to show increased signs of awareness within the day and improved health soon after; the biggest challenge now would be to force nutrients into their patients' ravaged bodies so they would have the strength to recover.

As Dupuy had predicted, Porthos began to steadily improve and by the following afternoon, he'd managed a cup of broth and had even laid partly inclined against a mass of pillows at his back, speaking in low tones with his two friends. They had both been shocked by the hoarseness of the man's voice from his lengthy bouts of sickness, and cringed sympathetically at the discomfort that stemmed from his overtaxed stomach muscles. They had taken advantage of Porthos' wakefulness to assist the man to a chair at the table, then carried d'Artagnan to the cot so they could change the soiled bedding. When they'd finished, Porthos lay tiredly against the pillows, clearly having been worn out from the short sojourn from bed. d'Artagnan lay propped against several pillows even though he had not yet awakened from the day prior, despite the best efforts of Aramis, Athos and even Dupuy. Where Porthos was getting better, the Gascon seemed to be getting worse, his heated skin still flushed with fever and his breathing labored as he seemed to battle for every inhale.

Dupuy had confirmed their worst fears when he'd laid his ear against d'Artagnan's chest, listening to the crackling sounds that were present and diagnosing the young man with pneumonia. He'd prepared a draught immediately that Athos had forced into him through a combination of pleading and pure determination, holding the boy's mouth closed after each cupful until the boy's body reflexively swallowed. When he'd finished, Athos devoutly hoped that the boy would regain his wits soon; he'd nearly been undone by the weak flailing of the boy's arms as he'd tried to resist the liquid being poured into his mouth. Aramis had placed several herbs in a small bowl, pouring water over them, and placing them to heat over a candle close to d'Artagnan's head. The concoction scented the area with a mildly minty aroma, which Aramis believed would allow the Gascon to breathe easier. A second batch of herbs was ground into a thick paste and applied liberally to the boy's chest, another attempt on Aramis' part to nurse the boy back to health.

By the third day, Porthos had moved from the bed and spent his nights in the room next door, which had been initially given to d'Artagnan. Aramis refused to allow him to sit watch over the Gascon during the evenings, reminding him that he was still very weak and recovering. However d'Artagnan was never alone, Athos and Aramis sleeping in shifts in the cot or, when the exhaustion overcame them unexpectedly, waking to find themselves stiff and uncomfortable in the chair at the Gascon's side.

That day, the young man's symptoms seemed to climax; he was now sitting nearly upright in bed and struggled for every shallow intake of air. Aramis had noticed the blue tinge to his lips and was now desperately trying every trick he'd ever learned in his years of treating his fellow soldiers. Dupuy was similarly desperate and had no further ideas, simply encouraging the men to continue what they'd been doing and to clap the man's back soundly in an effort to release some of what now clogged the boy's lungs.

Athos had finally removed himself to the cot and slept fitfully, while Porthos had been persuaded to take a short nap next door, still tiring easily after his ordeal. Aramis sat diligently washing their young friend down with a cloth in an effort to keep the dangerously high fever from climbing further. Like the others, he felt overwhelming fatigue but would not willingly leave the boy's side while his state was so precarious. Squinting at the young man through bleary eyes that refused to focus, Aramis found himself leaning forward to place a hand on the boy's chest. The room had fallen unusually silent and it took Aramis several seconds to realize the cause – the boy's wheezing breaths had stopped. Flinging himself from his chair with a cry, Aramis placed his face in front of the young man's mouth, confirming the lack of breaths. He moved his ear to the boy's chest, relieved to still feel the thumping of the young man's heart even though his chest had stilled.

Athos had been roused by Aramis' cry and now stood next to Aramis, waiting to hear the outcome of his examination. "He's stopped breathing," Aramis gasped. He pushed the older man down onto the bed, and pulled the Gascon forward into Athos' arms. Slumped as he was, Athos could feel the unnatural stillness of his brothers' body and gripped him tightly around the lower back and neck, pulling him closer. Aramis took a hand to the boy's back, surprising Athos with the ferocity of the first hit, but willing to do anything to bring the boy back to them. He held tightly as the Gascon's body shook with each subsequent strike, accompanied by a litany of pleading phrases that fell from Aramis' lips.

