Authors Note:Found this one on my laptop. A short take on how the four could've met, written about a year ago, and I thought why not share it. In this version, they meet and bond in 1625, so five years pre-series. (I don't remember if anything like the year they met was mentioned in the series itself.) I am not a historian, so forgive me if I made any mistakes in terms of historical accuracy. I tried my best. Obviously, I don't know how the maneuver described here really took place since there are also not many sources to look it up, so I just made up my own stuff. Rated T for slightly graphic violence and battlefield descriptions. I don't own any of the characters you might recognize. Here again the usual English-isn't-my-first-language-talking. Second part up on Sunday. Enjoy.

To New Shores

-Part One-

September, 1625

The nights were getting longer, but still, they slept at daylight, after spending the whole night travelling and riding. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon. Athos started to gather his sword and his weapon belt, tied it around his waist and slowly got up on his feet. The campfire next to him was out; the two other soldiers he had slept next to were still asleep. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned on his sword in order to rise from the ground.

"Athos," he heard a bark he would recognize everywhere. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tréville, captain of the musketeer regiment, just outside of a tent.

Athos swallowed down a groan. He didn't have a commission, so technically he was a cadet, having joined the regiment about a month ago. Due to his noble status, he could've gotten a commission very easily, but Athos had decided he would leave his title and his privileges behind the day he had left his village. Since then, the only person he ever truly spoke to was Tréville. A few of the other musketeers and cadets had made more than one attempt to talk to him, but Athos mostly blocked them, and he tried to hide from their curious stares. He really just had himself to blame that he didn't find the kind of brotherhood or friendship Tréville always told him about. The captain said it was one of the most important things a man learned in the regiment, and also the most valuable one, but Athos preferred to stay silent, sharing his thoughts with nobody but himself. They were all good men, but none of them had gained his trust yet.

He hurried over to the captain.

"Sir?"

Tréville looked at him from the toes to his head and raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to wake the other men. They have to be ready. We are mounting the ship soon."

Athos nodded and turned on the heel. This would be one of the first true battles he fought, ever. He was a fine swordsman, and a good fighter. He knew lots about politics and was ready to win any kind of duels, but this was the first time he ever went into battle for a king he never met. He strode over to the campfire and roughly nudged the two sleeping men on the ground by the shoulder.

One of them was a cadet, a young lad, maybe nineteen years old, and his head jerked up in surprise. He looked into Athos' face and understood immediately.
The other one didn't take it so well. He was a full musketeer for a few weeks now, as far as Athos knew. The pauldron on his shoulder was already dirty and damaged. He was one giant of a man, dark-skinned and a bandana wrapped around his head. His beard was bushy and untended.

"Oi, who dares to disturb me?" he asked in a deep voice and looked around furiously, before his eyes landed on Athos.

"The captain sends me," Athos replied dryly, paying absolutely no attention to the man. "You should consider joining him in time."

With that, Athos left and joined Tréville, feeling the confused stare of the musketeer in his back.

"They're coming?" Tréville asked and tilted his head into the campfire's direction, where the musketeer and the cadet were putting their belts on. The former comte nodded.

"Good."

Other musketeers and cadets came from all directions, all looking rather tired, but their faces were determined. Athos heard the big musketeer and the cadet walking over and they came to a stop next to him.

"Are we heading to the boats, Captain?" the musketeer asked.

Tréville nodded.

"Yes, Porthos, but we are waiting until the others arrive."

"The others?" Porthos' voice sounded curious and Athos also took a look around.

He didn't see anyone who missed. They made their way from Paris a few days ago, but they weren't the first musketeers supporting the royal troops near la Rochélle. Two month ago, Tréville already sent out a troop after the order of the King, and now he had caome here himself to help recapture the île de Ré. Maybe those were the men they were still waiting for.

As if Tréville's words were a signal, they heard riders approaching. Every man on the clearing grabbed his pistol, but they let go as soon as the riders were visible and came pouring onto the clearing.

"About time," Athos heard Tréville commenting.

Eight riders lined up in front of them, and they dismounted simultaneously. Athos noticed Tréville eyeing them intensely, his gaze wandering over the eight men more than one time. There were six musketeers, and two cadets.

The captain seemed to count them multiple times. One of the musketeers stepped up to Tréville. He was about as tall as Athos, dark, curly hair falling on his shoulders, the beard unusually long for a soldier, longer than Athos'. But Athos guessed that they probably didn't have much time for cosmetic needs. The man had a long scar on his forehead, but the hat plunged the face into shadows.

