Three days later...

Aramis woke up slowly, wiping sleep-encrusted eyes with his sleeve as dappled morning light shone into the room from the thin curtains next to his bed. He lay there for a few moments, confused at where he was and how he had got there. By the cloying smell of bottled antiseptic, and the muffled sounds of screams and moans echoing around the corridors, he could positively guess he was in hospital.

He couldn't remember much; his brain felt fuzzy, as if it was stuffed with cotton. He vaguely recalled leaning against Athos' chest as the horse galloped towards home, but the main feeling was an overpowering agony, seared into his memory like a brand.

He put a hand on his stomach under the covers; the bandage was tight, the pain a low throb as he ran his fingertips down the linen. He remembered his stomach being on fire, each footfall of the horse sending him jolting agonisingly backwards and forwards, with only Athos' arm around his chest to stop him from falling off entirely.

'Finally awake then?' A familiar voice reached his ears from somewhere to his left; he turned his head, a weak smile escaping him as he saw Athos in the bed next to him, propped up on his pillows, his face bruised and cut-ridden.

'Yes,' he nodded, before trying to sit up a little and failing miserably. He settled for awkwardly leaning on one elbow, turned to Athos' side.

His friend smiled back, eyes looking him up and down. 'The nurses weren't very optimistic that you would wake up at all, but I had faith.'

'Really?' Aramis frowned. Had he really been that close to death?

'Oh yes,' Athos nodded with a sigh. 'They said if we hadn't of reached the hospital when we did the infection would have been much worse and you would have succumbed within the hour.'

Aramis let out a low, surprised snort- 'Oh...' was all he could think to whisper. He looked around, catching sight of another man in a bed opposite the two of them, sleeping soundly.

'D'artagnan,' Athos muttered, following his gaze. 'He was much the same as you, apart from it was hypothermia that almost claimed him,'

'How long was I out for?' The Medic asked, looking to the blue sky outside.

'About three days in all,' Athos muttered, leaning back on his pillows with a small groan; his stomach cried out in pain, but at least it was on the mend.

'Three days...' Aramis echoed, before he sat up, gasping in pain. 'What about those hunters?' he asked, face paling as he looked to the door. 'Have they been tried yet?'

'Relax, Mis',' Athos soothed, sitting up. 'The trial has been set for seven days time- I have given Treville assurance that all four of us will be in attendance.'

'Good- I want to make sure they get what they deserve-' both men looked up as they heard deep footsteps from the corridor outside. The door banged open and in strolled Porthos, arms laden with brown paper bags- his tired, worn face erupted into a joyful smile when he saw Aramis was awake.

'Can't tell you how long I've waited to see those baby-blues open again!' he teased, walking over to his friend and sitting on the bed, carefully putting the paper bags on the blankets.

'Its good to see you again, too!' smiled Aramis, eyes twinkling now he knew for sure his three friends were safe and on the mend. 'What have you got there?' he asked, pointing to the bags. Porthos looked across to Athos, who had just opened his mouth to reply when they all heard more footsteps from outside- quick as a flash Porthos threw a spare blanket over the bags, covering them from view just as a matron came in, her eyes casting around the room.

'Breakfast will be in ten minutes,' she said, a kind smile on her face as she looked at Aramis. 'Ah, you're awake- excellent. I'll have the doctor come and assess you shortly.' she added, before stepping back out of the room and snapping the door shut behind her.

'That was too close...' a voice muttered from the other side of the room as Porthos carefully moved the blankets away from the bags again. D'artagnan sat up gingerly, a tired smile on his face. 'You better not have squashed my buns!'

'Relax, lad- your buns are quite safe!' the bigger man chuckled, reaching into the bag and pulling out two icing covered buns, a cherry atop each; he got up and passed them to the Gascon, who grinned and licked his lips as he placed them on his bed.

'And for Athos...' Porthos muttered, delving into another bag of smuggled goods and producing a bunch of grapes, a small bottle of wine and a small fruit loaf.

'You, my friend, are a lifesaver..' Athos chuckled, accepting them with a smile as he hid the bottle behind his pillow.

'Well, can't have you lot starving to death on hospital food, can I?' Porthos laughed, before turning back to Aramis and squashing the paper bags. 'Sorry mate, but you weren't awake when I took their orders!'

