Disclaimer, Spoilers, History Notes, and note about the Immortals AU: See Chapter One
Trigger warning: See Chapter One.
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Chapter Three: May 1873, Part III
Sometime later, Porthos opened his eyes, and he attempted to fill his lungs with air, but found it an impossible feat.
Darkness and silence surrounded—
No.
Wait.
Had something broken the silence? Or was he imagining hearing something?
Death came for him before he could find out.
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Light.
The kind that indicated that dawn was quickly approaching.
Blinking confirmed that his eyes were indeed open, and he was not imaging the light surrounding him.
Taking a breath, he coughed at the sudden inrush of fresh air.
It was light and he could breathe. What had—?
"It's about time you woke up," a nearby voice said, interrupting his thoughts. "I hate the hair by the way."
Porthos grinned widely and tried to reply, but only a pathetic croak came out of his mouth. A canteen appeared in front of his face, and Aramis helped him to take a few sips of cool water. He didn't bother to complain when it was taken away long before he had slaked his thirst. After so many years, he knew it was for the best.
After a minute or so, he was allowed a few more sips of water.
"I needed to look completely different than Dumas*," Porthos answered as if it hadn't been several minutes since Aramis's remark. "Besides, I wouldn't talk. The lack of beard on your face is downright scary."
Aramis laughed and offered the canteen again, but Porthos pushed it aside so that he could hug his best friend tight to him.
"Brother, thank you. I thought I was going to be stuck down there forever," he quietly said into Aramis's ear.
They kept hold of each other for at least a couple of minutes, long enough for his previously unnoticed trembling to subside.
Aramis patted his back a couple of times and pulled back, offering the canteen once more.
"How—? How long?" Porthos asked. He bowed his head in dread of the answer.
None of them had been able to figure out the exact how's and why's to their immortality. Reanimation times varied with the severity of the damage to their bodies which had caused their deaths. He had no idea how long it would've been in between rebirths when the cause of death was suffocation like he had experienced. Porthos shuddered when he tried and failed to remember how many times he had died in that wooden coffin.
When he looked up into Aramis's expressive, brown eyes, his friend said, "Brother, I think it's best you don't know."
It was probably a good thing he couldn't remember, and he fervently hoped that he never would.
Porthos nodded. "Alright." He filled his lungs with fresh air and asked, "Then, how did you find me?"
"Athos and his newspapers*," Aramis replied. "Our friend would never admit it, but I know he takes up subscriptions to papers where each of us has settled at any given time."
Aramis stood and stretched out a hand. Porthos grabbed it and used it as leverage to gain his own feet. He stumbled a little, but Aramis caught him, stabilizing him until he could stand on his own.
"He saw a notice in the paper and sent me a telegram*. I had arrived here in America shortly after you'd been deployed to your new post. I was just taking my time deciding what to do next – whether I would follow you or not – when I got it."
Aramis nodded towards a buggy* tied up a short distance away. Porthos started towards it, but stumbled after a couple of steps. Ducking under one of his arms, Aramis helped to support him.
"I raced in this direction, knowing that every moment…" Aramis paused and cleared his throat. "Well, suffice it to say, I found you."
Porthos briefly tightened the arm around Aramis. "Thank you seems so inadequate, but—"
"Porthos, you never have to thank me, or any of us, for something like this. We are brothers."—Aramis smiled—"All for one, right?"
He grinned and nodded. "And one for all."
When they passed some gravestones on their way out of the small cemetery, he stopped and looked back towards his own former gravesite.
Dirt was scattered haphazardly all around it, as was a shovel, and pieces of wood, which were presumably from the coffin lid.
Porthos closed his eyes and swayed a little when flashes of his recent ordeal assaulted him.
He felt Aramis tugging him towards the buggy. "Porthos, stop. You don't need to look back anymore. Look forward. Athos and d'Artagnan are on their way,* and we will all be together again soon."
"Really?" he asked, feeling more of the horror of what had happened to him lift with the good news.
"Yes, we're to meet up at this lovely hotel in New York City…"
As Aramis babbled on about him needing civilian clothes, a new identity, and whatever else came to his mind, Porthos couldn't help but grin at his brother's enthusiasm.
He glanced towards the now-risen sun, and reveled in its bright, warm glow. Not too long ago, buried in that box, he had thought he would never see the sun again. Now, there would be countless more times he would see it, and soon all of his brothers would be there with him to witness some of those sunrises.
As Aramis helped him into the buggy, his friend relayed the news that they would have to camp out for the night to avoid running into someone who might recognize him. Porthos pretended to be irritated, but he really wasn't, and his brother likely knew it.
He had figured out what Aramis was doing and was grateful beyond words. He wasn't sure how he'd react to the dark, confined space of a small hotel room like they would most likely find in the immediate area. Sleeping out in the open, under the stars and before a campfire, was infinitely more preferable.
He would bask in the joyful anticipation of seeing d'Artagnan and Athos again. He would have Aramis to keep him company and plenty of fresh air to fill his lungs.
With all of that to keep his mind occupied, Porthos would be free – at least for one night – of anything that reminded him of his premature burial.
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The end.
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History Notes:
Dumas: The author, Alexandre Dumas was born in 1802 and died on 5 December 1870, in Puys, France. He was buried in the cemetery of Villers-Cotterêts, but in 2002, his body was moved to the Panthéon in Paris. I decided on placing this story in 1873, because I figured that nearly three years was long enough for Porthos to be separated from his friends. (Spoilers!) In the first Immortals AU story, Broken Promise, which takes place in 1844, Porthos's alias is revealed to be the author Alexandre Dumas. When the others discovered that he was writing a story about their time as Musketeers, much angst and drama ensued. Porthos as Dumas wrote three novels collectively known as the D'Artagnan Romances: The Three Musketeers, Twenty Years After, and The Vicomte de Bragelonne. Between 1844 and 1850, all three novels were serialized in Le Siècle, a daily newspaper published from 1836 to 1932. Digitized issues are available online through the Bibliothèque nationale de France (BnF).
"Athos and his newspapers…": This is a reference to Chapter One of Broken Promise.
"[S]ent me a telegram…": The things you learn because of a plot point in a story… The first successful transatlantic cable was completed on 16 August 1858 between Queen Victoria of England and U.S. President James Buchanan. The cable line that delivered that message failed fairly quickly, but the first more-permanent telegraphic line across the Atlantic was laid in 1866.
Buggy: According to the Encyclopedia Britannica: A buggy was "usually pulled by one horse…By the mid-19th century, the term had come to the United States and the buggy had become a four-wheeled carriage for two passengers."
"Athos and d'Artagnan are on their way…": More things you learn because it might be needed for a story. I was curious about how long a transatlantic crossing by ship took. By the 1860s, with the introduction of iron hulls, compound steam engines and screw propulsion, crossing times were significantly reduced to about eight or nine days. Wooden sailing ships took much longer, about six weeks, to cross, with bad weather more than doubling that time.
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Many thanks to Celticgal1041 for her help with proofing. Remaining mistakes are my fault.
Thanks for reading!
