He was moving.

It was the gentle sway that let him know he was on the back of a horse, but Porthos instinctively knew it wasn't his own by the unfamiliar gait. Beyond that, everything was muddled. He became aware of something pressed against his back, something that was wrapped around him tightly and holding his arms down by his sides, effectively immobilizing him. A wave of alarm crashed down on him as he began to struggle, setting off a pounding hammer in his skull. He pried his heavy eyes open with some effort, but all that registered was a misty gray blur. Porthos sensed something was terribly wrong, but thoughts slithered away from his mental grasp and refused to be strung together in any coherent fashion. The soft incomprehensible mutters he heard behind him as he began to squirm let him know that there was someone behind him that was restraining him. No - he couldn't be taken. He refused to be dragged to a Spanish camp as a prisoner, never to be seen again. He would not be forced to abandon his brothers like this, not without a fight. Porthos began to thrash for all he was worth and managed to loosen an elbow enough to smash it backward. A strangled grunt rewarded his efforts.

"Stop, stop! Porthos please, you must calm down."

Porthos froze, thrown off by the voice that rasped in his ear. His chest squeezed painfully at the sound of it before he renewed his efforts at freeing himself. He vaguely understood that he must be in a bad way if that voice was the one that he heard now, a voice that remained near and dear to his heart in spite of his best efforts to banish it from his memory. Despite long years of silence, Porthos still caught himself expecting to hear that voice at his side and it angered him that his captors would dare use it against him.

"No please, you have to stop! You're - "

Porthos didn't get to hear the end of the entreaty as he managed to finally twist himself free of the confining arms. He could feel the horse shift uneasily underneath him as the animal tried to compensate for the violent movement on her back. Porthos drew his leg up to throw it over the horse's neck in an attempt to slide off and nearly screamed. Agony crackled up the offending limb and set off a shower of sparks in his head, stamping out any further thought of escape. He tried to fight off the black encroaching at the edges of his vision, but the aftershocks of pain that were pulsing from leg undermined his efforts. Slumping back, Porthos was helpless to do anything but to slip back into darkness and back into the arms of the enemy.

The violent storms that had rocked the forest the previous day and night had settled into a cold, unpleasant mist that was too light to be a proper drizzle but was heavy enough to leave the air saturated with moisture. It cloaked everything in a dull gray that threatened to lull Aramis into a doze despite his discomfort. The marksman shifted tiredly in his saddle, trying to re-position his arms so that he could relieve some of the strain in his back and chest while keeping his friend from slipping sideways and onto the muddy, rain-saturated ground. It would be just his luck that a small bit of mud that was dried on his face and would begin to itch, and he absently wondered out how to scrape at the irritated patch of skin without moving too much when he felt Porthos begin to stir in front of him. Aramis bit back a grunt of pain as the movement forced muscles to tighten around his damaged ribcage in order to keep his companion steady.

"Porthos?" A tinge of hope seeped into his voice. His friend had been out for too long and it worried him.

The big Musketeer surged back into consciousness fighting, and Aramis nearly fell back out of the saddle. He cursed himself out loud for not better preparing for this moment. He should have expected this, should have known...but there was really no time for Aramis to continue mentally kicking himself. He let go of the reins, trusting his mount to steady herself underneath them, and instinctively grabbed onto Porthos more tightly, refusing to let him fall. He knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to do as Porthos' thrashing intensified. An errant elbow slammed back into an already tender spot on his chest and Aramis gasped, feeling something snap and nearly blacking out at the impact.

"Stop, stop! Porthos please, you must calm down." His pleading was choked by pain as he struggled to suck air back into his lungs. For a moment he thought he might have gotten through to his addled friend as Porthos stilled. Before Aramis could sigh in relief however, Porthos redoubled his efforts to free himself from Aramis' embrace.

"No please, you have to stop! You're safe, Porthos - "

It was clear that his words were not getting through. Or perhaps my words no longer carry the weight they once had, he thought distractedly. Whatever the case may be, Aramis had a good idea of what Porthos was going to try next and wasn't surprised when his distressed companion tried to sling his broken leg over the horse's quarters in a bid for freedom. He was upset but unsurprised when Porthos let out a strangled cry and sagged in his arms, consciousness fleeing at the shock of moving the injured limb. The large Musketeer began to list dangerously to the left, and Aramis couldn't prevent a groan from escaping as he scraped together the strength to heave Porthos up and back so that his friend was securely slumped in his arms again.

