Ooh, I actually kept an update time promise! Yay me :) Enjoy

Melanie

Melanie shivered. The desolate cold of the cellar had begun to seep through her clothes. The torches she had brought had burned down to stubs quickly and were now lying lightless on the floor. Mirabelle had promised to join her. Despite what her sister had done, she had never broken a promise. She had heard gunshots and fighting. And now there was silence. Silence on a battle field (for that is what their small haven had now become) could mean many things.

It could be a silence of the absence of fighting; a shining hope that all was well and peace had prevailed.

It could be a silence of deception and trickery, a torturous breath-holding time of waiting until plots were put into action and traps were sprung.

Or it could be a silence of death, when the noises that were no longer there screamed far louder than any voice could, when you could feel the thud of heartbeats that you didn't know existed until they were gone.

Melanie listened. Silence formed a blanket of uncertainty around her. Then a sound that was to her more welcoming than any other on all of God's earth broke through the thin floors and floated happily to her ears. The sound of a murmured conversation between the two people whose voices she would recognise in the middle of a shouting mob. The sound of footsteps, amplified through the shaking floor, followed the conversation. Melanie couldn't tell if they belonged to her sister or Aramis but she could tell that they were approaching the cellar. Light blossomed from a small slit near her head that widened to a square and then slammed closed, drawing the light with it.

"Why's it so dark in here?" Mirabelle questioned.

Melanie felt like laughing. She had spent the past God-knows-how-long down in the dank cellar awaiting her sister's (hopefully) triumphant return and her first words were a comment on the state of the torches. She threw her arms around her sister, feeling Mirabelle stagger backwards slightly at the shock of the sudden embrace.

"I missed you too Melly"

Melanie stepped back and had to stop herself from gasping in shock. Mirabelle hadn't called her 'Melly' since Before. This was what she now called the time before her parents had died.

"Are you injured?" Melanie asked, attempting to squint through the coal black darkness to see her sister.

"No, I'm fine, don't fuss" she replied, and Melanie thought she detected the hint a laugh in her words.

"Where's Aramis, is he okay?"

"Ah, listen, Melly, please don't be mad" the laugh was gone now, yet Melanie still thought that there was a kindness in her voice that hadn't been there for a long time.

"Why would I be mad? What have you done? Is he-?"

"He's fine, for now..."

"For now?"

"The red guards were not alone..."

"How do you mean?"

"Évrard was with them, he approaches as we speak"

Melanie didn't reply, she couldn't. Mirabelle had left Aramis alone to face the most dangerous man they had ever met. He was going to be killed because of her. Mirabelle seemed to sense what she was thinking.

"Listen, you know that we wouldn't make any difference, he would simply kill us both and step over our corpses to plunge that cruel sword of his into Aramis' chest."

"But we would have tried"

"I'm sure that would be a great comfort to Aramis while he's lying rotting in the ground."

"We cannot let him die alone!"

"He would not want us to die with him!"

Melanie realised these words were true as soon as Mirabelle spoke them. Aramis had saved both their lives; he would not wish them to undermine his efforts by throwing their lives away now.

"Please Melly, don't go up there, I'm not losing you both"

Melanie knew that it would kill her sister if she put herself in danger. There was nothing she could do.

"Okay Mirri, I'll stay here with you"

And at that moment she honestly meant it.

Aramis

Aramis knew that the man was just around the corner behind the door frame. And the man knew he knew. They were playing a game, or rather, this newcomer was. He strolled out casually to stand in front of Aramis. Aramis raised his pistol to aim directly at the man's head.

"Quit the theatrics Monsieur Aramis, neither of us has the time."

Aramis' hand didn't waver.

"Leave now or I will shoot you where you stand."

"I highly doubt that, Monsieur"

"Oh, believe me, it would be my pleasure"

"I'm sure, but pleasure or not I have yet to see a man successfully threaten me with an empty pistol. A couple have tried, like you here today Monsieur. They are dead now."

