A/N: Lolapola – if you read this story, I wanted you to know that the last line of the note you left about Worth Saving inspired Porthos' gift in this story. I loved the way you worded it!
When Aramis took himself off to his quarters not too long later, he discovered in the middle of his bed, a beautifully bound book. The cover was embossed leather, old and shiny in spots – an original, he saw, when he opened it. Donne's Meditation XVII, with a bit of parchment stuck between the covers. The book fell open to No Man is an Island, the first four lines lightly underlined:
No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
And on the slip of parchment, in a bold, masculine hand was written, Right Again. Aramis lit a brace of candles, stuffed his pillow behind his back, and read late into the night.
Porthos found a book, too, a much slimmer volume, though equally beautifully bound. His note read;
I remembered this from my youth, when I would while away a pleasant hour learning in my father's library. You probably already know many of these words, what you know I would like to learn, and what neither of us knows, it would be my honor to learn together if you will allow it.
It was a dictionary of sorts, the personal work of someone who loved words. Many of the entries had been written in a rather haphazard manner, some dashed off and ink spattered, while others had been written in neat, precise lettering. There were pages and pages of words with copious notes. Some Porthos knew instantly, others he could barely pronounce. But just holding something by someone else who had once loved words, too, gave him immense pleasure. That Athos had put such thought into this gift, even more so.
Porthos slept with it under his pillow.
This has been a work of transformative fan fiction. The characters and settings in this story belong to BBC America, its successors and assigns. No copyright infringement has been perpetrated for financial gain.