Chapter 7

Porthos POV

Prying his heavy lids open proved more difficult than the simple task had any right to be. Finally succeeding in his efforts, he belatedly realized that he wasn't able to see anything.

In an attempt to clear his blurred vision, Porthos blinked several times in rapid succession. Only noting minimal improvement, he instead focused on banishing the cobwebs someone seemed to have spun inside his head without permission.

Shaking his head to that end proved to be a mistake as a storm suddenly roared to life inside as if to remind him of what had happened.

He hated being struck on the head, especially from behind. It always felt like a personal insult and only served to anger him beyond reason. Someone was going to bloody pay for it.

Blinking his eyes again, he took stock of his situation.

He seemed to be sitting on the ground, with his arms forced behind his back and around the same beam he had been tied to before. Only this time there was an additional layer of rope securely wound around his chest several times, effectively tying his upper body to the pillar as well.

He felt the urge to growl in annoyance.

Blinking his eyes one more time, he finally managed to ban the remaining muddle from his vision and looked up.

The first thing to enter his line of sight was d'Artagnan. His young friend was on the ground as well, tied to his own beam in much the same manner as Porthos was tied to his.

Still unconscious and far too pale, d'Artagnan's unmoving form was slumped in on itself as much as his bindings would allow. A laceration on his temple had slowly been seeping blood down the side of his face, lending his young friend a ghastly appearance.

Feeling his heartbeat quicken at the sight, Porthos hurriedly settled his gaze on d'Artagnan's chest and was relieved to see the steady and reassuring rise and fall.

Nevertheless, in the face of his friend's condition he finally released the angry growl that had been building inside his chest.

"Look who decided to join our party."

The mocking voice sounded from his left, and when he turned his head, Porthos recognized two of the men who had entered the barn with Ballard right before he had been clobbered over the head.

Struggling against his bindings, Porthos's face twisted in anger at their sight. "Untie me and my fist will have a party on your face."

It seemed that after their failed escape attempt, Ballard had opted not to leave them unattended again.

Pity.

Both of their guards were seated on upturned barrels, their backs leaning against the wall of the barn.

Obviously feeling safe in the knowledge that Porthos and his anger were tightly secured, the shorter of the two leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and replied with a sneer in his voice.

"You better settle down, Musketeer. Or I guarantee you'll regret it."

Porthos chuckled. "I really hope Ballard paid you enough coin worth dyin' for. Cause you do realize that's goin' to happen, don't you? What do you think is the punishment for holdin' the king's guard prisoner?"

A nasty grin spread across the other man's face. "As a matter of fact, he paid enough that I don't concern myself with thoughts of negative consequences. They are always part of the game in my line of work. And believe me, this time any risk is well worth it."

Porthos had meant to bait the man, but the answer he received gave him pause. This man was either exaggerating tremendously or Ballard had another source of income; a sponsor perhaps. There was absolutely no conceivable way he would be able to pay these men a lot of money on a musketeer's commission.

His suspicion only deepened when he thought of the pouches with coin they had discovered in the saddle bags of the men who had ambushed them the day prior.

Before he could form a reply, however, he registered a low moan across from him, followed by a raspy voice. "Porthos?"

D'Artagnan lifted his head slowly and leaned back against the beam, grimacing in pain.

"Easy, lad. That gash looks like it stings," Porthos cautioned.

The man on the barrel scoffed. "Musketeers. Pathetic."

Turning his head, Porthos's eyes narrowed dangerously, his voice a low rumble. "You'll be the first one to die, I promise you."

"And how exactly are you going to do that, all tied up nice and neat?"

At that moment, the gate leading to the pasture rattled slightly as something impacted it with a thud.

Porthos smiled dangerously, "You're about to find out."

Something else was thrown into the gate a few seconds later, and this time the old wooden frame shook badly under the force of the impact.

His captors looked at Porthos in confusion but made an honest effort not to show their unease.

Standing up, the shorter man slowly walked towards the gate and shouted, "Henri? What is happening out there?"

No answer was forthcoming.

"Henri is dead. That's what's happenin' out there." Keeping his voice indifferent, Porthos attempted to bait the man into making a mistake.

Narrowing his eyes, the guard first pulled his pistol and then turned to his comrade. "You know what you need to do. I will return shortly."

"No you won't," Porthos said with conviction.

The gate rattled again, the sound unnerving.

"Shut your mouth." The pistol was briefly aimed in his direction, and Porthos noted with satisfaction that the man before him was fraying around the edges.

Turning back to the gate, his captor put one hand on the latch and waited.

When Porthos realized that the other man had unsheathed his dagger and was headed d'Artagnan's way, his blood ran cold.

