Summary: "I failed in my duty as a Musketeer. But worse, I failed in my duty as your friend."
Events after Season 2 and beyond.
Author's Notes: This takes place after Season 2. So, so many spoilers.
I own very little and absolutely nothing related to The Musketeers.
Aramis had not gone far when his horse shied and danced away from a rock pile.
"Whoa, easy." He patted the mare's neck and looked around for what had spooked her. The ground looked undisturbed. Aramis dismounted and waited.
The horse didn't shy again, but her ears swiveled quickly. She was clearly aware of something Aramis wasn't.
He scratched lightly at her neck and studied the area. There was a fairly smooth path along a rock outcropping that ran for some distance. A few bushes grew here and there, possible cover for some animals, perhaps. One of the bushes looked wilted and dusty.
Aramis frowned and stepped closer to it.
The day was fading to evening, but the shadows behind the plant did not look quite right. He reached out to push the branches aside when the whole bush came away in his hand, revealing an opening into the rocks.
He stooped down examined the dark opening. It looked like a very small cave, more of a hollow, really. Not tall enough to stand in. He leaned forward and peered into the shadows to see how far back it went.
"Stop." The command that barked from the darkness startled him. Someone was hiding in there.
"I mean you no harm," said Aramis, stooping to enter the cave. "May I be of assistance?"
"Come any closer and you're dead."
Aramis froze.
He'd know that voice anywhere.
It was the voice he desperately wanted to hear, even if right now it sounded harsh and gravelly.
"Porthos? My God, I've been looking for you..." He moved further in, out of the sunlight.
"Don't know how you know who I am. Don't matter. You won't take me." The hope that had sprung up in Aramis' chest turned to ice. Porthos didn't recognize him.
"I'm your friend. I'm not going to hurt you."
His answer was the sound of a pistol being cocked. Aramis cautiously took off his hat and angled himself so that he wasn't back lit. So Porthos could see him.
"Porthos, it's me."
The big man was sitting on the ground, leaning against the back wall, about ten feet away. His sword was at his side and the pistol Aramis had heard was pointed his direction.
"Aramis?" Porthos' voice was small and uncertain, but before Aramis could say anything, Porthos shook his head quickly. "No. No, you're not. He can't be here."
"I am, I'm right-"
"Don't!" roared Porthos, his hoarse voice booming through the small space. "You're not him! Don't look at me like that, like he would." His voiced dropped to a rumble. "You're not him. He's safe. Far from here."
Aramis held out his empty hands, but Porthos kept muttering.
"No, there's no way. Aramis ain't here. You're not real. He left and he's safe and he's not here."
As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Aramis could better see Porthos' condition.
The fabric tied around his thigh looked like it might have been blue, but now it was black with blood. Aramis ached to go his friend, but Porthos' aim wasn't wavering, even if the rest of him looked utterly done in. His eyes were wild in the meager light.
Aramis kept his hands easy but settled into a crouch so that he could move if he needed to and tried to figure out what to do.
Porthos clearly was not in his right mind, exhausted and hurt. How long since he'd slept? Or eaten?
Aramis wasn't sure how to get through to him without causing Porthos more harm or getting himself shot.
"So I'm not real." Porthos shook his head weakly. "What would I do? If I were here?"
"I'm not talkin' to a figment."
"If I'm in your head, what is the harm?"
Porthos let the pistol rest on his leg, but he didn't drop the aim.
"Would I ride to the rescue, all heroic and dashing? Sounds like something I'd do," said Aramis lightly as he carefully knelt down on the rocky earth.
"Didn't realize...I was this far gone," Porthos said softly, almost to himself.
"Gone?" repeated Aramis, slowly moving closer, foot by foot. "Why are you seeing me? If I'm not really here?"
"'Cause I'm dreamin'. Probably dyin'." Porthos closed his eyes. "And I miss him."
Aramis' throat closed and he couldn't breathe.
He shuffled through the dirt and was nearly at Porthos' side when the big man's eyes shot open again, rolling and struggling to focus.
