Chapter Sixteen

They stayed a few days at Limoges, making preparations. Although Aramis had no part in it. When Porthos wasn't with him he tried to rest, or he wandered the chateau. Aramis avoided going outside, except on one occasion when he went to see the horses. It was peaceful in the stables, there was a little activity with all the comings and goings, but once Aramis slipped in beside a horse it was like being in another world. He ran his hands down the smooth hair of the mare and listened to her deep breaths. Eventually he sat down in the straw and leaned against the back of the stable. The horse shifted slightly to relax and cock a leg. She huffed out a contented breath. Aramis felt himself relaxing as well, the outside world didn't seem to matter. He closed his eyes and gave in to sleep.

Aramis woke to frantic shouts. 'He's here!' A panicked Porthos appeared shortly after as Aramis blearily came back to the waking world. He felt slightly irritated as it was the first decent sleep he'd had in a while, but then he realised he had worried Porthos. After a little half hearted chastisement he returned to his room.

Aramis saw little of Athos and Treville. He supposed Athos was still avoiding him, and Treville must have been busy. But the Minister did come to see him the day they were due to depart.

Treville stood before Aramis with his hands behind his back. "I feel I must apologise for my manner before. Know that it is not you I doubt, just what was done to you."

"There is nothing to apologise for, I've brought this all on myself."

"I'm not sure that's entirely true." There was pity in Treville's eyes. Porthos must have told him everything.

"I made myself what I am. I chose to do what I did."

"Torture wounds the mind as much as the body. In time you'll see. You did what you had to in order to survive. Romero twisted that and twisted you. Choice had little to do with it. If you refused what would have happened?"

"He would…" No, Romero would not have killed him. Hurt him maybe, but it would be well deserved. "He might have hurt me, but I shouldn't have let him down. I only got what I deserved."

Treville himself looked hurt at those words. "I know you believe the lies you tell yourself, but you'll see them for what they are eventually."

Aramis simply looked at the floor, unsure of himself.

Treville continued. "If you wish to rejoin the regiment I won't stand in your way."

"I don't know what I want." Aramis whispered.

"But deep down you know what you are. Think on it."

~oOo~

Later that day they took to the road again. Treville came to see them off. This time Aramis embraced the Minister with a little less reluctance. He even managed a small smile as they departed. Athos rode ahead, he was quiet. He was always quiet of course, but this was a troubled sort of quiet that seemed to run deeper. Porthos stuck close to Aramis, only riding up to Athos on occasion to clarify directions or other matters.

The first night they made camp in a wooded area. Aramis woke from one of his usual nightmares to find Athos sitting up, jabbing a stick into the fire. He watched the sparks flying high as he gasped for breath. On the other side of the fire Porthos lay fast asleep.

"What is it you dream of?" Athos asked in a nonchalant manner.

"You, burying me." His answer hit like a shot in the dark.

Athos turned his eyes on Aramis. His expression couldn't be made out in the shadows away from the fire.

"Porthos told me what Romero did to you." He faced the fire again and gave it another hard jab. "The darkness can't be easy to bear."

"He shouldn't have done that."

"He only wanted me to understand-"

"Why I'm broken?"

"No - why you're so taken with that man. What you've been through would be enough to break the strongest of men, but don't think of yourself as broken. I just couldn't understand your attachment to Romero. Why would you…" Athos seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say and cut himself off. He stared at the fire for a long moment before continuing. "I let my frustration get the better of me, and for that I am sorry."

"If you're looking for forgiveness, I can't give it to you."

"I didn't expect you to. I gather you still hate me?"

"Just as the mouse hates the cat. It's in your nature to be what you are and do what you do. I hate what you are more than you yourself, but perhaps the two things are so entangled as to be indistinguishable."

"Don't you see what he's done? Not even a little? He has poisoned your mind against me."

"Of course you would say that."

"But Porthos said it too, didn't he?"

You're not right, you know you're not…

Aramis frowned and dropped his gaze to the fire. It was true. "I'm not right… I feel like a storm has swept through me and left everything a mess. I don't know how to tell you, how to make you see, what I am now."

"You are Aramis."

"I might look like Aramis, but inside I am something else." He shuddered in a breath, eyes wide in the firelight. "Inside I am filled with dirt and the deaths of other people. I'm drowning in it, every time I close my eyes I'm choking."

