When Porthos heard the pistols fire he hesitated, trying to determine where they were coming from and whether the shots were from friends or foes. In his heart though, he knew that those shots could only belong to one of two men. With a sudden confidence, Porthos hurried as quickly as his injured body would allow him down the long hallway.

A man came running towards him, sword raised. Porthos fired one of the pistols he had taken from the dead guard and regretted it immediately as the shockwave ripped through his body, jarring each broken rib and the lump on his forehead. The man fell and skidded towards him. Porthos stepped over the body and continued, pulling the dagger from his belt. He came to an open space near the base of the stairs as another man leapt out of the shadows at him, knocking the second pistol from his grasp.

Porthos roared when the man dealt a blow to his injured shoulder which had begun to bleed quite profusely again. He snarled at the man and lunged forward with a deadly swipe with the dagger. The man leapt backwards, just beyond Porthos' long reach. The enemy went for a strike of his own, but Porthos caught the man's wrist and roughly turned it away. The man cried out and dropped his sword as Porthos stepped forward driving the dagger into the man's chest. Panting, he pulled the blade free and stumbled backwards slightly.

"Drop it," said the now familiar and angry voice of Renard de Broule. Porthos heard the click of a pistol and felt the muzzle of the barrel pressed against the side of his head. The dagger clattered to the floor from Porthos' grip.

"Move," Renard said, moving the pistol to Porthos' back and jabbing him with it. He placed a hand on Porthos' injured shoulder and gave it a squeeze for good measure. Porthos moaned in pain and raised his hands as he slowly began to shuffle up the stairs. He was wheezing heavily - the fire in his side was stoked in anger at all the movement.

They emerged onto the ground floor and came face to face with Athos and Aramis; the bodies of two men could be seen lying on the floor behind them.

"Porthos!" cried Aramis.

"Stay back musketeers or I'll kill him," Renard snarled.

"It's you…" said Athos, unmoving. "I know you…you were the servant at the Comte de Varone's."

"You broke the glass…" Aramis said slowly as recognition also dawned on him.

"Did you kill the Comte de Varone?" Athos demanded.

Renard snorted. "That pompous ass deserved it. How dare he think he could claim my family's land just because he's a pet of the Cardinal's!"

"He didn't seem to think much of the place," said Athos coldly.

"Perhaps you might consider redecorating," Aramis said gesturing to the dead bodies behind them.

"Silence!" shouted Renard as he slowly manoeuvred himself and Porthos along the wall in the direction of a door. "I don't think you quite understand the situation at hand," he said and once again put pressure on Porthos' injured shoulder. The big musketeer involuntarily moaned in pain; Athos and Aramis tensed at the sound.

"Porthos, are you okay mon ami?" Aramis asked, voice full of concern.

"'M fine. Jus sore from waiting for you lot," he grumbled.

Athos clenched his jaw. "Stop. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement," he said tersely, lowering his sword; Aramis did the same.

Renard laughed. "Usually an arrangement only works if both parties have something the other wants."

Athos reached into his doublet pulling Treville's sealed letter from his inner pocket. "The deed," he said, "to this estate. It has the King's seal entitling the bearer to the property. Release Porthos, and it's yours. We'll walk away."

Renard's eyes widened. "The Comte…" he said.

"We can say that you killed his murderer and saved Porthos in the process. The King will likely reward you," Athos replied. He shifted the letter slightly in his hands. Renard's eyes fluttered to it again.

In that slight moment of distraction, as Renard eyed his dreams clenched in Athos' hand, Porthos slammed his head backwards into the face of his captor. The sound of crushing bone and cartilage was audible as Porthos lunged forward out of the would-be Baron's grip. Renard staggered back a step, blood pouring from his nose as he raised his pistol.

Shots rang out and then silence.

One heartbeat. Then another.

Porthos turned to look as Renard de Broule crumpled to the ground, the pistol still clenched in his hand. He moved no more.

Porthos turned his back on the dead man and faced his brothers. They stood like mirror images of each other: one smoking pistol clenched in Athos' right hand, Aramis' last smoking pistol clenched in his left. Porthos had one last moment of clarity as he grinned at his brothers before he collapsed to the floor, his brother's voices calling his name echoing in his head.

oOo

Night was well underway when Porthos came to.

He was lying on a chaise, partially upright. The seat's back was supporting him making it far easier for him to breathe. He opened his eyes just a bit and saw clean white bandages wrapped around his wrists.

"How are you feeling, mon ami?" came the concerned voice of Aramis from his side. He felt a cool damp cloth placed on his forehead.

"Better. That's nice. Thanks," he said, leaning into the cold cloth under the pressure of his brother's hand.

"You were in quite a few pieces," Athos said coming into the brawler's view and pressing a cup of water to his lips. Porthos drank deeply. "You've broken two ribs. Aramis is trying to reduce the swelling to the lump on your forehead, and your shoulder needed stitching."

"Thankfully, you were still unconscious for that part," said Aramis with a warm smile. He knew how much his big brother loathed stitches.

"Why am I here?" Porthos asked as his eyes travelled around the parlour they were in.

