Authors note: This is a quick one I bashed out over a couple of days when I was getting annoyed with a far longer story I was writing. It is a bit of nonsense really, I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've read a few good fanfics involving one or other of them not being able to swim, this is mine. (I'm not a very good swimmer either, so this might not be terribly accurate!).

Swimming Lessons

Chapter One

'Porthos cannot swim…'

The camp was clearly abandoned. A burnt-out fire in the centre of the clearing was cold. There was evidence of a meal having been eaten, a few discarded bones lay dotted about. The earth was scuffed up in places, and multiple shoe prints and hoof prints were still visible in the soft muddy areas.

'Well that was a waste of time,' said Porthos as he glanced around again.

Aramis smirked at him, 'it got us out of guard duty for a day…that is never a waste of time.'

'Very true.'

They had been despatched that morning to investigate a report of bandits in an area a couple of hours ride from Paris. All they were required to do was scout the area, if the bandits were there they would return to Paris for reinforcements. A simple task, but Porthos had been glad of it. It was hot and standing in the sun all day did not appeal to him. As it was they were feeling the heat even in the relative cool of the wooded area they now stood.

'We might as well get back,' Aramis said turning to go, noting that Porthos was already on his way.

They had left the horses on the other side of a river. The rickety wooden bridge, that spanned the water, would probably not have appealed to them. The river was not fast flowing but it was too deep in the centre to bring the horses through it.

'Are you still teaching d'Artagnan how to cheat at cards?' asked Aramis as they reached the step up to the bridge.

'It's not cheatin' it's reading people, it's a fine art,' replied Porthos with mock shock at the accusation. For good measure, he gave Aramis a shove on the arm to underline his feigned annoyance.

Aramis shoved him back, a little harder, causing the musketeer to take a step to the side. He reached out to steady himself on the hand rail along the edge of the bridge. The wood of the barrier, rotten with age and lack of maintenance crumbled under his hand. His could not stop his sideways momentum and found himself falling off the side of the bridge.

The last thing he heard before hitting the water was Aramis shouting his name in alarm.

MMMM

'Porthos!' yelled Aramis as his friend fell.

Aramis had not meant for this happen. Of course, he had not meant for this to happen. He watched in shock as Porthos disappeared under the water. As his friend was falling there was only one thing rushing around in Aramis' mind.

Porthos could not swim.

He would probably be able to haul himself out of a pond were he to fall in but this was a river, with a bit of a current. And he was wearing his uniform, the leather doublet would be heavy, not to mention his weapons. His friend might not even be able to get back up to the surface.

All this whirled around in Aramis' head as he rushed to the other bank, taking off his own weapons belt and doublet as he went. He watched the water intently as he pulled off his boots. Porthos could not have been swept far. As if on cue, the big musketeer broke the surface with a splash. His arms uncoordinated, a look of sheer terror on his face. He was clearly panicking.

Aramis rushed forward into the water, the bank giving way to deep water within a few feet. It only took him a couple of strokes to reach his friend. Porthos was wildly thrashing about. Aramis tried to grab him but was knocked away.

'Porthos!' he shouted, 'you have to calm down, I can get you out,' his words were drowned out by the noise his friend was making flailing around.

Aramis managed to grab his friend, he clung on tightly, trying to offer reassurance by his mere presence. But Porthos continued to struggle. They both sank under the water. Aramis managed to take a quick breath as they went. A tangle of limbs, they floated down to the bed of the river. Aramis managed to push off, propelling them back up to the surface. As they rose he realised his wrist had become caught under Porthos' weapon belt. He could not free himself. He could feel himself beginning to panic, he had to push the feeling away.

They broke the surface, Aramis took a gulp of air. Porthos was still struggling, one of his flailing hands smacked Aramis in the face, making him reel for a few seconds. If Porthos carried on struggling, which Aramis was sure he would, the chances where they would both drown. Aramis pulled at his trapped wrist but could not get away.

They sank again. Aramis wondered if Porthos would just tire himself out. He did not think they could wait that long. They hit the bottom of the river, again Aramis pushed off upwards.

As they broke the surface, Aramis did the only thing he could think off. He punched Porthos hard to the face.

The effect was instant, Aramis did not think he had knocked his friend out, but he went limp. Aramis seized the opportunity and pulled them towards the bank. He pushed Porthos ahead of him. The musketeer had regained enough composure to pull himself far enough out of the water to be safe. Aramis managed to disentangle himself from Porthos as he hauled himself out. He sprawled on the bank of the river face down breathing hard. He did not have the strength to turn over onto his back.

MMMM

Every breath felt like nectar. When he had been in the water, each time he dared to take a breath it had been tainted with splashes of water. Each time he had sunk down he had not had time to take a breath and his lungs had screamed for air. Time had slowed down, but he had felt utterly useless, he could not think what to do and could not coordinate himself. He had been aware of Aramis but could not react.

Now on the bank of the river all he could do was breathe. There was no other activity. Just breathing was enough. He had rolled onto his side, his shoulders heaving each time he breathed in. He realised he had his eyes screwed shut. He opened them.