Athos was quiet.

In the face of his silence Aramis continued. "It's all right. I hate you, but perhaps you would hate me too if you knew what I was."

"We are all killers here Aramis… We all have blood on our hands."

"Not like this."

"Maybe not, but whatever you've done, you're not beyond redemption."

"That is for God to decide, and his rules are quite clear on the matter."

"Then we are all damned to hell, my friend."

"I'm not your friend."

"No, I suppose you're not." Athos turned his attention to the fire again. His next words were spoken so quietly they were perhaps only meant for himself. "But I'm still yours."

~oOo~

Athos didn't ride so far ahead in the days that followed. When Aramis started drowning in his dreams he was woken before he fell too deeply. The three of them seemed to speak a little more freely and easily than they had before. But at the back of Aramis' mind was a nagging need to see Romero, or remain loyal to him at the very least. Every inch Athos gained felt like a betrayal. It was easier to listen to Porthos, he wasn't one of them. Every inch Porthos gained seemed to loosen his attachment to Romero a little, but then out of the blue it would smother him. There was no rhyme or reason to it. When it rose Aramis just tried to clutch onto Porthos a little more tightly.

The night was setting in as they passed an inn. Riding through the night would see them in Paris early the next day, but it was decided to rest the horses, as well as themselves. The only room left had a single large bed, Aramis and Athos took it while Porthos sat in a chair. He said he would keep watch and swap with Athos later on. Lying so close to Athos made Aramis' skin prickle. It was something he tried to swallow down and ignore. He wasn't right, and that was part of it. He needed to reject it. But it wasn't so easy.

"If you're not going to sleep, you can stare at the ceiling just as well from this chair." Porthos noted wryly.

"I was just thinking…"

"About what?"

"I'm not right, and I'm sorry."

"Don't be." The chair gave a creak as Porthos settled back into it. "When we're back in Paris will you rejoin the regiment?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"You need something…"

"I don't know if I belong there any more."

"You will always belong there."

Aramis stared at the ceiling, but he could still feel Porthos' eyes on him. "I'm not going to sleep, I'll take the chair."

Porthos hesitated for a moment before giving in. "Just a few hours, then you wake me."

"Of course." Aramis got up to swap places with Porthos, but instead of taking the chair he went to the window.

Clouds rushed past the moon creating uneven patches of light across the scenery. Tomorrow they would be back in Paris. Aramis felt like it was a lifetime ago he walked those streets. Was he ready to face those familiar places again? The garrison where they crossed swords, the palace where he had stood guard, where the Queen and the Dauphin... Aramis' heart clenched at the thought of seeing them again. He couldn't help but imagine what the child looked like now. The babe must have grown, he would be walking and talking. What had his first word been? Where had he tottered those first, faltering steps? Aramis closed his eyes and imagined the boy stumbling towards him with outstretched arms. He clenched his fist. It was something he could never have.

In any case, he wasn't fit to be around the child. He wasn't fit to be a musketeer. Not like this. Not smothered in dirt. Aramis turned from the window and cast his eyes over his sleeping companions. A fleeting thought ran through his head. It would be so easy to kill them now. That's what he was, that's what Romero had made of him. A cold blooded killer. He was a killer before, that's what soldiering was all about. But this was different. Now he killed the innocent, the inconvenient. If somebody was in the way a grave would solve the problem. Athos should have died. Romero would have wanted him dead. Aramis could kill him now. Porthos would have to die too of course, he was in the way like so many others had been.

But he found that he couldn't do it. Even thinking about it brought him shame. And the shame gave him hope, maybe he could reject whatever this was inside him. Still, those thoughts had crossed his mind, he couldn't pretend they weren't there.

Aramis went back to the window and turned his thoughts towards Paris again. He missed the city, he missed his home, but it didn't feel like coming home. There was no coming home, not while he was like this.

~oOo~

The city came into view, and Aramis lagged behind as the others urged their horses onward. Something in him wanted to turn and run, but he buried it deep and carried on. Athos and Porthos waited for him at the gate and all three entered Paris side by side.

The city wasn't as he remembered it. The streets seemed more grey, the people downtrodden, their eyes were haunted. Perhaps this was just how he saw the world now. Their eyes turned his way. So many eyes. They picked him apart. Why were they looking? They shouldn't be looking!