Time seemed to stand still until the Gascon seemed to convulse in Athos' arms, and he pulled the boy away from him quickly, still supporting him with hands on both shoulders. d'Artagnan coughed weakly and Aramis grabbed a clean cloth which he placed at the Gascon's mouth, thumping him again on the back. Another cough was forced from the boy's lips and Aramis drew the cloth away, checking quickly to confirm that the boy had successfully managed to dislodge some of what had been choking the air from his lungs. d'Artagnan drew a shaky breath as Athos pulled him back into a gentle embrace, whispering words of encouragement into his ear as he rubbed slow circles on the boy's back. One breath turned into two and, while the boy still fought for every inhale, he was soon breathing somewhat regularly.

Aramis placed a hand on Athos' shoulder to get his attention, indicating the mound of pillows, "We can lay him down again."

Athos was hesitant to break contact with the young man, but eventually nodded and the two worked together to replace the boy in his previous position. Athos looked at Aramis, the fear still raw on his face, "He stopped breathing." It was a statement, not a question, and Aramis simply nodded.

"We'll need to be far more diligent about clapping him on the back. He needs to cough in order to expel the congestion in his lungs, otherwise this is liable to happen again," Aramis explained.

"He's alright for now?" Both men looked up sharply at the new voice, seeing Porthos moving slowly across the room, his eyes fixed firmly on their young friend. Aramis strode to his side, placing a hand at his elbow, steering him to sit in a chair and pulling the blanket he wore more firmly around him.

"Yes, he's alright for now," Aramis confirmed.

"I'm not leavin' again," the large man stated, still staring at the boy.

Aramis patted his friend's knee in understanding. While the young man remained so ill, it was unlikely that any of them would be parted from his side.

The three men stayed with d'Artagnan from that point onward, with Aramis and Athos only leaving when absolutely necessary and Porthos returning to the young man's side to share the bed when sleep demanded he close his eyes. For two days they lived in this fashion, going through the motions of eating and sleeping only because they needed their strength to be able to care for their friend. d'Artagnan's body was still consumed by fever and Aramis privately feared that he would soon succumb, lacking the energy to fight it any longer.

Athos was sitting by the young man's side when he heard a shift in the wheezing breaths that they'd become accustomed to. Fearing another attack that would leave the boy choking for air, Athos began to stand, preparing to pull the boy forward so he could access his back. In mid-motion, he noticed the young man's eyes, open only partially but quite obviously focused on him. "d'Artagnan?" Athos asked hesitantly. The Gascon lips parted to speak but his breath caught in his throat and he coughed instead. Pulling him forward slightly, Athos supported him against his chest as he patted the man's back, helping to dislodge the matter that still clogged his lungs. When he'd finished, Athos allowed the boy lean back, and seeing the look of disgust on the boy's mouth, he held a cloth under it. "Spit," Athos ordered kindly and the young man obliged, nodding gratefully to the older man. Athos held a cup to the boy's lips, pushing his trembling hand down when the he tried to take it from Athos' hand. When he'd managed a few sips, Athos asked, "How are you feeling?"

The Gascon drew a careful breath and spoke in a broken voice, "Hot. Sore." He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed gingerly. "Wha' happened?"

Athos brushed back the damp bangs from d'Artagnan's face, gracing him with a slight smile, "You've been very sick. You're hot because of the fever and probably sore from having been so sick this last week. Do you remember anything of the past few weeks?"

d'Artagnan struggled to pull his confusing thoughts together before finally answering, "Sick. You went for a cure," he swallowed again and Athos helped him take another drink. "Porthos?" he breathed out.

Athos motioned with his head, indicating the man snoring softly on the other side of the bed. The young man's eyes moved to the side and a small grin graced his lips. "Alright?" he asked.

"Yes, it's you who's had us all worried. Speaking of which, the others would never forgive me if I allowed them to sleep through your first waking moments." d'Artagnan frowned, confused by Athos' statement. "Do you think you can stay awake a few minutes longer?" The Gascon nodded slowly, eyelids already growing heavy and Athos had no doubt the boy would soon be asleep again.

Athos woke Aramis first and then Porthos, both of whom were incredibly glad to see the young man awake. While Aramis conducted a quick examination, Athos brought broth from the kitchen so they could get something of substance into the young man. While he'd been away, Porthos had filled in the blanks in d'Artagnan's memory, distracting him from Aramis' poking and prodding.

