A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favorited this story so far! You guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy the next part.

Many thanks also to my wonderful beta SpaceCowboy whose input is invaluable.


Thy Friends do Stand by Thee - Chapter 2

Tuesday morning

"Treville," greeted Cardinal Richelieu as the Musketeer Captain crossed the threshold of the heavy double doors leading into the ornate library of the Louvre Palace. "How nice of you to join us."

Treville chose to ignore the familiar hint of unveiled sarcasm coloring the Cardinal's voice. "How may I be of service?" he asked as he advanced further into the room, alarmed when he noticed the King pacing the tiled floor like a caged tiger.

"A messenger brought word from one of our informants at the LaRochelle seaport," Richelieu began. "According to his message, a large shipment of gunpowder and firearms was delivered to a Huguenot stronghold within the city of LaRochelle."

Treville's eyebrows knitted together. "By the treaty terms of the Peace of Alais, the Huguenots lost their territorial and military rights."

"I am well aware of that Captain," the Cardinal countered. "It seems we might have another rebellion brewing."

Louis bristled. "If these rumors should prove true, these people already have the means to launch a serious attack. Countermeasures must be taken at once."

"The first step is to verify the credibility of the threat," Treville established. "Where is this informant?"

"In a situation such as this he has standing orders to gather the available evidence and report to Château de Fontainebleau as soon as he is able," Richelieu explained. "He should be en route by now."

"Then let me send Athos to the Château to escort him to Paris."

The King stopped pacing and came to stand in front of Treville, arms clasped behind his back. "No," he disagreed. "In light of the seriousness of this claim, the Cardinal finds it prudent that we rely on your superior experience and I happen to agree. You will ride to the Château where you will question the informant and review the cargo documents. Depending on your threat assessment Captain, we will decide if a military strike needs to be considered."

A feeling of unease crept up Treville's spine, causing him to straighten. "Very well. I will make preparations and leave before midday."

At the King's nod of dismissal, Treville bowed his head.

As he turned toward the door, he caught a fleeting glance of the devious smile that crinkled the lines around the Cardinal's eyes. The captain's fists clenched at the gesture for experience warned him of the darkness that lurked behind that expression.

"And Captain?" Louis called, interrupting Treville's thoughts. "I hope there is no need to remind you that this is a matter of the utmost importance. I expect your full report within three days time."

"Of course, your Majesty."

§§§

Wednesday morning

While Aramis' body tingled from the effects of battle, the depletion of adrenaline causing his limbs to slightly tremble, he holstered his pistol, regretting the fact that it remained unloaded but not willing to delay getting to Treville another second.

Parting the leaves and needles surrounding his weapon on the forest floor, he wrapped gloved fingers around the hilt of his rapier, the throb of his wound but a distant memory as he returned the sword to its sheath. He placed one foot beneath him to push off the ground, then sprinted toward the sound of Treville's distress before he ever remembered the decision to do so.

The landscape blurred past in golden shadows as he navigated the obstacle course of trees and roots in a dead run. Reaching behind him, Aramis unsheathed his main gauche, concentrating his efforts on speed rather than stealth since the cover of darkness was no longer at his disposal.

When the angry shout of a stranger reached his ears, Aramis urged his legs to pump faster. Ignoring the burn inside his lungs, he barely flinched when a low hanging branch whipped his cheek as he sped past another tree, the trickle of blood cooling rapidly with the rushing air.

Over a wall of shrubs, Aramis glimpsed the clearing beyond. His breath caught in his throat when he spotted a stranger brandishing his sword, advancing on Treville's prone position with determined strides. The captain laid on his back, framed on both sides by the lifeless bodies of two attackers, clutching his shoulder with a death grip.

Aramis forced himself to avert his eyes from Treville's pain stricken features, focusing instead on the immediate threat.

As the last of Treville's opponents circled his sword with a twist of his wrist, the blade caught the pale rays of dawn and scattered them across the clearing in a burst of light.

Leaping over the hedge, Aramis drew his arm back mid-flight and hurled his dagger with the force and precision of a crossbow. Treville's adversary barely found time to turn his head toward the unexpected interruption before the blade drilled into his chest. Blood oozed from the assailant's mouth as he collapsed forward, his last pending breath forever trapped inside his lungs.

When Aramis' feet landed onto solid ground, he allowed his momentum to carry him forward, rolling over his shoulder with his head tugged into his body, completing his acrobatic display in a crouching stance.

"You sure know how to make an entrance," Treville forced through gritted teeth as he worked himself up onto his right elbow and cradled his injured arm to his chest. "And I must say, your timing is impeccable."

