AN: This is my first Musketeers fic. Sadly, I don't own these beautiful men.
The attack came out of nowhere. One moment the company of Musketeers was riding down the road, and the next men were swarming out of the trees, yelling and brandishing weapons. The company was present to protect the king on his trip to Lyon to visit a lord whose lands had been ravaged by recent flooding. They were about halfway there and they hadn't really been expecting any trouble. But trouble had found them.
It was an ideal place for an ambush, really. The road was narrow and only a thin strip of forest a quarter mile wide separated it from a short cliff jutting over the river that had destroyed the farmlands in a raging flood. With the cliff at their backs, it would make it harder for the Musketeers to protect the king. All of this flashed through D'Artagnan's head as he yanked his sword from his scabbard, wheeling his horse to meet the torrent of enemies.
Beside him he heard a crash of steel as Athos engaged with the enemy. As he parried a blow from a man on his right, he caught a glimpse of Porthos throwing himself bodily off his horse to crush three men to the ground. Aramis was further away, riding beside the king's carriage, where he'd been talking to Treville. The fighting seemed to be thicker there, but D'Artagnan wasn't worried. They were outnumbered, but the enemy fighters were outmatched. It would be a short fight.
He killed the man he was fighting with a graceful slash across the chest, and when no other ran to take his place, he sat back in his saddle for a breather. He was one of the only men still mounted. Most of the others had dropped from their saddles to pursue the enemy as they broke and fled. Three men darted into the trees near the cliff ahead, and D'Artagnan saw Aramis charge after them alone. He called to Porthos and gestured towards Aramis's retreating form, leaping from his saddle as he ran after his friend.
They saw several other Musketeers in the trees, some engaged with fleeing enemies, some trooping back to the king's carriage. The woods here might be narrow, but they were thick with underbrush, and D'Artagnan found himself following in Porthos's wake as they walked, allowing the larger man to crash through the thick tangles first.
He heard the ringing of steel up ahead, and a moment later they pushed out of the forest onto a grassy strip before the edge of the cliff. Aramis was too near the edge for D'Artagnan's liking, dueling with a pair of men who could barely keep up with his flashing blade. With a flourish he disarmed one, casting his blade into the river below. The man fled, then fell to his knees as Porthos's throwing dagger thudded into his shoulder. D'Artagnan glanced at Porthos, who seemed content to allow Aramis to handle the remaining man. Aramis fought gracefully, no wasted motions, every movement intended to bring him closer to victory. The other man never stood a chance. In a matter of seconds he was dead, and Aramis was turning towards them with a smile of triumph.
D'Artagnan was about to step forward when he heard a strangled sound beside him. Porthos was staring past Aramis, face white with fear. D'Artagnan looked too and felt the blood drain from his face. The man who'd been felled by Porthos's dagger was back on his feet, gun trained on Aramis's back. Aramis must have noted their expressions, for he half turned toward the man just as a gunshot cracked through the air.
Time seemed to slow down. D'Artagnan watched Aramis stumble backward as red blossomed across his left shoulder, teetering on the edge of the cliff. No one dared to breathe as the man tried to regain his footing. Aramis's eyes roved over him and fixed on Porthos in an expression of deep regret. Then his foot slipped and he tumbled backwards off the cliff and into the swollen river.
Porthos howled like a wild thing. He was running before D'Artagnan had time to process what had just happened. The man who had shot Aramis had his neck broken by Porthos's bare hands in a matter of seconds, and then he was at the cliff's edge. "Aramis!" Porthos cried desperately, dropping to his knees at the place where his friend had fallen.
Here D'Artagnan caught up to him and together they stared down into the raging river. There was no sign of Aramis at all. Porthos had gone whiter than D'Artagnan had ever seen him, gazing at the river with empty eyes. He didn't move when D'Artagnan touched his arm, and he realized the big man might be in shock. If Porthos was incapacitated, it was up to D'Artagnan to get them back and inform Athos and Treville of what had occurred.
"Porthos," D'Artagnan said, keeping his voice low. "We need to get back to the others. We can arrange a search party there." Porthos nodded blankly and allowed D'Artagnan to pull him away from the cliff's edge.
This story is mostly finished, so I'll try to upload a chapter a day. If anyone seems out of character, please tell me. And please review! :)