When Athos returned he looked at Aramis who still sat on the bed, next to the Gascon, and the look he received confirmed that the young man seemed to finally be improving. Aramis took the broth from Athos and swatted d'Artagnan's hand away when he tried to take the bowl. "We need to get this into you, not have it spilled down your front." Although the young man seemed inclined to protest, he allowed Aramis to feed him, managing nearly half the bowl before turning his head away.

"Are you sure?" Aramis prompted, trying to get the young man to eat a little more. d'Artagnan nodded, lifting a trembling hand to rub his sore chest. Aramis covered the hand with his own, asking, "Does it hurt?"

The Gascon nodded, whispering, "Feels like an elephant is sitting on it."

Aramis nodded sympathetically, "That's the pneumonia. Hopefully you'll start feeling better from this point forward." The young man blinked slowly, clearly losing the struggle to stay awake and Aramis pushed him gently back into the pillows at this back. "Sleep now, we'll wake you later to take more medicine."

The boy's head lay cushioned in the pillows and his breathing slowed as he drifted off to sleep. Aramis stood and faced his two friends, "This is a positive sign. His fever is still high but hopefully he's on the mend now." Porthos grinned broadly and Athos gave a tilt of his head in acknowledgement of his friend's words. That night, the three men finally managed to rest properly instead of the hours of worry-filled tossing that had marked their previous attempts.

Three days had passed since d'Artagnan had initially woken, and while he was still feeling sore and short of breath, his fever had been reduced to more of a nuisance rather than anything life-threatening. His three brothers continued to watch over him and refused to leave him alone. When d'Artagnan complained about this fact early in his recovery, the look of anguish on his friends' faces at the thought of being apart stopped him and made him realize that things must have been far more dire than he'd been led to believe. Recognizing that he'd feel the same if the circumstances had been reversed, he committed to be an obedient patient, even allowing himself to be helped out of bed when needing the chamber pot and eating everything that was placed in front of him.

As his health returned, their conversations shifted to the trip back to Paris, which the Gascon fervently hoped would happen sooner rather than later. While he appreciated the Comte's hospitality, he was eager to put this memory behind him and that was difficult to do while they remained at the chateau. The following morning, Aramis helped d'Artagnan wash and dress and they moved slowly out of the room, Aramis refusing the young man's attempts to find out where they were going. The trip down the grand staircase was slow and d'Artagnan was breathing heavily by the time they stepped off the last step, but when Aramis brought him through the front doors, the fresh breeze and sunshine made him forget his discomfort.

They stood there for a couple of minutes, d'Artagnan relishing the scent of the fresh air and the warmth of the sun on his face. He had little memory of the time when he'd been sick, but knew instinctively that there was a part of him that had been surprised to still be alive. When Aramis felt the fine tremors in d'Artagnan's body, he pulled the boy down to the courtyard and to a bench that faced the gate. Aramis sat beside him and within minutes the others had joined them, Porthos sitting next to Aramis while Athos took the spot on d'Artagnan's other side. They sat quietly for a while, enjoying each other's company before Athos broke the silence. "Aramis feels you may be able to manage the trip back in a couple of days."

A wide grin split the Gascon's face at the news. "But, we'll travel slowly, taking frequent stops to rest, and you must tell us right away if you feel ill or tired," Aramis cautioned.

"Treville's not expecting us for a few days yet, so maybe we can stop at that pond again," Porthos suggested with a gleam in his eye.

d'Artagnan thought back to the trip he and Porthos had shared when travelling to the chateau. The sun had been shining and the weather had been pleasantly warm, the heat of the day tempered by the breeze that moved gently across the land. They had stopped for several hours to enjoy the cool waters of the lake and d'Artagnan had thought it to be a perfect day. Now he would have the chance to share the experience with all three of his brothers and he realized that while the journey had been enjoyable, having all of his friends with him was preferable, and maybe this, instead, would be the perfect day.

The end.

A/N As always, reaching the end of a story brings mixed feelings of sadness and accomplishment and I want to thank everyone who read, reviewed, followed and favorited. For those of you who like a bit of historical accuracy with your stories, I tried to keep the symptoms our boys endured as close to the truth as possible as they dealt with what we know as dysentery. The cure is also close to the times, although ipecac wasn't really seen widely used until almost 30 years later. That's all for now...