"Where are Villard and Sevart?" Tréville asked the man. The musketeer bit his lip and shook his head.

"God," Tréville sighed and looked up in the sky for a second, murmuring something nobody was able to understand.

"They fought bravely," the musketeer added with a hoarse voice. "You can be proud of them, captain."

Tréville then locked his hand around the arm of the musketeer, squeezing it reassuringly.

"I am. And I am glad you returned with the rest of the men, Aramis," he replied. "You all are needed here. You are serving your country and the King well, and I hope you are able to return home soon."

So Aramis was the musketeer's name.

Athos had heard that name once or twice, when he had listened to other cadets or musketeers talking. He had never met him, since he had left with a group of musketeers for La Rochélle before Athos even joined the regiment. From what he knew, Aramis was one of the first soldiers to join the musketeer regiment after its foundation, and he had quite a reputation. He was one of the most respected men in the garrison.

"It's good to see you, Captain," Aramis said and Tréville nodded.

The captain then raised his voice.

"Alright, gentlemen. Commander Toiras is leading two elite regiments on the island. We have orders to support them. We are meeting at the shore; I want everybody ready to leave in five minutes!"

"Yes, Sir!" was the faint reply by some of the men surrounding their superior.

"Go!" Tréville barked and within seconds, everybody was starting to gather all their stuff and bags they would need during the siege.

As they walked to the shore about fifteen minutes later, Athos decided to walk right next to Porthos and the cadet he awoke earlier, not saying a single word, but listening attentively to their conversation.

"Did you know Villard or Sevart?" the cadet addressed the big musketeer.

Porthos shook his head.

"I may have seen them once or twice when I was a cadet. Still, it's nothing to take lightly."

"You know any of the others?" the cadet dug deeper, a curious glistering in his eyes.

Porthos shrugged.

"I know the cadets. And I know Philippe and Daron, they received their commission last winter."

"And Aramis?"

Porthos shot the cadet an annoyed look, since the boy kept asking questions Porthos obviously was too tired to answer.

"Dunno. He seems like a good man, a loyal one. And a joy to be around. But ever since Savoy happened, he barely talked to anyone. Mostly likes to keep things to himself."

The cadet snorted.

"Well, I guess experiencing something as traumatic as this takes a toll on everyone."

Athos furrowed his brow, as he tried hard to remember what happened in Savoy. It was a sensitive subject at the garrison; that much he had figured. He once had observed a cadet asking Tréville about it. The captain had yelled at the boy and had told him to return to the stables to work there, or he would forget himself. He decided to overcome his reserved nature and spoke freely to his two comrades.

"What happened in Savoy?"

Porthos head shot up in surprise and his mouth formed a crooked smile.

"Oh. He communicates," he answered and only received a grim look from Athos.

"Needs must. So?"

Porthos sighed, clearly uncomfortable talking about it. The cadet explained instead: "It was a training assignment, a few months ago. Twenty-two musketeers were sent to Savoy. They had nothing to fear, no need to be prepared to fight."

He made a pause, meeting Athos' impatient stare. Porthos continued with a low voice.

"They were attacked in their sleep. Twenty-two musketeers were sent to Savoy, one returned."

Athos raised a brow in surprise.

"Let me guess, Aramis?"

Porthos nodded.

"It was a massacre. Twenty of our comrades fell that day, and Aramis was the only one left to tell the Captain what had happened."

"But I thought they were twenty-two musketeers? What happened to the other one?"

"Deserted," the cadet spat with a sour tone in his voice, "It is considered one of the greatest tragedies in the history of the musketeer regiment."

"I see," Athos replied and returned his concentration to the path they were taking.

"Is this your first battle, cadet?" Porthos addressed Athos.

The swordsman grunted approvingly.

"It's Athos. It's not my first fight. But yes, my first battle in the name of the king, under the command of Tréville."

Porthos huffed a short laugh.

"Alright then, Athos. A pleasure."

Athos tipped his hat.

Once they arrived at the beach, they met the rest of the soldiers. It was the first time Athos saw that many people at one place. The French army had multiple ships and a lot of smaller ones, resembling more a boat than a ship. There were hundreds of men gathered on this shore, now splitting up on the ships. But Athos was really bad at guessing, so there could be more as well. It was truly impressive.

