AN – So I am now trying to work this around what has already happened. Not entirely sure how that will go. But for now Porthos has something to say.

"Athos!" D'Artagnan's tone became a little less demanding, and somewhat more plaintive as his friend pointedly ignored him, wheeling his horse around and galloping off into the distance. "Athos."

"Well, that went well," Aramis mocked, glaring at his friends, hands on hips. "We spent three days tracking him down, a fourth taking care of his possibly life threatening injuries and it's the work of mere moments to lose him again."

"We didn't lose 'im," Porthos groused, as he swiped a hand over his face, his frustration with Athos still evident in his tone. "He ran out on us."

"Because you pushed him away," d'Artagnan retorted hotly, his own guilt at Aramis' words, dear God was Athos even fit to ride? causing him to lash out at his friend. "What were you thinking, calling him a coward?"

"Hey, I never said that!," Porthos corrected sharply, taking d'Artagnan by the collar and pushing him backwards. "I said if I didn't know 'im better. Athos is one of the bravest men I've ever met. He doesn't back down from a fight. No matter what the odds, not in all the time I've known him."

He scowled at the Gascon, who simply glared back, giving no ground, as he retorted sarcastically.

"Well, apparently, thanks to you, he just did."

Porthos sagged slightly at the plain truth of that, releasing his hold on d'Artagnan's jacket and turning away. If he was honest with himself he was already regretting his blunt approach. He'd hoped to remind Athos of all those times he had stepped up to champion the little people, often against much worse odds than they were facing here. But he had not missed the flash of pain in Athos' eyes at his words. It seemed as if all he had done was rub salt into an open wound.

"Well, what the 'ell was you thinking?" He countered. "Bringing up Milady like that? Did you really think that was goin' to help?"

Stung by Athos' refusal to listen to him, d'Artagnan knew he had lashed out. He could not believe the man he so admired would simply stand by and watch anyone suffer. Much less those he was responsible for. But his taunts about Milady's continued influence had only caused his best friend to look at him, with an expression of hurt mixed with a hint of betrayal.

Athos had given him his forgiveness freely, assuring him that he did not blame the younger man for falling for Milady's charms. And like a true gentlemen he had never referred to it again, or given d'Artagnan the least reason to feel awkward. But for his part, the Gascon had struggled to let it go, simply not understanding how a man of honour like Athos could still be in thrall to a woman like that.

He wasn't proud of that. But he wasn't sure what to do about it either.

"We none of us can imagine what it's like for Athos being back in this place," Treville spoke up. "But these people need help and the Comte de la Fere is the only one who can secure their future."

"Athos is my sworn brother," Porthos frowned. "But I ain't sure I would have cared too much for M. le Comte."

"They're the same man." d'Artagnan pointed out archly.

"Not from where I'm standing." Porthos huffed.

"Don't you think you're both being a little hard on him?" Aramis rocked back on his heels.

"You," He looked at d'Artagnan. "You're disappointed he's not living up to his responsibilities as a Comte. But these people drugged him senseless, dragged him back here against his will and trussed him up like a criminal. A lessor man would have seen them hang. Instead, Athos still protected them from Renard."

"And you," He pinned Porthos with a look. "You expect him to act like a Musketeer. But the rules are different here. He's not a soldier, he's their liege Lord. It's not as if he can just challenge Renard to a duel and be done with it."

"Why not, if he is so eager to leave this place?" d'Artagnan demanded. "From the sounds of things, he could beat this Renard with one hand tied behind his back."

"Because, first of all, duelling is illegal, remember?" Aramis glanced meaningfully at Treville. "And secondly, this isn't Paris and Renard isn't some hot-headed young courtier looking to make a name for himself. The Baron's name and standing means something here. Athos can't publically humiliate him like that without inviting repercussions. It's a question of propriety."

"What about the Duke of Savoy?" d'Artagnan challenged, not yet prepared to let this go. "The way Porthos tells it, Athos laid him out at the feet of the King himself."

