His feet were already cold as they neared the edge of the bog, d'Artagnan was shivering and he knew Athos was suffering as well. He felt awful for having taken a step back and putting them all in danger. He had not thought. Now both he and Athos were cold, soaked through with the stagnant water. They were both filthy and he had no boots which would probably only help to slow their progress further.

'Aramis…' said Porthos quietly.

Both d'Artagnan and Athos stopped and turned back. Porthos was shaking the marksman who was now hanging limply from his hold.

'Has he passed out again?' asked Athos taking a couple of steps back to his friends.

Porthos was gently lying the unconscious man down. Athos knelt by the still form, leaning forward and firmly shaking him by the shoulders.

'Aramis wake up.'

Aramis did not respond, Athos looked up at Porthos who stared back barely able to contain the emotion.

'Don't even say it…'

Something caught d'Artagnan's eye on the other side of the bog. A light. A torch flickering, moving towards them.

'I think we've been missed,' he said pointing towards the light.

Athos looked up, then back at Aramis, before finally returning his gaze to Porthos.

'I ain't leavin' him.'

'I heard what he was saying to you earlier. He knew he was slowing us down.'

'Don't ask me to do it,' said Porthos shaking his head.

'They know the way across, they have light...we have nothing to defend ourselves with.'

'I am not leaving him.'

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds. D'Artagnan glanced back at the advancing farmers. He could see the dilemma that each of his friends faced, he was torn as well. Both he and Athos were cold and needed to get warmed up, they could not hide in one place, they needed to keep moving. But Aramis was now a dead weight which would slow them down even further. There was no easy answer to their problem.

'Porthos, please do not make me order you…'

'You can order me all you like, I ain't leaving him...I'll carry 'im.'

'It is too far, we will be too slow.'

'You and d'Artagnan go, we'll catch you up.'

Athos looked back at d'Artagnan who nodded. It was clear that regardless of what Athos said Porthos would refuse to leave their friend behind to an unknown fate. The chances were the farmers would not take any care of their injured brother, Aramis would be left to die. At least Porthos was giving Aramis a small chance. But at the risk of his own life.

'I'm sorry,' said Athos as he rose, 'we'll wait as long as we can at the camp, but if the farmers come after us…'

Porthos nodded, he understood the situation. The impossible position Athos was in, he could not risk the four of them for one man, even if that man was one of their brothers. They all knew Aramis would not want them to risk themselves for him.

Athos moved off towards the trees that Aramis had previously described. Porthos had relayed the instructions as they had continued to walk through the bog.

D'Artagnan glanced back, he looked across the bog, the torches of the farmers were advancing far quicker than he had imagined they would. The farmers were clearly confident they knew their way.

Porthos was in the process of pulling Aramis up to carry him over his shoulder. The marksman did not stir, he hung limply across Porthos who began to follow them as quickly as he could.

MMMM

Porthos knew that Athos was merely doing his job, trying to keep them safe, at least as many of them as he physically could. Porthos did not bear Athos any ill will, but there was no way he would leave his injured friend behind. Particularly as he felt responsible for the marksman's current state of health.

He shifted the weight across his shoulder a little, Aramis was slighter than him but it was still hard work carrying him across the uneven ground in the diminishing light. He could not make out the retreating figures of Athos and d'Artagnan anymore. They had made off towards the trees. Porthos hoped he could reach some form of cover before the farmers reached their side of the bog. The area he was currently moving across offered no cover.

A natural dip in the landscape caught his eye, a couple of small scrubby bushes similar to the one that had tripped Athos earlier hid the hollow. Pausing, Porthos glanced behind him, the pursuing farmers had nearly reached the edge of the bog.

Porthos clambered carefully down into the hollow, lowering the unconscious marksman to the ground. Aramis did not stir, Porthos checked his breathing, the injured man was still breathing steadily. The wound on his leg had stopped bleeding, but Aramis had lost so much blood, Porthos wondered if his effort to save his friend would be in vain.

He hunkered down as low as he could. The sound of the farmers drew nearer, they seemed to know which way to go. They were heading back to the spot where they had been captured. Porthos hoped that Athos and d'Artagnan had reached the relative safety of the trees. They would be harder to spot and could move through quickly. His friends could not afford to stop, they were already showing signs of being affected by their misadventure with the bog when they had left him and Aramis.

The noise of the farmers increased. A group of about ten men guessed Porthos as he tried to push himself down as far as possible, glad that both Aramis and he were wearing dark clothes.

'I'm not prepared to spend all night looking for them,' said one man.

'I agree, it's not worth the bother, I doubt the one you stabbed will make it very far anyway. And I bet they didn't all make it through the bog,' snorted another.

A generally mumbling of agreement and laughter came from the rest of the group. Much as Porthos hated hearing the derisive comments he was pleased to hear that the men were not too invested in recapturing them.

'I wouldn't mind getting that younger one back though, perhaps Luc won't stop us having some fun…'

'You're a bloody heathen, you disgust me,' said one of the other men.

