Late September 1628

Aramis was sat huddled near a fire and stared at the flickering flames before he looked up at the night sky. Looking up at the stars he could almost believe everything was peaceful, he sighed and looked down at his hands. He was so tired. He had been at La Rochelle for a year now and he was exhausted, he'd had enough of living in constant worry of attack. The English had tried a third attempt at sending ships to help the Huguenots. Originally when the English had sent their first fleet Aramis had been surprised, considering the English and Scottish King Charles I (although being Protestant) had married Louis XIII's Catholic sister in 1625. The third English fleet had bombarded their positions and Aramis had rushed around trying to help as many of the wounded as he could, it had taken days for the red stain of blood to finally vanish from his hands. He had slumped against a wall feeling defeated, for although the English fleet had been defeated and had withdrawn back to England. Aramis felt the exhaustion seeping into his bones and now he felt over tired, it had been a long time since he slept peacefully the whole night through.

Treville had seen how exhausted he was and had even offered him some leave to go home for a week, while it had been tempting to take Treville up on his offer and go and see his mother, father and grandfather. He had declined due to the fear of an attack and the newer recruits getting killed. No he would rather remain at La Rochelle to keep an eye on the young Musketeers and ensure they survived the campaign. The Musketeers had lost five men, three of which had been new recruits; Aramis took this as a personal loss. He had taken the new recruits under his wing and helped them as best he could, so to lose three made his gut churn with dread and the feeling of failure. While Aramis silently despaired over the situation, he breathed easier knowing Athos and Porthos were back in Pairs.

Aramis bowed his remembering the last time he had seen Porthos; he pulled a hand through his hair. Porthos' words had always been at the front of his mind during the past month. He knew he had a tendency to take risks when in a fight, but he had never considered they were the reason his friends died.

"You go out there without me. And you will pull reckless stunts and get yourself killed! You wonder why your friends get killed; they die trying to save you!"

He remembered in his anger he had barely been able to stop himself from snapping back that he never asked anyone to save him. But he stopped himself because he had seen some truth in his friend's words, and then the guilt set in and he decided that it really was for the best that Porthos go back to Paris. That way Porthos wouldn't die trying to save him. He had already forgiven Porthos, he could see looking at Porthos that the words had slipped out, they held no meaning and were words Porthos already wished he could take back. Nevertheless, while Porthos may have felt they meant nothing, Aramis could see the link between the deaths of his friends and his actions.

After Henri had told him he was needed at the entrenchments, as he ran back to the men he had vowed that no one else would die for him. Either he would fight alone and survive or he would fight alone and die. He didn't care which. Just so long as no else stepped in and died for him. He wasn't worth it.

Porthos was stood in one of the bedrooms at the garrison, with Aramis still at the battlefield he wanted to remain here until the men returned, that way he was close by if any news, or wounded returned. News had spread and reached Paris that the English had sent a third fleet of ships that had bombarded the Royal French forces leaving many wounded or dead, no one knew any names and so he did not know if Aramis was among the wounded or dead; for messages were not passed between the garrison and the Musketeers at La Rochelle. But after two weeks of no Musketeers wounded or dead arriving at the garrison Porthos took it as a good sign that Aramis was still alive and uninjured.

He stared out of his window, looking up at the stars he felt slightly comforted that he would be looking up at the same thing Aramis would be, knowing his friend took comfort in watching the peaceful sky.

If he is still alive that is.

Porthos pushed back that thought as quickly as it came, Aramis wasn't dead he just wasn't. Aramis was stubborn and he didn't give up easily. In fact he was so stubborn that if someone told him to do something he didn't want to, he would go and do the complete opposite. Porthos chuckled remembering all the scrapes Aramis got himself into due to that particular personality trait. The chuckle caught in his throat, his good mood vanishing into the night. While Aramis was so stubborn that he wouldn't give up, he would put aside his stubbornness and would give up if it meant his friends would survive. Aramis would fall on his own sword if it meant it would save his friends. Not for the first time Porthos berated himself for telling Aramis he was the cause of his friend's deaths. Knowing his best friend like he did, he knew Aramis would be keeping himself away from everyone, making sure they didn't help him. Making sure they survived and not caring if he did not.