'No matter, its fine,' Aramis chuckled, before grinning as a grape hit him in the shoulder before it landed on his lap. 'Cheers!' he thanked Athos, before popping it in his mouth.

They sat in a companionable silence, save for the sounds of Athos eating his grapes and D'artagnan licking his fingers as he polished off his iced buns.

'So, how many were arrested?' Aramis asked, mind already wandering back to the previous events.

'Twelve,' Athos replied, a dark tone to his voice. 'Most had made a run for it as soon as they knew we were coming, but we caught some as they were running away.'

'Not enough,' Porthos growled, shaking his head. 'Should've rounded up the whole lot...'

'We caught the ringleader though, didn't we?' D'artagnan muttered, wiping his sticky fingers on his blankets. 'That man in the red coat?'

Porthos and Athos exchanged glances- Aramis was the one to see the look pass between them from his angle. 'What?' he asked into the silence. 'We didn't get him?'

'Treville personally searched the land around the farm...' Porthos muttered, eyes dark. 'No sign.'

Aramis sighed deep in his throat, trying- and failing- to withhold his feelings of disappointment.

'The regiment and the Red Guards are searching for the rest of them,' Athos added, popping another grape into his mouth before chewing thoughtfully. 'They'll find them Mis,'

'I hope so...' Aramis growled in reply, before lying back on his pillows with a small groan. He closed his eyes, a tiredness filling him as he'd never felt before. He felt the weight of the bed decrease as Porthos got off, but he had drifted back off to sleep before he could ask where he went.

The three Musketeers spent the next two days resting and recuperating- on the third day each of them made sure they were up out of their beds and moving around. Treville was loathe to let them leave the hospital for their quarters because of the extensiveness of their wounds- a few choice words from a bored and frustrated Athos soon turned his mind round, and the three of them were able to go home to finish resting before the trial.

D'artagnan was happy to spend those days doing as little as possible- his shoulder burned from any over-exertion, so he made sure that he was lifting heavy objects little and often to ensure he did not lose the strength in it. Constance was happy to tend to him at her house- what neither of them expected was the nightmares that the Gascon started to have the night he came home.

From her bed with her Husband beside her, Constance could hear the sounds of D'artagnan thrashing around in his bed, low moans escaping him before there was a final shout and silence fell once more. Seconds later she heard his bedroom door open, followed by his boot-falls down the stairs before the front door snapped shut- she would not see him until later the next morning.

Athos was faring no better- Porthos, who made a point of visiting each of his friends multiple times a day after his various duties had ended, had to bite his tongue often when he saw the small mountain of empty wine bottles stacked on the floor in the swordsman's kitchen.

He knew it wasn't his place to question Athos- hell, he himself was certainly drinking more ale than he used to...it stopped him seeing the shadows around every corner, or to stop being afraid when he heard a rumble of thunder during the rainy nights. Besides, it would only make Athos angry, and he most certainly didn't want to do that.

Instead he asked if he was alright, accepting the lie he knew Athos was feeding him when he answered 'fine.' The dark circles under puffy eyes and the pallid skin showed Porthos that his friend was not fine at all.

He knew it was the upcoming trial that was having this effect on everyone- he only hoped that once it was all complete then he and his friends could get some closure.

The person he was most worried about, however, was Aramis. He knew his friend had survived trauma whilst out in the open before; Savoy was still a no-go subject between them. Likewise, the medic had now completely shut down from the events of that night- he never mentioned it, and left the room when D'artagnan or Athos spoke about it when they were all together.

He took long walks at night, before reappearing at Porthos' door to walk with him to the Garrison, where he spent the day cleaning boots and weapons; his gunshot wound meant it was many weeks before he was back to full strength enough to go on other missions. He could just about do some guard duties, but Treville did not want to push him too much.

Porthos speculated that the only reason his friend walked with him to the Garrison was to make sure nothing happened to him on the walk there- he didn't know why Aramis seemed to blame himself, but let him do whatever made him feel at peace.

What Aramis didn't know what that Porthos also kept watch on him, coming by his house at night on the way home from guard duties up at the palace...he just liked to make sure his friend was alright.

