This is set 6 months after season 2. With the only difference being that in this story War has not yet been declared on Spain. Everyone knows it's coming, but Louis is taking some time to gain the support of his nobles, and to quietly seek out foreign allies. Other than than that, Aramis is at the Abbé, Treville is Minister - but not yet for War, Athos did not manage to catch up to Milady and is Captain of the Musketeers, and D'Artagnan is married.

This is my first ever attempt to write something plot driven, so any constructive criticism is very welcome. All the boys will get lots to do, and to have their pov in this tale I hope. And I expect there will be whump enough to go around!

While it would be lovely, I sadly do not own the Musketeers.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

Athos desperately wanted a drink to steady his hand, but no...he would not allow such a thing till his grim task was finished. In the six months since he had command of the regiment, this was the first time he'd had to write such a letter, but he knew with war looming, it would not be the last. And as Captain, it would be his orders that would send more men to their deaths. For now though, he must focus on this letter - to Etienne's parents.

How does one tell a parent that their smiling son will never return home? Athos sighed and was tempted to reach for the wine again, but he stilled his hand. He felt so inadequate to the task. He was a soldier. He knew he was good with strategy, and he had come to recognise his skill to lead, and surprisingly, to inspire men. But this? He could not find the words. Aramis could have done a better job, he always possessed the ability to say the right things...when he chose to. But Aramis was far away at the abbé. How he wished for the comfort of his presence now, more so than in the entire last six months that he had been gone.

Porthos had made the long journey to the abbé twice during that time, missing his friend as one might miss a limb. Even D'Artagnan, with the demands of a new bride to fill his non garrison time, had managed to visit Aramis once. But the pressure of his new office meant Athos had not laid eyes on his dear brother since he'd left. But now he would have to go.

There was no one to write to for Porthos.

No family but their own to miss him. The thought made Athos throat close. For a man so vibrant, caring, and full of life as Porthos to have so few people who knew what he was, just seemed wrong. But here at the garrison where people saw his true worth there was grief aplenty. Treville's devastation had surprised Athos. The old soldier had lost many men over the years, but his connection to Porthos was different... he grieved, privately, and with dignity, but with a depth Athos had seldom seen from him.

D'Artagnan had grown closer to the big musketeer in the last half year. He had always enjoyed his company, but Porthos and Aramis had been a tight unit, while D'Artagnan had generally gravitated more to Athos. With Aramis departure however and Athos new responsibilities, Porthos and D'Artagnan had naturally spent more time together, growing closer, sharing their own private jokes and silent communication. Porthos dined with D'Artagnan and Constance even more frequently than Athos, a regular and welcome part of their family. D'Artagnan's devastation at Porthos loss was palpable, Athos wished he could offer the boy some comfort, but it took all his strength to keep his own grief in check.

And Aramis was yet to learn of his loss. A letter would not do. He and D'Artagnan would go in person. It was the least they could do for Aramis...for Porthos.

They did not even have a body to bury.

The King had granted D'Artagnan and Athos two days leave to inform Aramis, a sign that even at the palace Porthos loss was felt. It would have pleased Porthos, Athos thought, to find that the King himself had expressed a genuine sorrow at his death - re-telling the story of watching him fighting in the tavern, talking of his great strength and bravery. For Porthos, a gutter rat from the Court of Miracles, to have his passing thought of by the King of France! Athos lips quirked up, he finally had the praise and glory he enjoyed, and so richly deserved. Once again Athos felt his heart clench and his stomach churn. How could it possibly be that he would never hear the booming laugh, or see that beaming grin again. Athos dashed at his stinging eyes and returned to his letter to Etienne's parents.

The boy had been with the garrison just 8 months. He had been extremely shy, barely speaking, when he did speak the reason for his reticence became obvious, for Etienne had a stammer. He had been a promising recruit however, competent at hand to hand, good with a sword, and very good with a musket. Athos, when he took the Captaincy, recognised the boys skills, but his painful shyness meant he lacked confidence, and struggled around the other musketeers. So Athos had begun to send him on missions with Porthos and D'Artagnan. Porthos warmth, and garrulous personality, and D'Artagnan's friendly exhuberance had brought the boy out if his shell. He proved to have a shy but ready smile. He clearly looked up to both men. It had amused Athos greatly to see D'Artagnan the subject of hero worship instead of doling it out!

Just over two weeks ago Etienne and Porthos had been sent to take some sensitive papers to a Barron who lived a days ride from Paris. They had been expected back no more than two days later. After five days absence the concern had arisen. A search party was sent out. They made it all the way to the Baron's to discover that the letters had arrived on time. So whatever had happened had taken place on the return journey. Athos sent two more search parties, and yesterday they had brought back Etienne's body.

He had been found on a steep bank beside a fast flowing river. There was little left of the quiet smiling boy, the animals had gotten to him, eaten him away. It seemed clear he had been dead for many days. Signs of blood, footsteps and horses hooves surrounded his body and, caught on a nearby root, at the edge of the river was Porthos blood stained bandana. It seemed likely he had gone into the river. The search party followed it downstream, hoping to at least find Porthos body. About two miles further, caught in some branches, they did find a body - with Porthos dagger buried in its chest. The man wore no uniform, or anything to identify him, but signs of a violent life showed in the scars that littered his bloated corpse.

Perhaps they had been fighting and both gone into the water.

Perhaps Porthos body had been swallowed by the river and would never be found.

Perhaps, the indomitable part of Athos heart did whisper, Porthos had escaped from the river...but then why hadn't he returned?

Athos knew one thing for certain, if Porthos were alive he would move heaven and earth to make it home. But after so many days, Athos had tried to make himself accept - his friend was gone.

He swiped again at his eyes as he finished the letter. Telling the parents of their son's bravery, dedication and devotion to duty. Then he reached for the bottle . But no sooner had he held it to his lips than he heard a commotion on the stairs outside his office, and a breathless D'Artagnan barrelled through the door

" You're not going to believe this!" he panted

And then she walked in. As beautiful as ever. Raven curls falling on her velvet cloak.

" Hello Athos. Have you missed me? "

Athos breath caught in his throat as it so often did when confronted by his wife.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

I really admire those who do lots of historical research for their stories. Sadly I'm not one of them. So if this is at odds with historical accuracy - well that's highly likely and I apologise. Thanks for reading. Reviews are much appreciated.

Oh and despite what the first chapter implies, I do not write death fics.

I'm off on holiday in a couple of days, so unless I can concentrate on the plane, it could be 2 weeks till the next update. But I will try not to leave too long between chapters if I can.