"I aim to please," Aramis said as he pushed to his feet and closed the distance between himself and the enemy with a few steps. Taking a firm hold of his main gauche, his face distorted with a snarl when he yanked the blade free from his opponent's chest, dead eyes staring up at him in accusation.

As a soldier, Aramis understood the necessity of death; he had killed many in his efforts to protect the King, the citizens of Paris and his brothers. Yet, he still failed to suppress the chill in his veins whenever the need arose.

He turned toward his captain, wiping the blade on his breeches before sliding it into the sheath behind his back. "Are you alright?" Aramis asked as he let himself fall to his knees next to Treville to assess the man's condition.

"I will be. Once you put it back in place," the captain bit out between panting breaths, clutching at his shoulder. "Can't seem… to move it."

Having seen his share of dislocated joints, Aramis found no reason to second guess the diagnosis. After all, the deformity was glaringly obvious as the left shoulder hung visibly lower than the right.

Nodding his head, he slid his left hand beneath Treville's elbow while grasping the wrist with his right to bend the forearm at a ninety-degree angle. "This will be over in a second," Aramis promised.

"Just get on with it," Treville growled, the muscles in his jaw ready to snap under the pressure of gritted teeth.

Aramis firmly pulled on the injured limb to create traction, ignoring the groan Treville failed to stifle and listened for the sound that would indicate that the head of the humerus slid under the bone of the shoulder blade and back into its socket.

When the tell-tale pop reached his ears, Aramis looked at Treville and released his hold. "There. How do you feel?"

"Annoyed," Treville huffed on a harsh exhale, trying to regain his composure. Their eyes met when the captain carefully rolled his shoulder to test mobility. "It worked," he stated, even as the movement added to his pallor and pinched his eyes in pain. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Aramis would have liked to grant Treville a moment to catch his breath but the oppressive silence that had settled around them urged him onward, and a sudden sense of dread sent a shiver down his spine, issuing the command to move.

"Will you be able to manage?" he asked as he pushed to his feet, extending his good arm to assist his captain.

Despite the masking effects of the adrenaline still ruling over Aramis' body, the hibernating throb living inside his wound started to warn him against unnecessary movement lest he exacerbate blood loss.

"I will," grumbled Treville as he pushed off the ground to sit up. Awkwardly grasping the proffered hand with his right, the captain allowed Aramis to pull him to his feet but frowned at the bloodied leathers concealing Aramis' injury. "Will you?"

"It's nothing more than a scratch," Aramis tried, knowing that regardless of the response, they could ill afford to linger any longer.

Treville did not ponder the statement before he shook his head. "You're not supposed to lie to your superior officer, Aramis." His eyes belied the edge to his voice as they carefully tracked the dark stain across Aramis' forearm.

For better or worse, he was spared any further scrutiny when the sudden drum of hoofbeats reached their ears. The captain's eyes snapped up to meet his and understanding passed between them in a silent language learned through patience and mutual respect.

It was time to familiarize themselves with the proportions of their unfortunate situation.

Treville bent low to retrieve his fallen sword and dagger with stiff movements, keeping his injured arm immobilized as best he could.

Though relocated successfully, Aramis knew from experience that the connection between the captain's shoulder joint and socket would remain unstable for some time.

When he also considered the wound that hampered his own mobility, Aramis had to question their odds of survival against a relentless enemy and once again sorely missed the presence of his brothers.

Returning his focus to the task at hand, Aramis freed his pistol from his belt and dug through his leather pouch for a paper cartridge. Tearing it open with his teeth, he used a small amount of powder to prime the pan, then dumped the remaining shot into the barrel. Dropping the lead ball in after the powder, he used his ramrod to pack the charge with practiced movements.

Stuffing the loaded pistol into his belt, Aramis turned to the bodies on the ground. Reaching down, he retrieved two loaded pistols and an arquebus, knowing their owners would no longer miss them.

Extending his arm, he handed one of the pistols to Treville. "Ready?" Aramis asked, the weight of the loaded weapons acting like a balm on his nerves.

Treville met his eyes with a tilt of his head. "Here goes nothing."

Crossing the clearing together, droplets of morning dew transferred from grass to leather, their hurried steps destroying the glittery effect of reflecting sunlight as they moved toward the trees and an unknown number of enemies.

The forest on this side of the clearing revealed a forty foot drop just beyond the treeline. Reaching the brink of the ravine, Aramis crouched behind a large boulder, concealing himself from any prying eyes below. Peering around the rock, he studied the steep wall carved of sandstone falling away in front of him, crowded with bushes and vines.