"Aramis?" Porthos drew a little closer.

"Tell them to stop looking." He grit out.

Aramis tried to control his breathing.

"They don't mean to."

"There are too many." He tensed up and his horse followed suit.

"Close your eyes, I'll guide your horse." Porthos gently took the reins from his hands. "Trust me. Just breathe and concentrate on your horse. Feel his footsteps beneath you. Feel the rhythm."

One, two, three, four… Aramis focussed in on the horse. The gentle sway of his barrel from side to side. The slight rise and fall of his neck. The more Aramis relaxed the more his horse settled down.

The voices of the crowd melted away. Aramis imagined himself far away, riding through a field. The grass was strewn with dandelion clocks and the air was thick with their seeds. The wind blew them far and wide. They gathered in hollows, like snow. The grass turned more white than green and Aramis' breath seemed to catch in his throat. It was like snow, like…

He was shaken.

"Aramis? We're here, we're home."

He opened his eyes and his heart near broke in two. It was as if he had never left. The table hadn't moved an inch, the stairs up to the office still stood, and a boy tended the horses. It was a different boy and different horses, but the brushing of sweat soaked hair was exactly the same.

The three had hardly dismounted before Constance came rushing out to embrace them all.

"You're back! I knew you'd be back! Aramis! How did you… What are you… oh nevermind, you can tell me later, come inside, you must be tired."

She led them through and fussed over them until they were sitting comfortably with food and drink aplenty. Only then did she sit down and ask the question that must have been burning her up since they first crossed the threshold.

"Have you any word of d'Artagnan?" When a loved one was at war it was the sort of question you both needed and feared the answer to. "The message we received spoke of your coming and the regiment's return, but he was not mentioned."

Athos put his drink down to answer her. "It has been a long time since we last saw him, but Treville said the regiment's engagements have gone well. He mentioned that d'Artagnan has conducted himself admirably. I am confident that he is well and will return with the others. You just have to be patient a little while longer."

Constance gave a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness, I've been that worried for him. Every time letters come back naming the dead…"

Her words ceased, but Constance had no need to say any more.

Porthos reached out to cover her hand with his own. "We know. But he's safe, he coming home. There's no need to worry any longer."

A small smile graced her face. "I'm so pleased to have you back. It just hasn't been the same without you here."

"I hear you've been managing the garrison? Helping with the recruits?" Athos raised an eyebrow.

"And more besides. I've been busy here certainly. Well, somebody had to keep things running while you were away winning all of the glory."

"I'll look forwards to testing the mettle of these new cadets. I also hear things with the city do not fare too well?"

"No… War has its consequences, you can't escape them, not even in Paris it seems. Refugees have flocked to the city. Supplies are scarce, and prices high, but the governor, Feron, seems intent on sowing discord rather than doing anything to help. His Red Guard are a law unto themselves."

"What of the King?"

"Distracted with the Dauphin by all accounts. I do not visit the palace as much as I used to, but I hear he spends more time at play than in council meetings."

Porthos downed the last of his drink. "Things will change now we're back."

"I hope so. I really do." Constance settled her gaze on their third. "You've been quiet, Aramis. Are you all right?"

He tried for a smile. "Just tired from the road."

"Oh, of course, I've had rooms made ready for you if you wish to retire. You'll know where to find them."

Porthos got to his feet. "I think I'll join you."

They left Constance and Athos deep in discussion and made their way to the garrison lodgings. Aramis gave Porthos a questioning look at being followed into his room.

"I'd just like to check you over."

"If you must." Aramis sighed.

He went to perch on the edge of the bed and reluctantly let Porthos help him off with his shirt.

"These wounds are looking better. Even though they haven't been bandaged…"

"They didn't need to be, Porthos."

"Yes, well, it couldn't have hurt to keep them on." He huffed.

"They're hardly wounds at all any more, they're scars…" Aramis fell silent at the thought he was permanently marked from his captivity.

Porthos tried to make light of it. "Just a few more for the collection eh? The bruises are starting to fade at least."

He was more yellow and green than black and blue now. He supposed it was something.

"How is your arm?"

"It aches."

"I'll need to find a physician and get more of that draught. There isn't much left."

"No need, I can bear it. I'm confident I'll be able to do away with this splint soon."

"If you're sure?"