For a long moment, Aramis sat still, blinking away the black spots dancing across his vision. He forced himself to breathe slowly and shallowly, trying not to aggravate the fire racing around his abused ribs. Rather than thinking about how disastrously this could have ended, Aramis instead reached down and gave Bijou a gentle pat on the flank instead, thanking her silently for her steadiness. He could feel warm wetness soaking to his stiff shirt behind his left shoulder again, but there was nothing to be done for it. Aramis blew out a breath, pushed the pain away and gently leaned Porthos forward until he was draped over his mount's neck.

"Hold still for a moment, mon ami. I'm just going to check your leg." Aramis dismounted with less than his usual grace and lightly ran his hands up Porthos' lower leg. The break had been ugly but thankfully not as severe as it could have been. The rough splint he'd placed on the leg still held, and Aramis didn't think anything had shifted. He briefly debated taking off the splint to do a more thorough examination, but a glance up at Porthos' slack, blood-streaked face made him decide against it. The faster they got back to Paris, the better. There was really not much more he'd be able to do for his friend out here.

"Well then," he said out loud, "let's go home, shall we?"

Delivering the missive from the king to the Duc de Vendôme had been simple, straightforward and a bit boring, exactly as Aramis expected. It had also been somewhat tense and uncomfortable, which was something the marksman was becoming resigned to in the few months since his return to Paris. It was less than a two day ride to Étampes and Aramis had hoped that he'd be able to set out on his own to refresh himself but his new Captain had other ideas. Athos had all but tied Porthos to his horse and Aramis didn't know whether he was more discouraged by the lack of trust from Athos or by Porthos' reluctance to accompany him. Have patience, Aramis reminded himself, although he would be the first to admit that this was not a virtue that he possessed in abundance. Still, he was more than willing to give his brothers - and they were still brothers, weren't they? - the time they needed to readjust to his presence.

Rain had soaked Paris and the surrounding areas for about a week. Although it had stopped for the moment, the constant precipitation had softened the ground underfoot into a sticky, cold mud that sucked at their horses' hooves, churning and splattering everywhere with each step. The overcast skies and damp chill that had settled over them on their return to Paris had turned Porthos' cheerless mood even more dour. Aramis could feel the displeasure rolling off his traveling companion in waves. Aramis was no stranger to war, and despite knowing how frontline battle could darken even the brightest of personalities, the harsh edges he suddenly found in each of his brothers unnerved him a bit. He had always felt that one of the reasons that les inséparables held such strong bonds was because each of the four had specific qualities that provided balance to the group as a whole. With long years of hard life between them, it was clear that the other three had found a new, somewhat forbidding equilibrium that didn't need him to maintain stability. And so since his return, he couldn't do much more than orbit around the other three Musketeers, close to the brothers he loved but always on the periphery, no longer an essential part of the equation. It was, in some ways, worse than being separated from them completely.

Not for the first time since leaving the abbey, Aramis wondered if it was simply too late. Watching Porthos' silent figure ride ahead of him, sour remorse rose up in his throat but he choked it down. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he'd never really considered how things would be if he returned to the regiment. Oh, to be sure he'd often imagined how thrilling it would be to ride with his brothers once again while he was at the abbey, spinning wild tales for the younger children, but he'd always dismissed those thoughts as pure fantasy. Now that he was actually back, the reality of the situation was a bit of a cold shock.

With a sigh, Aramis shook off his own darkening mood and pressed his heels gently into Bijou's sides. One grumpy Musketeer is more than enough for this trip, he thought as caught up to Porthos so that they were side by side.

"It looks like rain again," he commented, wincing a bit even as the words came out of his mouth. Being surrounded by monks for the last four years hadn't done much for his conversation skills.

Porthos kept his eyes forward and frowned. "So? It's been raining all week."

"Yes that's true." Aramis stifled another sigh. "Look Porthos, do you think we could -"

"Not now, Aramis." The large Musketeer cut Aramis off, his scowl darkening.

