Epilogue

Porthos POV

Leaning forward in the chair he currently occupied, Porthos slowly ran one hand through his short curls and sighed deeply before resting his arms on his thighs.

He had rarely ever felt this tired.

The rush and adrenaline of battle had long since left his system, leaving only bone weary exhaustion and fatigue.

To make matters worse, it seemed that his head was not going to cease its merciless pounding as small darts of misery pierced the area behind his eyes, setting his nerve endings on fire.

And yet, he would not allow himself to rest until he knew for certain that Aramis was not going to die silently while he slept.

Resigning himself to the fact that his brother's condition would likely remain undecided for a while yet, he continued his silent vigil at Aramis's bedside; much like he had for the past hour since the physician had left.

The oppressive silence surrounding him threatened to suffocate as the absolute stillness of the only other occupant in the room instilled true fear in his heart.

Porthos was unable, however, to avert his gaze from the unmoving form of his best friend, forced to watch the desperate battle taking place right before his eyes and utterly powerless to assist in any meaningful way.

Propped up on several blankets they had been able to find in the small farm building they currently occupied, Aramis's pale form continued to fight for each labored breath despite his elevated position.

When his mind suddenly raced back to the moment he had watched his friend collapse in the yard outside, Porthos's heartbeat quickened at the memory, and he became fractionally more alert.

Shifting restlessly in his chair, he once again saw the image of Aramis's struggle in his mind's eye.

Fighting to draw enough air into his lungs, his friend's blue tinged lips had spoken of a lack of oxygen while the bright red substance emerging with every strangled cough had been a frightening indication of unseen damage within.

After frantically undoing Aramis's leathers and gasping at the obvious damage to his ribcage, they had quickly decided that it would be madness to attempt to ride for Paris.

The mottled bruising covering Aramis's side was still as dramatic as it had been the day before. Only now, one could easily determine that three of his ribs featured multiple fractures. The deformity was obvious beneath his skin as Aramis's chest visibly flailed with every tortured breath.

Squeezing his eyes shut tightly in an effort to rid himself of the disturbing images, Porthos only managed to replace them with the physician's equally as upsetting and vague diagnosis.

The man's words suddenly played an endless song inside Porthos's tattered mind.

…I'm glad you had the good sense not to put him on a horse. There's a good chance those fractures would have pierced his heart…

… the blood he's coughing up does suggest some form of internal damage…

…it's not the liver, blood would be dark…

… by the sound of his breathing, it could be a laceration to the lung tissue. But I don't believe there is any fluid buildup, not yet anyway…

… if the laceration is small enough it might heal on its own, if not he'll slowly get worse until…

Pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the throbbing misery pulsing through his head with every heartbeat, Porthos hardly noticed when the door creaked open.

"Porthos."

"Hm?" Slowly turning his head towards the voice penetrating his scrambled thoughts, he saw Athos leaning against the doorframe.

"I asked if there was any change."

Sighing deeply, Porthos replied, "I don't know. He might be breathin' a touch easier than before, but I can't be sure. And 'e hasn't had a bad coughing fit for the past hour; so at least there hasn't been any more blood." Briefly shaking his head, he added, "He hasn't woken yet, though."

Athos briefly bowed his head in acknowledgment, but his brow furrowed in concern, casting a dark shadow over his features as his eyes settled on Aramis. "We need to give him time."

Tiredly brushing his hand down his face in a feeble attempt to cast aside his demons, Porthos felt the sudden need to change the subject. "How's d'Artagnan? He resting yet?"

Not taking his eyes off of their struggling friend, Athos answered, "No. His stubbornness rivals Aramis's. He insists he is fine." Athos finally managed to break the hold Aramis's still form seemed to have on him and looked at Porthos, exasperation shining in his eyes. "He's outside helping Treville pile the bodies onto the cart. He's barely able to keep his feet."

Indicating the space behind him with a tilt of his head, Porthos said, "There's another bed and e' needs to use it." Without permission, his voice took on a frustrated edge. "He has a concussion and a cracked rib, and I don't feel like worryin' about both of them."

"You are not wrong; he desperately requires rest." Athos crossed his arms in front of his chest and briefly bowed his head. "However, it seems that he needs some time to work through this; the evidence would suggest that he has a hard time seeing Aramis this way."

Deflating quickly, Porthos slowly nodded his head in understanding. "Don't we all?"

His gaze was drawn back to the unmoving occupant in the bed before him and once more he studied the pale features, the injured arm, and the glaringly obvious damage of the partially exposed ribcage.

Sitting on this chair for the past hour, trapped in his own personal nightmare of inactivity and helplessness, had severely lowered his defenses.

Porthos suddenly felt the desperate need to share the thoughts that kept invading his weakened state of mind.

