"I would not," Porthos grumbles, eyes flashing at the thought, but he has to admit that fighting with something lighter than his broadsword would be welcome. So he walks to the tree where's he's left the bottle of wine and leans the Schiavona there, then comes back to Athos, still scowling. Topple over!

Now, fighting with a dagger won't help his already shorter allonge, but he's always prided himself on being able to fight with anything. Not a problem.

No, the problem isn't the weapon, but he shifts back into a fighting stance, raising the dagger defiantly between him and his friend.