"I am."

"We'll have you back as good as new in no time at all."

Aramis gave a sad smile. His body might be on the mend, but his mind still felt fractured.

"How does it feel? Being back here, I mean." Porthos waved a hand at their surroundings.

Aramis cocked his head as he thought. "Like it's a dream I might wake up from. But it can't be a dream, it's much too pleasant for that."

He wasn't gasping at the bottom of a grave for one.

"Does it change your mind?"

"About what?"

"Belonging."

Aramis took in a deep breath, as if he could take in the garrison and make it part of himself again. It was a familiar air. So unlike the monastery. Powder and polish rather than dust and quiet. He wasn't sure that quiet could taint the air, but it sure felt like it in those early hours spent on his knees in contemplation.

"I don't think so."

"Stay a while, give it time."

"For a while then."

He would stay, only because he had nowhere else to go. But he didn't belong, he was tainted in his own way, stained by the blood of the undeserving. It wasn't what a musketeer was.

~oOo~

At first Aramis wouldn't leave the garrison. He was safe away from all of the prying eyes outside. Eventually Porthos coaxed him into the streets. The quiet ones were bearable. The busy ones less so. Still, the more he walked them the more comfortable he became.

It was a grey morning on market day when Porthos took his latest walk with Aramis. The streets were even busier than usual with people gathering to trade wares. It was a day Aramis had managed to avoid until now, but Porthos seemed to think he was ready for it.

"Looks like rain." Porthos grumbled as he frowned up at the gathering clouds.

"We could go back."

"Course not, who's afraid of a little damp?"

It wasn't the damp that scared him. Aramis walked along at Porthos' side trying to stride as confidently as he used to. It took all of his power not to shy away when people brushed by. They were close, too close. It made his skin crawl.

They turned a corner and Aramis' heart quailed."Where are we… Are we…"

They were heading to the marketplace. That was where the road led.

"I thought we'd go to the market and pick a few things up for Constance."

"Porthos…" He might as well have begged. Please don't make me go.

"You'll be fine. I'm sure the rain will put some people off, I know the high prices do. Damn, here it comes."

Sure enough it started spitting. Aramis pulled his hat down a little further, but he kept on walking.

The street widened and opened out into the marketplace. Stalls spread out before them, with traders shouting about their wares. Porthos gave Aramis a steadying look before walking on. People were everywhere. Some rushed about their business, others milled around as if they hadn't anything better to do. Aramis felt all of their nonchalant glances as claw marks raking against his flesh. He moved closer to Porthos and desperately resisted the urge to reach for his friend.

His friend. His friend.

It struck him how casually Porthos had become a friend again, in the midst of all this turmoil. A stranger brushed by and Aramis instinctively grabbed at Porthos.

"You're all right. Just breathe. Come on, you're doing so well."

Porthos led him over to a stall and they paused to look at some wares. It was Porthos doing most of the looking as Aramis cast his gaze about the crowd. He kept breathing steadily and tried to let the panic wash over him rather than sweep him away. Aramis' heart was crying out for contact with Porthos. There was something so steadying and settling about him. Instead of clutching desperately at his arm, Aramis put his fingers to Porthos' elbow. That small touch was enough to ground him.

They continued around the stalls with Aramis lightly touching Porthos' elbow whenever he felt the panic rise. Eventually the rain started to come down a little harder and the two of them decided to call it a day. Aramis was elated that he had actually managed to walk around the marketplace without too much trouble. But just as they were about to leave raised voices grabbed their attention.

"The Red Guard." Porthos growled under his breath.

Across the way swords were drawn and pistols aimed. A couple of men were remonstrating with the guards. The cause of the argument couldn't be discerned, but more were gathering, and the potential for the confrontation to spiral out of control was plain to see.

"Stay here, I'll see if I can sort this out."

And with Porthos gone, Aramis suddenly felt adrift in the ocean. He clenched his fists and tried to beat down the rising panic. But the shouting was getting louder and more people were gathering, everything was rising in a crescendo that Aramis couldn't keep at bay. With the crack of a pistol firing the dam broke and Aramis shot off. Everything in him screamed run.