Porthos knew that if the worst should happen and his brother would not return to Paris, he would never forgive himself. He may not be the one to fire the musket or swing the sword, but Aramis' blood would be on his hands.

He looked to his left and stared at his shoulder still in its sling, while his memories were hazy from when he injured his shoulder. He distinctly remembered Aramis' worried face leaning over him, and the relief that was plain on Aramis' face when he realized that Porthos only had a gash on his leg and a dislocated shoulder.

Porthos also remembered the terror that had gripped his heart tightly when he thought he had lost Aramis; the feelings of despair he had felt at Savoy was nothing in comparison. When he had been told about the massacre at Savoy he had stubbornly refused to admit Aramis was gone, with no body there was no proof that his brother had been killed. When he had found Aramis he was alive and so he had been proved right. But seeing Aramis looking all but dead on the battlefield outside La Rochelle. He shuddered. Then he had known pure terror and loss, because lying in front of him was Aramis' body, and if the worst had happened, lying in front of him was the proof.

Now he knew why, when Aramis talked about his life before the Musketeers he would get a haunted look in his eyes. Now he understood why Aramis stubbornly refused to talk about his friends from his first years as a soldier, Porthos didn't even know their names. Aramis only ever told him about Victor; it seemed as if Aramis never wanted to remember his friends. Porthos now knew he was wrong; it wasn't that Aramis wanted to forget his friends; he wanted to forget the images of seeing them lying dead on a battlefield. Aramis was still alive, and yet Porthos could not banish the images of Aramis lying still in the forest on the border with Savoy and lying still at La Rochelle. Despite the deaths of Aramis' friends being six years ago Porthos could see that it was still painful for Aramis to talk about them. Porthos couldn't blame him; if he lost Aramis then he would be exactly the same.

He looked back up at the sky and murmured, "Let him live, bring him back safe"

A hand landed on his right shoulder, he startled and looked around to see Athos looking at him. Athos' face looked how it always did, but in his eyes Porthos could see concern for him and for Aramis.

"He'll be alright, he'll come back" stated Athos, he said it with such conviction Porthos almost believed him. But the words he spat at Aramis swirled around his head along with Aramis' wide eyes filled with pain, loss and the haunting memories.

"After what I said to him…" whispered Porthos sadly shaking his head, "I wouldn't begrudge him if he never spoke to me again. If he comes back"

"He will come back. At this point no news is good news" stressed Athos, "While I do not know what words passed between you, for that is your business not mine, I do know Aramis. I know he will have already forgiven you and as soon as he sees you he will tell you as much. I know you fear him being distracted, but he has more luck than anyone I know. He'll come back. Just you wait and see" Athos gave him a small smile before he turned and left.

Porthos watched him leave and then turned back to the night sky above him. He wanted to believe Athos he really did, he did not willingly picture Aramis dead. But with no wounded returning there had been no one to tell him that Aramis was still alive and it had been almost a month since he left Fort Louis and left Aramis behind. He braised his right hand on the windowsill bowing his head, his mind replaying all the good times he and Aramis shared; from purposefully annoying Athos and Treville, to fake duelling each other in the courtyard in front of new recruits making them sit with their mouths open in shock and awe and all the bar fights they got themselves into.

"Come back Aramis, just come back alive" he whispered before he turned away from the window and settled in his bed hoping that he would sleep the night without waking from a nightmare of receiving news that Aramis was not going to return.

Late October 1628

Aramis stood beside Henri and looked at the Huguenot men who were charging towards them, he then looked at Henri; the boy had been sticking close to him the past few days after he had been assigned to Aramis' patrol. Noting how the Protestants were nearing he gently, but forcefully, pushed Henri towards the main group of men from their patrol. Henri looked back at him in surprise and confusion.

Aramis nodded to the group, "You'll be safer with them, stay with them and remember what I have taught you and you'll be fine"

"What about you?!" exclaimed Henri, as he looked from the patrol and back to Aramis.

