AN: This story was conceived as a sequel to "Love Will Be the Death of You," but it can be read on its own. For that reason, I tend to avoid openly mentioning anything that happened in the prequel (at least for the first few chapters or so of the story), so there won't be any spoilers for new readers. That said, reading my other story will let you see how Porthos and Aramis's relationship began and why they sometimes act the way they do in regards to each other. Whether you decide to read the other or not, I hope you enjoy this!
A huge thank you to WizzKiz, who spent several excited hours on Skype with me while I outlined this frankly massive fic and has proofread every chapter while freaking out about the boys and pirate-y things.
Also, I have no direct experience with sailing whatsoever, so if anyone finds any mistakes during the story, please do not hesitate to tell me! I'd be glad to make the necessary corrections.
Yo ho, haul together, hoist the colors high.
Heave ho, thieves and beggars, never shall we die.
"What do you mean he's gone?" Porthos's voice was like an explosion in the small room. The man he was questioning leaped back in fear, staring at him with wide eyes.
"Porthos," Aramis said quietly, crossing the room to take a position between his lover and the harbormaster. "It's hardly his fault the man's boat arrived."
He sensed the frustration rolling off the larger man, but after a moment Porthos sighed and grunted out, "My apologies."
Aramis understood his frustration. What should have been an easy mission to Le Havre to pick up an escaped English assassin who had plotted against the king was turning into a complicated quandary. The harbormaster in Le Havre had just informed them that their man had left yesterday under the name Reynard, though his real name was unknown.
Emboldened by Aramis's defense, the man crowded forward, jabbing a finger at Porthos. "I have rights!" he said, his voice tremulous. "You can't just come in here and bully me!"
He pushed against Aramis, jostling his still healing ribs, and Aramis failed to entirely disguise the slight hiss of pain that escaped through his teeth. Porthos's face settled into something resembling thunder, and the man scurried backwards again, bravery vanishing.
"We did not come to bully you," Athos said amicably, cutting Porthos off before he could begin threatening the cowering idiot. "Can you tell us where his ship was bound, and when the next will depart?"
The man was still watching Porthos like a mouse watches a prize ratter, but he answered Athos's questions. "A Coruña. It's a city on the Spanish coast."
"Spain?" D'Artagnan asked, looking over from his position guarding the entrance. "Why Spain?"
Athos was staring at the harbormaster, a crease between his eyebrows betraying his puzzlement. "I don't know," he said evenly. "But I suppose that's what we need to find out."
Aramis sensed the protest before Porthos voiced it and hissed, "Not here," inclining his head toward the listening dock master.
"And the next ship?" Athos prompted.
The man looked at him at last, a look of genuine regret crossing his mousey features. "There isn't one. There's not another ship bound for Spain for three days, and that one's going to San Sebastián."
"Could we charter one?" Athos asked patiently.
"Not around these parts," the man said glumly. "Trade's been poor. No one wants to risk being seized by an English privateer."
Athos cursed softly under his breath, the first outward sign of his impatience. "Thank you for your assistance," he said formally. "We'd best be on our way."
He led the way out into the cold drizzle, heading towards the dry space under a nearby bridge. Aramis could sense the frustrated belligerence rolling off of Porthos even as they walked and fought the urge to sigh.
"We're not going to Spain," Porthos said as soon as they were under cover. Athos raised an eyebrow inquisitively.
"Aren't we?"
"No," Porthos ground out. "This was supposed to be a short, easy mission. Aramis can't travel all the way to Spain."
"I am right here, you know," Aramis said mildly, trying in vain to insert himself into the conversation. Both Musketeers ignored him, and D'Artagnan shot him a sympathetic look.
"Treville told us to do, and I quote, 'whatever it takes' to fetch the assassin," Athos said patiently. "We will find a ship to take us to Spain and bring back our man."
"So Aramis can take even longer to heal?" Porthos demanded angrily. "We're going back to Paris and telling Treville we lost him."
