'Athos has been through a lot, recently, don't leave him alone tonight.'
The words that Treville had spoken earlier echoed around Aramis' head as he and Porthos entered into the bar. They silently scanned the room, looking for the tell tale dark blue jacket that they recognised all too well.
And there he was.
In the corner, curled up over a bottle of wine, three or four empty bottles already rolling around the table each time the Musketeer placed a bottle on the table or lifted it. The two men sighed as they made their way over to the table, sitting opposite him.
"Come on, Athos, time to go home. You're drunk already, I can smell it on you"
"I don't wish to leave."
"Yea? Well tough."
Porthos stood, making his way around the table to clamp a hand down heavily on his brother's shoulder.
"Unhand me, thief."
Porthos' hand tightened as the colour slowly drained from his face.
"What did you just call me?"
"Porthos, he's drunk, he says things like this when he gets past a certain point. He never means it."
"Yes I did. Get your filthy hands off of me, thief."
Porthos let his hand fall from the man's shoulder and took a step back.
"Porthos. Stay calm. Athos, come now, it's time to go home and rest up. You're needed at the garrison for guard duty tomorrow morning."
"Don't talk to me, whore."
Aramis stared at him, swallowing softly.
"Come now, insult us all you like but we're taking you home."
Both men stood forward, pulling him up, a little more violent than they needed to. Athos grunted, stumbling badly on his feet as they let go.
"I said unhand me."
Aramis and Porthos glanced at each other before stepping back. Athos collapsed back into his chair.
"I do not wish to be seen with a thief and a murder, and a man who will screw any woman who looks at him – and has committed high treason."
Aramis and Porthos looked at each other, both of them getting angry now.
"Make your own way home, get to the garrison yourself. We never want to see you again brother."
Both men turned around and left, not even bothering to look back.