Aramis gave him a small smile, "I'll be alright. Just stay with them Henri, whatever happens with me or anyone on their own just stick with Philippe and Tristan and the rest of the patrol"

Henri opened his mouth to undoubtedly argue, but Aramis strode past him and the patrol before he was at the front and fired his two pistols and reloaded them managing to fire each twice more before he drew his sword. He narrowed his eyes and stared at the Protestants vowing no more of his friends would die, the Huguenots were almost finished, a week at most and Aramis knew the Huguenots would surrender. Just one more week, and then they could all go home and he could see Athos and Porthos again reassuring himself that his friends were well. He had missed them terribly but Henri was a good substitute. He drew his thoughts away from his friends as the Huguenots were close enough to fight.

He easily parried the enemies blows, their sword fighting skills were nothing compared to his own. But it was very different to be fighting alone; usually Porthos was stood behind him or nearby. He always felt reassured having Athos and Porthos fighting close by. But now he was alone.

As the fight dragged on Aramis kept himself away from his fellow Musketeers, he was not going to let any one of them help him and get themselves killed in the process. His plan however, was blown out of the window when from the corner of his eye he saw Henri's sword knocked out of his hand, the Huguenot pushed Henri to his knees and leered at the young Musketeer as he raised his sword to deal the final blow. Henri looked up at the Huguenot with a sharp glare, Aramis felt a little proud that in this desperate moment Henri refused to show any fear. But he wasn't going to die; Aramis was not going to let that happen.

So he kicked the man he was fighting away and straight into Tristan's warpath. Aramis charged sword raised and at the last possible second before Henri would be struck, Aramis thrust with his sword knocking the Huguenot's sword to one side. With his free hand he pushed Henri onto the floor and was dimly aware of Henri crawling along the floor to reach his discarded sword. Aramis, with his eyes narrowed and staring at the man who tried to kill Henri, side stepped until he was stood between Henri and the Huguenot.

"You may have saved your friend Musketeer" sneered the man swishing his sword from side to side, "But you only delay his fate, he will die. Even if I must kill you first to do so"

Aramis smirked, "I'd like to see you try" and he raised his sword higher and looked up at the man through his narrowed eyes that were just peeking from underneath the brim of his hat.

His comment seemed to have insulted the Huguenot, which was what Aramis had been aiming for, Porthos would say how he was being reckless, Aramis had to agree he was. But by insulting the Huguenot he was taking the man's focus away from Henri.

The man let out a battle cry and charged at Aramis, he set his feet shoulder's width apart and made sure he was firmly balanced. The man charging him was easily a bigger build than Porthos and so Aramis knew that if he was not properly prepared he would be on the ground within seconds as if he had been barged over by a horse.

As the man swung at him he had to dunk his head and he swivelled on one foot and straightened up to land his own blow. He was successfully making his foe take steps back, but then the man grabbed Aramis' cloak and pulled. Aramis was unbalanced and almost dropped his sword from the shock of the pressure around his neck. With his back against the Huguenot Aramis wasted no time in lifting one of his feet and slammed it down forcefully on the man trying to strangle him with his own cloak. The man howled in pain and his grasp on Aramis' cloak slackened, Aramis wasted no time and pulled free and turned surprised to see the man already raising his sword to strike again.

Aramis had no idea how long this fight was lasting, but he did know he was growing tried, he knew he couldn't last much longer. He now knew what it was like to face Porthos in a real sword fight, something was he going to avoid even if it was a friendly match instead of one of the fake ones they would do to impress the new recruits. Aramis looked around for help, but remembering he had kept himself away from everyone realised the act to save his friends would be his own undoing. But he saw Henri fighting close by, undoubtedly making sure no other Huguenots came to fight Aramis.

He pushed his foe to one side and used the few moments paused to wipe the sweat from his brow and was thankful that his hat still sat on his head blocking the unwelcome rays of sun from his eyes. He was distracted for a moment and was brought back into awareness as Henri shouted his name. He looked up in time to see the Huguenot bearing down on him once again. His own movements were becoming sluggish, telling him he had been fighting the same Huguenot for longer than ten minutes.