The musketeer regiment was split on multiple boats. Athos ended up on one with the cadet he had been walking next to, Aramis, the man named Philippe and two other musketeers he didn't know. Tréville was on a bigger ship sailing in a close distance, Porthos and three other musketeers by his side.

The sky was dark now. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the only sounds they were able to make out were the faint voices of the men on the other ships and the rushing of the waves brushing against the cliffs nearby.

Tréville said they had to cross a distance of about four miles until they reached l'île de Ré. Toiras led the whole mission, with the goal to cast the occupants off the island. Winning the naval battles wasn't enough when they wanted to recapture the island itself, so they had to make a move.

Athos was able to make out the shore of the island in the dark. The men on the boats were quiet. In the distance, they were able to make out the sounds of canons being fired. Apparently, two or more ships met not too far from here. Every man was silent, listening to the rushing of the waves, all their senses on high alert, in case someone at the shore was able to spot them.

Athos felt someone move forward behind him, and he turned around to look in the face of Aramis. The solider was gently shoving him out of the way, his eyes locked on something at the shore. Athos was readying himself to protest about the treatment, but Philippe shot him a warning glare.

"Captain!" Aramis hissed, as quiet as he could, but loud enough that Tréville was able to hear him. The captain turned his head to look down to them.

Aramis gestured towards the shore.

"Scout!" he mouthed and already unfastened the rifle from his belt.

Tréville followed his man's gaze and also saw the scout standing at the shore, bending forward as he now definitely spotted the ships.

Aramis prepared the rifle to shoot, but waited for the order of the captain. Tréville exchanged a few words with another general, then he gave the order with his hand.
Aramis couched the rifle, and Athos couldn't help himself and put his hand on the weapon, causing the marksman to look up at him.

"If you shoot now, they will know we are coming."

Athos felt the angry stare from Tréville, even though he wasn't able to see him.

Aramis reacted differently than he would've thought. The other soldiers he knew would've been angry with him; they would've yelled or snarled at him, because he dared to question an order. Aramis instead just grabbed Athos' hand with a firm grip and removed it from the rifle, but he had a soft expression in his eyes.

"If I don't, he will make a full report to his captain, and will make sure there are reinforcements so we aren't even able to make it to the shore."

"That's still a large distance. Usually, out of twenty shots, maybe one will hit the target."

Philippe behind them snorted.

"He won't miss."

Athos withstood the intense stare of Aramis for good three seconds, but then he nodded and moved out of the marksman's way.

Aramis exhaled slowly, aiming carefully with the rifle. The scout had finally spotted them completely, and he turned around and started to run.

"Aramis, now!" Tréville barked from above.

Without hesitating for another second, Aramis pulled the trigger, while the other musketeers on the boats covered their ears.

In the distance, in the faint light of the moon, Athos saw the scout go down and lying on the grass in a heap.

Aramis loosened his position, a triumphant sparkle in his eyes.

"Good shot," Athos commented dryly. Aramis' response was a little lift of the hat.

"What's your name?" Aramis asked curiously.

"Athos."

"Very well, Athos. I will remember that name."

"Prepare to land!" Tréville ordered from his position on the ship.

The men on the ships descended onto the small boats attached to them, the other soldiers started to approach the shore, jumping into the water as soon as it was only knee high. Athos, Philippe and Aramis pulled the boat on the land surface.

They waited until the rest of the troops joined them, all of the musketeers standing together in a group.

"Feels weird to be back," Aramis breathed and scanned the area with his eyes.

"You've been here before?" Porthos, who recently joined them, asked. Aramis nodded briefly.

"In '22. I don't remember much though."

Porthos gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Porthos, is it?" Aramis asked and looked up into the tall man's eyes. "I see you finally got your commission. Congratulations. You deserve it!"

There was no sign of resentment or irony in the marksman's voice, just honest and pure delight.

Porthos grinned.

"Thanks."

A few quiet conversations were held between the musketeers. Philippe was boasting about his latest achievements in recent battles, the other cadets hanging on his lips with an admiring glistering in their eyes. Porthos, Aramis, a man called Daron and another musketeer were exchanging a few supplies they carried in small bags attached to their belts, discussing the moves they were probably ordered to make within the next minutes. Athos just stood there, observing them and listening carefully.

He paid attention to the way the men were interacting with each other, because he always felt like the mannerisms were the best way to picture someone's personality.
Porthos seemed to be an open-minded person, determined to fight for his captain in any way possible, but despite the rough and dangerous appearance, he seemed like a very kind and passionate man.

