Athos watched Porthos as he stacked the firewood neatly in a pile, close enough to the fire to be easily obtained but far enough from the bright flames that it would not catch on fire from a flying spark. There was no sign of Aramis which did not bode well. Athos could only surmise that their time alone had not gone well. With a sigh, he turned away just as Porthos was about to settle for a game of cards with D'Artagnan, turning to Lumiere and Abel to discuss the plans for the following day Athos had just opened his mouth to broach the subject when a shot tore through the air and Abel crumpled to the ground, a thin rivulet of blood trickled down his temple from the bullet wound.
"Ambush!" Athos cried, whilst grabbing Lumiere and dragging him behind the gift laden cart.
D'Artagnan moved fast firing a shot himself at the first flicker of movement from deeper within the trees, smiling when he saw an enemy body drop to the floor. Porthos grabbed their youngest by his shoulders and bodily hauled him back in to the cover of the trees behind them.
"How many" he growled whilst cocking his own pistol.
"It's difficult to say but I saw five"
"And shot one"
"So, four?"
A shot to their left from Athos made Porthos grin, "make that three."
A cry of rage and two men came barrelling out of the trees covered by one who remained in the treeline. D'Artagnan had already drawn his sword and darted forward to meet them with Porthos hot on his heels. Athos focused his attention on the man in the trees, whilst also making sure to keep Lumiere down and out of harm's way.
The young Gascon was more than a match for the bandit, he moved with swift almost graceful steps in a dizzying dance of death, unlike Porthos who attacked aggressively an exhausting onslaught of relentless strikes. The musketeer's swords cut through their opponent's bodies like butter and the man in the trees fled before their corpses even hit the ground.
"Are either of you hurt?" Athos was by their side immediately.
Porthos shook his head but it was D'Artagnan who answered, "No … and you?"
"I'm fine … unfortunately Abel was not so lucky" the three musketeers grimaced as they looked on the fresh body of one of their own. Brown eyes quickly flicked over all of them before D'Artagnan frowned, "where's Aramis?"
The effect was immediate, all heads turned to look about them.
"Aramis!" Porthos bellowed, ice creeping into his veins freezing his heart. Where was he? Looking for the familiar mop of unruly dark curls Porthos strode closer to the trees he had not long since returned from earlier, "ARAMIS!" Nothing but echoing silence answered.
"Stay with the cart and Lumiere" Athos instructed the young musketeer before hurrying after Porthos who had taken off into the trees without even giving Athos chance to look at the bodies of their enemies for some clue as to their identities.
"Aramis!" Both men called in the futile hope that through sheer force of will alone they could make their friend reappear.
It didn't take them long to find the bundle of sticks that Aramis had been collecting, but there was no sign of the musketeer.
"Aramis … ARAMIS!" Porthos called eyes wild and tone becoming frantic. "Where is he Athos?"
Gone was not a suitable answer and neither was it accurate, people did not just disappear – if Aramis was not here and seen as he obviously hadn't vanished into thin air then there was only one logical solution.
"He's been taken" Mouth set in a grim line Athos tugged once on Porthos's arm, "come, we must return to camp"
"Aramis!"
"Porthos!" Athos snapped, "We must get back to D'Artagnan, the sooner we examine the bodies the sooner we might know just who we're dealing with." He turned then and marched off in the direction of camp but behind the cool façade Athos was in turmoil. Someone had Aramis, someone could be hurting their brother – Athos growled; he would move heaven and earth to find him again.
Porthos looked around him in bewilderment, someone had taken Aramis, HIS Aramis … and there would be hell to pay for it. Dragging himself away from the last evidence of the marksman's presence Porthos followed after his Captain, muttering a desperate prayer hoping that the God Aramis so fervently believed in would protect the dashing musketeer until he could hold him in his arms again. Oh please God do not let those ugly words be their last exchange – Porthos would never forgive himself if they were.
Author's note: Hi this is my first musketeer's fic, I apologise for any historical inaccuracies but I hope you're all enjoying it so far. Reviews are always welcome - but no hate thank you. :)