The voices grew quieter as they moved passed and out of earshot. Porthos scowled after them as they went. He hoped his friends could stay ahead of the farmers.

He cast his mind back to the two men who had been trying to drag d'Artagnan away, he had yelled at them as Aramis fought them. When they had knocked Aramis out and stabbed him Porthos had been convinced Luc would allow them to continue to take d'Artagnan away. Porthos wondered what had changed? Why had Luc, who had been impassively watching as the men beat Aramis suddenly decide to have a say in the matter? Did the older farmer have a conscience? Porthos wondered if Luc might have thought twice about executing them? But, thought Porthos, the man had callously left Aramis to bleed to death on the floor of the cellar, perhaps he only had some parts of a conscience. His hatred for authority would probably have won out.

Porthos leaned up and watched the torchlight disappear into the distance. The enforced break had given him a chance to catch his breath. He dragged the still unresponsive marksman out of the hollow before pulling him back up over his shoulder. Porthos continued to head toward the trees watching the torchlight carefully. If the men decided to turn and retrace their steps Porthos would have no choice but to lie down on the ground and hope the men missed them both in the dark as they passed.

Luck was on his side as the torches disappeared into the treeline. There was no sign of the men as Porthos reached the spot where he had lost sight of them. Again he lowered Aramis down. He leaned against a tree for a few minutes, he knew he would not be able to continue as he was for much longer. The very real possibility of leaving Aramis was starting to creep into his thoughts. Porthos tried to push the idea away, but even he was starting to see that he might not have a choice.

MMMM

They had reached the treeline with relative ease. Now that they were free of the restrictive route of the bog and not being slowed down by their injured brother Athos and d'Artagnan had made good time.

Leaving Aramis and consequently, Porthos had been gut-wrenching for Athos. As their leader, he hated to make that kind of decision, but occasionally he had to. He did not begrudge Pothos staying behind. He could not force the man and he knew that if his friend managed to join up with them again, either with or without Aramis, he would not punish Porthos for disobeying him.

They were a tight-knit group, they were willing to die for each other and frequently put themselves in danger to save each other. It just meant that on rare occasions Athos had to make difficult decisions.

'You did the right thing, we couldn't wait, Athos, if we had stayed with them we would have suffered too much, we all could have been recaptured.'

Athos looked across at d'Artagnan who was hobbling along beside him. The toll of walking barefoot already causing him problems. The ground was relatively soft but it was still uncomfortable for him.

'I know,' replied Athos as they continued to walk back to their camp, 'but it does not make it any easier. You know I did not want to tell him to leave Aramis?'

'Of course, you have to make tough decisions, and I can equally see that Porthos was determined that he was not going to leave Aramis behind...do you think, if he dies, that Porthos would leave him then?'

'Yes,' replied Athos sadly, 'he would hate to do so and would want to return as soon as it was safe, but he would have the sense to leave him.'

D'Artagnan was quiet for a few minutes before speaking again.

'Musketeers don't get old do they...'

Athos looked across at him, 'no, we do not.'

They continued, lost in their own thoughts for a few more minutes.

'It's not much further, we can get warmed up a bit...although I doubt a fire would be a good idea,' said d'Artagnan eventually, breaking them both out of their melancholy thoughts.

'Indeed, we do not want to advertise our location.'

They continued in silence for a few minutes until the campsite came into view. It had not been touched by the farmers. The plan had been for them only to spend one night at the camp, consequently they had brought minimal supplies with them, but they had their cloaks and Athos and Aramis' leather doublets were there. Athos looked forward to changing into a dry jacket at the very least. He would insist that d'Artagnan took Aramis', at least for the time being.

He glanced behind him and wondered again if Porthos would make it? Would he still be carrying Aramis?

There had been no sign of the farmers. A few noises and some torchlight had seen them both throwing themselves flat on the ground shortly after they had entered the wooded area, but the men had passed them by, at least two hundred yards away. The men did not appear to know exactly where the Musketeers were. Athos was hopeful that the farmers would not find them.

They spent a few minutes drying off as best they could and pulling on the dry doublets. D'Artagnan used some bandages to wrap around his bare feet to offer him some protection and warmth. Each man armed himself with a gun, they all carried spares when they were on horseback.

D'Artagnan fed the horses and checked the tack on each to ensure they could depart quickly. He attached Aramis' mare to his horse, Athos nodded his approval, neither of them expected the marksman to be able to ride on his own.

Athos wondered how long they could afford to wait for Porthos?

D'Artagnan raised his hand to Athos to gain his attention then pointed back the way they had come. The Musketeer had heard something. Athos strained to hear, there was a faint noise, something or someone was coming.

It could be the farmers, although it did not sound like a group approaching. It could have been some animals, foraging in the darkness. But Athos hoped that it was Porthos.

All they could do was wait, crouched low, aiming their weapons in the direction of the sound.

MMMM