Aramis knew Porthos meant well; he knew he was suffering just as much as any of them. That was why he made sure he walked him to work each morning, and kept a silent watch on him from afar when he was running errands or up at the Palace. He felt responsible for his safety, and for the safety of Athos and D'artagnan; one night, when he was in the throes of a nightmare that coupled the events of that night with thick snow and an army of men, his brain and filtered back to the conversation that they had had before they headed down that path, when Aramis had convinced them all he had found the best shortcut.

He woke up with the realisation that all of the events that had transpired after he had made that fateful decision was his fault- he had spent a good portion of the rest of that night vomiting, a guilt trickling into his very soul, to add to the immense weight of Savoy.

The day of the trial dawned cold and misty- each Musketeer pulled on their finest uniforms and met each other in the city square before walking slowly to the Palace. The King, once he had heard what had befallen some of his Musketeers, had ordered the trial to take place in one of his rooms; he had had carpenters make cages and benches just for the occasion, and word had soon got round- the room was packed, with Treville and their fellow Musketeers keeping order as the inseparables sat heavily off to the side.

They were expected to give evidence during the proceedings, and none of them were looking forward to reliving the events. Each of the twelve men who had hunted them like beasts were brought in- to save time and the upheaval of asking the same questions twelve times the men were brought in all at once.

Aramis felt D'artagnan take in a juddering breath and stiffen slightly as the men were tied to the cage, their handcuffs clinking together as they jostled for space. The noise set each men's teeth on edge, and Athos felt nausea creep into his stomach at the mere sound. He swallowed it back- they had to be professional now.

The trial lasted four long, harrowing days. Each Musketeer stood facing the hunters as they gave their evidence, their voices wavering slightly but not breaking as they recounted the events of that night. Their eyes remained on the judge; they did not even waver when the men began taunting them, mocking their words and laughing as they relayed what had happened. Athos found it the hardest to not answer them back; he balled his hands into fists, digging his nails into the skin of his palms as the men's words drifted over the courtroom.

Treville stood to the side as they derided D'artagnan as he gave his evidence; his fingers were curled around his gun, itching to use it. If he didn't already know he'd be sentenced to death for it he'd gladly put each of these bastards down right now; instead all he could do was put a hand on the Gascon's shoulder as he sat down shakily beside him and give it a comforting squeeze.

The interest in the case had one effect none of them could imagine- by the second day people started arriving at the trial to give their own stories; parents, their faces lined with worry about missing children, older brothers and sisters who had spent their lives looking for lost siblings. Stablehands, shopkeepers and farmers who had witnessed strange noises and goings-on at night around the area that the 'hunts' were taking place.

In the end, the evidence was damning. Each of the twelve men were sentenced to hang the very next day. There had been loud cheers in the gallery when the sentence was passed out- the Musketeer regiment were of course, too professional to react with such jubilation, but Treville knew that each of his man were ecstatic and relieved with the news; he turned to the four he was most worried about, and felt his own heart soar as he saw they had smiles on their faces for the first time in days.

A look of relief seemed to spread from one to the other; their shoulders sagged and their battered and bruised faces seemed to calm; Treville could only hope this would give them some peace now.

They had filed from the court room in silence, and the Captain watched as the four of them walked together down the square and into Paris' streets, presumably to the nearest tavern.

Aramis was restless- it was just after dawn on the day of the executions, and he had hardly slept at all the previous night. His legs fired with nerves and he knew they would not settle until he had walked some tiredness into them. He shut the door to his rooms as quietly as he could and made his way through the silent city streets; the world was just coming to life, but it was still quiet enough so he could enjoy some peace.

He thought of visiting Athos- he knew full well that his friend couldn't sleep, despite his rooms being ten minutes away. He decided against it as he walked the boundaries of the Palace; dew dampened his trousers and a mist clouded his vision as he looked to his right and caught sight of the low brick building jutting out by a small river. The dungeon.

A peculiar sort of feeling enveloped him- curiousness, he supposed, but more than anything he wanted to see the men who had put he and his friends through so much pain for no sane reason at all. He didn't have to stay long, he told himself as he crossed the lawns. He didn't need to speak to them, or even let them know he was there.

The steps that led down the dungeons for the condemned were high and made of a slippery sort of stone- once or twice he almost lost his footing and had to shove his fingertips painfully into any hole or crack in the brickwork that he could find to stop himself tumbling down. It smelt disgusting down here, he thought as he wrinkled his nose- the stench of vomit, urine and other unmentionables wafted in the air like a cloud, and despite the early hour the screams of the tortured began filtering through the building.

