By leave of the queen, I was allowed to stay and care for Treville as he recovered from his wound. I tended to him diligently, constantly frightened that he would worsen or take a drastic turn, but he never did. He did not even take a fever, merely rested until he was able to sit up and move for himself. The strength of his body won out, and eventually even I had to admit that I had little reason to worry for his wellbeing. The calm evenings when I would sit with him because a fast favourite of mine, reading by candlelight or embroidering whilst he rested. If he had the strength, sometimes we would talk.
He had many concerns weighing upon his conscience, and even admitted some of them to me. I was surprised by them, but I made no comment as Treville revealed that he had known who Porthos' father was all along, and had purposefully hidden it from him. Porthos was the son of Marquis de Belgard, the legitimate firstborn son and heir to his estate. I could not comprehend it at first, frowning slightly as thoughts scattered themselves in my mind. "You are disappointed in me," Treville assumed, looking upon my furrowed brow and distant stare. "As well you should be."
"How can I ever be disappointed in you, captain? Do not think such nonsense." Setting aside my embroidery for a moment, I laced my fingers together to continue thinking. "I know that you must have had your reasons, whether they be right or wrong. At the time, they must have been what you judged to be best. I trust your character, captain. I will never doubt you." My words brought him comfort and he smiled to me, seemingly melding into his pillows with the long sigh he released.
"I do not deserve such confidence."
"You are the only man who could inspire such," countering him, I reached across and rested my hand atop his. "You have told Porthos?" He nodded. "Then it is in his hands now. We must trust in him and allow him to find the answers he seeks and judge for himself. No matter the outcome, my love for you will not diminish, captain. Please believe that." For a moment, I was certain I caught the sight of a glistening tear at the corner of the captain's eye, but it was hastily blinked away.
He said nothing, but he did not need to. Squeezing his hand, I had resumed my embroidering and we passed the rest of the evening in silence. Once he was asleep, however, I determined myself that I would find Porthos and finally make the time to speak to him, or at least try to persuade him to speak to me. This silence between us had gone on long enough and I was resolved to end it once and for all. It had now become quite silly. If I knew him as I believed I did, then I knew where I might find him if he was not already at the garrison. A tavern. There were several possibilities, but I expected that Porthos would have wanted to drink alone tonight to think over what Treville had told him, and so elected to go to one not so often frequented by musketeers.
I found him upon my second guess, one even further than the last, and all the quieter. It was dusty and in desperate need of a thorough cleaning, but I slipped inside and immediately noticed Porthos sitting alone at a table in the far corner, hunched over his drink which looked to be barely touched. I bought a bottle of wine and picked up two of the cleanest cups I could find, then carried them over to Porthos. I set the bottle upon the table, cups following after. "I don't want company," speaking gruffly, Porthos did not even raise his head as he growled.
"Then by all means, pretend that I am not here." Upon the sound of my voice Porthos jolted which shook the entire table, turning one of the cups over. I caught it before it fell, the sudden lunge bringing my face closer to Porthos as he stared at me, mouth half open. He looked as though he was preparing to take flight and run. "May I?" Choosing not to give in so readily, I did not wait for an answer as I took the seat opposite him, unlashing my cloak and draped it over my lap. I poured us the wine which thankfully tasted better than I expected. I pushed the second cup to him. "Drink with me, Porthos."
For a long time he continued to stare, the expression of panic seemingly permanently carved into his face like living stone. I did not look away, merely sipped at my wine patiently until he became accustomed to looking at me, grew used to our closeness as the small table offered very little distance between us. Beneath the table, his legs were parted around my own, one foot brushing against mine. "Treville told me," I finally explained, sighing impatiently. "I thought that if perhaps you wanted to talk, or even not, then I would be here for you should you need." Finally Porthos closed his mouth, hand slowly reaching for the cup. "Well?" Arching an expectant brow, I gave him a teasing look. "Have you lost the use of your tongue since last we spoke?"
"Since last we…?" Spluttering my own words, Porthos seemed quite incapable of gathering his wits back to him. I did not think I had such an effect on men, for surely it was not for my looks. Perhaps I had unwittingly enchanted him with a spell. How careless of me. Disappointment permeated my being, pulses of regret landing like blows as I released my breath and set down my cup, rising to leave.
"I should not have come here, forgive me for intruding Porthos," dipping my head in farewell, I draped my cloak over my arm and made to leave, thinking only to leave Porthos in peace. Several steps were taken, before I heard his deep, rumbling voice roll through me.
"Wait," like I had now been cast upon by magic, I froze in place. "Stay." At the simple request, Porthos lightly kicked the chair I had vacated, pushing it out once more. Hesitating to ensure he did not change his mind, I slowly returned and sank back into the seat, reclaiming my wine. "Did Treville send you?"
"I sent myself. I thought perhaps you could use a friend," at this his gaze lifted for a moment, catching upon mine with a tilt of his mouth, the softest and truest expression I had received from him in weeks. "Do you wish to speak, or simply drink?" Considering for a moment, Porthos then drained his cup of wine in a single gulp before slamming it down with a heavy thud upon the table, exhaling in satisfaction as a small measure of merriment glimmered in his eyes.
"Drink." He chose, and I happily accepted. We shared a toast and drained our cups, one after the other. When wine did not meet our satisfaction we called for ale, washing it down quickly as to not dwell upon the sour taste, but after several tankards neither of us could taste much of anything thereafter. We laughed and joked, challenged one another to games and contests, and when the dour tavern eventually became jovial with music and minstrels, Porthos and I danced together alongside several other couples.