Aramis and Athos glanced at each other. "There were a lot stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor," said Athos dryly.

"Besides," said Aramis, "I thought the chaise would make breathing easier on your ribs."

Porthos chuckled weakly. "Not strong enough to carry me?"

Aramis grinned. "You are very large, mon ami, and as Athos said, there were a lot of stairs."

Athos also smiled softly. "Rest now. We've got you."

"Knew you would," Porthos muttered as his eyes drifted closed and he fell back asleep.

oOo

They set off around noon the next day.

Athos found the cart bearing the star and anchor by the kitchen doors. He and Aramis lay a nest of pillows and bedding pilfered from the house within it to help cushion Porthos on the ride back to Paris. Porthos was disgruntled at the idea of riding back to Paris in the back of the cart but was mollified somewhat when Aramis climbed in first and settled close to the driver. Athos helped Porthos into the cart and Aramis pulled him against him, so the larger man's head was rested against his chest. He held Porthos with one arm, the other casually resting on his pistol, just in case.

They rode slowly trying to spare Porthos as much pain from the jostling cart as possible. Bella and Roger and two other horses that they had recovered from the property diligently pulled the cart.

It was well after nightfall when the cart driven by Athos pulled through the garrison gates. He leapt from the driver's seat and helped Aramis ease a groggy Porthos from the cart as Treville came to meet them. The look of concern on his face as he took in his bandaged brawler was obvious.

Carefully they settled Porthos into a bed in the infirmary where he fell asleep immediately.

Porthos awoke the next morning with a big grin as the smell of bacon wafted into the room.

"I'm going to pretend that smile is due to seeing us, and not brought about simply by the prospect of a hot meal," said Aramis with a laugh. He couldn't hamper his own smile as he saw his dearest friend recovering.

The three men enjoyed a jovial breakfast before Treville entered and asked for a report.

Porthos recounted all he could of his assault and imprisonment.

Treville nodded grimly. "You will need to present yourself to the King," he said. A trace of worry lingered in Treville's eyes.

Porthos nodded and rose from the bed. "Well, no time like the present," he said.

The four men headed out to the stables where a snort and a stomp greeted Porthos.

"Flip," he said grinning. "How are ya fella?" he said stroking the horse's nose. His eyes narrowed at the furrow mark that was healing on the stallion's flank. "Sorry I got you hurt boy," he whispered, "But I knew I could count on you to find your way back here, to keep it safe."

The other men stared at Porthos as he stroked his horse with one hand while he reached under his saddle with the other. From a hidden pocket sewn into the leather on the underside of the saddle Porthos pulled free an envelope bearing the Royal seal.

"Is that –" began Aramis.

"- the deed," finished Athos.

Porthos grinned at his brothers and his thrilled Captain.

"You said to keep the letter a secret," said Porthos handing the envelope to Treville, "And secret usually means danger. Where there's smoke, there's fire, I always say," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. Wincing slightly from the pain of his ribs, Porthos pulled himself into his saddle with the help of his brothers and readied himself to face the King and the Cardinal.

oOo

At the palace, Porthos stood before King Louis who sat upon his throne, resplendent in gold brocade. The Cardinal glowered behind him like a menacing dark cloud threatening to dampen the brightness of the sun.

"You have done exceptionally well, Porthos," said Louis with a clap of his hands as he accepted the return of the property title.

"I'm sorry I was unable to complete the delivery, your Majesty. I hope you weren't concerned for the security of your letter," Porthos replied with a slight bow.

"Of course not," said the King brushing away any concerns or doubt. "I trust my musketeers entirely," he said, causing the men before him to grin, while the Cardinal's dark scowl grew from behind their monarch.

"Yes, well, you were unable to protect the Comte de Varone," the Cardinal admonished.

"Yes, that is quite unfortunate," said Louis, shifting slightly to look at the Cardinal. "But these things happen. If the villain was posing as a servant within the Comte's quarters, it is better that the delivery was unsuccessful, otherwise the man would have killed the Comte anyway and taken off with the deed," the King reasoned.

"Besides Cardinal," said Treville testily, "I heard that you have taken possession of the Comte's home and lands. He had no heir, I believe."

"A donation to the church and to France, Sire," the Cardinal oozed.

"Excellent!" said Louis, "Paired with the Baron's estate, our coffers should benefit exquisitely. Good job Cardinal, Musketeers. Now, Porthos, make sure you are rested and recovered. I expect to see you back on duty as soon as possible," said the King as he swept from the room with his retinue chasing at his heels.

The Cardinal threw an annoyed grimace at the musketeers before he too exited through another door in the direction of his study.

"Do you think he was more involved in this?" Athos questioned the Captain as they exited the throne room.

Treville sighed. "I don't doubt it. It was the Cardinal's intrigues, after all, which started this whole episode with the execution of the Baron."

"The Cardinal seems particularly adept at causing trouble for us," said Aramis as he supported Porthos down the steps that led from the palace, "and if he's even remotely involved…"

"What is it that you always say Porthos?" asked Athos with a small quirk to his lips.

Porthos grinned as he mounted Flip. "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

oOo