Author's note: This follows on from the previous chapter.
Chapter Nineteen - Exhaustion
Porthos and d'Artagnan
He had grabbed the unconscious Musketeer amid the sounds of gunshots and clashing swords. He had heard Aramis yelling at Athos to 'get down' at one point. Porthos wondered what had happened but could not dwell on the thought. They had agreed. Porthos' only job was to get d'Artagnan out. Get him out and get him away. Get him back to the garrison.
The younger man had been lying, slumped in the corner of the room. One man had put up some resistance, but Porthos had dealt with him swiftly. The gun spent he had used it as a club on another man who approached him.
Athos and Aramis were clearly playing their part of the plan to the letter. No more men attacked him. A cursory check of d'Artagnan told Porthos that he had been knocked out. A graze to his forehead and an already darkening bruise telling the rescuer all he needed to know.
With no time to check the d'Artagnan for any other injuries, Porthos grabbed his arms and pulled the unconscious man up to a sitting position before bending and pulling him up and over his shoulder.
Porthos rose to his feet and turned. He saw that both his brothers were engaged in sword fights with the remaining enemy men. But the plan meant that Porthos had to leave them to it. They had all agreed, getting d'Artagnan back was the priority. But Porthos did not like the plan despite it being the best one they had. Reluctantly he carried his brother passed the fighting men.
MMMM
It was a long walk across Paris in the darkness. Porthos could not stop, he had to get d'Artagnan back to the garrison. The chances of other enemy agents catching up with them was too great. The enemy could have been anywhere or anyone. The only safe place was the garrison.
Porthos persevered. Carrying a man, a short distance, was not a problem, getting a brother away from the battlefield was simple. But Porthos was carrying a fully-grown man across Paris. At night.
As he walked he realised he was getting slower. But he could not stop. D'Artagnan had to be taken to safety.
Porthos tried to think of other things. But his mind kept returning to his brothers. The unconscious one he was carrying was the least of his worries. Porthos had been forced to leave Athos and Aramis behind, still fighting. Were they alright?
Two streets from the garrison and Porthos started to wonder if he would make it before his legs gave out. But he could not stop.
One street away and his walk was not a walk any longer it was simply a stumble. But he could not stop.
Turning into the garrison Porthos found that he had no choice but to stop. His knees gave way and he crashed down. For a second, he wondered if he would cause the young man he was still carrying further injury.
But his burden was taken from him as he fell. Hands were on his shoulders steadying him, pushing him down to sit on the cobbled ground. Porthos was vaguely aware of d'Artagnan being carried away, towards the infirmary. Someone crouched down next to him handing him a cup of water from which Porthos drank gratefully.
He watched the unconscious man being taken into the infirmary, he knew d'Artagnan was safe. Porthos sighed with relief.
'Well done,' said Treville quietly, 'let us deal with him now.'
The End.
Authors note: I might look at expanding this little arc, I think I've left myself with some scope for filling in the rest of the story. I know I'd like to know what's going on.