Daron was a silent and observant man, not talking much, but always ready to chip in with an intelligent comment when it was needed, but otherwise, he held back and limited his responses to a nod or a shake of his head.

Aramis seemed to be as much of an extrovert as Porthos was, but he acted and talked a little bit more thoughtful, leading Athos to the conclusion he also had a rather intellectual side. Even though Athos knew that he was quite respected in the regiment, he didn't exploit his reputation. He treated every one of his comrades equal and with respect, but he also didn't seem to enjoy it when somebody tried to discipline him.

The fourth man, Albert was his name, had a very high opinion of himself. A little too high, for Athos' taste. He couldn't say a sentence without mentioning his own abilities and achievements throughout his career, and his attitude was tiring to endure.

Athos was relieved when he saw Tréville approaching.

"Gentlemen."

Every man stopped doing what they did and turned the attention to the musketeer's captain.

"Apparently, the enemy built a provisional wooden fortress, not very far from here. And they are prepared for us. We are going for a direct attack. Aramis, Philippe, I want you to take four of the cadets and join the other marksmen."

He gestured to a small group of soldiers gathered at the left side.

"You will have access to a higher position, and will fire from there."

Aramis and Philippe nodded and bowed their heads slightly. They chose four of the cadets to accompany them and took off into western direction with the rest of the group.

"Alright, Porthos, Athos, Daron, Albert, Gerard, you are joining the first attack on the camp. Assemble!"

The men lined up, next to the other soldiers under the command of Toiras. They all got a short instruction of what they were supposed to do.

After they got their orders, they started to march. Athos chose to walk next to Porthos and Daron, since he felt the most comfortable around them, but every man stayed silent, so that they could use their advantage. Surprise was everything.

Or it would've been everything. As soon as the wooden piles that formed the 'fortress' wall were in sight, they heard screaming and bellowing behind it, and within seconds, the first shots rang out. A soldier in front of Athos fell to the ground, a gaping hole in his chest.

"Get back!" they heard the bark from their commander somewhere behind them and a "return fire!" from somewhere else.

Far to their left, they spotted a small hill, covered with trees, where the marksmen were lying on the ground, returning the fire to the fortress with their muskets. Athos searched his commander and spotted him about twenty feet away. He signaled their group to wait until the fire stopped because the enemy had to reload, then they started to run. Athos realized how he cut out all of the movements surrounding him, only concentrating on his feet running on the ground, the feeling of his boots in the slick mud. It was just a small fortress, nothing more but a small camp, but the noises that filled the night here were surely enough to draw the attention of the main camp.

A group of fifteen soldiers had successfully destroyed two of the piles so they were able to enter through the hole in the wall. The first two men who tried to slip through were killed before they could put a foot on the other side. Athos raised his pistol before he entered, and fired it at the man who was awaiting him with a sword raised over his head. The camp behind the wall was a pitiable sight, since it consisted of ten tents at most. More soldiers came pouring through the wall and tore down more of the wooden piles.

Athos threw himself to the side as a rapier came crushing down on him out of nowhere, and he rolled through the mud, his hand darting to his weapon at the belt. He parried the second blow of the attacker as he got up on his knees last second, and he reached for his main gauche meanwhile. He forced his attacker back with sheer strength and added three blows, which were all parried by the man. As the attacker tried to duck under Athos' blade, the swordsman made a swift move to the side, kicking the man in his exposed chest and finished him off with a quick swipe of the blade.

He took a second to gather his thoughts, and the deafening battle sounds around him slowly started to return to his consciousness. He saw the tall musketeer Porthos throw a man through his field of vision, before the musketeer's eyes met his own.

"Behind you!" Porthos shouted and made an attempt to rush for his aid, but was distracted as he was tackled by one giant of an enemy. Athos immediately followed his comrade's warning and without hesitations, he stabbed backwards. The sound coming from behind him assured him that his blade seemed to have found its target.

"Retreat!" they heard several yells in the camp, and most of the men staggered backwards, trying to escape through the dark of the night.

A few soldiers made an attempt to chase them, but the commander stopped them.

"Leave them!" he said and reattached his sword to his belt, "We won for now. We'll worry about the rest later!"

Athos strode over to Albert, who was lying in the mud, and held out a helping hand. Albert blinked in confusion, but the second he recognized Athos he gratefully accepted and Athos hauled him on his feet.

Tréville appeared out of nowhere, exchanged a few words with the commander and headed to his musketeers, who were gathered in front of one of the tents.

