Porthos jumped. D'Artagnan grabbed, clamping his fingers around his wrists, nails digging in as he tried to heave Porthos up.

Given a few more seconds Porthos was planning to use the remains of the bed to give him another few inches of height to jump from. But he had not been afforded those seconds. Seconds that would have proved invaluable.

Seconds that might have saved him.

D'Artagnan tried. D'Artagnan put all his effort into pulling him up.

But it was not enough. They both knew it. Porthos saw the regret in d'Artagnan's eyes. Porthos knew he had to make the decision.

He let go.

He splashed back into the water. Water that was still rushing through the cottage. Now knee-high Porthos knew he only had seconds to do something. Without another glance upwards he moved off. Pushing through the water, feeling it fill his boots slowing him down, feeling it drench his already wet breeches.

A small window in the wall with a sill was the only place Porthos could see that would provide any chance of getting out of the rushing water. It was risky, but no riskier than sitting on a ledge above the torrent. If the cottage turned out to be structurally unsound it would not matter where he or his friends were cowering.

The sill was too narrow for him to perch on one side. He pushed the shutters open, one of them fell off, disappearing into the darkness of the stormy night. The wind whipped in, but Porthos could not wait. If he stayed in the water, he would stand no chance. At least out of the water he might dry off a little. The wind would help. He was sheltered from the rain on that side of the cottage. He knew he was in for a miserable few hours but he might be alright.

Might be.

Might.

Porthos pulled himself out of the water and twisted around to sit on the windowsill. It was uncomfortable, the wooden ledge dug into him. He would be left bruised and probably struggle to walk without wincing. But that would be a small price to pay if he survived the night. He was more likely to die from exposure than bruises to his thighs.

'I'M ALRIGHT!'

He shouted the words, but he was sure they were pulled away from him, into the night. He doubted the others could hear him. He hoped d'Artagnan did not try to climb down. If Athos was still conscious or Aramis had come around, they would stop him. But if they were both unconscious d'Artagnan might do something stupid. The Musketeer's impetuous streak sometimes went in their favour. And sometimes it nearly got him killed.

A fierce blast of wind followed by another rumble of thunder reminded Porthos that his ordeal was not over. He was far more exposed than his friends. He had to grip the edge of the window tightly. He knew he would strain his muscles; he could only hope he lasted out the storm and the rush of water below him.

The water had stopped rising, it was just touching the toe of his boots. The splashes meant he was not going to dry off quickly until it receded a little. There must have been gaps allowing the water an easy exit from the cottage. Porthos was grateful for the disrepair now.

All he could do was wait.

MMMM

'Porthos!'

D'Artagnan watched his friend walk away. Distinct splashing could be heard for a few seconds only to be drowned out by the relentless flow of water smacking into the wall of the cottage.

'D'Artagnan, move away from the edge,' said Athos. 'You cannot help him.'

'Porthos!'

The lack of reply and no further obvious sounds of his friend moving around were unnerving. D'Artagnan became aware of Athos trying to pull him back, further onto the safety of the platform.

He twisted onto this side and looked up at Athos. Athos looked concerned, but he shook his head.

'There is nothing we can do until this storm subsides.'

Athos grabbed him by the shoulder and looked at him hard. His gaze penetrated d'Artagnan until he nodded. Athos lessened his grip but kept hold of him for several more seconds. It was not until d'Artagnan pushed himself well away from the edge that Athos let go.

A rush of wind pulled at the roof above them. The breeze whirled around.

'Something must have broken down there. Perhaps one of the shutters over the windows,' suggested Athos.

D'Artagnan shivered. He remembered how cold he was from their original misadventure outside. Athos was still in his braies. D'Artagnan distracted himself from Porthos for a moment by helping his friend to redress. His clothes were still damp, but dryer than they had been.

'At least get your doublet off,' said Athos, 'you and Aramis are soaked as well.'

D'Artagnan nodded as he pulled off his weapons belts and undid his jacket. Athos shuffled over to Aramis, who appeared to be coming around. As Athos undid his friend's doublet, he kept a restraining hand on his chest. If Aramis moved suddenly, he would probably pass out again.

'Aramis,' said Athos. 'You are safe for the moment.'

Athos paused, d'Artagnan knew he was trying to word his next sentence carefully.

'Porthos did not make it up here. We think he found shelter somewhere else.'

D'Artagnan wondered if Athos really thought that. D'Artagnan was not sure. He could not work out where Porthos might have gone. There were no pieces of furniture left in the old cottage. Where could he have gone?

'Aramis,' Athos said, trying to keep his voice calm, 'if you move too quickly you will cause yourself pain. Accept that there is nothing you can do.'

Aramis was staring at Athos. D'Artagnan could see the emotion in his friend's eyes as he took in what Athos was saying. Aramis probably wanted to leap from the platform to look for his friend. But what Athos was saying was true. The injury Aramis carried may have only been bruising but it was debilitating and would be causing his friend pain even if he kept still.

After several long seconds, Aramis nodded. Athos went back to unbuttoning his doublet.

'We need to try to get warm,' he said before pausing and closing his eyes for a few seconds.

Aramis reached up to steady him. D'Artagnan moved closer.

'Your head?' he asked.

Athos managed a nod.

'Take your time,' said Aramis. 'Try not to move.'

Despite wincing with pain, Aramis managed to twist onto his good side and help steady Athos as they eased him back a little to lean on one of the support beams. He indicated with a wave of his hand that he was alright.

'He'll be fine,' said Aramis. 'We'll all be fine.'

D'Artagnan was not sure who Aramis was referring to. The three of them or all of them.

All they could do was wait.

To be continued…

Whumpee(s): Athos, Aramis and Porthos. Featuring: D'Artagnan.