A/N And the third and final part is here. It needed plenty of editing, and could probably use some more, but my eyes are hurting and I'm being attacked by a plot bunny for the next story so yeah, this is the best you're gonna get right now :P
Much thanks to lilgenious for her help!
Also, I planned to make the next two stories with somebody else losing something and not Aramis again but it's probably not gonna work out that way... if it's any consolation, Aramis won't be physically present too much in one story although it is his possession that gets lost.
Anyway, enjoy!
For a few hours now, Aramis was riding Zeus confident that his horse would take him along the path Rochefort chose. Every now and again, there would be signs that the large group passed where they were going visible by the moon; the branches on some trees would be broken or the ground would have that characteristic ridden-on look and feel to it, even though it was fairly deep in the forest. By the time the sun started rising, they reached the spot where Zeus undoubtedly broke free. There was a man lying on the ground with a small puddle of blood underneath him. Stopping Zeus and jumping down, Aramis drew his sword before he turned the unfortunate soldier over with his right foot. Despite the head injury looking bad, he groaned making it clear that he hadn't yet died from the blow. Smirking, Aramis realized that he could maybe get a few answers from him that would help him rescue his friends.
Once Aramis woke him up missing his usual gentleness, the man blabbered a bit due to disorientation caused by the head injury. However, once he regained the hold on his bearings, he went 2 shades paler when he saw the musketeer. Not only was the man he thought dead standing over him with his sword drawn, he had murder in his eyes and that damn horse that had nearly killed him standing behind him. Worried for his life when Aramis described in gruesome detail what he would do to him unless he answers his every question, a fate worse than even Rochefort would prepare for him if he found out he helped their enemy, the man begged for his life promising to reveal all.
First, Aramis interrogated him about how they travelled and how they found the musketeers. The man, Aramis didn't even bother to ask for his name, explained that the Cardinal found out about the mission the very evening before the quartet rode out; Rochefort put his men together right away so the musketeers only had a few hours' head start. At night a plan was devised between Richelieu and his lapdog taking several possibilities into account.
Rochefort was to attack them further away from Paris, preferably somewhere where nobody would see, meaning that they had to use a different road than the one the musketeers took. They also needed to take into account the fact that they didn't know just how fast the inseparables would ride. Because of the size of the party, Rochefort and his men couldn't stay at an inn to avoid raising suspicion and would camp outside instead. One of Rochefort's soldiers knew of a good clearing that would serve their plan well that was about 30 miles from Blois; they reached it after a hard day's and partly night's ride. Because their horses were exhausted, they built up the camp and let them rest while they waited for news on the musketeers.
As they were departing from Paris, Rochefort sent out 2 of his men to go looking for the musketeers and find out about their progress. Had the musketeers ridden fast, one would find Rochefort's camp and let him know that they would need to move again while the other continued observing. However, they found the four friends sooner than anticipated so one of them hurried to report on their slower pace while the other followed them to the inn which was a little less than 25 miles from Paris. Hearing about their speed, or lack thereof, Rochefort knew he had plenty of time to prepare an ambush. He decided they would attack the musketeers some 20 miles from their camp, they would have enough time to get to the main road while the musketeers would reach it close to the evening next day should they keep their pace. They arrived there just an hour before the musketeers since back in their camp, they had to prepare the tent to hold them prisoners first. Aramis realized that the eyes they felt on them must have been from Rochefort's spy; he probably anticipated the ambush and rode out at some point to warn the bastard that they were coming.
He then questioned the poor man about specific directions on how to reach their camp and the number of men under Rochefort's command. With the losses suffered by the musketeers before they overpowered them, Rochefort currently had 23 men at his disposal. They would also be tired from all of the travelling as they rode much faster than the musketeers and didn't have the advantage of resting in a comfortable bed, instead having to raise the camp. They also rode all night without their horses getting enough rest from the day before making them progress slower. Zeus travelled far but for a large part of the journey had no rider and barely had to gallop at any point meaning he would be able to gather more speed now that it was light again. Aramis made a mental note to take extra good care of him if they found the camp soon enough and escaped with their friends.