"Everybody unharmed?" he asked.

"More or less," Porthos grunted and Daron nodded approvingly.

"We have very little time to prepare our…" But that was all Tréville managed to say.

Cannons were being fired, and not in the distance as it happened to be earlier, but very near and very loud. Every man got into cover, thanks to their fast reflexes. They heard the thundering of the cannons, but it didn't seem as if they were the target. Judging from the sound, they were fired from at most two miles from here. They heard shots, returning the fire, but apparently going nowhere. For safety reasons, they waited until the noises died down. Tréville was the first one to react, and he jumped on the other side of the wall again. Athos was only inches behind him.

The horror on the captain's face mirrored his own as he realized the target of the canons. The hill, where all their long-range marksmen were positioned, was a mess; some of the trees were knocked over as their trunks were destroyed. Plumes of smoke welled up to the sky, and countless, but distant screams filled the night. For a second, nobody dared to make a sound.

Porthos was it who asked the question of all questions.

"Why them? If they know we are here, why not attack this camp?"

Tréville shuddered.

"They had men in this area. Or the canons cannot reach this camp for some reason. It is well hidden, after all."

The captain exhaled slowly, his eyes locked on the hill. Distant, but agonizing screams pierced through the air. The source was definitely the attacked location.

"Go. See if there are survivors. They cannot have wiped out all of our marksmen."

It was a statement, not a question.

"But Sir," Albert chipped in with a skeptical tone, "what if they attack it again when we come to retrieve the wounded? If we go there now, we could as well beg them to fire their canons again."

"He does have a point," the voice of the commander rang out calmly, "and we don't know where these canons are positioned. The risk is too high."

"I am not leaving my men out there!" Tréville snapped, "I'll go there myself if I have to."

"You are needed here," the commander said, "If you think it's safe, send out some men. It is up to your judgment, Tréville." The commander left.

Athos cleared his throat.

"They technically have no reason to attack the spot again," he declared matter-of-factly.

Daron nodded.

"It would be a waste for them and they know that." he added.

"It is a risk," Tréville stated, but his eyes were begging for someone to disagree.

"A risk I am willing to take", Porthos growled and folded his arms.

Athos gave a small nod with the head.

"Me too."

Daron snorted approvingly and some other cadets behind them expressed their consent as well.

"If you insist, Captain," Albert hissed and he trudged off to the hill. Athos and the other hurried to keep up with him.

Athos gulped as he entered the scenery on the hill. It was truly terrifying. Many men were trapped under overturned tree trunks; others weren't even recognizable, due to the damage done.

Others were lying in the dirt, obviously thrown through the air after the impact of the canons hit them. They only spotted five men standing. Athos and the other musketeers passed through the scenery, inspected the bodies and tried to save whomever they could.

Athos worked together with Porthos, and with the help of the big musketeer, he was also able to free one of the men who was trapped under thick and heavy branches. Together, they dragged three men back to the camp. No canon was fired.

Albert and Daron as well as the cadets also retrieved as many survivors as they could. One of the men who happened to be still standing dropped on his knees next to a wounded cadet, and Athos noticed an unfamiliar shocked feeling sweeping over him as he recognized the cadet he and Porthos talked to earlier. The man kneeling down next to him was Philippe, and he was keeping pressure on a large wound at the man's side. Athos and Porthos hurried over to them. Athos gently tried to take Philippe's place, but the musketeer resisted, and kept focusing on the cadet.

"Philippe!" Porthos called softly and squeezed the musketeers shoulder, "We got him. You gotta let go, mate."

Philippe lifted his head and stared at Athos, who gave him a confident nod. Slowly, he let go and moved back.

"You're injured," Porthos said and took a look at Philippe's shoulder, which was dripping with blood.

Philippe reacted slowly, his gaze wandering to Porthos. Sudden panic seemed to get a hold of him and he clawed onto Porthos' arm.

"The others…back there," he wheezed.

"We'll get them," Porthos promised.

"Albert, Daron!" Athos bellowed.

The two men came over, and without asking questions, they took over the cadet and carefully started to get him to the camp. Porthos helped Philippe stand.

"Can you walk?" he asked him and Philippe nodded."Go, help the others. There must be survivors down there" he said again and pointed into the direction, before staggering towards another wounded man and Athos exchanged a quick look before heading off into the direction they were told.

