Though he does not move, Athos immediately tenses, his shoulders going rigid where they rest against Aramis’ chest. Even with his eyes closed, he clearly flinches, as though struck. Porthos’ voice is full of gentleness, but his mind cannot help but drift to the awful future he has been imagining since the man revealed his speculations. “Of course I did,” he says, voice a little raw, for what could be more wrong than leaving Porthos, leaving d’Artagnan, and Treville, and his king for her?

Athos takes a careful breath, desperate to stop the demons that have followed his step so closely drag him down now, just when he has begun to claw his way back. He opens his eyes, his expression entreating. “But that is not your fault, Porthos. Please, we do not need to speak of it."