With the proper directions and using the fact that a single rider could advance much quicker than almost 30 men, Aramis could gain some of the time he lost back and hopefully arrive while the soldiers still slept. A plan began forming in his head as he rode on with renewed hope. The soldier had served him well by informing him so he didn't kill him. However, he didn't help him in any way either, letting him find his way to shelter alone.
Back in the camp, the musketeers mulled over their options. Athos and Porthos refused to let D'Artagnan suffer the fate so colourfully described by Rochefort and tried to think up a plan of escape. They had no one to rely on to get them out of this mess but themselves and they needed to act quickly. Taking the lead, Athos inquired about their current condition. Porthos admitted that his ankle was broken and that he wouldn't be of much use when moving. D'Artagnan reassured him that his shoulder was ok and that he could do anything Athos asked of him. Athos himself was uninjured.
Next he asked them if they had any weapons on them that they could use to get free. Unfortunately Rochefort had been thorough and didn't leave them with anything. All of them had been testing the ropes ever since they got tied down but they wouldn't give; not even Porthos could break free despite his strength, the way he was tied down didn't give him enough leverage to do anything. Grabbing onto the poles, they tried to pull them out of the ground but they had been buried deep and didn't move an inch. And hour had passed before they admitted that they were trapped.
Their horses were of no use as they had no way of making them trample the guards and rip the poles out of the ground. Bribing the guards wouldn't work either and threats had little force coming from tied up prisoners who had nothing but torture and death to look forward to. Porthos attempted to anger them enough so that they would come closer, close enough to somehow nick something sharp from them but they didn't take the bait and at most laughed at what was to happen to D'Artagnan in a bit without stepping near any of the bound men. Not even a stone was within their radius of reach which they could use. The next option was to plan for D'Artagnan to break free when they untied him from the post to take him outside but it had far too many flaws to work out, most probably endangering the boy much more than giving him a chance to succeed.
Slowly, they began realizing just how hopeless their situation was. D'Artagnan did his best to remain brave and reassure his friends that everything would be alright though deep down he had to admit that he was scared of becoming a live target. Porthos refused to let the tears he felt in his eyes flow as he remembered the loss of Aramis and thought about the potential loss of the young Gascon as well. Athos cursed God for abandoning them, promising anything he had or could ever get in exchange for saving them somehow. He didn't stop thinking up insane escape plans, even though each one was more implausible than the last because it was the only thing he could do. He couldn't bear losing the boy that was like his son in everything but blood.
Each one was so lost in despair, they barely spoke in fear of hearing their voices break and admit defeat.
Aramis reached the vicinity of the camp 3 hours past noon. Zeus had given his all and Aramis caressed him gently, thanking him for his service. He took all of the weapons from him, loading the muskets, which he kept two of for himself, and putting the rest next to the swords on the ground; he would come back for them later on. The camp was silent making it clear that most of the men went to catch a few hours of sleep. Aramis only saw 3 guards standing in front of one of the tents in the middle, he supposed that that was the tent reserved for prisoners. Good. This meant that he could take out several of the men without the guards noticing a thing before he rescued his friends.
Using all of his experience from sneaking in and out of houses for his various romantic endeavours, he managed to get into most of the tents unnoticed. Those that held more than 2 men he left right away, there was no way he could kill them all without waking up at least someone and blowing his cover. However, he managed to kill 7 men by slitting their throats as they slept. He almost felt remorseful about the way he did it but they had ambushed them, tried to kill him, captured his friends and planned to do God knows what to them. While he would have preferred to fight the soldiers in a fair match, the situation forced his hand.
