All rights go to the BBC. I don't own these people!
Drip. Drip. Drip. The noise permeated through a thick fog before reaching his ears. Drip. Drip. Drip. Porthos' head was throbbing to the beat of his heart. Drip. Drip. Drip. His throat felt like sandpaper, his mouth moving but no words coming out. "It's okay big guy, it's okay." He forced his eyes open, the speaker illuminated in the flickering light. He was a small man, with a thin mouth and large, tired eyes. He seemed to be moving, beckoning someone over. A young woman peered down at him. "Don't move to fast, that's it, take your time." Pain rippled through his arms as he tried to pull himself off the floor. The man and woman helped him sit up, before kneeling on either side of him. "Ar-Aramis?" There were other prisoners here, who all seemed awake. Porthos prayed to every god that Aramis is safe, and Athos. But still a tiny part of him wanted not to be alone here. "You're the only musketeer here." Relief surged through him at the man's words, but there was still that voice in the back of his head. The voice that said he was alone.
Dully, Porthos realised he was in a cell. It was large, and smelt of blood and tears. His hands were chained together, chains running from his ankles into the wall. He could move them a little but not much. A small plate of food and a jug of water lay before him, and the woman gently raised the water to his lips. Managing to force down the water, he glanced around him. The man had a strip of fabric tied on his arm, probably in place of a bandage. The woman would have been beautiful if it weren't for a large, purple bruise over her left eye. She was wearing a ripped up red dress that would probably have been expensive once. Suddenly the door was shoved open at the other side of the cell, and the man backed away from him.
"Stay strong, you can't fail." Hissed the woman before a guard shoved her aside. There were three of them. One leant forward and gripped his arm before pulling him up. He felt his dislocated shoulder click back into place as he let out a roar of pain. The darkness crept up his vision before he blacked out.
They searched the battlefield for nearly a week. There was still no sign of him. No sign of Porthos. Aramis wiped his eyes again, and desperately called his name. His voice was hoarse. He never got an answer. He sat with Athos in silence. Athos hadn't drunk for a week. He blamed himself. Aramis hadn't smiled in a week. He blamed himself. Athos offered to keep watch, Aramis didn't argue. As he lay the battle played out in his mind. Porthos had got them lost, and Aramis had been hungry and tired. He'd yelled at his brother, called him awful things. His words echo around his head now.
"Excuse of a Musketeer."
"I wish you were never born."
"Son of a…" Aramis cradled his head in his arms. He had insulted Porthos' mother. His mother who had been a slave, who had been abused all her life. Who had died to save him. He said Porthos wasn't worthy as a musketeer, had called his stupid. Told him he was worthless, he'd prefer it if he was dead. And now Porthos was gone. And he'd never felt so alone. He raised his face to the heavens and asked for it to be him instead. For Porthos to be here, and for him not to be. Please, please, please. He'd lost a brother and it was all his fault. There wasn't even a body he could bury. Porthos had died to save him. It was all his fault.
They rode back in silence. They rode through the gates into Paris and stood before Treville's desk. Athos told Treville what happened. Aramis didn't say a word. He saw Treville bury his head in his hands, reaching out for some ale. Treville didn't drink at work. He frowned on it. Treville dismissed them, telling them to take as long as they needed. Athos sent him home. But his own head was a terrible place to be right now, and it probably always will be. And he deserves it. He waits by the corner and follows Athos, turning countless corners. The buildings around him slowly grew shabbier and smaller. They entered the Court and the crowd parts in front of them. "You shouldn't have come." The words are accompanied by Athos' famed sideways look. He remembered the three of them laughing about that look. There wouldn't be three of them anymore. He stayed silent. She appeared in front of them. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her hands were trembling. Flea wasn't the Queen of Thieves anymore, she was just a frightened girl who didn't want the rumours to be true. And they were there to confirm her worst fear. Athos nodded his head, staring at the ground. Flea sank to the ground, tears running down her face. She looked up at them, before saying, "Why did it have to be him?"