"That was different," Treville corrected. "For all that Athos was someone over-zealous, Savoy initiated the challenge and decided the terms. The bout was conducted during a private audience with the King. Not in the full view of the assembled locals, who would be only too happy to spread word of his defeat."

"So, we just stand by and do nothing?" d'Artagnan demanded, spreading his arms wide, his frustration plain. "If Athos won't take a stand, these people will be defenceless against Renard's forces. And, no matter what he's thinking right now, we all know Athos will never forgive himself for that."

"First we make a plan to bring home the Innkeeper's daughter, Jeanne. And then we'll see what the villagers have by way of weapons," Treville decided. "When Athos returns we need to be ready to make a fight of it."

"You think he'll come back?" d'Artagnan lit up with hope.

"He'll come back," Trevlle sighed. "The question is at what cost to himself."

"I'm going after him." Porthos suddenly decided. "I don't care if he takes a swing at me. He shouldn't be alone right now."

Born and raised in the teeming streets of Paris, Porthos had always had a slight distrust of the countryside. Aramis had done his best to teach him all the tricks of his boyhood, scaling trees, snaring game, catching fish and tracking in the woods, but that did not change the fact that Porthos still felt slightly out of his element without a crowd to swallow him up, or an alley to hide in.

Thank providence, an unfortunate episode with some Spanish spies and Aramis chained to a pier with the tide coming in fast, had inspired them all to mark their horse shoes in such a manner that it would seem like nothing more than the usual wear and tear to any casual observer, but allowed the inseparables to track each other with both speed and utter certainty. Even so, when Porthos arrived at a large, secluded, lake glistening in the morning sun, he thought he had misread the trail, until he saw Roger grazing peaceably along the bank and the small pile of clothes, folded neatly on a large flat rock.

"Athos."

He sharp eyes scanned the flat, calm, water, looking anxiously for any sign of movement. With each second that passed without a ripple his worry soared, until he threw himself off his horse and begin to strip out of his jacket and weapons, all the while swearing a blue streak. He was down to his shirt and braies when a dark head suddenly erupted from the still waters, breathing so heavily that he did not notice the lone figure on the shore as he slowly began to swim back.

Wading into the shallows, Porthos met him halfway, Athos affording him a slightly startled look as he was taken by the arm and marched briskly out of the water until Porthos could push him down, to rest on the flat rock. Hands on hips and scowl firmly in place he looked down at the seated figure, his shirt and braies plastered to his wet skin and his blue eyes wide in his pale face at Porthos' sudden appearance, like some kind of avenging Angel.

"Were you tryin' to drown yourself?" He demanded, fear making his tone sharp.

"I was merely bathing," Athos looked up at him. "I rather thought I was alone."

With a sigh, Porthos dropped down beside him. The rock was already warm from the sun's heat. It would not take long for their linens to dry. Stretching out his legs in front of him, Porthos kept his eyes firmly on the sparkling water.

"We didn't mean to chase you off," He offered by way of apology. "D'Artagnan's right sorry too. It's been a tough few days tracking you down. Last thing we expected was to find you back here."

"No-one was more surprised than I was, I can assure you." Athos said dryly.

"We looked for you," It was important to Porthos that Athos understood that. "We searched day and night. D'Artagnan wouldn't eat. Aramis didn't sleep a wink. Me, I was just trying not to bawl like a baby when I had to go down to the morgue to look at poor some short, pale, bugger, with blue eyes and dark, curly hair who'd had the misfortune of going to meet his maker before his time."

"I am sorry to have put you to such inconvenience." Athos said tonelessly

"Inconvenience, he calls it," Porthos huffed fondly, shifting so that their shoulders were touching. Then, feeling the goose bumps rising on Athos' damp flesh, despite the heat of the sun, he put an around him, pulling him into his side and absently rubbing at his upper arm. "We were worried sick about you, you daft idiot. We knew something must have happened to you. None of us believed you'd leave without a word. "

"And yet I did exactly that," Athos demurred, as he leant heavily into Porthos' embrace, that simple action alone telling his brother more than words ever could, just how adrift he felt at being forced to return to this place. "I left Pinon without a word, or a thought to the fate of its people."