"I was mad at 'im, you know." Looking to Athos, he was not surprised to find two piercing blue eyes settled on him, waiting patiently for his next words. "When I saw 'im standing in the yard, facing Ballard by himself, I felt the urge to go out there and personally strangle him for bein' a self-sacrificing idiot. But somewhere along the way I realized somethin'."

Clearing his throat, he used the time to gather his thoughts. The rumble of his quiet words resonated in his chest when he continued.

"I realized that I haven't been entirely fair. This would've been an impossible situation for anyone to deal with and I shouldn't be allowed to judge his actions if I can't say for certain that I would have acted any differently. As it is, I can't think of a single thing I wouldn't do to save his life, or any one of yours when it came right down to it."

He was so unbelievably tired. "It's just that…"

When his words failed him in the face of his jumbled emotions, Athos quietly finished his sentence for him.

"It is incredibly hard to witness a brother's struggle unfold before your eyes and realize that in the end you can't control the outcome. I do know how you feel." Pushing himself away from the doorframe, Athos walked a few steps and came to stand in front of the bed. "He jumped in front of a firing pistol today to save my life, and I had no say in the matter."

Athos briefly bowed his head in obvious contemplation of his next words. When he looked up, his eyes told of honesty and peace of mind.

"The way I choose to look at it, however, is that now I will be around to return the favor one day."

Porthos nodded his head slowly as he pondered the truth of the words his friend had spoken.

After a moment of silence, Athos said, "I will leave you to your thoughts and attempt to convince d'Artagnan that it is advantageous to lie down before unconsciousness strikes."

"Good luck with that."

He heard Athos's faint chuckle right before the door closed behind him.

Porthos heavily leaned back in his chair as the oppressive silence settled around him once more. As the moments stretched on, his mind relinquished any hold on conscious thought, deciding to shield itself against the constant anxiety he had been feeling for the better part of the afternoon.

When his aching eyes threatened to surrender to the pull of sleep, he rubbed at them angrily with one hand, refusing to give in.

"You look exhausted. You need to rest."

The words were nothing more than a strained whisper, and yet somehow held the power to revive his tired body in an instant as they pierced his heart with force and sent a jolt of adrenaline running through his veins.

His eyes flew open immediately, coming to rest on the man before him. When he realized that the words had not been a mere figment of his imagination, but that Aramis's piercing eyes were indeed open and looked at him expectantly, his breath hitched.

"You're awake."

Aramis's lips curved into a tired smile. "Still stating the obvious, I see."

There was a breathless quality to Aramis's words and his eyes shimmered with the pain he was trying to hide so desperately. And yet, Porthos felt pure relief surge his system in waves at the mere sound of his voice.

When he replied, however, the utter frustration and fear that had ruled his life for the past hours commanded his tone, and his voice sounded hoarse while his words resonated harshly.

"Well, you'll have to excuse my ignorance. I've been told that there was a possibility you might not wake up."

He realized his mistake when Aramis's smile dropped instantly and drawing air became a challenge once more.

"I am sorry, my friend. I did not mean for any of this to happen. But I could not stay behind while you and –"

His explanation was rudely interrupted when his breath hitched and threatened to turn into a cough.

Cursing himself, Porthos leaned forward in his chair and quickly placed one hand on his friend's upper chest, attempting to ground the other man. "No, no, no. None of that. Look at me, Aramis." – Frantic eyes locked to his as his friend fought for breath– "Yeah, that's it. Now breathe, as deeply as you can."

He helplessly watched Aramis struggle to follow his instructions and winced in sympathy when his pale features distorted in pain with every breath deep enough to manipulate his damaged ribcage.

Porthos eyed the vial of laudanum the physician had left behind on the small end table. Obviously having followed his gaze, Aramis placed one hand on Porthos's arm and bit out through gritted teeth, "Please… Not yet."

Seemingly able to slow his breathing and regain a measure of control by sheer force of will, Aramis steadfastly locked on to his eyes and in the face of his friend's plea, Porthos couldn't help but nod slowly in understanding.

After a long moment, his jumbled thoughts returned to the matter at hand, and Porthos suddenly felt the need to set things right. He purposefully softened his voice when he spoke.

"I am the one who owes you an apology. Even though it wasn't easy to watch you struggle with this mess, I should've never asked you to make a promise I knew you couldn't keep."

Entirely unaccustomed to this level of honesty, he briefly bowed his head to gather his thoughts.

"I do understand that your actions were demanded by your loyalty toward us. That's after all, one of your most honorable attributes and should never be treated as anything but." Lifting his head and catching Aramis's gaze with his, he finished quietly, "I had no right to demand anythin' different."

Aramis blinked at him in surprise. When he formed his reply, Porthos was aware of the effort it cost his friend to keep his voice level.

"I appreciate the sentiment, my friend. More than you know. But there is no need for you to apologize." Pausing briefly, he looked down at the hand still resting on his chest.

"There are precious few things in this world that I hold as dear as your friendship, and I count myself truly fortunate to have brothers in my life that would go to such extreme lengths to defend me against my enemies."