He crossed the last step and came into a low ceilinged area that housed Frederic, the resident keeper of the condemned, as he liked to call himself. He gave Aramis a low nod and offered him the great leather bound book he kept on a wooden stand near the door- it was a sort of visitor's log, and helped Frederic count the comings and goings of the dungeon.

'I'm not exactly on...official business...' Aramis muttered, shaking his head.'So I'd rather not.'

Frederic gave him an understanding smile. 'Don't go starting any trouble,' he warned, before motioning that he could go through.

'Me? Trouble?'Aramis gave him a small smile. 'I don't know what you mean.'

Frederic laughed at that, rolling his eyes- Aramis always found the people in the most horrible-sounding professions always had the kindest hearts. 'Alright- once you're in can you tell the lady to come away? She's been here an hour already.'

'Lady?' Aramis frowned, but said no more as he crossed the room and into the shadows of the main dungeon. He stayed to the darkest areas; he had no intention of getting into conversation with these men. He just wanted to see them, he didn't know why.

He peered into the gloom, and sure enough he saw a woman stood by the window- she was bent double, handing one of the twelve men a drink from a large canteen of wine or water; Aramis could not tell- he accidentally kicked a stone, sending it skittering into the middle of the room. The woman looked up, wrenched the canteen away from the man and immediately walked towards him and to the door- as she stepped forwards a cacophony of shouts and yells filled the air behind her.

A sudden panic filled the Musketeer as his mind was immediately cast back to that night, where he and Athos had run for their lives away from the very men who were shouting. He fumbled for the wall and as soon as the woman passed him he followed, wiping sweaty palms on his trousers as he did so.

Frederic looked up as the two of them passed, but said nothing- as the door slammed he turned to his leather-bound tome, his peacock quill hovering over the yellow pages as he blocked out the sound of screams around him.

Outside, Aramis could barely keep up with the woman she strode through the covered pathways; his stomach wound started to protest and he knew if he overdid it he would be spending the next week in bed recovering.

'Wait, my lady!' he called instead- he was curious to know who she was, and why she left as soon as he arrived. To her credit, the woman did stop and wait for him; Aramis walked gingerly next to her, coming to a stop in front of her as she looked up at him, eyes defiant.

It was the woman from the farm, the woman who had given them bread in the barn and had tended to D'artagnan's shoulder wound. 'I...I...' Aramis stammered; he had no idea what say. He had no idea how to feel. By rights, she should be incarcerated alongside each man in that dungeon...but she had helped them.

As he stood there, totally conflicted, Ella smiled sadly at him, her fingers laced round the large empty canteen. 'I had to see them one last time,' she explained, her voice warm but authoritative. 'I had to give them my goodbyes.'

'You should not be here,' Aramis muttered, looking around. 'If you were to be seen they will lock you up as well-'

'I never took part in any of their madness-'

'No but you stood by and watched it happen!'Aramis growled, voice harder than he meant.

'If I had done anything do you think they would have not killed me?' Ella replied, voice equally as harsh. 'I helped as much as I could- if I escaped that would only bring me back.'

'Escaped?' Aramis echoed. A horrible realisation dawned. 'You were a prisoner there as much as us.'

Ella looked at him sadly, before a real smile appeared on her lined face. 'But not any more- I am free from them at last.' She looked up at him again, searching his features. 'But you- you are a man of honour...' she breathed in deeply, pulling her cloak tighter around her. 'Your mind tells you to hand me in; I can see it in your eyes.'

Aramis looked up as he heard someone shout his name- Porthos, on the other side of the grounds. He looked down at Ella, a smile now on his lips. 'I am not going to hand you in, my lady,' he said, voice softer now. He put a hand on her shoulder. 'I can see you have suffered greatly, and I hope today will bring you the solace that you need,' he added, to which Ella nodded her agreement.

'Go, and be free from this madness.' he finished, before watching as Ella tucked the empty canteen into her cloaks and walked away, down the corridor and into the bustle of the waking city.

Noon. The time of the execution was upon the city- hundreds had turned out, gathered in the square, tightly packed and crowding around to get a good view.

