Authors note: I've read some good amnesia stories so thought I would have a crack at it. I've done my customary five minutes of research into the main topic and have decided that the science is not fit for the purpose of my story...so I will use the 'poetic license' card. And there are some horrendous clichés - I make no apology.

This is set somewhere in the second series. But I cannot remember every word of dialogue and every little detail so please forgive some inaccuracies.

They are all in this, and to save you being disappointed; it's Athos who will be OOC, if you know what I mean! And as this is my story, Aramis is very much front and centre as well.

I have finished the story and will post the chapters daily, subject to real life getting in the way. Please note, I work shifts so won't be able to post at the same time each day.

Remembering the Now

Chapter One

'Is her husband away?' asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan grinned impishly, 'yes.'

'Ah, Constance,' said Aramis as he gazed off into the distance. 'I feel I have not made her angry for a while, I must be due another slap from her delicate hand.'

Porthos snorted, 'I'm sure you can annoy her soon enough.'

Athos tried to tune out the banal conversation that was going on behind him. The assignment had been long and trying. None of them had particularly enjoyed it. Escorting a prisoner to the border to hand over to the Spanish. The man's fate was known to all of them, even the poor man. He had not caused them any bother, he had not tried to escape, he had accepted that his stay in Spain would be short. He even thanked them for looking after him when they parted.

Now they were a day away from Paris. Athos looked forward to his own bed in his own rooms. He loved his brothers, but to spend any length of time with them where nothing was happening could be trying.

As they had neared Paris the conversation had inevitably turned to what each man would do when they returned. D'Artagnan had been barely able to hide his joy at being able to return to his clandestine relationship with Constance. They had each on occasion ensured her husband was distracted so that their youngest member could enjoy a few seconds with his lover. Aramis and Porthos had been gently teasing him about the relationship for a couple of days. When he had realised what they were doing he had sulked for a couple of hours before taking his frustrations out by sparring enthusiastically with them both. All three had slept well that night.

The soft bracken covering the ground muffled any noise the horse's hooves made leaving just the dull thud of their feet and his brothers conversations the only sound. His soldier's instinct had him watching keenly for any movement amongst the trees which was out of place. He saw nothing, he did not expect to, there had been no reports of villainous activity in the area. Athos wondered if a skirmish might break up the monotony of the journey. He quickly dismissed the notion. He did not wish to engage in anything that could leave one of his brother injured, or worse. A quiet monotonous journey where they all arrived safely was better than the alternative.

If they were careful and did not push the horses too much they could make Paris late that night. They had been forced to camp a few nights on their journey and had been grateful for the fair weather they had experienced.

Porthos was now explaining the finer points of a hand of cards he was once dealt. D'Artagnan was fascinated, while Aramis was near enough accusing him of lying. A thump and accompanying swearing, fortunately in Spanish, told Athos that Aramis had been put in his place. D'Artagnan was laughing at his brothers.

The card playing musketeer was describing a card game he had going in one of the local taverns. He spent some time explaining how he was sure one of the other players, a swarthy man who might as well have been a pirate, was cheating. Aramis pointed out that Porthos frequently cheated, earning himself another thump. Aramis complained that he was now damaged goods and if he was left bruised and battered his new lady would not be interested.

Athos returned his attention to his surroundings, the forest was not a particularly big one, but it was big enough, the tall straight trees dominating the view in all directions. Light filtered through with the bright sun helping to give the area an ethereal glow. Athos would not tell his brothers how beautiful he found the area, his nonchalant exterior was well maintained, he would not risk ruining it with poetic thoughts. They knew enough about his past now, too much, he sometimes thought.

His wife, the delectable Anne, was currently making quite the spectacle of herself at the Palace. He was glad that not everyone knew who she was to him. His brothers carefully avoided the subject, although he often caught Aramis glaring at her when she so obviously flirted with the King, particularly in the Queen's presence.

Athos could hear Aramis behind him now, talking about his latest conquest. A lady, he refused to name her, who was becoming besotted with him. His bravado about the relationship held a twinge of regret, but Athos was sure he was the only one who could detect it. Aramis was very good at lying which, thought Athos, was a very good thing.