The beat of hooves rapidly amplified as the advancing party drew closer, scaring a flock of birds into frenzied flight. Aramis directed his eyes to the path at the bottom of the cliff where an entire contingent of more than two dozen riders emerged from the east navigating bark and brush at a steady walk.

"This would be the main posse, I presume," Treville ventured, crouching behind the trunk of an oak large enough to hide a man twice his size. "The six men at the campsite must have been scouts sent to find us. What scheme do you believe this is?"

Aramis watched the group advance in a single file and noted the absence of identifying colors or crests. Similar to the men they had previously disposed of, everyone bore leather uniforms with hats drawn low to shroud their identities in shadows.

"At the risk of stating the obvious," Aramis replied, "their purpose appears to be singlemindedly geared toward our demise. But as for their reasons, I could only guess." Contemplating the matter further, Aramis tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. "It could be an attempt to halt our investigation into the shipment."

"Perhaps," Treville considered, an air of disbelief clinging to his words and a spark of doubt visible in his eyes.

"But you don't believe so?" Aramis guessed.

"I'm uncertain what to believe," admitted Treville, "But my gut tells me that this has nothing to do with our investigation."

Aramis nodded. "I would never be foolish enough to question your gut."

Shifting his focus, Aramis studied the surrounding terrain, a plan starting to take shape in his mind as he judged the slope of the ravine, gauged the distance between them and the enemy and tracked the path below with his eyes.

"Spit it out," Treville prompted in hushed tones. "I can almost see the wheels turning in your head."

Aramis' lips twitched into a smile. "This slope is too steep to navigate on horseback or on foot," he started, "and anyone who wants to climb it would have to follow the path below until they reached a more accessible area. As far as I can tell, the first opportunity to gain access to this ridge is approximately fifty yards west of our position."

"I believe I know where this is going," Treville interjected. "Not to dampen your mood, but I count thirty-one men. Even with five firearms between us, we can't possibly reload fast enough to stop them. They'll be upon us before we can dispatch half their number."

"We are on higher ground and we hold the element of surprise," Aramis countered. "This might be our best, if not only chance to diminish their numbers."

"This is not the brilliant plan I was hoping for," Treville muttered.

"More of a last resort, perhaps," Aramis conceded. "But considering Athos does not expect us to return for another two days…"

"We're on our own," Treville finished his sentence. "On the bright side, if we are to die, at least we'll take a few of those bastards with us."

"My thoughts exactly," Aramis agreed as he pulled his newly acquired arquebus from his belt. Rolling onto his stomach, he positioned himself next to the boulder, waiting for the riders beneath to come within firing range.

Precise timing would be crucial.

Sighting his weapon, Aramis drew a measured breath of air into his lungs as he lined up his shot.

With the intention of creating maximum chaos and perhaps a pile up of horses, he directed the barrel of his arquebus at the first man in the procession and pulled the trigger.

The weapon discharged with a clap of thunder, the familiar scent of powder stinging his nostrils as he watched the ball enter the hat of his target at a downward angle to bury itself into the skull beneath.

When horses reared and shouts of surprise and anger combined into a high-pitched song of distress, Aramis rolled sideways over his shoulder, coming to a stop on his back behind the rock. Dropping the arquebus, he exchanged the spent weapon for two pistols and performed another sideways roll to take position on the other side of the boulder.

Firing both weapons at once, the recoil hit him with the force of a tidal wave and an agonizing tremor seized the damaged muscles inside his arm. Fortunately, his aim proved true regardless and he watched with gritted teeth as another two souls parted with their bodies when the lead balls dug into flesh unimpeded.

This time the collective roar of the enemy was followed by action as most of the men on the path below overcame the initial shock and aimed their weapons in his direction. Aramis scrambled for cover, seeking refuge behind the boulder before a volley of lead impacted on rock and sent bits of sandstone into the air.

As soon as the majority of the bombardment ceased, Treville returned fire, taking charge of the attack.

Sitting with his back against the rock, Aramis sucked air into his lungs to counteract the pain threatening to steal his focus and dug into the pouch on his belt for two paper cartridges. Choosing to ignore the wet fingers of blood that slipped down his arm to line his glove, he concentrated on reloading his weapons.

"They're headed for the slope," Treville yelled over the cacophony of battle as he pulled the trigger to send another ball on its deadly journey. "It's almost time to move." With the agonized scream of his last victim echoing from below, the captain crouched down behind the oak and started to reload.

As the next hail of lead balls concentrated on splintering the bark of Treville's hiding place, Aramis chanced a glance around his rock and saw nine men on foot sprinting toward the incline that would lead them to the top of the ridge.