Then the unthinkable happened, in his exhaustion he stumbled over a rock giving the Huguenot enough time to twist his sword out of his grasp. The man lunged forward with his sword and a sharp pain exploded in Aramis' side, he locked gazes with the Huguenot in shock. As the sword was pulled out of his side he distantly heard Henri screaming his name, as his knees buckled and hit the ground with his head lowered, Henri's screams merged into Porthos' voice and Aramis wondered what Porthos would think when Henri told him how Aramis fell. Tripping over a rock, Aramis would have scoffed if his breath hadn't been stuck in his throat. He raised his head a little to look up at the sky and swayed to one side, he then collapsed in a heap on his uninjured side. The sounds of battle and Henri's desperate pleas for him to get up faded away to be replaced with the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

The next thing he knew Henri was crouched in front of him looking at him through panicked wide eyes, he gently pushed Aramis' shoulder so he was lying on his back. Aramis winced when something was pushed against his wound; he looked up to see Henri screaming at someone to help him. The pain was fading away and Aramis knew this was a bad sign, and knew this was the end for him. He sluggishly reached out with one hand to weakly grasp one of Henri's, the boy looked down at him and Aramis could see his eyes were shinning from unshed tears.

He swallowed against the lump in his throat and mumbled, "It's alright…not your fault"

"You're going to be alright Aramis" choked Henri as he clutched at Aramis' hand.

Aramis tried to smile, but he knew it would have looked more like a grimace, "It's alright Henri" he whispered. As his eyes flickered shut he distantly heard Henri calling for him to open his eyes. But he was just too tired. The darkness was welcoming and there was no pain and this way he could no longer be the cause for the deaths of his friends. This was the way it had to be, and he accepted that. If only Henri, Athos and Porthos would be able to accept it.

Early November 1628

Porthos was stood waiting in the courtyard along with every Musketeer who remained in Paris; word had reached them that on the 28th of October the city of La Rochelle had surrendered. And today the Musketeer force was returning, a messenger had arrived and announced this, but was unable to say who had been wounded, only that six were wounded, two seriously. Fortunately, the Regiment had only lost five men in the entire campaign. Athos was stood closely at Porthos' side, for Porthos it had been almost three months since he had last seen Aramis, but for Athos it had been a whole year. Porthos couldn't imagine not seeing his brother for that length of a time; it had unbearable going almost three months without talking to Aramis. His best friend had that ability to raise the spirits of people in the darkest of situations; Porthos had desperately needed his spirits raised during the time he was in Paris and Aramis at La Rochelle. But none had been killed in the last push and so Porthos breathed a little easier knowing that Aramis was still alive.

While everyone in the courtyard was rejoicing at the return of their friends and brothers, Porthos could not ignore the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach three weeks ago. While he had no proof, he knew the unsettling feeling he had had something to do with Aramis. Something had happened, and while he might have been able to brush it off, the fact that Athos had the same feeling three weeks ago did not soothe Porthos at all. Despite knowing Aramis still lived.

He returned to the present hearing the sound of clattering hooves on stone, soon the first wagons were entering the courtyard. Men jumped down and were soon embraced by their friends; Treville then entered riding alongside a wagon everyone instantly knew carried the wounded. Not seeing Aramis jump down from any of the other wagons made Porthos' heart skip a beat, Treville beckoned him and Athos over, they shared a worried glance before they slowly approached the wagon. Sympathetic stares followed, not reassuring Porthos in the slightest, he knew then that Aramis was one of the seriously wounded.

Stretchers were being pulled from the wagon as they stood before Treville who had dismounted and looked upon them with a saddened look. He titled his head towards the wagon and so they walked around it to see the last stretcher waiting to be taken from the wagon had Aramis lying completely still on it. Porthos went to clamber onto the wagon but was held back by Treville as Henri and Philippe took Aramis' stretcher from the wagon, they began taking Aramis to one of the upstairs rooms in the garrison, with Athos, Treville and Porthos hard on their heels.