Holding Aramis's steady gaze, he recognized the honesty and truth of his friend's words shining bright and unguarded in his eyes. Startled by the open display of emotion, Porthos swallowed past the lump in his throat but remained silent, sensing his friend was not finished.

"So please know that while your concern might not always be understood in the heat of the moment, it is always appreciated," Aramis concluded quietly.

Porthos slowly nodded his head in acceptance of his friend's declaration and the mutual understanding passing between them finally calmed his frayed nerves.

Moving his hand to Aramis's shoulder, he squeezed it gently before resting his forearms on his thighs.

When a moment of comfortable silence stretched between them, Porthos watched his friend's eyes slip closed. Just when he thought Aramis had drifted off again, his voice sounded quietly.

"How are the others?" – His tired eyes opened once more. – "How's d'Artagnan?"

"He's concussed, and 'e desperately needs rest." Porthos ran a hand through his curls. "Athos is workin' on it."

Aramis briefly frowned but nodded his head slowly.

With a creak and a groan the door to the small room slid open at that moment to reveal Athos and the younger man they had just been talking about.

His eyes fixed on the ground, d'Artagnan absently rubbed circles on his forehead when he crossed the threshold. The blood that had marred his face had been washed off some time ago, leaving his features drained and far too pale.

When Athos's gaze immediately settled on the sole occupant of the bed, a rare smile brightened his face and he gently nudged d'Artagnan's side. "What did I tell you? He's too damn stubborn to die."

Lifting his head slowly, d'Artagnan blinked in surprise. "Aramis. You're awake." The younger man gingerly sat down on the edge of the other bed, his voice tinged with honest relief when he spoke.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you up. We feared the worst."

It would have been obvious to anyone that severe pain continued to rule Aramis's world; it was written on his pale face and visible in his glazed eyes. As it was, he had yet to attempt any kind of movement.

And yet, he still managed to infuse his reply with fierce disbelief; an obvious effort to alleviate the younger Musketeers worry.

"Seriously? Did no one have any faith in my ability to beat the odds?"

Lowering himself into the other chair in the room, Athos leaned back contentedly and replied without hesitation, "I for one never doubted you for a second."

"Right. Not for a second, huh?" Porthos scoffed. "Liar."

Aramis watched Athos's eyebrow rise in its customary fashion and smiled at the familiar teasing.

Eventually, the marksman's eyes settled on d'Artagnan as the younger man toed off his boots and carefully removed his doublet.

"How are you feeling, my friend? Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan lifted his head to lock eyes with Aramis, his gaze startlingly sincere. "Better now." When the young man's brow briefly furrowed, his meaning was clear for all to see. "A lot better now."

Averting his eyes after a moment, d'Artagnan settled down in bed and added, "But if you'll all excuse me, I think it is time for me to sleep for a day or two."

Porthos chuckled. "Go for it. We'll have to wake you every few hours, though. Concussion drill."

"Do see that you recover soon," Aramis added tiredly, his strength clearly failing now. "I made a promise to a very lovely young lady back home that you would be returned to her unharmed. And there is no doubt in my mind that I will die a horrible death if I don't make good on that promise."

"You'll have to tell me later how Constance fits into all of this," d'Artagnan muttered, his eyes already closed.

"Oh, we will. Don't know what we would have done without her," Athos said as he locked his gaze with Aramis's, a look of understanding passing between them right before Aramis too finally surrendered to the call of sleep as his eyes slipped shut.

When Aramis's breathing started to even out, Porthos settled back in his chair, trying hard to ignore the still raspy quality of each breath.

"Do you think he'll be al'ight?" The question was spoken quietly and revealed more emotion than he was strictly comfortable with.

He desperately needed rest.

Athos did not hesitate before answering, "He is strong, and he will get through this. There's no doubt that he has a lot of healing to do, but he knows he is not alone."

Porthos's gaze was drawn to the older Musketeer as Athos leaned forward in his chair, his voice earnest.

"The most important thing to remember is that we are each other's keepers, Porthos. Each other's guardians. And as long as that holds true, I believe that we will all be alright."

Staring at Athos for a long moment, his tired mind contemplated the words his friend had spoken. When comprehension dawned, and Porthos slowly nodded his understanding, Athos settled back in his chair and shifted his hat forward to cover his face.

When Porthos locked his gaze onto Aramis once more and watched the rhythmic rise and fall of his friend's chest, a sense of calm finally settled within, allowing him to relinquish his hold on consciousness.

The last thing he was aware of before sleep finally claimed him, was the image of their Captain leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and a rare smile on his face.

The End

I really hope you liked the conclusion.

I am actually sad to see this story end. I had so much fun writing it :) A huge thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited and followed.

Also a special thank you to all the guest reviewers I couldn't reply to personally. You guys are awesome!

I hope to see you all next time. SanB