Settling in behind the Gascon, the second guard crouched down to use the pillar and d'Artagnan's body as a shield. His arm snuck around to the front, the blade coming to rest threateningly against the tender flesh of the young man's throat.

Porthos watched his friend lifting his chin as far as he was able in an effort to escape the pressure of the biting metal. D'Artagnan's eyes blinked rapidly, and Porthos realized that it was a desperate attempt to at least clear his vision in the face of his quickly deteriorating situation.

Fierce anger surged Porthos's system at the sight and had him struggling against his bindings with renewed force.

Their guards exchanged a quick look, and when the man behind d'Artagnan nodded curtly, the other one pushed down on the latch and slowly pulled the gate open just wide enough for one person to pass through.

Porthos watched with bated breath as the man took one step over the threshold, his pistol carefully aimed as he disappeared from view behind the partially opened door.

No longer able to see what was happening, Porthos listened closely instead.

The pistol never fired, but he was able to discern sounds of a short scuffle. Metal hitting metal, an object clattering to the ground and finally a loud bang and a whoosh of air as a body heavily impacted the gate, forcefully pushing it open the rest of the way.

The man staggering backward through the opening had one hand clutched to his abdomen, trying and failing to keep his lifeblood from escaping. Porthos was relieved to see that the guard's pistol was no longer in his possession as he stumbled another two steps, and finally crumpled to the ground.

"Told 'im he would be the first to die," Porthos mumbled.

One down, one to go.

Porthos's gaze found d'Artagnan and quickly assessed the younger man's situation. With the blade still steadily pressed against his throat, his friend didn't dare to move, and his heaving chest attempted to rapidly draw air in shallow bouts.

Hurriedly locking eyes with the younger man, Porthos attempted to dispel d'Artagnan's dejected look with his unwavering gaze and a confident nod of his head.

The man behind his friend shifted slightly, his posture tense and his expression anxious. He had now become an unpredictable threat in the face of his comrade's sudden demise; a cornered animal ready to lash out.

The sound of soft footsteps drew Porthos's eyes back to the open gate, and he watched Athos walk through, imposing and stoic as ever and his pistol carefully primed.

The relief he felt at the sight of his friend was immense.

Taking but a moment to fully grasp the situation, the older Musketeer focused his attention solely on the coward hiding behind d'Artagnan and the blade which could so easily end the life of one of their own.

Athos took another step as he searched d'Artagnan's eyes. Evidently finding what he was looking for, he nodded his head minutely.

Continuously shifting nervously in his inadequate hiding place, the man holding the blade could no longer contain his anxiety.

When the knife inadvertently nicked d'Artagnan's tender skin, the young Musketeer closed his eyes. Athos tensed in reaction and with a grim expression he took a sideway step to gain a slightly better angle.

"Not even another twitch Musketeer or I swear I will cut his th – "

The report of the pistol echoed through the barn and Porthos watched with bated breath as the ball hit home in the center of the man's forehead. Instantly collapsing in on himself, he slid sideways to the ground; the edge of the knife grating dangerously along d'Artagnan's throat before finally falling away.

The young man's head was bowed; his body motionless.

Athos's face lost all color at the sight before him, and he seemed incapable of moving.

Unable to calm his own thundering heartbeat in the face of d'Artagnan's unknown fate, Porthos's frustration mounted with his inability to take action himself. "Athos? Is he…?"

Porthos knew that the older Musketeer had taken a calculated risk when firing his pistol. The choice to put an end to the situation before it had the chance to escalate further had been the obvious one.

However, it was only the right choice if d'Artagnan lived.

Porthos was painfully aware that Athos's already damaged soul would not be able to bear the young man's loss.

"Athos."

The command in his voice finally spurred Athos into action and he watched as the man quickly tucked away his pistol and closed the remaining distance between him and d'Artagnan in a hurry.

Crouching in front of the young man, Athos's anxiety was tangible in every word and movement.

"Let me see."

When the older Musketeer reached out to lift d'Artagnan's chin, his hands betrayed him further as they shook in anticipation of what he might find.

Carefully studying the damage done to d'Artagnan's throat for a long moment, Athos finally sagged in relief. "The cut is shallow."

Porthos's head fell back and connected with the beam behind him as the anxiety he had been feeling slowly seeped out of his system.

Keeping his eyes focused on d'Artagnan, Athos said, "Something else seems to be the matter with him. His eyes are unfocused and his reaction time is extremely slow. I am no physician, but I surmise it might have something to do with the gash on his head and the blood on his face?"

"Yeah. Ballard's invitation for us to stay a while longer involved the butt of a pistol. Our young friend was pretty slow wakin' up earlier. Might be concussed."