Using the fact that the guards all stood in front of the entrance to the tent and were practically dozing off, he silently moved the swords and extra muskets from the forest to the back of the tent before he cut his way inside. He saw 3 pairs of hands and feet bound to the poles and felt relief wash over him. If they were still tied up like that, they had to be alive. They must have heard him enter as Athos demanded to know who he was. Though realizing that it was someone sneaking from behind who could against all odds be possible help, Athos said it in a lowered voice. Knowing that time was of essence since he had taken far too long as it was, Aramis didn't answer and merely began cutting the ropes with his bloodied dagger.
He kept the hood of his cloak on to at least somewhat cover his face, he had a feeling that the moment they realized it was him they wouldn't be able to remain quiet. He started with Athos and worked his way down the line. By the time he cut Porthos loose, Athos couldn't take it anymore and grabbed the hood pulling it back. The change in them was instantaneous. Their eyes lit up in wonder and unspeakable relief with a hint of disbelieve. Porthos gasped loudly though Aramis shushed them before they could yell anything out. Pulling his hand away from Porthos' and D'Artagnan's mouths once he was sure they wouldn't do anything to reveal their escape, he smiled at his friends. Understanding his warning, they kept their voices quite low but it was impossible to expect them to remain silent, especially Porthos.
"Aramis, you're alive!"
He didn't get a chance to reply as they hugged him tightly between themselves, cutting off his air for a moment. He let them indulge for a little; he had to admit that it felt good to see how much they cared as his possible loss effected them so. Soon though the need for oxygen overpowered the need for confirmation and closeness and he pushed them away gently but firmly.
"But how?"
"We thought the bastard had killed you!"
"Are you hurt?"
They threw questions at him over each other and he had to raise his hand to rein them in. Deciding that a demonstration would be much more effective than any words he could say, he unbuttoned his clothes, he took out the old cross and presented it to them.
"No, I'm not dead, I'm not even hurt. And don't you three ever dare make fun of my faith again."
They saw the bullet caught in the cross and silently swore never to doubt Aramis' beliefs from then on. Athos didn't miss the rather nasty looking bruise on Aramis' chest but seeing as it wasn't a life threatening wound he decided not to comment on it, for now. Porthos was looking as puzzled as before and asked the question that was bothering him.
"But I thought you had lost your cross?"
"I, well, er you see... I had this old one and although it isn't fancy, I felt bare without it so I put it on under my clothes until I'd get the chance to buy a new one that I could wear on top of them."
He blushed a bit as they stared at him, snorting at his vanity.
"Aramis? Don't you ever change."
Wanting to stop the conversation before they could make any more fun of him, he quickly walked out and gave each one of them his sword and a musket as he returned. The odds were much more in their favour now as Rochefort only had 16 men left and none of them expected the musketeers to attack them. Smiling, the four quickly nodded at each other and charged. The three guards before their tent felt almost immediately, stabbed from behind. The ruckus woke the others up and the first 4 that stepped out of their tents were promptly shot. After that, the musketeers split up to take care of the rest.
Porthos stood his ground waiting for any soldiers stupid enough to attack him while Athos and D'Artagnan ran towards the remaining few. Aramis ran to Rochefort's tent with a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, stopping at the entrance ready to attack the man that would undoubtedly walk out with a musket or two. He was right as Rochefort went to check what was going on with a musket at the ready. Aramis threw himself at the bastard, knocking the musket out of his hand as they fell to the ground. Rochefort was quick to untangle himself from the man he thought he had killed and drew his own sword and dagger. His one eye stared at the priest in shock.
"I killed you."
"You missed."
"I won't miss again."
"I won't give you a second chance."
With that, they began circling each other, waiting for the right moment to strike. Both were ambidextrous so Rochefort didn't have the advantage by using both a sword and dagger unlike with D'Artagnan. Aramis also wasn't beyond playing dirty with him unlike the Gascon had been. Both of them were equally tired but Aramis had the other musketeers on his side who were slowly finishing up with Rochefort's men.
No, Rochefort couldn't drag this duel out too long because each passing minute got him closer to defeat; he had to risk and charge right away. Slashing at Aramis wildly, he almost scored a hit; however Aramis was prepared for such an attack and parried it easily, swinging at Rochefort right away. There was no time to pose, no time to taunt the opponent to show how much better you were. There was no place for style, only furious attacks that they threw at each other, never once stopping for a second.