"It would only take - "

"No. I don't want to talk about this now."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

Porthos grunted and finally glanced at Aramis. "I don't need to know what you were going to say to know that I don't want to hear it right now." Aramis picked up the stubbornness in Porthos' voice and a small part of him couldn't blame the other Musketeer. A serious discussion was not the sort of thing to have while cold, wet, and uncomfortable, but the marksman didn't really see a choice. Aramis knew that Porthos could be slippery when he wanted thanks to his early education at the Court, but he had been particularly difficult to pin down these past couple of months. It's almost as if he wants to avoid me, Aramis thought dryly. I can't imagine why.

"If not now then when? Porthos, I understand that you are upset, but if there's anything I can do or say to make it right, just please tell me."

"There's nothing you can do. Time's past for that."

"There must be something," Aramis tried again, fighting down his own mounting frustration and disappointment. "Please, just tell me what you want from me, Porthos. Do you...do you want me to leave?" It was a question that had drifted into his head in the past couple of weeks, and now that it had settled into his brain, Aramis had found it difficult to banish.

Porthos pulled on the reins and brought his horse to a sudden standstill. "What, so you'd run away again? Is that how you're going to solve all your problems now?"

"No! Of course not," Aramis protested. Could Porthos not see that he simply wanted to put things right between them? There was once a time when the understanding between himself and his brother had been second nature. It was depressing to think they'd grown so far apart. "But I also refuse to burden you, any of you, with my presence if it's unneeded and unwanted."

"Is that what you think?"

Aramis pulled his own mount up, but remained silent, waiting on Porthos to continue. Besides, he didn't know what to think. Things had changed. Not so much to be unrecognizable, but just enough that the note of unfamiliarity was constantly throwing him off-balance.

Porthos turned in his saddle and directed the full force of his glare on the other Musketeer. After trying to unsuccessfully to catch Porthos' attention for a while now, Aramis found it a bit startling to be subjected to it without warning.

"Fine. Yeah, I'm still angry." Porthos' voice lowered into a fierce grumble. "Part of me is still mad as hell with you and I still can't believe you did what you did. You...you betrayed us, 'Mis. You understand that? You turned your back on us when we needed you."

Aramis nodded despite the sting of Porthos' words. The marksman could hear the simmering resentment in his brother's voice, but under it, he could also hear the deep hurt. The disbelief that Aramis would deliberately refuse to watch their backs as they were preparing to go into battle. Even with his stupid vulnerability in sleeping with the Queen, that one act that could have destroyed everything he held dear and had placed the deaths of two more innocent people on his head, Aramis knew it was this decision that had riled Porthos so much.

"I didn't want to, Porthos. You must believe that. That was not a decision that was easy for me to make."

"It should have been, though." Porthos' tone made it clear that despite the agonizing soul-searching Aramis had put himself through, he'd still chosen incorrectly.

Aramis sighed. "I had made a vow, Porthos. I had to at least try to uphold it."

Porthos scoffed. "And how did that work out for you?"

Aramis still didn't know the answer to that question. At the time, he thought he'd been doing God's will. Now, he wasn't so sure. Four years of hiding from the world and trying to atone for his sins had done little to actually wash them away. The immediate danger from his actions was past and he thankfully no longer had to worry about any of his friends being punished for his crime, but his decisions had left scars on their brotherhood that he wasn't sure would ever fade.

The silence dragged on for a while before Porthos continued a bit more gently.

"Look, I don't know how the others feel about it. Maybe they've forgiven you already, but it's going to take a while for me. I need to know if I can trust you again."

"Of course. I understand," Aramis replied quietly. His heart sank, but he really did understand. Aramis couldn't deny that he was angry too. He was angry with Rochefort, angry with the King and most of all, angry with himself. Since returning to Paris, every awkward, stilted interaction he'd had with Athos, D'Artagnan and especially Porthos only served to remind him that he might have ruined one of the finest things in his life.

Porthos sighed heavily and nudged his horse back into motion. A light drizzle began to fall again from the darkening skies and soon enough, the two men were soaked through as the rain became heavier. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, the only sound that broke the silence between the two men.

tbc

Hello, and thanks if you made it this far! I haven't written anything in a long time but all the incredible writers in this fandom have inspired me to try again. As a warning, I haven't actually watched any episodes in a very long time and I also haven't seen all of S3 (my personal Musketeers universe has basically been cobbled together in my head from my favorite stories), so I sincerely apologize if anything seems off or is incorrect. Thanks again for reading!