He fled. Against the panic a tide of shame caught him, but still he ran. He wanted to see if Porthos was all right, but he kept running. He couldn't stop. The rain was pelting down and his steps became unsteady on the wet ground. Aramis' breath hammered in and out, his heart beat as frantically as a bird about to take flight. And then he turned a corner, slipped, and crashed to the ground. He lay there, spread eagled, trying to get himself under control.

Against his rebelling body there was another thought.

Porthos might be dead.

Porthos might be dead.

And he was lying in the dirt losing his mind.

Aramis tried to push himself up, but his weakened arm collapsed under him. It throbbed intensely having taken the brunt of his impact with the ground. He rolled over and clutched it to his chest, managing to sit up a little more delicately. Only then did he look up and realise he had fallen at the bottom of some steps. His eyes traced the path upwards to find the great stone structure of a church. It loomed over him, intimidating in the gloom, though its doors stood open as if in welcome. Like God Himself, standing in judgement, but ready to receive the penitent with open arms.

Aramis managed to get to his feet and lurch towards the stairs. He took them carefully and hesitated briefly before crossing the threshold. For a moment he stood still, dripping on the flagstones, taking in the vast space before him. At the front a couple of women sat in a pew, but other than that the place was deserted. There was a silence so complete it seemed a sin to break it. The only sound came from outside with the relentless rain beating down at Aramis' back, and then there were his own heavy breaths. He had no wish to break the calm with echoing footsteps, so still clutching at his arm Aramis slipped into the nearest pew. He reverently took off his hat and bowed his head.

The prayers began then. So familiar. The words tumbled from Aramis' lips as if he had never ceased to be a monk. As he went on he almost seemed to feel lighter. The burdens that had grown until they broke him started to slip away. The cracks along his back and through his heart felt for a moment as if they were beginning to close. Aramis paused in his prayers and wiped at his cheeks. He wasn't sure if it was droplets of rain against his skin or something else. Tears had ceased to come long ago. He had only shed them during that shining moment when his pain was taken away. Was it happening again? Perhaps it was the pain of his soul seeping away. Though the memory of life before all of this was a fragile hazy thing, perhaps more dream than reality. The pain was real and all consuming, Aramis felt it would never leave entirely, he was marked by it now.

In the depths of the darkness he had wished for death, but now in quiet contemplation he realised what he actually wanted. It wasn't death. It was the need to live. When he had nothing and nobody, and his sins smothered all else, Aramis wished for a brief moment to feel that spark, that desire to stay alive. When he fought alongside his brothers so long ago it fuelled him. That hunger for life. To take whatever was coming with both hands and treasure it. In a dank cell there was nothing. Everything vanished away, every hope he ever had, gone.

There was still nothing when he looked ahead. Nothing, except for his friend.

I'll be there, even if there's nothing else.

Porthos. He should go back to help Porthos. He had run away like a coward and left his friend to face goodness knows what. For a moment Aramis' fear slipped away, along with everything else.

He was about to get to his feet when a quiet voice reached him.

"I thought I might find you in here."

Porthos.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry for."

"I ran away. I left you."

"I'm fine, and I don't blame you." Porthos stepped forwards and steadied Aramis when he got to his feet.

After seeing his friend in one piece the relief lent Aramis a smile. "I was coming back."

"Well, the rescue's a little late. I resolved this the old fashioned way."

"With your fists?"

"With my words." Porthos grinned. "What happened to you anyway? You're filthy."

"I might have… fallen over." Aramis spoke sheepishly.

He expected a ribbing, but Porthos' smile dimmed and concern took his eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Landed on my arm, but no damage done."

Aramis hissed as Porthos went to take it.

"Sounds like it."

"Honestly, it's just sore."

"Let's get back so I can have a proper look. This isn't exactly the place for it."

Aramis took one last look around the church, from the soaring high rafters to the endless flagstones. He took in a breath and savoured the silence. And then he turned back into the street, braving the pouring rain once again.

~oOo~

Back at the garrison Aramis had changed into some dry clothes and begrudgingly let Porthos check his arm.

"Nothing worse than a bit of bruising." Porthos released the limb back to its owner and went to pour them a drink.

"Satisfied now?"

"I will be if you take a bit more care. But then you never do."

"It was wet, I slipped." Aramis took the offered wine with a smile.

"It's all that time as a monk. It's dulled your reflexes."

"I'm sure I can still shoot faster than you."

"Right, you're on, we'll test it out."