He swung me about in a clumsy fashion, both of us staggering until we were lost in a stupor of drink, ridiculing ourselves for our state and struggling to comprehend much of anything other than the sheer pleasure of being free spirits and openly friendly with one another again. After our hazardous dance where I was fairly certain I had accidentally kicked someone's shin, I dropped into Porthos' lap, giggling and hot, my hair untangled from its neat containment so it looked a wild mess atop my head.
Busying himself by pulling free my hairpins, Porthos groped sluggishly, struggling to coordinate his hand as the both of us continued to giggle and laugh together, riding the last wave of euphoria and happiness until it ebbed into a steady yet constant tide of peaceful contentment. Once Porthos had managed to completely unravel my hair, he took to drawing his fingers through it whilst I perched upon his lap, head resting against his shoulder as I closed my eyes for a few moments. "I've missed this," I heard him whisper, though I did not quite take on the meaning of his words through my drunken haze. "I've missed you, sweetheart." I hummed softly.
"Well…'tis your fault, darlin'," hiccupping, I clasped my hands upon Porthos' chest to steady myself as I straightened, using him as my anchor to blink at him unsteadily. His recovery was far swifter than mine, for it had been a long while since I had drunk so heavily. I tapped at his nose. "You have been avoiding me…hiccup…sir!" Chuckling with amusement, Porthos pulled back my hair once more, and I felt the notion that were I a cat, I would purr.
"Had some things I needed to think about. Just needed some time," clicking my tongue in mild irritation, I allowed myself to slip a little lower upon Porthos' lap, lacing my fingers together so that when I propped my elbows upon his chest, I could rest my chin upon them neatly. Tilting my head to regard Porthos, he lowered his chin towards his chest to look at me, the corners of his mouth rising upwards which naturally drew my attention. I desired nothing more than to touch him. With drink liberating my sense of etiquette, I did so.
Brushing my fingers against him, I felt the hairs of his face under my fingertips, neither soft nor course, but pleasant all the same. My finger followed the frame of his mouth, outlining the shape of his features before eventually tracing the length of his scar which lay distinctly over his left eye. It had been there for as long as I had known him, so familiar that it would be strange to imagine him without it. "Do you need more time?" I found myself asking, thoughts jumping from one to the next whilst desperately trying to grasp one tangible focus, but they continually slipped through my fingers like grasping at feathers in a strong wind.
"I don't know…all this thinking hasn't gotten me anywhere. I still don't have the answers." Assuming that Porthos was referring to the matter of his father, I pulled myself upright, using his shoulders as my grounding as one of his hands came to rest naturally upon my waist.
"If you wish for answers, then perhaps you need to ask the right questions," slurring slightly because of the drink, but still thinking with enough reason to want to comfort Porthos, my hand began to stroke at his hair as I leaned against him. "You need to ask the right questions to the right person." He blinked at me, seemingly surprised that I could manage to be so profound whilst so excessively drunk. "Why not go to your father?"
"What?" The idea shocked him, as if it was something utterly inconceivable. Complete and utter nonsense.
"You know his name; you know where he is…go to him. Your conscience will not settle until you see him for yourself. Go to him. See what he is like and uncover the truth." Splaying my hand against his face, my fingers slowly pulled downwards, lightly grazing over his eyes to pull them closed, lashes feather light against my skin before I eventually reached his mouth. I stopped there, feeling as if Porthos had shuddered but not quite certain that he had. "If you cannot find the answers by thinking, then seek. Ask. It is the only way." A rich chuckle of hubris rumbled which sent a pleasant reverberation through me.
"Always were the clever one, sweetheart."
"Indeed, therefore it would be best if you act upon my instruction," giggling in response, I suddenly felt weary and so very heavy. Sinking against Porthos, I rested my head upon his shoulder as I placed my arms around his neck, thinking to rest only for a moment. "I have missed you too, Porthos…" this was the last I remember speaking, before the drink claimed me and I did not recollect much thereafter. I know that Athos and Aramis found us, having come looking for Porthos.
One might understand my brother's shock to discover me sound asleep on Porthos' lap, both of us dead drunk and wrapped in one another's embrace. Athos had not been pleased, but Aramis had assured me the following morning that nothing would be said on the matter. We had done nothing wrong, and it had looked entirely innocent from what he could see. Athos had carried me himself back to the garrison to place me in his own room before going back to assist with Porthos.
I suffered in the morning with the most horrific throbbing behind my eyes, feeling nauseous and aching as if I had been bruised all over like a tender peach. I now remembered why I had not drunk to excess in such a manner for many years. Once, when I was younger, I had allowed myself to drink as much as my birdlike body could handle. Three days of suffering had followed and I had vowed to never relive the experience. Thankfully Aramis was tender and understanding, and my brother did nothing other than give me a look of disapproving before also tending to my ailments.
From what I knew, Porthos had recovered as if he had never drunken a drop, and I envied him for it. Thankfully I was not forced to rest three entire days, and by midafternoon I had recovered enough to be able to return to the palace. This time, when I left, Porthos came to say farewell, teasing me for being a light drinker before he ruffled at my hair. The motion caused my head to throb angrily in protest, but I silenced the complaint, for there was nothing more wonderful than the familiar feeling of Porthos' hand upon my head once again. For one morning of sickness, I deemed the entire venture worth it for such a valuable reward.
I left with a spring in my step, a glow in my heart, and feeling confident that now we were upon the first step to going back to the way things used to be between Porthos and I. Dear friends. For although I loved him still, and perhaps always will, I was willing to put aside my own feelings for the sake of our friendship, for I would rather endure the pain of an unreciprocated love than lose Porthos altogether and be left with nothing. Nothing at all.