Aramis wanted to beat him about the head with one of the fish lying in a nearby barrel. He knew Porthos was just being overprotective because he loved him, but he was beginning to feel smothered. He was almost completely healed from the wounds he'd received when he was captured on their last mission, and he was more than capable of completing his duties.
Still, it was difficult to blame Porthos, especially when he knew his lover still blamed himself for the events that had led to Aramis's capture. Even so, he couldn't keep coddling him forever. A man had to put his foot down somewhere.
"Porthos!" he said forcefully, finally drawing the larger man's attention. "We are going to Spain. It seems the choice comes down to whether we ride and risk losing our man entirely, or find a way to sail after him. The latter sounds more pleasant to me."
It was low bit of manipulation, but he caught Porthos wince at the reminder that riding a horse had been rather painful for Aramis with ribs that were only mostly recovered from being broken.
Surely sailing would be less painful than bumping up and down on a horse.
"You're not ready," Porthos sighed, some of the anger draining out of him. "Treville should never have sent us."
"But he did," D'Artagnan pointed out unhelpfully.
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," Aramis said, shrugging. "We're Musketeers. This is what we do." He could see concern warring with loyalty in Porthos's eyes.
"I promise I'll tell you if it gets to be too much," he added, and though they both knew he was probably lying, Porthos nodded his acceptance.
"Now that's all sorted out," Athos cut in wryly, "Perhaps we ought to consider our next move."
"If we're to follow this Reynard, we'll need to charter a ship. So we should probably go search the taverns for a captain willing to take us," Aramis said. Athos nodded.
"Aramis, Porthos, you check the taverns to the north. D'Artagnan and I will head south. There must be someone in this city willing to risk the privateers."
Athos and D'Artagnan headed back out into the drizzle, but Porthos grabbed Aramis's arm before he could leave, swinging him back against the wall and stepping close to him.
"You sure you're alright?" he asked quietly. There was no belligerence in his voice now, just concern. Aramis smiled reassuringly.
"If I wasn't, could I have managed what I did last night?" he asked slyly, enjoying the way Porthos's eyes darkened instantly.
"Probably not," Porthos chuckled, voice warming.
"I swear to you, I can do this," Aramis told him firmly. "I would not have agreed to it otherwise."
"I know," Porthos sighed. "I just worry."
"I know you do," Aramis chuckled, shaking his head. "But if I could handle that, I can handle this. That took far more stamina and, ah, flexibility than this is likely to."
Porthos grinned invitingly at him. "Maybe we ought to try that again, just so I'm really sure you're ready," he teased. Before Aramis had a chance to come up with a witty retort Porthos had dipped his head the last few inches, warm lips finding Aramis's own as he crowded Aramis against the wall.
A noise from overhead broke them apart far too soon, and they froze, listening. But it was only a passerby on the bridge overhead.
"Let's hope Athos takes rooms in an inn for the night," Aramis said, flashing a lazy smile at his lover. Porthos echoed the expression, a wicked gleam in his eyes.
"But for now, duty calls," Aramis sighed, pushing Porthos away and heading out into the rain before he could change his mind.
A few hours later they were back under the bridge, soaked and discouraged. Aramis's ribs and shoulder ached abominably, the cold creeping along his scars. They hadn't found a single captain willing to risk the privateer's cannons to take them to Spain.
And from the look on D'Artagnan's face when he and Athos finally rejoined them, neither had they.
"Nothing?" Athos asked tiredly. Porthos shook his head.
"What now?" D'Artagnan asked, shaking his head like a dog.
"We need to travel to another port city, I suppose," Athos sighed. "Somewhere we might find a boat."
"We need to take a ship, not a boat, Athos," Porthos corrected.
"There's a difference?" D'Artagnan asked, sounding confused.
"Difference or not, it doesn't matter if we can't find either," Aramis pointed out. "I doubt the captains in Calais or Cherbourg will be any less frightened of privateers." He winced when Porthos stiffened slightly at the word Calais.
"And we don't have the funds to charter one if all the captains are afraid," Athos added. "We haven't enough of a bribe to overcome their fear."