For most of them, they weren't able to do anything. Two of the cadets who had come with them knelt down next to a soldier who was trying to get up, and they gave him a hand and helped him hobble over to the camp.

Frustrated, Athos inspected every man here, and checked if he was able to help somewhere.

"Athos!" he heard Porthos shout and the former comte turned his head to look at his comrade, who fell on his knees next to a musketeer that was lying on his back.

As Athos quickly joined him, he realized this musketeer was Aramis. He was lying on his back, a small trace of blood covering the left side of his face. The armor on his left arm was torn and the skin below was open, blood seeping through and covering the leather uniform. Other than that, he seemed fine.

The marksman's eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, and his fingers clawed into the dirt. He was mumbling something, words missing context and sense. He didn't seem to notice the presence of his brothers-in-arms.

"Aramis," Porthos tried, but he got no reaction from the soldier.

Athos leaned over him.

"Hey, Aramis!" He gently tapped the side of his face. "Come on, snap out of it!"

No reaction. None. He just lay there and kept on muttering words they couldn't understand, Athos wasn't even sure they were speaking the same language right now.
He looked at Porthos and they came to a silent conclusion. Each of them grabbed an arm of Aramis and began to carefully drag him towards the camp.

They met an anxious Tréville at the camp, who kept hovering over every man they brought in. The wounded were being treated; Athos was able to spot Philippe and the wounded cadet outside of a tent.

He and Porthos lay down a now unconscious Aramis next to them. As soon as Tréville noticed their presence, he stalked over, his brow furrowed in worry.

"How is he?"

Porthos sighed.

"Alive. He's got a few scrapes and bruises and this nasty wound on his arm, but that is all. Was stunned though, when we found him. Awake, but didn't seem to notice us."

Tréville bit his lip and nodded his head thankfully.

"We got any new orders, captain?" Athos asked, struggling to keep the usual indifferent tone to his voice.

Tréville shook his head.

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time."

Athos nodded and sat down next to Philippe to take a closer look at him.

"That wound…," he explained calmly and pointed at the shoulder, "needs stitching."
Philippe responded with a half-shrug.

"It will be taken care of."

Athos nodded, realizing that Philippe did not request any company right now. He stood up, walked over to Porthos and Daron, and waited for new orders.

The remaining musketeers were lined up about an hour later in front of Tréville, who sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Alright, gentlemen. We have worked out a plan. But you are not going to like it."

"Well, it's not as if we are having a say in the matter, right?" Albert corrected and received an angry stare from Tréville.

"Unfortunately, that's right," the Captain replied and took a deep breath. "We need a few men to attack their main camp from the side. Our scouts told us that they are guarding every direction. We need to make them believe we are coming from the Westside."

"So, a distraction?" Athos concluded and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tréville cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"How many soldiers?" Porthos asked.

"The musketeers will be split in groups of three. As well as about eighteen other soldiers."

"What about the wounded?" Porthos said, not seeming content with the answer he received.

Tréville motioned to the tent where the men were being treated.

"Philippe agreed to guard them. He is fit enough."

"What are our exact orders, Sir?" Daron, ever the soldier, asked specifically.

"When you approach the camp from western direction, there are multiple spots to find cover. The groups will split up on to these spots and you will hold your positions there."

They all nodded and Tréville continued.

"Daron, Albert, Gerard, you will build a group."

The named men gathered and nodded in agreement.

"Pierre, Volbéan, Jacques."

The three cadets stood up straight, their faces determined.

"We are an uneven number. That will leave you Porthos," Tréville said and pointed at the broad man, "with Athos."

Athos threw a quick glance at Porthos, who gave him a confident nod. In fact, Athos was glad he was paired up with Porthos. He had a good feeling about this.

"I'm joining them!" a voice sounded from the tent, and they all looked up to Aramis, who came crawling out of it, putting on his dirty doublet in the process.

The dried blood was still covering one the side of his face, giving him a wild appearance, but his arm was bandaged and the confusion they had seen in his eyes earlier had vanished.

Tréville looked up and into the eyes of Aramis. He hesitated for a split second, but then he gave a brief nod. It was a silent conversation between a captain and his soldier. Apparently, they knew each other well enough, and Tréville may have inspected Aramis with a slightly worried and skeptical gaze, but he accepted the marksman's offer gladly.

"Very well. Porthos, Athos and Aramis it is then. One of the scouts will lead you and the others to the location. Take care."

Everyone bowed their heads slightly and gathered their weapons. It was going to be a long night.