Not trusting his right arm to successfully deliver another kill shot, Aramis extended his left and fired, the ball racing to catch its target. When the lead object buried itself into the back it was meant for, Aramis watched the man crumple to the ground at the same time the other eight scrambled to climb the ravine and disappear from sight.

"Definitely time to move," Aramis urged as he jumped to his feet. "We have less than a minute now."

"Let's not waste it then," decided Treville. "If we move fast we might reach the horses before they catch up."

Together, they broke through the treeline, sprinting across the clearing with shouts of anger wafting behind them like a billow of smoke.

Stuffing the spent pistol into his belt, Aramis kept hold of the loaded arquebus as their feet devoured the distance between them and the edge of the forest on the other side of the clearing.

A ball meant for Aramis' back impacted with the oak tree next to him, splintering bark that scratched his face, causing him to stumble.

Their pursuers had reached the meadow.

"Keep going," Treville shouted as he grasped Aramis' elbow to help him regain his footing. "We're almost there."

Together they set off again, navigating trees and brush. When the smoky remnants of their campfire came into view, Aramis ordered his tired body to maintain speed as exertion and blood loss worked to further deplete his energy and his hammering heart threatened to break through his chest wall.

Rounding the last pine between them and the horses, his heart leapt into his throat at the scene before him.

Crouched on the ground, two men were rummaging through the Musketeer's saddle bags, water skins and provisions scattered about the forest floor.

Aramis lost a fraction of a second as his mind worked to realize that another three scouts had found their campsite and decided to raid their supplies.

As four firearms rose simultaneously in a deadly match for survival, Aramis cursed his slow reaction and hoped that his waning strength would allow him to rectify his mistake.

The roar of four weapons reverberated within the forest and Aramis' lungs failed to draw breath when the heat of a whizzing ball passed his cheek.

The Musketeer's shots struck true, piercing their opponent's upper bodies with a spray of blood. Both men pitched forward when death extended its hand to claim them.

After allowing a split second to assure himself that Treville remained unharmed, Aramis glanced over his shoulder. As of yet, he found no trace of their pursuers but failed to shake the growing sense of dread that threatened to tie a noose around his heart.

Not a moment later the answer hit him like the force of Porthos' fist.

Three. The other two scouting parties had consisted of three men.

"Aramis? If we are to escape, now is the time."

The captain's words only skirted the edges of Aramis' awareness as his eyes flitted over the surrounding foliage, searching…

Nestled into the underbrush less than twenty yards away, he spotted the third culprit and the gleam of a musket. "Watch out!" Aramis yelled, as his eyes tracked the trajectory of the barrel.

His body rushed forward without conscious thought, plowing into Treville in his urgent attempt to remove the captain from the line of fire.

When both Musketeers barreled onto the ground and Aramis' mangled arm caught beneath them, the blast of the musket barely registered in his mind as a torrent of pain ripped through his limb.

His breath rushed from his lungs with the impact on hard soil, and as the world tilted dangerously around him it proved impossible to distinguish up from down.

"Aramis?"

Twenty seconds, thought Aramis. The shooter requires no more than twenty seconds to reload.

"Aramis?" Treville tried again. "Are you hit?"

"No, m' good," Aramis slurred, desperate to regain his bearings. "We need to move."

"I know that," blurted Treville as he grasped Aramis' elbow and hauled him to his feet. "Come on."

Fifteen seconds left...

Reaching the horses with two stumbling steps, Treville untied the reins while Aramis placed one foot into his stirrup and dragged himself into the saddle one handed. Working hard to draw enough air into his starving lungs, he attempted to ignore the white hot pain licking at his wounded arm and waited for Treville to mount his horse.

Five seconds...

Angry shouts and the sounds of hurried steps resonated through the maze of trees, announcing the arrival of their pursuers.

Treville's eyes flashed with purpose as he swung atop his horse. He pressed his legs around the animal's belly, his ire still present in his steely expression when he commanded his steed forward.

The clock struck zero before they reached the cover of the trees and the roar of a musket shattered the illusion of a clean getaway.

The ball ripped through Aramis' upper right side, the pressure of the impact along his ribs propelling his body forward and forcing him to cling to his horse's mane in an effort to stay in the saddle.

Drowning in pain, his senses turned dormant and he couldn't focus on anything past the need to hold on when his horse pitched forward into a frenzied run.

TBC


I hope you enjoyed and would love to hear your thoughts :)

A/N: I am still editing chapter 3. It should be up in a week or so.