Porthos stood silent in shock at the edge of the room as Aramis was settled onto the bed, Philippe checked the bandage that was wrapped around Aramis' middle and then stepped back allowing Porthos to slowly approach the pale figure lying still on the bed. Wide eyed Porthos stood above Aramis and rested a hand on Aramis' brow; he was dismayed to feel that Aramis had a fever. The closing of the door turned his attention to those left in the room, just Aramis, himself, Athos and Henri.

Henri walked over with a bowl of water and a cloth, which he handed to Porthos; he smiled his thanks at Henri and wasted no time in soaking the cloth and resting it across Aramis' brow. He lowered himself into the chair Athos brought over for him; he then looked up at Henri who was staring at Aramis worriedly.

"What happened?" asked Porthos softly,

Henri startled and then calmed himself and looked into Porthos' eyes with guilt etched upon his face. "Aramis told me to stick close to the rest of the patrol once we learned we were being attacked. I tried to do as he said but I got separated. I was fighting a Huguenot that was easily twice the size of me. He knocked my sword from my hand and pushed me to my knees and raised his sword"

Porthos shuddered, easily picturing the situation Henri was describing to him. He knew Henri was lucky to be standing in front of them, and he also knew Henri was stood in front of them because Aramis had done something to save him.

Henri took a deep breath before he continued, "Then out of nowhere Aramis used his sword to deflect the killing blow and pushed me to the floor with his free hand. He then got the Huguenot to focus on him forgetting me, so I used the advantage and crawled to retrieve my sword."

Porthos shared a small smile with Athos, and then looked back down at Aramis. He was familiar with Aramis appearing out of nowhere in a fight, Aramis seemed to disappear when you were looking for him. But as soon as you needed someone to fight beside you he was right there, as if appearing from thin air.

"When I turned back I could see that Aramis was evenly matched and was struggling to get the upper hand. I wanted to help, but I was worried I would only get in the way and make matters worse for Aramis" confessed Henri with his head lowered a little as he looked at Aramis.

"You made the right decision Henri" assured Porthos, Henri snapped his head up to look at him, "You may have been injured or killed trying to help Aramis, and Aramis would not have wanted that to happen. You made the right choice staying at the side"

Henri nodded his thanks; Porthos knew Henri looked up to Aramis, during the year. No, now the two years since Henri joined the Musketeers Aramis had taken Henri under his wing. Although Aramis did that to all the new recruits he seemed to have become a mentor for Henri and subsequently a hero for Henri.

"Other Huguenots then came running over, probably seeing Aramis as an easy target. So I fought them, keeping them away from Aramis. The fight was nearly over and so I looked over and I saw Aramis was exhausted. He stumbled over a rock and the Huguenot knocked his sword away, he then…then he…um…he stabbed Aramis" Henri clenched his eyes shut, no doubt trying to block out the distressing images, Porthos clenched his hands thinking about how he would love to get his hands on the man who had almost killed his brother. "Aramis had collapsed onto the floor on his uninjured side, the Huguenot had raised his sword and I yelled at Aramis to get up, but I don't think he could hear me. So I ran and pushed the Huguenot to the floor. Tristan and Philippe came over and dealt with the Huguenot. So I rushed back over to Aramis. He fell unconscious…the physician hadn't held much hope of Aramis surviving, let alone living the trip to Paris"

Despite the serious situation Porthos snorted, "That physician doesn't know Aramis. He is so stubborn he'll do whatever he wants no matter what anyone says"

Athos hummed in agreement, Henri then stumbled slightly, seeing the boy was exhausted Athos rose to his feet and gently led Henri out of the room.

Porthos, now alone with Aramis, reached out a hand and felt Aramis steady and reassuring pulse. He prayed that soon the fever would pass and Aramis would wake up so he could apologize as soon as possible. While he would hate it if Aramis never spoke to him again, he would understand it.

Mid November 1628

It had been a week and finally Aramis' fever had broken, his wound was healing nicely. All that there was left to do was wonder when Aramis would wake up. Henri had explained how he had been delayed when Porthos had left the Fort and had arrived to meet him just minutes after Porthos had left. Henri also told him how Aramis hadn't been sleeping very well before the attack in which he was wounded, so Athos came to the conclusion that Aramis' body was just catching up on the sleep that it needed.