Porthos shook his head, the beginning of a grin on his handsome features.
"Nah, I said we should take a ship."
The rain muffled his footsteps as he stole down the dock to where he'd agreed to meet the others once he'd chosen the ship. He could see two shadows waiting under the overhang in the alley as he stalked silently over.
"Where's Athos?" he asked, raising his voice over the pounding rain. The drizzle had turned into a downpour.
D'Artagnan leapt a foot in the air at the sound of his voice, and Porthos heard Aramis chuckle under his breath.
"He went to check that the harbormaster was asleep and fetch the navigational equipment. We left the horses in the stables with instructions to keep them fed and cared for until a Musketeer arrived to claim them."
Porthos nodded, already running through the plan in his head. "Good, that's good."
"Did you find a good boa- ship?" Aramis asked.
"I found a real beauty," Porthos chuckled. "Small, sleek, well-kept. It's a real shame to have to steal 'er."
"Treville will see that the owners are well-compensated." Athos materialized behind D'Artagnan, making the lad jump again.
"Got everything?" Porthos asked, nodding at the burlap sack in Athos's hands.
"Three days' worth of provisions, maps, a compass, and some odd looking device that was with the compass. I assumed it was important."
"Right. That's good. There should be fresh water on the dock that we can load on the ship, too." He looked around. "Let's go, then."
He led the way down the darkened dock, eyes scanning the ships as they passed for watchers. He saw no one, and it wasn't long before they reached the ship he'd picked out. 'Madeleine' had been lovingly painted on the narrow bow.
"It's not very big," D'Artagnan whispered doubtfully as they crouched behind a stack of crates, checking for sentries.
"It's not a warship," Porthos retorted. "It's built like a flute, but on a smaller scale. Only needs a few men for a crew, see? Probably a short-distance trader. Lot's o' cargo space."
"It's only got four cannons!" D'Artagnan protested. "What if we're attacked by privateers?"
Porthos shot him a grin. "We'll outrun 'em."
"What if we can't outrun them?"
"We'll be swimming with the fishes, I suppose."
"Are you sure this thing can handle the open ocean?" Athos eyed the small ship with its two masts doubtfully.
"It could take you to the colonies if you had a mind."
"I hate to interrupt the lesson, but shouldn't we get moving?" Porthos glanced at Aramis and nodded.
"We'll need to get these barrels on once the ship is secure." He gestured to the barrels of water that formed part of their hiding place. He was about to rise and lead the way over to the ship when when Athos held up a hand.
"Wait. We need to leave our uniforms."
As one, the others turned shocked gazes on him. D'Artagnan overcame his surprise first.
"Leave our uniforms?" he asked in a tone of horror, glancing down at his sodden cloak and still pristine shoulder guard. "Why?"
"We may not be at war with Spain, but there is enough tension between our countries that we will be safer if we cannot be identified as King's Musketeers." Athos was already stripping his pauldron away with care.
Porthos glanced down at his shoulder guard, an unpleasant feeling in his stomach. He hated being stripped of his identity as a Musketeer, but Athos was right: they would be too easily identified. He carefully removed it and bundled it in his cloak, noting the others doing the same.
"I'll hide them," D'Artagnan murmured, clutching his bundle fiercely to his chest. It must be hitting him hard to give up his shoulder guard when he'd received it so recently.
Athos nodded and gestured for the others to hand over the cloaks. "Meet us on the ship when you've hidden them," he ordered. "I've left a note at the dock master's telling the owner to write to Captain Treville for reparations. Once we get the ship ready, we'll come back for the water and head out before dawn."
"We've got to move quickly or we'll lose the tide," Porthos added. Athos glanced at him before nodding, accepting his instruction.
As well he should. Porthos knew the seas better than any of them. They hadn't called him Porthos the Pirate for nothing.
"Lead on." Athos stepped back, gesturing for Porthos to take command. He stared at him in surprise for a moment before coming to his senses and issuing quiet orders to board the small trading ship.