Aramis knew there was no point in continuing the charade; he had run out of bullets when he was shooting upstairs. Well, it was worth a try. If this was going to come down to a duel then Aramis could at least make sure that he had a small advantage. He lunged forward with no warning, sword in hand. To his credit, the apocalypse man only looked shocked for a second before deftly parrying the blow with a jagged rapier. Then the duel had begun. Aramis ducked the next blow aimed at his neck and parried the following one. He returned with three strikes of his own which were almost lazily waved away. After barely a glance at the concealed trap door, an idea formulated in Aramis' mind, he backed off slowly, leading the fight towards the staircase. If he could get this man to follow him upstairs then Mirabelle and Melanie could leave the cellar and run before the man noticed. He placed his foot on the first step and was pleased to see the man moving to follow. Aramis began to think that perhaps they had a chance, after Mirabelle and Melanie escaped he could maybe defeat this man, having the advantage of a while getting used to fighting in the enclosed space of the cottage. The duo reached the top of the stair case and was in the upstairs room. Aramis prayed that Mirabelle and Melanie had heard their movement and decided to make a break for it. Aramis began to become aware of a throbbing in his head, and remembered the blow from earlier. He staggered backwards slightly, the man pushing forward as he did and his blade came within inches of Aramis' neck before he managed to block it with his own sword. Aramis suddenly felt sick, he tried to fight back the waves of nausea as he had earlier but found it much harder. It was all he could do to duck out of the way of the next blow. If he hadn't before, he now knew that he had no hope of beating this man, but he hoped to buy Mirabelle and Melanie as much time as possible, hoped that they could still escape. All his hopes were shattered at the sound of more hoof beats outside.

Athos

Athos leaped from his horse as it slowed alongside the decrepit building. He tried to walk softly and entered through the empty doorway; at first he thought they were already too late. But a quick scan of the bodies heaped on the floor told him that Aramis was not among them. He began to let himself think that Aramis had defeated all the red guards and escaped until he heard the clash of metal on metal coming from above his head. He climbed the rickety stairs as silently as possible and before long the fight was in full view. There was just one man fighting Aramis, who looked unhurt thank God. Athos continued his slow progress, there was nothing to worry about, and it would all be fine. Relief surged inside him, only briefly lessened when he saw his friend stagger slightly. He had to resist calling Aramis' name; he didn't want to be noticed by the attacker yet. Aramis seemed to be doing well by himself and the attacker started retreating across the room. Athos' concerns drifted away, but were pulled back roughly when he saw Aramis throw up in the corner. That was definitely a Bad Sign. He ran now up the stairs, not caring if he was heard or seen, the attacker's sword was again plunging towards the now defenceless Aramis.

Aramis

Aramis felt his energy leave him. He could do nothing to stop the flood of sickness that filled him and he threw up unceremoniously on the floor. He raised his sword weakly but couldn't see clearly through the involuntary tears that had blurred his vision. He blinked them away and an unpleasant image came into focus, a sword was advancing towards his heart, he began to dodge too late and the blood stained weapon was plunged into his side. He gasped in pain, he couldn't find the energy to cry out, he was lying on his back without recalling the journey from upright to the ground. Ringing filled his ears and his vision was again blurred by tears but he could still tell when the sword was yanked from his side. This time he did scream. His hands flew to his side and were soaked with blood within seconds. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He knew that he was going to die. He had been wounded before, but then he had been surrounded by his brothers. Now he was alone and he was going to die here in this neglected house. No-one would even care. His friends thought he had abandoned them. He was alone. Black ink flooded his vision.

Athos

"Aramis!" Athos yelled. Watching helplessly as his friend fell to the ground. The attacker smiled wickedly and yanked the sword from Aramis' side. At the sound of Aramis' scream Athos knew that this man had to die, no matter what else happened in the world, the man who had hurt Aramis would die. Athos drew his sword and leapt towards the attacker, not caring how many times the blade sliced his flesh, only thinking of the moment when his own sword would be buried in the other man's heart. The blade smashed against the side of Athos' head.

"Ha!" the attacker called out "Good night musketeer."

Porthos

Porthos reached the building moments before d'Artagnan. Both alighting softly and tiptoeing around the door. All was still and the shining rays of home enveloped them, soon to be chased away by a blood-curdling scream. Porthos instantly recognised it as Aramis.

"Too late" He said simply, and fell to the ground in horror, exhaustion catching up with him. All that had kept him upright had been the thought that he had to save Aramis, now that chance was gone. He closed his eyes willingly, thankful for the rest after his constant struggle to keep going. Nothing mattered now, no-one would mind if he just went to sleep. In his worn out state the splintered wooden boards felt like the softest feathers.

d'Artagnan

The scream that marked their failure felt like a solid wall slamming into d'Artagnan. All the breath seemed to leave his lungs and he sank to his knees. They had left well before the red guards had, they should now be cantering along happily back to Paris with Aramis alongside them, laughing about the hectic events of the past days. d'Artagnan wasn't entirely sure at what point he lost consciousness but unless the floor of this cottage habitually turned into a writhing pit of snakes, it must have happened some time.

'Light thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.'

-Terry Pratchett

Thanks for reading :) I noticed that no-one except SirLancelotTheBrave has reviewed for the past six chapters, reviews are my source of power, without them I melt like a wicked witch in the rain (incidentally I melt in the rain as well) so please review, it doesn't take long and it really makes me happy to read them, good or bad, thanks :)