Three years later...

Return of the General

Aramis stood at the palace gates, a broad smile on his face. He heard the thudding sound of hooves and sure enough, a minute later, a large, strong man came cantering into view. Porthos Du Vallon had arrived at the palace. Finally.

Aramis grinned and walked over to him as his friend slowed the horse down. A servant also met them and once Porthos had dismounted, took the horse to the stables.
The two friends embraced, joy written on both of thier faces. He was here. He was back.
But once they seperated, Aramis realised something was wrong. Porthos was wincing, hurting. He drew his hand away and saw blood. Face full of worry, he turned to his friend.
"Was attacked, on the road, only ten minutes from Paris. No idea who they were. Might need your expertise here." Aramis, supporting Porthos, brought him inside. "By the way, you suit that," Porthos grumbled pointing to Aramis' fancy attire now that he had taken a more senior position. Aramis laughed softly. Trust Porthos to make light of a dark situation. But he couldn't relax yet. Not while his brother was injured. Aramis, who had been the medic of the four, was out of practice. Three years of not having to remove bullets and stitch battle wounds had left him rusty. He couldn't trust himself to do a perfect job on his brother. He would take Porthos to the palace physician.
He would have to inform the Queen that Porthos would meet her later than planned so Aramis put the General in the care of two guards and instructed them where to go. The Minister would hurry to the Queen then back to the wounded soldier. He'd not seen his friend in a long long time. He was going to be there before he was going to be anywhere else.
He walked swiftly to the queen's  quarters and knocked the door before entering. Anne turned around, confused.
"Aramis? Is something wrong? I'd been told Porthos had arrived. Where is he?"
"Porthos was injured, Majesty, shortly before his arrival. I don't know who it was, and neither does he. But I'll find out. I just came to say that he will have to meet later."
"Yes of course. Tell him to take all the time he needs." Aramis nodded and left, making his way to Charles Michel, the physician's, room. Michel was in the middle of stitching up Porthos' back, right in the same place Aramis observed, where Porthos had been stabbed in the foursomes first encounter with Emile Bonnaire, the slippery tradesman who had given them a run for thier money on more than one occasion.
Michel was soon done and let Aramis in so he could be there when his friend came round.
Fifteen minutes later, Porthos woke and groaned.
"It's done?"
"It's done. Come on. The Queen is waiting." Aramis had sent a servant with word to the Queen to let her know they were on their way. Porthos, with the help of his friend, got off the wooden table he had been lying on and put his uniform back on.
The two comrades made their way to where the Queen was waiting. They didn't talk much. Porthos was hurting and they were better to save the catch up until they were with D'Artagnan. Aramis was itching to hear what had happened over the last three years. Porthos definetely would have some stories from the battlefield. It was his second time round, but from the reports Aramis had been receiving, there had been victories but there had also been heavy losses.
Once they were before the Queen, they bowed, Porthos still slightly wincing.
"Porthos. How good it is to see you again. I heard you were attacked. Are you OK?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. It's not that bad." Anne smiled, relieved. Anne and Porthos talked for a little longer, Aramis very much on the sidelines, not really listening. He didn't want to hear the same thing twice over.
Once they were finished, they bowed again and exited the room, next going to the place where thier friend was anticipating thier arrival.
They got to the Garrison entrance. Porthos looked around. Aramis could see his eyes sparkling, tears appearing.
"There were times when I thought I would never see this place again," he said solemnly.
"No, I always knew you would make it. I had complete faith in you," Aramis replied.
"As did I," said a voice and D'Artagnan came into view. Porthos' smile was so huge it made the Minister smile too. Porthos and D'Artagnan embraced and the three of them stepped properly inside the Garrison. Porthos, looking around again, laughed softly. Aramis frowned.
"Well," said the General. "At least this place looks better than when I left it." Aramis nodded, agreeing, as did D'Artagnan. The three friends made thier way up to the Captain's office, passing Luc on the way. He and Aramis exchanged a nod and Porthos looked at him, realising who he was. He put a hand on Luc's shoulder. The cadet looked up at the former Musketeer.
"How are you?" He asked.
"Good," Luc replied.
"How is that girl who liked me, Marie?" Luc smiled.
"She's good. They're all good. Safe and protected." Porthos nodded in assurance and continued to make his way up the steps behind his brothers.
"Back to training, Luc," D'Artagnan told the young recruit. "I know Pierre's been itching for a sword fight with you." The boy scampered away.
Aramis contemplated, remembering the time he spent with those children. Four years some of them had been in his care. Four years. It's a long time. Once in the office, D'Artagnan took his usual seat and Aramis drew up another one for Porthos.
"So," D'Artagnan said. "How are you?"
"Where do I start?" Porthos said. "It's as crazy, strange, terrifying, nail biting, sobering and exhausting as it was the last time," he said, evidently the last six words being thrown towards D'Artagnan. Aramis sighed sadly, not regretting but also wishing he'd been there through the four years of hell his brothers endured when fighting the Spanish. "We've had more victories than losses, but when we do fail we fail badly. We were back in Alsace. That, again was a disaster." Aramis saw Porthos visibly shudder when he mentioned the name. He knew last time they were there, Porthos was captured and rescued by Athos and D'Artagnan. Aramis put a reassuring hand on his friend's shoulder, comforting him. The three talked for longer, but never quite managing to get that ease and flow of conversation that had always been present in the days of the foursome. It felt solemn, serene. They needed thier fourth member. But he had moved on. And they respected that.
Aramis had set Porthos up with rooms in the palace, in fact, the ones right next to him.
Aramis was woken up during the night to anguished screams coming from next door. He hastily put some clothes on and walked swiftly through. Porthos was thrashing about, screaming.
"Porthos look at me," Aramis shouted, shaking his friend. After a while, Porthos finally came round. "You were crying out in your sleep."
"Not again," he growled in frustration. "I'm sorry 'Mis."
"Don't worry. You've done it for me enough times. I'm here, OK? I'm not leaving your side tonight. Sleep now, buddy. Sleep." After staying there a while, where Porthos had been silent, Aramis drifted off in the armchair in the corner of the room.
In the morning there was a knock on the door. It sounded urgent.
"Minister Aramis, are you in there? I looked in your rooms but you weren't there." Aramis opened the door to find a servant there.
"Captain D'Artagnan has asked for you and General Du Vallon to meet him at the Garrison as a matter of extreme urgency." Aramis thanked the servant and he left. The Minister helped Porthos get dressed and the two started the short journey to the Garrison.