"Athos," Porthos stroked the soft curls now resting on his shoulder. "You'd just had your whole life ripped out from under you. No-one could blame you for needing time to grieve."

"Six years," Athos berated himself. "For six years I have lived as if the Comte de la Fere died that that day. Ignoring my duty to the family holdings and my obligation to our tenants, no doubt my father is turning in his grave to see how I have destroyed generations of tradition and service."

"Rubbish," Porthos defended roundly. "You've done more in the service of France these past six years as a Musketeer than you could ever have done strutting around your lands like some dandy."

"The villagers would no doubt have a more jaded view of my priorities." Athos pointed, but there was a hint of amusement underlying his weary tone at Porthos' robust defence of his choices.

"That ain't the way Bertrand tells it," Porthos countered. "He says the minute Edmond laid hands on one of your people you pulled him bodily off his horse and threw him to the ground."

"That man was nothing but a brut. He deserved to be taught some manners."

"Uh huh," Porthos' tone was non-committal. "And then, even though you told Renard that you had renounced your title and had no interest in the land, apparently you still insisted on his undertaking that your tenants be left in peace. As the legal landowner Bertram said. So, even before we got here, you couldn't help yourself, you were already looking out for 'em."

"And I did such an admirable job," Athos scoffed. "Like a blind fool I trusted Renard would keep his word as a gentleman."

"Nah, you didn't," Porthos spoke with the sure knowledge of six years serving at this man's side. "Maybe you hoped he would be an honourable man, 'cause then you wouldn't have to stick around. But if you really believed in him there was nothing to keep you here. 'Cept instead of leaving, Bertram said you hung around to see what he would do next."

"When exactly did you have time for all these conversations?" Athos wondered.

"I'm a good listener," Porthos shrugged. "And you was out of things for a while."

"It's hardly seemly," Bertram worried, as he watched Porthos draw up fresh water from the well with which to mop Athos' fevered brow. "He is our liege Lord. He should not be laid out on a table in the Inn. At the very least we should move him to a bed."

"He's unconscious, he's not going to rightly care where he is," Porthos pointed out, as he rested the bucket on the rim of the well. His expression clouded. "Besides, Aramis says it could be dangerous to move him."

"You care for him a great deal," Bertram said curiously. "Yet you set no store by his rank or title."

"He's my brother," Porthos said simply, turning to look the villager in the eye. "The man I know is a Musketeer. He lives a soldier's life, with all its hardships, sleeping on the ground, or sheltering in stables, out in all weathers. He never shirks his share of duties. More often than not he'll take the worst spell of the watch for himself. It's hard to think he began life alongside empty headed toffs like Edmond."

"I bet he's never known what it is to go hungry," A tall, thin, man hovering nearby challenged. "Not to be able to sleep because of the pangs of an empty belly and still expected to do a full day's work on little more than air."

"Then you'd lose that bet, my friend," Porthos corrected. "Being a Musketeer ain't ever no picnic. Athos has faced down hunger, felt his lips crack and bleed from thirst. He's suffered imprisonment and torture in the service of the King. One bugger even tried to drown 'im once. He's lost friends and comrades to war and stood in front of a damn firing squad. Not once, has he ever failed in his duty. He's a fine man and any that says otherwise will answer to me."

"I used to come here as a boy," Athos' pensive voice cut into his thoughts, as he looked around at the lake. "It was one of the few places where I could escape from the ever present company of my tutors, or get out from under the eyes of the servants."

"Never thought about that," Porthos frowned slightly. "Must 'ave been hard, having people watching your every move. Explains why you never had that many friends your own age."

"As the Vicomte there was always the question of status, it created a distance between me and the other boys," Athos agreed. "Thomas was the only one who ever dared to tease me, or speak plainly to me."

"That explains a whole lot."