Athos cupped d'Artagnan's cheek, trying to rouse the younger man, yet keeping his voice soft. "D'Artagnan? Are you with us?"

Patting the cheek under his palm repeatedly, Athos attempted to breach the haze that had no doubt settled inside their friend's head. Unable to hide the anxiety in his voice, he asked, "Are you alright? I need you to be alright."

Sluggish eyes slowly settled on Athos. "'m here. Head hurts."

"Yes, it looks like it might." – Athos moved his hand to d'Artagnan's shoulder and squeezed gently – "Luckily it is not bleeding any longer."

Leaning around the beam, Athos swiftly unsheathed his main gauche and cut d'Artagnan's bindings. "Stay on the ground, I will be right back."

Porthos watched as d'Artagnan pulled his hands forward to gingerly rub at his chafed wrists.

Athos had made his way over, now crouching behind Porthos to finally cut the ropes that had tied him to this blasted beam for far too long.

Rubbing at his own wrists, Porthos looked up when he felt Athos's hand on his shoulder.

When their eyes met, Porthos said, "I am glad to see that the rumors of your death were greatly exaggerated."

"I certainly know how you feel, my friend," Athos replied, nodding in agreement. "Will you help d'Artagnan gain his feet? I need to retrieve the extra weapons I brought from outside the gate."

Porthos still nodded his understanding when the older man suddenly frowned. Slowly pulling his hand off of Porthos's bloody shoulder, Athos looked at the red stain in disbelief. Holding it out wordlessly for Porthos to see, Athos raised one questioning eyebrow.

"What can I say? It's been one hell of a morning." – Porthos pointedly looked at the dark stains covering Athos's doublet – "And it doesn't look like I'm the only one who's been loosin' blood." A tight knot suddenly formed in the pit of his stomach.

Following Porthos's line of sight, Athos cringed noticeably as he looked down on himself. His voice almost sounded apologetic when he replied. "It isn't mine."

"I figured." His words sounded rough to his ears. "He alright?"

"He will be once this is over."

For a moment, he held Athos's gaze, fighting a battle within. Feeling the overwhelming need to know what exactly had happened to Aramis, Porthos desperately wished there was time for him to hear the entire story.

Only he knew there wasn't.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Porthos worked hard to bury his concern deep within and nodded quickly. "Right. Then let's get this over with once and for all."

Briefly clasping Athos's shoulder he pushed himself to his feet, his strained muscles protesting at the movement.

Porthos had only taken one step in d'Artagnan's direction when Athos's voice stopped him. "Wait."

Turning back to his friend with a questioning look, Porthos stood still as Athos removed the bandana from his head. After untying the knot in the piece of cloth, Athos quickly wound the material tightly around the gash in Porthos's arm.

"That was my favorite one," Porthos grumbled quietly and realized he sounded rather petulant while doing so.

Athos was already walking toward the back gate when he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm, "It is always good to know that my men have their priorities in order."

Shrugging his shoulders unconcerned, Porthos walked the last few steps and came to stand in front of d'Artagnan. Crouching low he seized the younger man's arm. "Let's get you up."

With his help, d'Artagnan was able to gain his feet but swayed dangerously at the change in elevation. "Easy now," Porthos cautioned. "It won't do if you fall over."

"Just give me a moment." – The young musketeer leaned heavily against the beam behind him – "I'll be alright."

"Unfortunately a moment might be all we have," Athos said as he rejoined them. Eying d'Artagnan carefully, he handed over one of the weapons belts he carried. "Will you be able to handle what is yet to come?" Athos tilted his head and paused for effect. "And considering our position, I'm afraid I do need an honest answer."

D'Artagnan slowly nodded his understanding of the situation and carefully pushed away from the beam, fully standing on his own. When he replied, his voice was earnest, "I'll admit I have had better days, but I will not let you down."

Athos cupped the back of the younger man's neck. "That is not what I was worried about."

"I need to be a part of this. I'll be alright, I promise."

Sharing a knowing look with Athos, Porthos nodded in understanding. The younger man needed to be able to see this through as much as any of them. For Aramis. For his brothers.

After Porthos had fastened his weapons belt securely around his waist, they moved into position behind the door leading to the yard.

Athos first looked at Porthos, and then d'Artagnan in turn. "Do you happen to know how many men we are facing?"

"When they surrounded us, Ballard had seven men with him," Porthos replied.

Athos nodded. "If that was his entire force, he is now left with only four."

Pressing his body along the wall, Athos cracked the door open just wide enough to peer outside.

Part of a conversation from the yard filtered in through the gap almost immediately. When he recognized Aramis's unmistakable voice, Porthos's eyes closed of their own accord and he exhaled sharply. Christ.