A companionable silence stretched between them as they both took a drink and basked in the return of their cameraderie.

"You did well today." Porthos spoke quietly, but warmly.

"Yes, running away from trouble is always so helpful." There was an edge of bitterness to Aramis' words.

"Well, as you said, you were coming back. But I meant before, walking around the marketplace. You did well."

"Oh how far I have fallen if a stroll around the market seems such a challenge."

"Don't talk like that. You've been through something terrible. It's bound to knock you off your feet, and it takes time to build yourself back up again. It was the same after Savoy. You know you can do it."

"Yes, well… let's not dredge up the past." The time after Savoy was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about right now.

"Will you talk to Athos?"

"I'm sure I can manage a pleasant enough conversation about the weather."

"You know what I mean. I think it's time, I think it will help. If you want to get your head straight again you have confront whatever this is with Athos."

They had chipped away at it. Over time Athos had seemed to creep closer and closer, but Romero still loomed large at the back of Aramis' mind. The Spaniard's hold loosened when he was with Porthos, Aramis had quite forgotten about him at times. But Romero's instinctive hatred reared up around Athos.

"Very well. Later, bring him up later."

~oOo~

Later came and found the three of them sitting in Aramis' room with a bottle of wine between them.

Aramis took a long sip before starting.

"I want to get better." He paused and looked at Athos, feeling a sense of betrayal starting to stir. "I want to go back to how we were before."

"As do I."

"I hope it will start here. Even now I feel like I'm letting Romero down, but I am trying to push it aside."

"I understand it is hard for you."

"He just… I…" Aramis paused, frustrated at trying to make sense of things that didn't make sense.

Porthos leaned forwards to put his hand to Aramis' shoulder. "Take your time."

Aramis took in a deep breath. "I don't know how to explain it. Everything he said and did made sense to me. In many ways it still does. And I can't stop feeling that I deserved what he did."

Athos caught his eyes and spoke emphatically. "You did not deserve any of it."

"And yet, somehow, he made me think that I did. Just as he made me hate you. I know that I shouldn't, the rational part of my mind knows you are not my enemy, but there's something in here…" Aramis put his fist to his heart. "... that tells me it is so."

"It will fade. It will grow weaker if you keep fighting against it."

"I hope you are right, because I am fighting so hard, Athos. I barely have the strength for anything else. When I sit across from you now, know that every breath is a battle."

"And you will prevail. I have every confidence in you." Athos paused to share a look with Porthos. "Aramis... I would like you to rejoin the regiment."

Aramis shook his head. "I can't."

"I know you feel like you don't belong, but you do. You are a musketeer, Aramis. You will always be a musketeer."

"I'm not fit to be a musketeer. You don't know what I've done." He had held back for so long, but now was the time for confessions it seemed.

"We know enough." Porthos spoke softly.

"No, if you knew all of it you wouldn't want me near you." There was no going back now.

"What do you mean?" Athos frowned.

"I've killed innocents, civilians, people who were just…" He sighed. "They were in the way. First it was an innkeeper. He came at me with a sword you see, I had to defend myself. And then it was the boy… the one who saw me. The one I should have killed and couldn't. I still killed him in the end, when he came back with more men."

Aramis paused to take a deep breath and drag a hand through his hair before continuing. "Romero wanted a place for me in the armoury, and then a promotion. So he arranged murders, and I went along with it all. Something in me knew it was wrong, but I couldn't say no to him. Letting him down would be worse. It was my hand doing the stabbing, my hand giving the poison. And afterwards, I dug the grave. It was cold blooded murder. The sort that would see you hang. Of course, then came the explosion. The one that should have killed you, Athos."

He looked at Athos and Porthos, expecting to see disgust on their faces. He only saw sorrow. " So you see now why I can't be a musketeer. I'm a monster... I will understand if you want me to leave."

"This is all Romero's doing. You're no murderer, Aramis. There is nothing monstrous about you. It might have been your hand, but it was his will. This changes nothing. You can still be a musketeer."

"Not with this blood on my hands." Aramis downed the last of his drink. "Now, if you'll excuse me I'd like to go to sleep."

"Aramis…" Athos got to his feet.

"Please, I'm tired. It's been a long day."

"Would you like me to stay?" Porthos asked.

"No, not tonight."

He deserved the nightmares he knew were coming.