Chapter Two
Oh I've got this friend
A loveless romantic
All that he really wants
Is someone to want him back
One morning Porthos rode into the garrison after being relieved from guard duty. It was quiet, not a soul to be seen… Well, almost. He very nearly missed Aramis sitting at the bench. Still, there wasn't much of a soul left there…
Porthos dismounted and went to tether his horse before returning to look in on the man. He stared vacantly at the table top, watching the most fascinating of nothing. Since returning from Savoy Aramis had been holed away in his sickbed, seen by few apart from the Captain and the physician. Still the rumours circulated…
… Marsac left him you know…
… Alone in the snow with twenty dead men…
… imagine what that would do…
… he's half mad they say… talks to himself… stares at nothing…
Aramis certainly was staring at nothing. But Porthos wasn't quite ready to believe he was half mad. Living in the court made him no stranger to trauma and the men and women who suffered it. Sometimes it just took time and a little care to chase the demons away.
Porthos eyed the bandage at Aramis' head and warily approached the bench. "Should you be out here?"
The man's eyes shot up.
Porthos raised a hand to indicate the head wound. He hadn't meant to intrude or offend.
Aramis' eyes dropped back down and he clutched his arms around his chest as if to ward off the cold. "Don't want to be in there…"
His voice was rough and hoarse, it almost pained Porthos to hear him speak.
"I know, it must be tedious staring at the same four walls." Porthos hovered, not knowing if he was welcome to sit down or not.
Aramis fixed him with a cold eye. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?"
His gaze wandered again, the man seemed reluctant to say any more.
Porthos took a seat... he wasn't going to get an invite, but Aramis wasn't turning him away. Quietly they endured each other's company. Porthos just waited. And then it came…
"I see them… when I close my eyes." Aramis' eyes settled on a particular spot on the table as he spoke reluctantly. "Bodies, frozen in the snow, being picked at by ravens…"
Porthos just listened, sensing it wasn't the right time to speak. Aramis shuddered in a harsh breath and continued.
"He left me there… Marsac… He left me to die. I don't know why..."
"Sometimes when a man sees such terrible things his mind shuts down. He'll do the unthinkable… like leave friends in the snow, or see it again and again so vividly he'll think he's going mad."
"Do you think I'm mad? I know what they say…"
"Of course not. You just need some time to get back to normal. Look, here…" Porthos placed his pistol on the table top. "Here's a bit of normal. Just a minute."
He quickly went to retrieve some cleaning tools and returned to find Aramis trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on the pistol as if he were considering using it. This time Porthos went to sit next to him. The man flinched when Porthos' fingers brushed against his arm.
"You showed me how to do this once. I'm afraid I've left it and got a bit rusty…"
Aramis took the pistol with shaking hands, though they seemed to still when he set to cleaning it.
After a few moments he gave a series of tuts and took on a chastising tone. "What did I tell you about keeping your weapons properly maintained?"
"I know, I'm sorry." Porthos grinned in spite of himself.
After a few moments Aramis' hands stilled on the pistol. He looked up thoughtfully. "Are you going to leave, Porthos?"
"No." Porthos gave the man's shoulder a slight squeeze and was pleased to find he didn't flinch. "I'm not leaving you."
He wouldn't leave like Marsac, or the girls that drifted in and out of his life. Porthos didn't know the man well, but from what he had seen of Aramis, the young man threw himself into these relationships wholeheartedly. More often than not he came out of them with a little less heart left... Porthos had seen the other musketeers consoling him come morning muster.
They sat in a companionable silence for some time before a thought struck Porthos. "Why don't you come to the tavern with me tonight? I bet the ladies have missed your smile, and I've got a friend I'd like you to meet. I don't think you know him… He's not much for words, but he warms up eventually."
~oOo~
He staggered into Aramis who was pulling them both through the trees with some difficulty. Porthos' thoughts were like treacle, somewhere while taking flight a Spaniard had caught him across the head with the butt of a pistol.
Aramis had got there just in time.
"Athos… Athos…" He had to tell Aramis. Aramis needed to know... but his thoughts just wouldn't form into the right words.
"I'll go back to look for him when I've got you out of here." Aramis grit out tightly.
"No… you don't understand…" Porthos closed his eyes against a wave of pain.
"Stay with me, Porthos. I need you on your feet."
As it was their feet were tripping, slipping and stumbling. The ground through the trees was uneven and riddled with treacherous roots.
"d'Artag…"
"He's fine, he's getting out of here."
"You should…"
"I couldn't have left without you!" Aramis was breathing hard around his words.
Behind them Porthos was sure he could hear a smattering of voices in Spanish… Aramis dropped his head and cursed before trying to hurry them along a little faster.
"Leave me…"
"I'm not leaving you!"
It was only a matter of time before they fell. The world spun around Porthos and when it settled again he found himself leaning against a tree, concealed by undergrowth.
"Alright… You're alright…" Aramis ran a frantic hand through his hair. "They're getting closer. I'm just going to go and kill them and I'll be right back, I promise."
"Aramis…" Porthos reached out an unsteady hand.
"I'm coming back, I'm not leaving you." Aramis met Porthos' eyes with a stony gaze and drew out his pistol.
Before he managed to say another word, Aramis had gone.
Porthos was left just listening… There was nothing to hear but his own heavy breaths… and then a hail of gunfire.
Porthos waited. Time slipped by so slowly... hours seemed to pass.
In the end it wasn't Aramis who found him.