Athos had never been one to want to stand on ceremony. He respected Treville because the man wasn't afraid to speak his mind, even to the King himself. He had been attracted to Anne because she had refused to conform to society's norms. He was drawn to Porthos, Aramis and even young d'Artagnan because they shared his thirst for adventure and each of them, in their own way, understood what it was to want a different life from the one providence had laid out for them.

"I loved Thomas with all my heart, but sometimes, I wondered ..," Athos hesitated, before plunging on. "I never knew just how selfless true brotherhood could be until I met you and Aramis."

It took all of Porthos' self-control not to stiffen at Athos' words. In every pain filled nightmare, Athos had always cast himself as the one at fault, castigated himself for his failure to protect his beloved younger brother. It had never occurred to Porthos that Thomas d'Athos might have taken that devotion for granted and taken advantage of Athos' good nature.

If he wasn't already dead Porthos might be tempted to kill him himself.

"Aramis and I love you," Porthos did not think Athos could hear that too often. "The whelp too, and don't you ever forget it. We only quarrel 'cause we don't, none of us, want to see you hurt."

"I know how much it would mean to you to know something of your own background," Athos said quietly. "I cannot blame you for thinking me a coward for wishing to wash my hands of my inheritance."

"Do you even know what it says about you that the Comte de la Fere would care one jot about the good opinion of a half-caste, gutter rat, from the Court of Miracles?" On impulse, Porthos kissed Athos' curls fondly. "And just for the record, I don't think you're a coward. It's no easy thing having to face up to your past. I was just tryin' to make you stop and think before you did something you'd regret. I know what you get like when the guilt starts eating at you."

"I cannot be the man the people of Pinon require," Athos confessed. "Nothing on earth could induce me to want to return to that life."

"Then find a way to help these folks help themselves," Porthos encouraged. "They've survived well enough all this time. It was only Renard with his greed and his cruelty that forced 'em to reach out to you. Take care of 'im and then find a way for them to protect themselves and you're home free."

"Perhaps," Athos ran his hand through his hair, looking more lost that Porthos had ever seen him. "Although, I doubt it will be that easy. God knows, I am rarely that fortunate."

"Hey!," Porthos, nudged him, none too gently. "We didn't come all this way to give up without a fight."

"Renard's pride has been dented by his forced retreat. He will be ruthless in his revenge," Athos shook his head. "This is not your fight. I can't ask any of you to risk your lives."

"You don't have to ask," Porthos said simply. "D'Artagnan's already all riled up. Aramis loves a good fight. I ain't about to let a man like Renard get his own way and you should see Treville, he's practically itching to take command and marshal the villagers. The Baron ain't gonna know what's hit 'im."

"I owe you all an apology." Athos sighed. "It has always seemed that that this was my burden to carry alone. To have you here, it is more than I could ever have imagined."

"That my friend," Porthos said kindly. "Is how love should work."

Predictably Athos snorted softly at his sentimentality. But Porthos' words also gave him the strength to sit up and swipe at his face, his gaze sharpening as he came back to himself and considered the matter at hand.

"I should probably go to the house. See what remains. If Renard decides to attack it might be more defensible than the village, a place to shelter the women and children, at least."

Porthos had to swallow hard as he was reminded exactly why he would follow this man to hell and back. Returning to his family home must be the very last thing Athos wanted to do. But even in the midst of his own worst nightmare Athos could not help but look out for everyone but himself.

"Need some company?" He offered.

"Thank you, but no," Athos shook his head with quiet dignity. "Someone needs to rescue Jeanne from Renard's clutches and there is no-one I would trust more to accomplish that task than you and Aramis. Treville will need d'Artagnan's fighting spirt to rally the villagers. I can manage my part alone."

"Alright" Porthos agreed, knowing that Athos needed a chance to come to terms with recent events. "But don't forget, we came here for you. We ain't about to give up on you anytime soon. You can have your time alone, but not too much, do not make us come lookin' for you. My heart won't be able to stand it."

"I will bear that in mind." Athos smiled.