Aramis stopped and caught the gun before Porthos could swing it around. He squeezed Porthos' hand tight.
"Porthos! It's me! I swear to you, I swear it, I'm here. I'm real."
Porthos stared at him with wild, dark eyes.
His hand trembled in Aramis' and the pistol slipped from his fingers.
"Aramis?" he whispered.
"Yes, yes, my friend, I'm here." Porthos fumbled for a grip and tried to pull Aramis closer. Aramis went willingly, wrapping his arms around Porthos' shoulders. "I'm here," Aramis repeated, rocking slightly. "I'm here with you."
Porthos sagged against him, shaking and gasping for air.
Aramis rested his cheek against black curls and started at the heat he felt. He pulled off his gloves and palmed Porthos' face. It burned like fire in the cool air of the little cave.
Aramis' mind began to race. Porthos had been out here for days, with a wound that was probably badly infected. His horse had turned up at the encampment two days ago, he'd been without supplies at least that long.
Aramis needed to get him back to camp, to a doctor, to water and food, and their friends.
But for all of that, he couldn't make himself move.
Couldn't make himself let go.
Aramis hugged Porthos more firmly to his chest.
"What are you doing here?" panted Porthos.
"Looking for you, obviously." Porthos shook his head.
"You left. You left us. It's what you wanted."
"No," interrupted Aramis quickly. "I needed to leave the death and the choices and the plotting. It was never the Musketeers I wanted to leave. Never you."
Porthos let out a long breath.
"Glad I got to see you again." Aramis tensed and pulled back so he could look down at Porthos.
"You will not be rid of me, yet. We need to get you back to camp. Do you think you can ride?" Porthos frowned and considered.
"One way to find out."
By the time Aramis dragged out of him the hollow, Porthos was shaking again. The energy that perceived danger had stirred in him was gone and now he was a heavy weight in Aramis' arms.
Aramis leaned Porthos against the rocks and ran to his saddlebag to pull out a water skin.
"No wine, I'm afraid," he apologized as he pressed it into Porthos' unsteady hands.
Aramis reached for the cloth tied around Porthos' leg.
"No," barked Porthos, his fingers wrapping around Aramis' wrist weakly. "It's bad. Not here."
Aramis studied Porthos. In the evening sunlight, he looked even worse. His skin was grey and his eyes hollowed. But he seemed more aware. Porthos was no stranger to pain. That wasn't why he'd stopped him.
Didn't realize I was this far gone.
Porthos was worried.
It must be really bad.
Aramis forced a smile.
"Very well, but no delaying when we get back to camp. Athos will have my head." Porthos relaxed and tried to grin.
"Wouldn't want that."
Aramis led his horse to a stand of rocks to make it easier for Porthos to mount.
It took time and no small effort. And the scream that Porthos tried to choke back as he swung his leg over the horse would haunt Aramis. But he was on the horse, gripping the pommel, knuckles pale.
Aramis settled behind him and got them moving, trusting the horse to find the path. Aramis couldn't see much past Porthos' broad shoulders, but it seemed the safest way to ride.
If Porthos started to fall, Aramis doubted he could stop it. He nudged Porthos.
"Tell me what happened."
"Hmm?" The curly head that had begun to droop came up.
"The scouting party. Tell me everything."
"Ambushed. The others were dead 'fore I knew what was happenin'. Whoever was aimin' for me missed their kill shot." His hand moved to the stained bandage at this thigh. "I rode out of there as fast as I could."
"They pursued you?"
"Eventually, but I had a good lead. Don't think they were expecting to have to chase anyone." Porthos coughed drily and Aramis passed him the water skin. "I was bleedin' pretty bad. I stopped and got the ball out."
"I found it," said Aramis before he could stop himself. "How deep was it?" Porthos shrugged.
"Deep enough."
"Meaning you made a mess of it." Porthos snorted and glanced at Aramis over his shoulder.
"Maybe. Don't wanna ruin the surprise." A rush of persevering fondness washed over Aramis. How he had missed this bloody stubborn man.
