Shaking Hands

Aramis knew he was taking most of Porthos' weight. He was not surprised. His friend was in obvious pain and covered in injuries. There was a nasty wound to his hip that had been covered in one of the worst applied bandages Aramis had ever seen. The people who had taken Porthos were not bothered about his well-being if the poorly tied bandage was anything to go by. Both Porthos' wrists were covered with bandages. The one on his left wrist was reasonably applied but the one on the right wrist was loose and would unravel at any moment.

Aramis realised the bandages had been put on by Porthos. His friend had been forced to deal with his injuries. If he was not worried about his friend's welfare Aramis was sorely tempted to march across the bridge to where the hostage takers were in the process of mounting up and departing. He wanted to hurt them in return for what they did to his friend.

But Porthos' need was greater at that moment.

They had been lucky to acquire a small cart to bring their injured friend home. Treville called in a favour. Pierre was driving the cart with one of the stable boys - Gilbert - sitting beside him. The young lad had not witnessed the exchange, which Aramis was grateful for, he had been out of sight with the cart, keeping an eye on the horses.

Between them, Aramis and d'Artagnan helped Porthos onto the cart. Aramis climbed up as well, grabbing his medical bag.

'I'll just change that bandage for now,' he said, indicating the one on Porthos' right wrist. 'You need to get properly cleaned up before we do anything else.'

Porthos looked at his wrist. Aramis noticed that his friend's hand was shaking. He wondered what Porthos had endured during his few days held captive. Porthos might never talk about it. Or he might want to talk about it. Either way, Aramis would be there for his friend. Porthos was not going to be alone for a while.

The cart began to move forward at an easy pace. Treville rode ahead with d'Artagnan. Athos rode beside the cart, level with Pierre and Gilbert, glancing back occasionally. Aramis knew neither Athos nor d'Artagnan wanted to overwhelm Porthos with questions. He would have to report what happened to Treville when they returned to the garrison, but during the journey, it was only fair to let him rest as much as he could.

'That man?'

'Spanish spy,' replied Aramis after Porthos spoke for the first time. 'We were surprised they let him go. Treville and Athos already had a plan ready for us to snatch you back … Lorenzo knew they were going to kill him.'

Porthos looked at Aramis, making eye contact for the first time since his rescue. Aramis shrugged.

'He knew it was either to walk towards his death or continue to languish in the Chatelet as a political prisoner.'

Porthos shook his head, a dark expression on his face, 'I owe him.'

'You do,' said Aramis as he pulled the stopper from a water skin and held it out to his friend.

Porthos took the skin with still shaking hands and slaked his thirst.

Aramis readied a bandage. Porthos pushed the stopper back in the skin before laying it down and looking at the bandage on his right wrist. He started to unravel it.

'When I was putting this on,' said Porthos without looking up from his work, 'I thought that you would have a go at me … I hoped you'd get the chance to have a go at me.'

Aramis reached out and squeezed his friend's shoulder, 'I'm glad I've got the chance to put the bandage back on properly.'

As he cleaned the mixtures of cuts and grazes and took in the bruises, Aramis tried not to think about how his friend acquired them. They had all been in the unfortunate position of being manacled or restrained with rough ropes. They knew what it felt like and what the consequent injuries looked like. Aramis had some idea of what Porthos had been through.

He had to hold Porthos' hand steady to firmly wrap the bandage.

'You cold?'

Porthos nodded. The shaking was probably due to the initial surge of energy at his release wearing off. All of Porthos' injuries and his days of incarceration were being felt at once.

Aramis unfolded a blanket and draped it around his friend's shoulders pulling it tight.

'They kept asking me for intelligence,' chuckled Porthos. 'I kept telling them I had none. We went back and forth for … How long have I been gone?'

'A week,' replied Aramis. 'We searched straight away. We were sure something had happened to you by the second day after visiting the baron.'

Aramis paused, wondering if he should say what he was going to say. Porthos beat him to it.

'You were on the verge of giving up?'

Aramis looked at Porthos who smiled.

'Well, not you,' Porthos said. 'But Treville was seeing sense and saying it was time to accept I was gone?'

Aramis looked up the road towards their Captain who was deep in conversation with d'Artagnan.

'If I'd been gone a week, it was time to stop looking,' said Porthos. 'But I'm glad you didn't.'

Aramis smiled; he knew Porthos would have done the same if their positions were reversed. He knew any of his brothers would have done the same.

'What did Lorenzo say to you, on the bridge?'

Porthos glanced away, and Aramis saw sadness in his friend's eyes.

'He said you were all good men, and he wished he could have known us properly. He thanked me. Actually thanked me for giving him the opportunity of freedom … even if that freedom was to be short-lived.'

Aramis sighed, 'he knew what he was doing. He knew what he was walking towards.'

They both lapsed into silence, Porthos spent the time looking around taking in the landscape. Aramis watched him, wondering if he was revelling in the chance to look at the countryside again. His friend had probably been at the point where he was convinced he was going to die, and now he was being given a second chance at life.

It was something else they had all been through more than once. And that feeling of freedom, although at that moment the most welcome feeling, was not one they wanted to experience again.

The End.

Whumpee: Porthos. Featuring Aramis.