Treville had sent Athos, Porthos, Aramis and D'artagnan to find a group of bandits who had been robbing and tormenting villages not 5 miles from Paris. It was meant to have been a simple easy mission. Except the bandits had been smarter than usual. Somehow they found out about the Musketeers coming to arrest them and had managed to ambush them on the road. That was how they were now, bandits surrounding the four of them armed and ready for a fight.

"I suggest you drop your weapons and come quietly." Athos calmly stated at the same time as he pulled out his sword. One of the bandits swore rudely before taking a run at the four armed men. Porthos stepped forward, killing the bandit with his sword before the bandit could blink. There was a second of silence before the bandits came down on the four men, thinking it how easy it would be to kill them. The musketeers were outnumbered 5 to 1, how hard could it be.

The fight didn't last more than 5 minutes, each musketeer dispatching one bandit each quickly enough. Clashes of steel on steel rang through the forest as the musketeers fought the bandits. The musketeers, while outnumbered, where better trained than the common thieves and it wasn't soon before most were dead or running.

Aramis and Porthos shared a grin as the bandits seemed to realise they couldn't win and ran off. Athos frowned as he took out the final bandit in the clearing, knowing that tracking the others down would be harder now. D'artagnan was grinning as he walked over the three musketeers, sword covered in blood. "Where do you think there heading?" He asked, sheathing his sword.

None of them noticed that one of the bandits had hidden behind a tree, just off the path. He was lying low on the grass, musket aimed at the four musketeers, who were watching the last of the robbers run of. "We'll have to follow them." Athos said, pulling himself onto his horse. The others made to follow when a shot rang through the forest.

The world seemed to still for a moment as Aramis felt the blood reach up to touch his fingers. A short gasp fell from his lips as the world seemed to tilt. Porthos and D'artagnan were at his side in an instant, holding him up. Somehow his legs didn't want to support him as the warm wet blood slipped from his side. Looking up, Aramis noted that Porthos had been replaced by Athos. Blinking sluggishly, Aramis didn't fight as his friends placed him onto ground. "Aramis?" D'artagnan's voice seemed to be far away.

"I'm fine." Aramis struggled to get back onto his feet, but Athos put a hand on his shoulder, holding him in place.

Athos had grabbed a bit of material from his uniform, wrapping it around Aram's side, making him wince a little in pain. No matter how many times you were hit with a musket ball, the pain remained the same. A dull thumping pain that beat to the pace of his heart, which had sped noticeable Aramis' thought dryly.

Porthos had returned, pulling a man with him. The bandit who had shot him. The man was grinning as he looked over at the three musketeers but quickly stopped when Porthos punched him in the stomach. The big musketeer looked angry and Aramis almost felt sorry for the bandit.

"Where did the other bandits go?" Athos' tone was calm and steady but there was a glint in his eyes that told of murder if the bandit didn't cooperate. When the bandit didn't answer straight away, Porthos punched him again hard enough for them to hear a sickening crunch as fist met nose.

"I don't know." When Porthos raised his fist to punch the man again, he held up his hands quickly. "Wait. They might have gone to the village about an hour away from here."

"Where?" Porthos growled at the man, shaking him with enough force to make the bandits teeth click. He gestured wildly the way the bandits had fled. Porthos nodded, letting the bandit go so suddenly he fell to the ground.

"Tie him to the tree; we'll pick him up on our way back." Porthos nodded, doing as Athos said before making his way back over to D'artagnan and Aramis.

"We need to go." Athos said, looking worriedly at Aramis who had his teeth gritted together in pain. "Will you be alright?"

"I'll manage." Aramis managed to get out as another stab of pain hit his side. Athos frowned at the pale state of the younger man unsure about whether to believe him or not. But he didn't have a choice. They couldn't take care of Aramis' wound here.

While Athos and Porthos steadied Aramis onto his feet D'artagnan grabbed the horses. Aramis had gone noticeably paler when he'd stood up but he grinned in reassurance. Glancing at Aramis' wound, Athos frowned noticing the fabric had turned a darker stain from the blood. Somehow they managed to get the injured musketeer sitting upright on the horse and soon they were riding the way the bandits had gone.

"Is he going to be alright?" D'artagnan asked from where he rode next to Athos. Porthos was riding next to Aramis, keeping an eye on their friend to make sure he didn't fall off his horse. When Athos said nothing, D'artagnan tried a different question. "Is it a good idea to go to this village? It might be an ambush."

Athos turned to look behind him then, noting the pained look on Aramis' face before nodding. "We need to get help for Aramis and there isn't a village anywhere near here. I don't think we have a choice."

No one said anything as the four men travelled along the road. Aramis' breaths had turned into short gasps of pain the further they rode and Porthos was starting to worry they wouldn't make it the village. He'd tried to say as much but Aramis had waved the concerns off, stubbornly.

By the time they reached the village the sun had lowered in the sky until it was near enough dark and Aramis was barely staying on the horse. A crown of curious villagers had appeared on front door steps as the four men walked further into the village. "I don't like this Athos." Porthos stated, reaching for his pistol.

"Nor do I." Athos had his pistol out already, watching the curious faces as they passed. "Is there anyone who could help us?" Athos shouted to the crowd. "Our friend is injured."

"Who are ya?" A voice shouted from the crowd, in answer to Athos' statement. A group had dispersed from the growing crowd of villagers, each holding a crude looking weapon. Slowly, the musketeers came to a stop. Each had a hold of their pistol. Ready to fire if any trouble came, which Athos hoped wouldn't happen when he looked at the unsteady hand Aramis held his pistol with. "What do ya want?" The same man asked, waving a blunted sword at them. "We don't want know trouble."

"We only seek help. Our friend is injured." Athos repeated, seeing the way Aramis was swaying in the saddle and the growing crowd the musketeer was growing more and more nervous.

"You aren't with those bandits are you?" That explained it, Athos thought.

"No, we are of the Kings Musketeers." Athos answered back, keeping his pistol in his hand.

The man who had been talking to them conversed with others before nodding his head. "Follow me."

Athos jumped from his horse, followed shortly by Porthos, D'artagnan and Aramis. Aramis almost collapsed onto the ground as he got off from his horse but Porthos steadied him. "Do you have a name, Monsieur?"

Grunting, the man turned to look at them. The evening light was a poor light and from the distance they had been the musketeers hadn't been able to clearly see the man. He had a kind old face, considerably older than the four of them in his early 50's. His hair was greying and he held a grave look in his eyes. When he turned to look at the four of them, he seemed to stop his face paling. "Aramis?"

Hearing his name spoken, Aramis lifted his head to look at the man. "You know this man?" D'artagnan asked. Aramis opened his mouth to reply when a sudden wave of pain came from his side. Groaning, Aramis felt his legs collapse from under him and if not for Porthos and D'artagnan he would have fallen face down into the mud.

A distressed look fell over the mans' face. "My name is Antonie Rosette. My wife, Marie, will help. Follow me and I will explain."

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