"Please tell me that isn't him?" The words came out harsher than intended and the sudden anger surging his system honestly surprised him.

"I'm afraid it is," Athos replied calmly.

Moving closer to Athos, Porthos looked through the gap himself and quickly surveyed the situation outside.

Facing Ballard in the middle of the yard, they stood surrounded by four men; their pistols steadily aiming at Aramis's upper body.

Porthos's growl was fierce.

"I was really hopin' that he'd keep his promise and just for once not act like the reckless idiot that 'e is."

Athos tilted his head. "Just to be fair, his plan did have merit. I was able to sneak in here undetected because he's been keeping Ballard occupied."

When he rounded on Athos, Porthos was unable to hide the anger in his voice. "You agreed to this?"

"Only reluctantly. The final call was Treville's."

"Treville? He's here?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's covering Aramis from behind that building over there." Looking through the narrow opening, Athos pointed to one of the smaller side buildings that had been spared by the fire. "If necessary he is prepared to kill Ballard with one well-aimed shot."

Athos turned his head to look at d'Artagnan and Porthos in turn. "You didn't think I would leave him completely without back-up, did you?"

Porthos only stared back at the older man, no words forthcoming. His frustration and anger at the situation boiled too close to the surface and combined with the concern he felt for his friend outside, he knew he couldn't trust his voice.

Athos's piercing eyes searched his for a moment and, as was so often the case, his friend was able to read him with no difficulty at all. Athos sighed deeply before he spoke his next words.

"You must understand that he needed to be a part of this and that nothing and no one was going to stop him. The only thing we can do is stand by his side and help him end this swiftly."

Porthos released a shuddering breath and slowly nodded his head at Athos's words. In his heart, he knew them to be true. He might not like it in this instance, but Aramis's sense of loyalty would simply not allow him to watch from the sidelines; no matter his condition and especially if he felt responsible for the situation.

"You're right of course," he finally relented. "Let's go join him then."

At Athos's brief nod of agreement Porthos asked, "How do you want to go about this?"

Still peering through the gap in the door, d'Artagnan was the one to reply, "There's been a commotion out there, and it looks like something is about to happen. I can't tell; Ballard's people are blocking my view."

When Porthos focused on the conversation taking place outside the barn, he caught the tail end of Ballard's words, "…But first I believe it's time for you to know how it feels to have your brothers ripped from your grasp, and it will be my pleasure to witness your agony over their loss."

"Fetch the prisoners so we can get on with this."

Porthos's voice rumbled in his chest. "He paints a pretty picture, don't 'e? Can't wait to shove it down 'is throat."

Athos slowly closed the door, evidently not wanting to alert the approaching man to their presence.

"Let's be quiet about this, we want to keep the element of surprise." Athos again pressed his body along the wall, next to the entrance.

Porthos took position on the other side of the door.

Moving back a few paces, d'Artagnan stood in the middle of the barn and in plain view of anyone who would enter.

When the door slid open slowly, Porthos readied himself. The man appearing in the doorway had taken one step over the threshold before he noticed d'Artagnan waving at him and attempted to lift his pistol.

Quickly pushing the door closed behind the man to shield them from prying eyes, Porthos's other arm came down on the man's hand like a sledgehammer. His brute strength immediately forced their opponent to drop his weapon to the ground.

Before the man had time to react, Athos's fist connected fiercely with his jaw, forcing him down to one knee.

Seeing that the man before them still clung to consciousness, Porthos smiled at the fact that he finally found an outlet for his pent-up fury.

His fist barreled into the man's temple without warning or mercy, and Porthos watched him collapse to the ground in satisfaction.

Looking up, he realized that Athos was staring at him.

"What? I did it quietly like you asked." He attempted to infuse his voice with innocence but miserably failed to hide his satisfied grin.

Athos raised one eyebrow. "Right. Let's get him to the beam and tie him up."

As they dragged the lifeless body to the middle of the barn to lean him against one of the pillars, Athos evidently couldn't refuse his urge to mock any longer. "I don't think there will be any need to gag him considering he'll probably be unconscious for the next several days."

Porthos chuckled as he fastened the rope around the man's upper body, securing him tightly to the beam. "There is just no pleasing you sometimes, my friend."

Athos huffed in mock annoyance, and Porthos rose to his feet.

Gathering behind the door that would reunite them with Aramis, Porthos first met d'Artagnan's eyes and then settled his gaze on Athos.

All traces of humor were gone from his voice when he solemnly said, "let's finish this and bring him home."

Athos stretched out his arm towards the middle as he intoned, "All for one."

Porthos and d'Artagnan joined in immediately, "And one for all."

TBC

Only two more chapters to go. Hope you're still with me :) Let me know your thoughts.