"Good," is Porthos' soft murmur, barely more than that as he curls back into Aramis' warmth, tipping his head so it rests on Aramis' shoulder as he adjusts his body, more like a limpet than anything else as he gets comfortable in this position. "I hated that place," he mumbles. "It reminded me of the Court. Dark and dank and with no hope. The light all gone out and everyone dark and cynical, there."