A/N For timeline purposes this chapter is set during the Battle of Bazentin Ridge 14-17 July 1916, the second offensive of the Battle of the Somme. This chapter has a different POV.
15th July 1916
Porthos clambered out of a truck and looked upon the series of trenches knowing that his friends and his brother Aramis were stuck there. While he had been resting at the Field Hospital in a bed, his friends had been sitting in the cold mud for two weeks. He knew that the second offensive against the Germans had begun and 1st Division had been unlucky enough to be involved in this offensive immediately after the first offensive. Porthos tried not to imagine what might have become of Aramis without him there to keep an eye on his friend. Ever since they were small boys trouble always seemed to follow Aramis, in the year that they had been in France Porthos could see how the war was affecting Aramis. It was affecting them all, but Aramis seemed to be haunted the most. Aramis loved the beauty in nature and humanity, there was no beauty in war only; horror, pain and death.
He was told where his Battalion was in the mass of trenches and slowly made his way to the front. He chuckled dryly without humour, any sane person would walk away from the frontline, but here he was heading towards the fighting.
He found Captain Treville and was confused to see the sympathetic look on the older man's face. Treville rested a hand on his shoulder and opened his mouth to speak but one of the Lieutenants needed his attention, so Treville patted his shoulder and turned away. Porthos walked through the trench to be faced with more sympathetic looks. He brushed them aside looking for Aramis, but he saw Athos first.
"Still alive then" greeted Porthos smiling at his childhood friend.
Athos spun around with shock written across his face, "You're alive."
Porthos frowned, "Of course I am, I was only shot in the leg. You saw me"
"I thought I had lost you to" admitted Athos softly.
Porthos' eyebrows narrowed in confusion, "You thought you lost me to. What does that mean?"
Athos merely looked at Porthos wearing the same look on his face he had when he learned of Thomas' death.
Porthos' eyes widened and he began to shake his head and moaned, "No. No. No!"
Athos stepped closer and rested both his hands on Porthos' shoulders, "I am sorry Porthos"
Porthos gripped his hair tightly and clenched his eyes shut, "Oh please God no. Not Aramis!"
Athos squeezed Porthos' shoulders tighter and then pulled the younger boy into an empty dugout. Athos sat opposite Porthos with a grim look on his face and waited for Porthos to gather his thoughts together.
From where he was sitting with his head in his hands Porthos saw from the corner of his eye the look on Athos' face and closed his eyes in pain. Athos was sitting just like Aramis used to with the same look on his face.
"Where is he?" asked Porthos hoarsely as he sat up and dejectedly leaned back against the mud wall. Athos frowned. "I want to say goodbye even if it is to a grave, for all intense and purposes he was my brother"
"I don't know where he is" answered Athos,
Porthos sighed and thought maybe he could find out where Aramis was buried and instead asked brokenly, "What…what happened to him? Was his…death…was it long and painful? Or was it swift and quick?"
"I don't know" sighed Athos.
"You don't know much then" spat Porthos. He sighed and then looked over at Athos, "I'm sorry"
"Don't be" responded Athos with a look on his face that Porthos knew meant he was beating himself up. "I don't know much, in fact no one does"
"What do you mean?" questioned Porthos, his hands clenched into fists in his lap. All he wanted to do was say goodbye to the brother who he failed to look after. Was that too much to ask for?
Athos rubbed a hand across his face, "Aramis and ten men from our platoon and ten men from another platoon were sent out on a patrol to scout the area. And find anything that might help push the Germans back, all we know is that they were ambushed."
"If you don't know what happened to Aramis. How do you know this?" asked Porthos,
Athos sighed, "When the patrol failed to return we went out to find them. We found them in the woods. Slaughtered."
Porthos bit back a moan at the painful thought of Aramis slaughtered in some woods like an animal. "So he is dead then"
"We can only presume he is" answered Athos, seeing the look on Porthos' face he continued, "All the men were accounted for. All of them except Marsac and Aramis"
"So he's alive!" exclaimed Porthos happily, his eyes brightening in hope.
"Porthos" growled Athos, "If he was alive do you really think that I would have pulled you into this dugout to say I was sorry? I know I occasionally helped Aramis play a joke on you, but this is something I would never do. This is something Aramis would never do"
"But you didn't find him in the woods!" argued Porthos, his voice laced with hope.
Athos sighed and leaning forward rested a hand on Porthos' knee, "Porthos there is the very real possibility that Aramis was taken prisoner by the Germans, but he could still die in a Prisoner of War camp. And if he wasn't, the patrol set out on the 12th, that was three days ago Porthos. Aramis would most certainly have been injured and with no medical aid…"
Porthos bowed his head as Athos' words sunk in. He thought back on Aramis, the little brother his parents had never given him, he remembered the look on Aramis' face when he finally managed to climb trees just as high as Porthos could. He remembered the look on Aramis' face when he rode for hours out on the countryside. While he was only a month and a half older than Aramis, once he was a toddler and understood that being the eldest it was his responsibility to watch over Aramis he had sworn to protect the younger boy. And he had failed, Athos told him how Aramis was gone, Aramis had died in a war he never wanted any part of. Porthos knew Aramis only joined the army because he himself was. Aramis didn't want him to go to war alone; it was his fault Aramis had ended up on that patrol. Then a thought occurred to him.
"Marsac" stated Porthos as he raised his head,
Athos frowned, "What about him?"
Porthos leaned forward excitedly, "You said you couldn't find Aramis or Marsac. Fine you do not know what happened to Aramis. But what about Marsac?"
"He was found" answered Athos, his tone laced with hidden anger. "He was found ten miles from the frontline"
"He deserted?!" Porthos exclaimed angrily.
Athos nodded, "He was found the following day"
"What did he say?" demanded Porthos,
"Nothing of any use" dismissed Athos, "He was rambling on like a mad man, no one could make any sense of him. We asked him about what happened and he stopped talking and had a faraway look on his face. I asked him about Aramis and all he did was look through me."
"Where is Marsac now?"
"Dead. He was Shot"
"What?!" Porthos cried out.
"He was a deserter, you know how they are dealt with" answered Athos with a frown, "If he didn't answer me when I asked him about Aramis, he wouldn't have answered you either"
Porthos raised his head defiantly, "I will not believe Aramis is dead until I see a body."
Athos sighed and rose to his feet, the frown still etched across his face, "As you will" he commented dryly. "But do not blame me when the wondering keeps you up at night, this war could last for years and you might not get an answer. Even when the war has ended, you may never get an answer. There is no use in hoping Porthos; it will only drive you to madness."
Porthos narrowed his eyes, "Better to hope than to believe the worst. You say hoping will only drive me to madness. I say hoping will only keep me fighting; Aramis was the reason I kept going, without him I would have given up months ago and let fate decide what happened to me. So I will not let him down, while there is no definite answer to his fate. I will not believe that he is dead."
A/N I hope that I have gotten rid of Marsac after "Savoy" does not bother anyone and I promise Aramis will be seen in the next chapter. I just thought it would be interesting to just have a chapter with Porthos and Athos; I'd love to hear what you thought.