Aramis was lying next to him, also breathing hard. He was lying on his front his head turned away. Porthos realised what his friend had done. Saved him. He also realised Aramis was bleeding. His hand was covered with blood.

'Your…hand…bleeding…'

Aramis did not respond to Porthos' gasped statement.

'Ara…mis?'

It was another few minutes before Aramis found the strength to turn his head, he looked at his hand. His eyes refocused on Porthos.

'I got tangled up…with your belt. Must have caught it…on the buckle,' he said as his breathing began to ease.

'Sorry.'

Aramis managed a smile, 'not your fault…accident.'

Porthos was breathing, more or less, normally by this time. He pushed himself up into a sitting position. Aramis went to do the same but winced when he tried to use his injured hand for support. Porthos shuffled over to his side and helped him to turn over and sit up. He held up Aramis injured right hand for inspection. A long straight cut across the back of the hand, it was still bleeding.

'You're going to have to stitch it,' said Aramis with a frown.

'But you don't like my stitching.'

'I can't stitch one handed, not with my left hand.'

Porthos nodded conceding the point. He felt weak from his unexpected misadventure in the river, but he knew that Aramis needed his help.

'Sorry I pushed you,' said Aramis suddenly.

'You weren't to know I would fall in,' replied Porthos as he struggled to his feet, 'I really should learn to swim.'

'Yes, you should,' said Aramis as he allowed Porthos to help him up.

They scrambled back up the bank and to safety. They had drifted a little down the river so had to walk back a few hundred metres to find Aramis' things. It was a slow shaky walk for them both.

MMMM

Despite the warm weather they were both shivering by the time they reached the horses. Porthos wrapped Aramis' hand in a bandage to try and stem the blood flow whilst they stripped off their soaked clothes. They could only hope they would dry quick enough to prevent a soggy ride back to Paris. They were only meant to be out for a few hours so had not brought much with them, and no change of clothes.

Wrapped up in their cloaks they sat in the sunshine whilst Aramis sorted out what he would need to clean and stitch his hand.

'I'll teach you, if you want,' he said as he unwrapped the temporary bandage Porthos had put on earlier.

'What?'

'To swim.'

Porthos did not respond, he was busy trying to thread the needle, and failing. Aramis took it off him and even with a slight shake of his injured hand managed to thread it on the second attempt. He handed the now threaded needle back.

'Only us two. I know it's nothin' to be ashamed of. Not being able to swim, but I'd still rather do it in private.'

Aramis could understand what he meant. He imagined there were not many soldiers who could not swim.

'You taught me how to take a punch, it's the least I can do.'

Porthos grinned saying, 'you give 'em pretty well too.'

'Sorry about that, but you would've drowned us both if I hadn't hit you.'

Aramis paused whilst he washed the wound, wincing as he sloshed alcohol over it. Satisfied that it was clean he held up his hand ready for Porthos to start the stitching. Normally when he received stitched he would clench his fists in an attempt to keep still, but he could not do that this time. He noticed Porthos eyeing him warily.

'I'll be fine,' he said, although he was not sure.

He used his bent knee to rest his hand on and took a steadying breath. He had to use all his will power not to move his right hand away as the first stitch went in. By the time the last stitch was tied off, he was sweating and breathing quickly. Porthos was looking at him concerned, despite his best effort to hide the pain he was in.

'I'm fine…it's fine,' he managed to say shakily.

Porthos mumbled something incoherently as he started to wrap a fresh bandage around the injury. Once he was finished he put a reassuring hand on Aramis' shoulder. It was clear Porthos thought he was going to pass out. Once certain his friend was not going to keel over, Porthos rose and wandered over to their clothes.

'Dry enough,' he called, 'my jacket is still wet though.'

He grabbed Aramis' clothes and brought them back to him. He handed them over and looked at him quizzically.

'I think I can dress myself,' Aramis answered the unasked question.

It was not easy as his hand hurt, even more so now the stitches were in place, but he managed to struggle into most of his clothes. As he pulled his doublet on he realised he could not do the buckles up, his fingers would not coordinate with enough dexterity yet. Porthos was in front of him and batting his hands away. Aramis sighed and allowed his friend to do up his jacket.

'Good as new,' said Porthos with a smirk smoothing down the leather.

'Thank you,' replied the marksman with a gracious nod.

After repacking his saddle bags, Aramis paused by his horse. Mounting up was going to hurt his hand. He turned to ask for help, only to find Porthos already standing next to him.

'Can you read minds?'

'Only yours, and it had occurred to me you might need a hand…seein' as I managed to damage yours.'

After helping him up, Porthos climbed onto his own horse. They fell into step beside each other.

'Once this has healed,' said Aramis holding up his bandaged hand, 'we'll find somewhere secluded and I will teach you. Then I won't need to rescue you again.'

'Yes, I'd like to avoid getting punched by you again if I can,' retorted Porthos as they headed back to Paris.

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