The other musketeers had finished their own fights and were currently watching the battle between Rochefort and Aramis with bated breaths. They could try and shoot Rochefort, none of them would feel guilty about such a dirty victory, but the two men were moving around too much and they couldn't risk hitting Aramis by accident. It was clear that the captain and the priest were fairly equally matched as neither could get the upper hand. For Aramis cutting Rochefort's face, Rochefort cut his left arm. For Rochefort managing to cut Aramis' abdomen, Aramis stabbed him through his leg. Rochefort's punch to Aramis' face was met with Aramis' punch to his gut. Back and forth they traded blows, attacking wildly and spilling blood. It was clear that both men were tiring, although they refused to slow down.
In the end, it was Aramis' remarkable sense of balance that saved him. During their fight they had moved considerably and were now standing on steeper ground. Both of them had managed to slip but while Rochefort lost his balance completely and fell, Aramis managed to regain it before he followed his opponent and using the opportunity, stabbed him through his chest. Rochefort groaned in pain and while Aramis didn't kill him, he had injured him greatly thus winning the fight. Pulling his sword out of Rochefort's chest, Aramis kicked him in the head hard, knocking him out.
He was panting heavily as he turned to his friends but he smiled at them seeing their relief. Walking away from the unconscious man, he finally felt the pain of all the injuries he had sustained and wavered. None of the cuts were too deep but he felt the blood running down his body and couldn't wait to wash it away, grab a meal and sleep for 2 days without pause.
Despite their injuries, the musketeers got onto their horses, Aramis took a different one and simply led Zeus after him as the poor beast had been ridden too much already. Going as fast as the horses allowed, they arrived at Blois that night. In the end, they hadn't killed Rochefort but they left him in the camp; he would survive somehow or bleed out, none of them cared. Either way, he would be too late and too injured to interfere with their mission anymore. Getting a doctor to look over their own injuries, Porthos had been pronounced unfit to continue on their journey meaning he would have to stay in Blois for a while. Although he wasn't too badly hurt, Aramis decided to stay with him to both rest and keep him company so only Athos and D'Artagnan would continue to Gascony the next day. If all went well, they would join Aramis and Porthos on their way back and all four would return to Paris together. Undoubtedly, they would know every willing lady in Blois by then.
Once more, they had gotten 2 rooms at an inn with D'Artagnan and Athos sharing one while Porthos and Aramis shared the other. Aramis was barely standing on his feet by that point and couldn't wait to just collapse onto his bed. However, for the next 20 minutes he found himself unable to fall asleep. It wasn't that his body or mind couldn't rest, the reason for his wakefulness was the burning pair of eyes watching him carefully. He couldn't take it anymore and turning around, glared at Porthos in the dark.
"What?"
Aramis could swear that he saw the giant blush although the darkness hid it well.
"I just, um..."
In that moment, Aramis understood. Porthos couldn't get the memory of him being shot out of his head and needed to look at him to remind himself that it wasn't true, that he hadn't lost his best friend. Sighing, Aramis got up and moved his bed to Porthos' until they were joined. The giant looked at him with surprise, not understanding what he was doing. Once they were next to each other, Aramis lay back down facing Porthos.
"If I wake up to you fondling me in your sleep again I will kill you."
Smiling in relief, Porthos chuckled.
"Oh come on, it was only once!"
They bantered for a bit longer until Aramis was yawning more than he was talking and Porthos decided it wasn't fair to keep him up any longer.
"Sleep my friend."
"Goodnight Porthos."
"Goodnight Aramis."
Before he even finished talking, Aramis' eyes had closed and his breathing evened out. Porthos knew that he wouldn't wake up for hours so he moved closer and gently hugged the smaller man against his broad chest. He needed to feel the warm breath leaving Aramis' lungs as a constant reminder that he was alive. Finally, even Porthos managed to fall asleep.