Athos, D'artagnan, Portos and Aramis stood on a raised platform alongside Treville and some others from their regiment; the wind whipped at their faced and a thin rain was coming down, soaking them to the bone. It was a fitting end, Athos mused as he wiped his cold cheeks with a gloved hand. He watched as each of the twelve men were brought out, their shackles jingling again as their made their slow ascent up the wooden steps to the gallows.

It was quite unheard of to have twelve prisoners executed at once, but again the King had made an exception. The square suddenly erupted with shouts and jeers from the crowds, as was customary at a public execution.

Small children fought to get to the front, and many people were jostling around to be able to see the men as the executioner came forwards, a collection of black hoods in his arms.

Aramis looked on, his face impassive as he watched the executioner come up the stairs and walk to the far side of the gallows. A spokesman came forwards- it was his job to announce the proceedings, but often his voice was drowned out by the cacophony of the crowd; they were only here to see one thing, after all- in this case, twelve things.

It was as the spokesman was finishing his speech and the executioner was coming up, hoods in hand, when the first groans were heard from the gallows. Guttural choking seemed to posses each of the condemned men- they all threw their bound hands to their throats, their eyes bulging as they clawed at their necks. Some fell to their knees; others stood stock still, screaming out and moaning as a red foam started erupting in the corners of their mouths. D'artagnan stepped forwards a little, eyes wide as all five men took in the scene.

'What's happening?' he asked the platform at large, turning to Aramis when he got no answer. 'Aramis what's happening?'

'I...' Aramis' mind was whirling sickeningly in his head as he looked to the twelve men- as the seconds passed each man dropped to the wooden platform, hands still fixed to their throats, the knotted ropes now swinging, unneeded, above their heads...

The doctors finally ruled that it had been a slow-acting poison that had done it, probably administered hours before the execution. None of the Musketeers knew what to think, but at least it was over.

Athos stared into the fire of the tavern they had found themselves in a few hours later- it was just outside of the city, so there was only a few people in there. They had commandeered the largest scrubbed wooden table and pushed it next to the fire; now they were sitting in silence, drinking their wine together.

D'artagnan wiped his hand down his tired face, putting his cup down with a sigh. 'So that's it then,' he spoke into the pregnant silence. 'No justice after all.'

'They met their ends after a trial,' Athos muttered, draining his cup and pouring some more. 'How much more justice do you want?'

'I don't know, I guess I just wanted...I wanted them to hang for it, I suppose.' D'artagnan muttered, shrugging.

'Well they're gone, and that's that.' Porthos said, hand curled around an ale tankard. He looked across to Aramis, who was staring into the fire. 'Hey,' he muttered, nudging his knee with his own. 'You alright?'

'Hmm?' Aramis muttered, before smiling tiredly at his friend. 'I'm fine- been a long day..'

'You can say that again-' Athos muttered.

'I'm fine- been a long day.' Aramis smiled, chuckling as Athos rolled his eyes. He saw a smile creep into d'artagnan's face a little- it felt good to see them all smile again.

'Now we've just got to try and put this behind us.' he muttered, taking a draught from his wine and wiping his face.

'That's going to be easy..' D'artagnan muttered sarcastically, before sighing.

'Hey-' Athos put a hand on his shoulder. 'We'll get through this, lad,' he muttered, nodding at him. 'Don't hide your feelings- come and talk to us. We'll get through it together.'

Suddenly, Aramis stood up, a strange smile on his face. 'Gentleman, I believe this round is mine,' he announced, before smiling as the other three looked up at him, nonplussed.

'Don't you remember?' he muttered, before giving a mock-sigh as each man shook his head. 'Don't you remember I promised that if my shortcut through the woods didn't work out then the first round would be on me?'

Porthos snorted into his ale- Athos grinned as he emerged, foam in his beard. 'That's right!' the larger man chuckled, before looking round the table. 'How about another two pitchers of wine and some of that nice crusty bread they've got at the bar?' he grinned, barking out a laugh as Aramis threw his hat at him on his way to the bar.

It was good to see everyone smiling again, Athos mused as he sat back, letting the warm fire heat his tired bones. He knew it would take many days for them all to get back to a semblance of normality- but as long as they had each other, he knew they would all be just fine.

Another unintentionally long chapter- I hope you liked it! ^^

Only the epilogue to go now, then this tale is over!

Please review, I'd love to know your thoughts on this chapter!

A/N- I have a new poll on my profile; if you could take a look that would be great...it may sway my decision on a future fic!

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