Porthos grunts as he stumbles against the railing, Athos steady arm around his waist the only thing keeping him from falling into the raging sea. "Did I ever tell you that I hate ships?" The tall man mutters as he straightens back to his full height. Another wave crashes against the boat, making him fall into Athos' arms, causing.

"It's the weather's fault. Wouldn't it be that stormy we wouldn't sway that much." Athos explains with his usual stoic expression. As he is sure that Porthos won't fall again, he starts walking again. "The lad has to be here somewhere. He can't be gone."

A scream, followed by a loud crash and a moan causes the two musketeers to look at each ohter with a concerned look, before they start running around the next corner.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos' voice has something sharp in it, as in the tieshe scolded his men for something they did wrong. Porthos doesn't stop him, as he watches how the Gascon kneels ontop of one of the sailors, his main-gauche pressed against his throat. The sailor stares wide-eyed at his attacker, his chest heaving heavy with each breath he takes.

"What's this about?" Athos wants to know as he takes two large steps towards the men on the ground, noticing red bruises around the sailor's throat.

Moments earlier...

"Hey!" The rough voice makes d'Artagnan jump, his hand on the hilt of his sword in the same moment. He just had calmed down from his breakdown and had left the storage room, eyes still red and swollen from crying. "What were you searching in there, huh?!" The sailor emands to know as he comes closer, his steps echoing on the wooden floor. D'Artagnan forces himself to breath slowly as he turns around, the grip around his sword tightens as if it would keep him from panicking. "Nothing. No need to startle me."

The last word leaves his lips as his eyes finally meet the face of the sailor.

There's no way he could hold back anylonger.

D'Artagnan doesn't quite remember how they landed on the ground, but he does know how good it feels as his hands close around the mans throat, seeing him struggle to breath beneath him.

Now...

D'Artagnan his hauled onto his feet by his Captain, earning an angry look from him. "What are you doing?" Athos asks, not seeing any reason why the boy would attack a sailor. D'Artagnan gulps as he takes a few steps back, his eyes still fixed on the man on the floor. He feels a steady presence beside him, tall and comforting, as Porthos stays close to him, their shoulders touching as they watch as Athos asks the sailor if he was uninjured. "What did he do?" Porthos asks, knowing that his brother wouldn't attack someone innocent - hoping he wouldn't. He feels the lad shaking beside him and lays his big hand on the one that grips around the hilt of the sword. "Let it go, we're here now." D'Artagnan sighs, loosening his grip. "Will you now tell me why he deserved being strangled by you?"

There are many reasons why any of them would fight a man, but strangling seems quite untypicial for them, Porthos thinks. "It's him." D'Artagnan's voice is as unsteady as his whole appearance and he thinks he would fall the moment the next wave would crash against the ship. "Him?" Porthos asks and raises his brow.

"I-It was him." There's no more d'Artagnan can say as bile rises in his throat. And there'S no more he needs to say.

Porthos turns the lad around so they both face the water, persuading himself that it's because d'Artagnan shouldn't need to see the man any longer. But, eventhough this is also a reason, it 's truly because Porthos isn't sure if he could contain his anger if he has to look at the disgusting face of the sailor one more time.

Even Athos, the most controlled one of them, can't stop himself from binding the rope, he always carry with him, a little bit too tight and pushing the man a little bit too hard, so he falls to the ground without the possibility to catch himself. "Oh what a shame." He mutters and grips the man's arm tightly to haul him back to his feet.

"What's all of this about?" The sailor demands to know as he struggles against the rope cutting into his skin.

Athos drags him away from the others and into the direction of the storage rooms. Just as they are too far away that d'Artagnan could hear them, he explains. "You assaulted a King's Musketeer. You will be under arrest until we're back in Paris." The man gowls, trying one more time to get free. "But we wouldn't mind if you try to escape, though." Athos ads as he pushes the man into an small and empty storage room. "We would have to kill you before you hurt someone else, that would be our duty and - coincidentally - our satisfaction." Before the sailor can answer, he slams the door shut, not able to contain his anger any longer.

As he returns to his brothers, they sit on the ground, backs leaning against the railing. None of them speaks as they each stare at some spot on the wall. D'Artagnan has his kneen drawn to his chest, hands clasping around them, shaking.

"He will see justice." Athos announces as he sits down on the wall to face both of them. "I wish you hand't stopped me." D'Artagnan mutters, still not daring to look any of them in the eyes. His voice is full of pain, fury and shame.

Porthos sighs, he somehow wishes for the same, but they are still Musketeers, honorable men. "Do you want to talk about it?" He offers, watching how d'Artagnans eyes slowly wander over to him - the pain clearly written on his face as he shakes his head. A husky whisper leaving his tounge. "No. Not yet."

Athos and Porthos nod. At least he admits now that not everything is fine. That's the first of thousand small steps on his way to his old self.

"We will listen the moment you feel like you need to." Athos announces, offering him a reassuring look.

D'Artagnan nods, before he looks away again.

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

"You know I liked it ouside more." Aramis mutters as he crawls through the cave, his back scratching against the rough stones around him. "You just got fat." Marsac answers laughing. The marksman blinks away some dust that flew into his eye, his eyes still adjusting to the dark. The image of Marsac is gone the moment he opens his eyes again, but his voice still roams through his mind. "A little bit of hard work keeps you in shape." The man, he once called his best friend, jokes. Aramis smiles sadly, knowing that all of this is just an illusion but wishing so much that it wasn't. He really would like someone by his side. Someone who talks to him nicely, who doesn't scream in a strange language. He could use a hug too, some kind of physical contact that doesn't hurt. He could use to see some friendly faces, too. He suddenly feels bad for imagining Marsac's voice and not the one of his brothers, the ones that doesn't left him in the forest to die. As he thinks about Porthos, he can't hold back a chuckle, imagining how the tall man would get stuck in the small tunnels if he were with him.

Aramis sighs in relief as the tunnel finally opens and he can nearly stand up completly. His head is scratching against the ceiling, but at least his back gets some kind of release. He rubs his bloody hands against his breeches in order to get some of the small stones from them. He caughs as more dust wirls through the air as the other slaves let their pickaxes fall down on the stone. He follows their example, hoping to find some gold today. That would mean a warm meal and maybe he would be allowed to take a quick bath in the river.