Aramis was trying to explain the subtle art of seduction to d'Artagnan.

'You need to leave them wanting more,' the marksman said.

'Isn't that just mean?'

Athos was still amused by d'Artagnan occasional naivety or need to be a well behaved young man. He was surprised that Porthos and Aramis had not had more of an effect on him yet.

'I always leave a card table with everyone needing more…'cos I've got it all in my pocket.'

'Not quite the same thing Porthos,' said Aramis.

Athos shook his head as the conversations continued. He let them talk, he did not interrupt, he had nothing to say. He knew that even though they were talking and laughing between them, each man would be doing as he was, watching for potential threats. He trusted his brother implicitly.

When they reached the garrison, he hoped that Treville would give them a few hours, perhaps a day before putting them back to work. The assignment had left them all tired. D'Artagnan needed to see Constance; Porthos had a card game to get back to; Aramis had his latest conquest to woo and Athos needed some solitude. Solitude to get his thoughts back in order before he went back to the business of avoiding his wife, if he could.

The ground dropped away a little to his right. The sound of a running water mixed with the other noises of the forest. A small fast-moving stream trickled past. The rays of sunlight that were able to penetrate the forest glinted off the water.

They needed to rest and water the horses. The poetic part of Athos could not think of a more pleasant spot to stop.

MMMM

'Have you seen the state of your jacket?' asked Aramis.

D'Artagnan glanced back at his brothers. Porthos was trying to look at the back of his doublet. Aramis had moved his horse next to him and was trying to pick off something from the leather.

'What is it?'

'Thorns I think…'

As d'Artagnan dismounted and walked his horse up to the stream to drink her fill he wandered back a few paces to watch Porthos being helped out of his jacket by Aramis. Athos was watching the pair with mild amusement.

'I sometimes think they are more like a married couple…' remarked Athos quietly, 'although I have not yet worked out which of them is the wife.'

D'Artagnan struggled not to laugh out loud. Aramis was holding up the offending garment as Porthos started to pick out the thorns that had become embedded in it.

D'Artagnan thought back over the last few miles they had travelled. There had been some undergrowth that might have been responsible for the prickly thorns that had become stuck in Porthos' doublet. The horses had become a little uncooperative walking through the undergrowth and Porthos had been forced to dismount and lead his at one point. From the length of the thorns that Porthos was currently pulling out of his jacket, d'Artagnan had every sympathy with the horses.

Having handed Porthos his doublet, Aramis had grabbed both their horses reins and walked them to the stream where he left them. The horses were well trained and would not wander far.

'There's a bloody rip in the sleeve,' Porthos complained as he joined them.

'I'm sure d'Artagnan could get you a good deal for a repair at the Bonacieux residence.

D'Artagnan glanced across at Aramis who grinned back at him. Aramis' grin widened when d'Artagnan noticed that Porthos was looking at him with a hopeful expression.

'I thought you were rich at the moment with all your winnings?'

'But I stay rich by seeking out bargains where I can,' countered Porthos with a grin of his own.

'I do not think we are alone, gentlemen,' said Athos quietly.

D'Artagnan turned his full attention to their surroundings, as did Aramis and Porthos. Both he and Aramis pulled their guns. Porthos laid his hand on his sword. Athos was calmly scanning the area.

D'Artagnan wondered what had caused Athos to raise the alarm. The swordsman was always alert for the slightest thing out of place. D'Artagnan wanted to emulate the man and was slightly annoyed at himself for letting his guard drop slightly for a few minutes. Their fatigue after the long journey was no excuse when their lives were on the line.

He scanned the area. The unremarkable wood held many potential hiding places. The limited light from the sun left many shadows for a man to conceal himself. There were several dips in the ground around the trees where over the years tree roots had become exposed. The leaf litter that had built up in places created further areas for an enemy to hide themselves.

His contemplation was cut short as several men charged at them from all directions. The Musketeers had been surrounded and they had not realised. A well-executed attempt to take them down by the attacking men. D'Artagnan had no doubt that they would be the victors in the inevitable skirmish, he only hoped it did not come at a cost to any of them.

