Breathing

Collecting On A Promise

  Aramis and Cécile stroll slowly through the streets of Paris near the garrison gates, her arm resting in the crook of his. The once bustling streets of the city remain relatively quiet and empty. Fear of the deadly disease that ravaged their beloved city is still too raw to venture out.

"I hear the death toll in Paris is in the hundreds; it could be much more once the final count is taken. I know thousands were sick." Cécile reported sadly.

"The regiment was hit pretty hard." Aramis shook his head. "We lost nine good Musketeers—and all because of a damn disease! How could this happen?" He stared into the distance, his mind wandering back to the events of the last several weeks. A shiver trembled through his body, leaving him suddenly cold.

"Are you alright, Aramis?" Cécile stopped to face the medic. "You're thinking of Athos, aren't you?"

"Is it that obvious?" Aramis smiled briefly, though his smile quickly disappeared. "I feel guilty, Cécile. Is it wrong?"

"Feel guilty about what, Aramis? Is what wrong?" The nurse asked with concern, her hand gently caressing his cheek.

"We just buried nine good Musketeers—and I'm glad that one of them was not Athos. Since we were at the château, I've had these terrible dreams of having to bury Athos. During the memorial service, I thought of nothing but being glad that Athos was not inside one of the nine coffins at the church." Aramis choked on a sob.

"There is nothing to feel guilty about, Aramis." Cécile comforted in a soft voice. "Your reaction is perfectly natural and normal."

"Those nine men were my brothers too; but I was thanking God during their funeral that it was not my brother Athos. What is wrong with me? What kind of Musketeer am I?"

"Nothing is wrong with you, Aramis!" the nurse exclaimed. "What kind of Musketeer are you? One that feels grateful his best friend is not dead after worrying about him for weeks, if not longer."

Aramis let his head hang low with guilt.

Cécile took the medic by the chin and raised his head up, meeting her eyes with his. "Aramis, don't ever feel guilty for simply being grateful your closest friend and brother is not counted among the dead," the nurse whispered. "Athos's death would only have compounded your grief to the point of despair and ruin. Why not be thankful that depth of grief was avoided?"

"I couldn't have handled Athos dying. . ."

"Exactly," the nurse nodded. "I know that from the talks we had at the château. But, if I may, I'll go one step further—I'm glad that Athos and youare not counted among the dead." Cécile smiled. "I don't apologize for being thankful you both lived."

"You're right, of course." Aramis kissed Cécile softly on the lips. "Come on, we need to get back to the garrison."

*****

M. Molyneux placed the last of his belongings in the carriage. "I am requested to report to the Hôtel-Dieu, so I must be off. They need more physicians to help with the last of the victims still being brought in. The contagious stage is over and it should be safe. Nevertheless, I will keep my mask with me and I will be wearing it—considering the hospital is not the most sanitary of places."

"What about Cécile?" Aramis asked the doctor. "Is she going with you?"

"No, she is staying here," the doctor answered. "Cécile will have to get back to Chamarande without me. I trust, Aramis, that you will see to her getting home safely?"

"Yes, absolutely, doctor." Aramis nodded. "I wouldn't think of Cécile traveling home all alone."

"Very good then, Aramis." Molyneux smiled. "I have already said my goodbye's to the others. Athos has strict instructions to take it easy for the next several weeks. He is not to strain himself, or cause straining on his sides, in any fashion." Molyneux informed the medic.