So a week and a day after Aramis had been brought back to the garrison, with Porthos in his usual place in the chair beside Aramis' bed. Aramis began to twitch and moan, Porthos leaned forward in his seat and waited with bated breath, soon Aramis' eyes flickered open. Aramis looked around in confusion and almost began to panic.

Porthos squeezed his hand, "It's alright Aramis. You're at the garrison, you're safe"

Aramis' eyes swiftly looked up at him, "Porthos?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Yes it is me, who else would be sat at your beside?" smiled Porthos as he helped Aramis take a few sips of water.

"Why am I here?" questioned Aramis, his eyes not fully meeting Porthos'.

"You were wounded" prompted Porthos helpfully, thinking that it was just confusion that had Aramis asking that.

Aramis shook his head, "Thought I was dead. Should have been dead"

"No" stressed Porthos, now knowing what thoughts were consuming Aramis' mind, it looked like his opportunity to apologize had just arisen. "It is good that you are alive"

Again Aramis shook his head, "I'll just get others killed"

Porthos moved Aramis' head so he was looking his wounded friend in the eye, "I shouldn't have said that to you Aramis. It wasn't the truth"

"It was!" interjected Aramis, wincing as he jolted his wounded side, "I'm the reason why my friends and Victor died! And those Musketeers at Savoy!"

"No!" hissed Porthos, "I had no right to say what I did to you. You save people, you do not cause their deaths"

"But!-"

"But nothing!" interrupted Porthos forcefully, "Henri told me what happened, you saved that boy's life! Because of you he is walking around the streets of Paris"

"That is one person" Aramis commented,

"One person of many" countered Porthos. He paused and then said, "I'm sorry Aramis, for what I said the last time we saw each other. I was angry and while that is no excuse, I am so very sorry"

"Oh you fool Porthos" sighed Aramis with a small smile, "You have nothing to be sorry for!"

Porthos returned the smile and grasped one of Aramis' hands; Aramis squeezed his hand showing him all was well and forgiven.

Aramis' smile grew and asked, "So what sort of things have I missed in Paris?"

"What am I? A gossiping old woman?!" exclaimed Porthos,

"Well how else am I going to know what's been going on in the city whilst I've been gone?!" countered Aramis. Porthos rolled his eyes and Aramis chuckled knowing that he had won; he settled himself more comfortably into his pillows and looked up at Porthos with his undivided attention. Unfortunately for Aramis, as he was still recovering from a serious wound he was tired and before he knew it his eyes had slipped closed and he had fallen asleep.

Porthos sat back in his chair smirking, and also relived that he had gotten out of telling Aramis all the latest gossip. But Athos had been stood just in the doorway, and as he entered the room and sat in the chair beside Porthos he leaned closer and with a complete straight face he asked, "So what has been happening on the streets of Paris?"

Porthos gaped at him and then frowned, "You have been in the city longer than I have!"

"Yes" responded Athos patiently as if he was talking to a child, "But I have been stuck in Treville's office, not exactly the best place to find out what has been happening in Paris"

"Go and find out for yourself" growled Porthos,

"You were going to tell Aramis, don't you love me as much?" responded Athos faking a hurt look,

"Because he has been out of the city for fourteen months and is wounded! He can't exactly walk around the streets finding out for himself can he?!" protested Porthos. Seeing Athos' smirk he threw his arms up and huffing he left the room muttering, "You can tell him the damn gossip"

Athos looked down to see Aramis blinking awake and chuckling at Porthos' retreating back. He looked up at Athos, "So what is the latest news?"

Athos smiled and moved into Porthos' chair that was closer to Aramis' head and settled in to tell Aramis all that he had missed while he had been gone.

TBC

A/N I hope that ending was alright sorry if it seems a little rushed, especially Porthos' apology to Aramis. But I didn't really know how else to end the chapter. This was going to be the last chapter but I can't help but write a chapter on episode 4 'The Good Solider'. After this story is complete I will be starting another that I have had an idea for, so thanks for sticking with this story it really means a lot!