He raised his arm and calmly shot the first man who reached him. The man, of a similar age to himself wore clothing that had seen better days. D'Artagnan suspected the men attacking them were either in the pay of someone else or desperate. As the man stumbled back, dropping his sword as he did so, a look of regret crossed the man's face. D'Artagnan wondered what the man was regretting, he did not think the man was thinking of himself.

D'Artagnan had little time to wonder at the first man's background as he was set upon by a second. This man ducked out of the way of d'Artagnan's gun, which he had flipped in his hand to use as a club, an instinctive move that he did not even realise he had done. The man brought his sword up but d'Artagnan was quick to use the gun to parry the attempt to thrust the blade into his chest. As the man was forced to take a step away to maintain his balance d'Artagnan discarded his gun and drew his sword, managing to slice across his opponent's tatty doublet in the process.

He had heard at least one other gunshot and now the sound of other blades clashing around him. He knew each of his brothers was engaged in a battle of his own.

As he fought he tried to work out the reason for the attack. They were returning from their mission, they were not carrying anything of value. It was well known that soldiers were not paid well. The only thing of real value they had with them were their weapons and the horses.

The man in front of him stepped closer, disliking the proximity of his enemy d'Artagnan bodily pushed him away. He took the opportunity to glance around and assess his brothers progress.

Athos was busy with two men who were holding their own against the expert swordsman. But Athos was making the fight difficult for them, his skill with the sword probably surprising the unfortunate men.

Aramis, who must have been responsible for the second gunshot, was also lucky to now only be faced with one man. The man, of a larger build than the marksman, was making Aramis work. The brutish man was forcing Aramis to dance out of the way of several thrusts and swings of his sword. D'Artagnan noted that Aramis had yet to draw his main gauche. D'Artagnan wondered if Aramis was enjoying the challenge.

Porthos, like Athos, had two men in front of him. He was still holding his doublet and was using it to swing at the men, causing distractions. At one point, with the leather wrapped around his arm, he even smacked a sword swipe out of the way, throwing the unfortunate swordsman off balance. The man had staggered back several paces before being able to re-join the affray.

D'Artagnan's opponent was wildly swinging his sword. He watched the man for a few seconds, wondering if it was some sort of show of force. He tilted his head at the man before renewing his own show of force, which would soon prove fatal to the man.

MMMM

He had stepped away from Porthos when the warning was made by Athos. He did not want to be too close to his brothers if they had to draw their swords. Each man would need a little space to move. Instinctively he had pulled his gun, he knew the weapon was loaded and primed, ready for firing. They were soldiers on the Kings business, they were always ready for trouble. As trouble frequently found them.

The men who ran at them, were probably poor, unemployed locals, who had nothing to lose. They may not have even realised they were attacking soldiers. But attack they did, and if it came down to a choice between the strangers and his brothers or himself, Aramis would always choose his brothers.

Sending up a silent prayer he pulled the trigger, the closest man's shocked stare remained on his face as he continued forward, his legs taking their last steps as the momentum of his run was not halted completely by the ball now embedded in his skull.

A second man replaced the first. Aramis was ready for him. The big man, who carried a big sword swung it down on Aramis who did not often find himself facing a taller opponent. The brutish man was broad and heavy, leaving Aramis with the advantage of being able to sidestep his sword swings with ease.

After a brief glance around Aramis realised his brothers were all busy with their own opponents. Both Athos and Porthos were fighting two men apiece, which was not really fair when he and d'Artagnan only had one opponent each.

Aramis was surprised that Athos had not taken out either of the men he was fighting yet. He wondered if some of the men were not just desperate locals, looking to make easy money by robbing passers-by. Perhaps the two fighting with Athos were mercenaries whose sword fighting skills might be a cut above the average. Not to Athos' own skill, he was sure, but they looked pretty good. At least on a par with himself or his other brothers.

He was a little concerned about Porthos who was still batting off sword strokes with his doublet which was now wrapped around his arm. His friend had been forced a little distance from the rest of them and was now fighting on the edge of the stream, where the ground was uneven. The protruding rocks could easily trip Porthos who had his back to the stream and was steadily being forced towards it.

Aramis decided that he had toyed with the big man in front of him enough. He went on the offensive, deciding he needed to even up the odds a little.

MMMM