"How'd you come to the cave?"
"Musta passed out. Woke up on the ground. Horse was gone. I tried walkin', but it wasn't goin' well." Aramis squeezed his eyes shut against the pain of the images. "I leaned against the rocks and there it was. Ripped up a bush, covered my tracks best I could. Camouflaged the opening."
"That's why I lost the trail," mused Aramis.
"Wasn't exactly expectin' you," rumbled Porthos, but Aramis could hear the smile.
"I know."
As they rode on, Aramis realized Porthos was leaning against him more and more, unbearably hot.
"Porthos." He jostled the big man. "Porthos."
"What?" The growl was weak.
"What else have I missed?"
"Missed?"
"While I was gone. Surely I've missed out on some great adventure?"
"Nah," mumbled Porthos. "Wait. D'Artagnan. Got married."
"Married?" mused Aramis. "You'd think he would have said something."
"You were gone."
"Yes, well, I'm back now."
"Back?" Aramis almost didn't hear the question.
"Yes."
"Stay?"
"As long as you'll have me," he murmured. Porthos sighed something Aramis did not catch and began to list dangerously. "Stay awake. Porthos, I need you to stay awake."
"'m tired."
"I know, I know you are, but we are nearly there."
"...good...to see you."
"Don't," snarled Aramis, tightening his grip on Porthos. "Don't you dare." Porthos slumped back, boneless. "Porthos!"
When Aramis had seen the blood, when Porthos hadn't recognized him, when he'd felt the heat of fever radiating off his battered body, Aramis forced the panic down.
It tried to overwhelm him now.
He could see the camp in the distance. They were so close.
Aramis braced Porthos with one hand flat to his chest.
A chest that still rose and fell.
Aramis heeled the horse faster and held on.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
"Athos!" Athos looked up from his papers as d'Artagnan raced into the tent. "They're back. Aramis found him!" Athos ran out into the twilight to see Aramis easing Porthos' limp form into a dozen waiting hands.
"Get him to the surgeons!" ordered Athos as Aramis slid from the back of his horse. D'Artagnan led the way as the Musketeers bore Porthos to the medical tent.
Aramis pressed a hand to his mouth and watched them go. Athos waited for him to follow, to take over, to take care of Porthos.
Instead, he stood motionless with a look of horror on his face.
Athos approached slowly.
"What happened?" Aramis whipped toward him, startled, but didn't say anything. "Tell me what happened," Athos tried again, commanding.
"They were ambushed, you were right," said Aramis, flatly. Reporting as ordered. "He escaped, but he was shot. He evaded for a while, but he passed out, lost his horse. I found a trail, followed it. I lost the tracks somewhere. Turns out he'd covered them before he hid. I shouldn't have found him. I discovered him in a cave."
Porthos had been hurt out there for days. Hiding. Waiting.
Athos stamped down his own guilt and focused on Aramis and how the man didn't seem to be breathing right.
"Aramis, you found him."
"I didn't," blurted Aramis. "I shouldn't have. I gave up. I almost rode past him. My horse spooked or I wouldn't have stopped. I don't even know..." Aramis' eyes were wide, hands frantic through his hair. "He would have died. Alone, in a dark hole, thinking I never wanted to see him again-"
"Stop," commanded Athos. He wrapped a hand around Aramis' doublet and hauled him close. "You think you left to protect us. And I know you're looking for a sign, some proof you did the right thing by coming back. You rode three hundred leagues, of your own volition. You arrived when we, when I needed you. You trailed Porthos across hard terrain from days old tracks. Your horse stops just outside the place he is hidden." Aramis looked down, but Athos shook him until he met his gaze. "You used to see the hand of God in everything. Brother, what more do you need?"
Aramis stared at him, shocked. It was only for a moment and then he took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders.
The anguish was gone. Aramis looked...determined. In a way he hadn't for a long time.
"I need him to live." Athos nodded and let go.
"Then go do something about it."