There wasn't a soul on the dock, and Porthos was grateful for the deluge keeping the citizens of Le Havre in their homes that night.
Aramis and Athos followed him up the gangway and paused, waiting for further instructions. Porthos had been expecting a night crew, but it seemed there was no one on board.
Probably seeking shelter from the rain in a nearby tavern.
"Quick! We need to loose the foresail," he murmured, directing Athos toward the foremast. "You'll need to climb into the rigging and release it."
Athos turned and gave him a look that said, quite clearly, there is no way in hell I am climbing up there.
"We need the sail to leave the harbor."
Athos continued to stare.
"Well I can't send Aramis!"
No response.
Porthos growled in frustration. "Fine, you can start undoing the mooring lines." He shoved Athos toward the port side. "Aramis, find D'Artagnan and get those barrels aboard. Once this sail comes down, we need to be ready to go."
He quickly swarmed up the foremast himself, years of sailing coming back to him in a heartbeat as he quickly freed the square sail.
He rappelled easily back down to the deck, noting that Aramis and D'Artagnan were rolling the last of the barrels up the gangway.
"Athos, are we free?" he called over as he quickly tied the sail down, doing the work of three crew members in his haste.
"I think so?" Athos sounded anything but certain. Porthos cursed as he ran over to make sure they weren't about to snap the mast straining against unreleased mooring lines.
Thankfully Athos had indeed managed to free them, and they were already beginning to drift away from the dock. Porthos had chosen this ship because it was close to the end of the dock, and because it was small enough that he could steer it straight from the harbor with little difficulty.
"Store those barrels midship and lash them down securely," he called, careful to keep his voice low in case the dock master or someone else happened to wander out to the docks.
He received nothing but blank looks in return. He sighed heavily. "Put the barrels in the middle of the ship, between the masts, and tie them down."
Athos appeared at his elbow, sodden hat dripping. "Have you got that compass?" Porthos asked quietly.
Athos nodded and pulled out the instrument. "We need to head southwest for now until we're clear of the shoreline, otherwise they might think they can come after us. Can you read those charts you stole?"
"I can," Athos replied. Porthos thanked God for small blessings.
"Then find a heading for us. Figure out the best course to A Coruña. Ship this size, with no cargo, can probably make about eleven knots, I'd wager. Maybe even fifteen with a good wind." Porthos watched a flicker of incomprehension cross Athos's face before he nodded and disappeared below decks.
Aramis and D'Artagnan staggered across the slippery deck to join him at the wheel. He noticed D'Artagnan shooting interested looks up the rigging to the miniscule crow's nest and smiled slightly.
At least one of them wasn't hopeless.
The mouth of the harbor was barely visible in the darkness, and Porthos was only a passable helmsman, but he managed to steer them through without too much trouble. He nudged D'Artagnan.
"Go get Athos!" His voice seemed overly loud in a sudden lull as the rain lessened to a drizzle once more. "We'll need to lower the mainsail and raise the jibs!"
D'Artagnan scrambled toward the hatch that led to the cabin where Athos had taken refuge. Porthos glanced over at Aramis, who was shivering in the rain.
"Go below after this and dry off," he told him quietly, concern spiking through him when Aramis nodded without arguing.
"Is the floor meant to be moving so much?" He sounded rather ill. Before Porthos had a chance to ask if all was well, D'Artagnan returned, towing an irritated Athos.
"Right. D'Artagnan, I need you up in the tops to loose the mainsail. When it drops down, Athos and Aramis can tie it off before we raise the jibs in the bowsprit."
Three blank looks met his orders.
"Was that French?" Aramis asked, looking alarmed.
"None of us know anything about sailing!" D'Artagnan's voice was high with worry.
Porthos fought the urge to curse. "Athos, take the wheel. Just keep heading straight until I get this sorted."
He grabbed D'Artagnan and dragged the lad along to assist him, casting his eyes heavenward in an exasperated prayer.
Lord, don't let them sink this ship.
And that's the first chapter done! I promise they'll run into some real pirates soon. What do you think so far? Let me know in the comments :)