A/N: Thank you SnidgetHex, beeblegirl, pallysAramisRios, and BrokenKestral for reviewing!
Summary: Dark magic is threatening France, and our four musketeers reunite to stop it. But will it require the ultimate sacrifice?
Post season 4, 2 years later.
Based on a prompt from Dtiger626 with a good witch, an evil wizard, and life draining angst and hurt/comfort, which just happened to fit perfectly into the dragon verse.
Also, warning for very TEMPORARY character death.
"Life For A Life"
There was a time when a baby's laugh would have been a strange and out-of-place sound in the Musketeer garrison. Now it was a regular part of the backdrop as Constance sat at the table in the sun, bouncing her one-year-old daughter on her knee. Aramis smiled as Porthos leaned down to coo at the child.
"She's gettin' so big so fast."
"Tell me about it," d'Artagnan said.
Porthos shot him a rueful smirk. "So much for teachin' him how to fight."
"Excuse me," Constance interjected indignantly. "She'll learn to fight just as well as a man."
Porthos cleared his throat. "Right, sorry."
Aramis shared an amused look with Athos, who stood with an arm around Ninon and a soft smile in his eyes. It filled Aramis's heart with joy to see his old friend happy. They were all happy. The war with Spain was over and the garrison was full of musketeers and dragons again. Each of the four Inseparables had found love. And while Porthos was no longer among their ranks, he and Clara came to visit periodically.
Aramis's gaze shifted to his own center of the universe, sitting next to Constance on the bench with a three-year-old King Louis sitting on a blanket at her feet with some toys. As though sensing his gaze, Anne looked over at him and smiled. It was a perfect day, filled with close friends and bonded family.
"Captain Athos!" Luca called, making his way over from the front gate. "There's a woman here to see you. She's rather distraught."
Athos frowned and looked toward the archway. His brows rose in surprise. "Is that Agnes?"
Ninon straightened beside him and looked as well, gasping in disbelief. "Yes."
"Let her through," Athos ordered.
Luca turned and jogged back to where a woman in a hooded cloak was standing, shifting in apparent agitation. Once the Musketeer guards allowed her to pass, she hurried toward the group gathered under the balcony.
"Agnes," Ninon said, moving forward to clasp the woman's hands. It had been years since any of them had seen the good witch. "What is it? What's wrong?"
Agnes's expression was pinched with distress. "It's Fleur. She's been kidnapped."
"What? By whom?"
Agnes shook her head. "By someone we- I- trusted. It's all my fault."
Aramis stepped forward and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it's not. Start from the beginning."
She sucked in a ragged breath and tried to compose herself. "We met him on our travels. He seemed a benign old man with a latent gift for magic. He was ill… Fleur healed him." Agnes closed her eyes in regret. "It was then he revealed his true nature. He'd been scouring the continent for someone with Fleur's gift, and his magic was not so undeveloped as we thought."
"What does he want with her?" d'Artagnan asked.
Agnes hesitated, gaze flitting around the group as though suddenly realizing how many people were gathered. She also stiffened when she seemed to recognize the Queen of France was among them.
"It's alright," Aramis assured her. "You're among friends."
She swallowed hard, drawing her shoulders back. "It's important you know the threat. Ivan is deranged. He wants this world obliterated so it can start anew, with magic users in power."
"And Fleur can help him achieve this?" Athos asked skeptically.
"Yes. As you know, Fleur's abilities were raw when she first came to me. She's grown into them fully since, and one of the things she is able to do is transfer life energy from one living thing to another. It's how she cured Ivan's illness—how he tested her to find what he was looking for. He will use Fleur to draw immeasurable power to himself, enough to destroy France, and perhaps all of Europe." Agnes hesitated. "He is too powerful for me to go up against on my own, which is why I came here, to ask for your help."
The musketeers shared grave looks at that. None of them possessed any special abilities to fight a sorcerer with, but if this man truly sought to destroy France, then they had no choice but to ride out and stop him.
"Do you know where he is?" Athos asked.
"Not precisely, but I'll be able to track the magic," Agnes replied.
Athos nodded. "We'll get the dragons ready." He nodded to Aramis and d'Artagnan next.
"I'm goin' with you," Porthos put in staunchly.
Athos's mouth quirked. "Of course."
With that, each of them turned to their respective loved ones. Being a musketeer was dangerous work, but never before had each of them had so much waiting for them to come home to.
Aramis stepped up to Anne, mouth pursed regretfully for the deep worry he could see in her eyes.
"This sounds too dangerous," she said.
"This man is a threat to France, and so it is my duty to go," he replied.
She lifted a hand to place against his chest. "Just…be careful."
Aramis flashed her a dashing smile. "As always, Your Majesty."
He gave her a small bow and moved away, whistling for Rhaego. D'Artagnan tore himself away from his family, Constance's expression equally fraught with concern as she watched him go round up Ayelet.
Porthos exchanged some private words with Clara before jogging after Aramis. "Mind if I ride wit' you?"
Aramis smiled and clapped his friend's shoulder.
The musketeers got their dragons ready—Rhaego, Ayelet, and Savron. Agnes climbed into the saddle with Athos, and they all set off, Savron in the lead and following Agnes's directions as she homed in on the amassing magic she was able to sense. Even Aramis began to feel a strange static on the air; they must be getting closer.
The ruins of an old fortress came into view up ahead, but what stood out even more was that the surrounding area for half a mile in every direction was all dead. Nothing but spindly gray trees and shriveled grass in a perfect, expanding circle around the ruins in the center. The dragons pulled up into a hover above the perimeter, and Aramis watched in morbid fascination as the trees below withered up in a matter of moments, once lush leaves fading to chaff and crumbling to dust before they even touched the decayed ground.
"He's drawing the life force of everything in the vicinity!" Agnes shouted.
"An' what happens if we land?" Porthos called back.
She shook her head urgently. "We can't."
Well, that presented a problem.
A flash of light from the ruins drew their attention back to the fortress. Aramis pulled his spyglass from his saddlebag and held it up to his eye. Just outside the crumbling walls was a large stone area, like a massive slab of granite set into the ground. It had multiple conduits carved into it, which from a dragon's-eye view let Aramis see they formed an intricately connected glyph. One that was pulsing with orange light as though molten lava was flowing through its trenches—all toward a center point of growing energy. And standing beside that energy was an old man, face alight from the amber hue.
"There's our sorcerer," Aramis commented, passing the spyglass back to Porthos.
"An' there's Fleur," he responded after scanning the area. He handed the spyglass back to Aramis and pointed.
He looked through the magnifier. Fleur was tied down behind the sorcerer at what looked like a focal point in the glyph. And she appeared to be glowing with the same fulvous veins that the entire area was.
"How much time do we have?" Athos asked Agnes.
She shook her head, expression taut. "I don't know. Not long."
Indeed, the spell draining the life out of every living thing below was spreading rapidly.
"Can we land on the rock?" d'Artagnan called.
Agnes straightened. "Yes. It's channeling the magic, which puts it outside the affected area."
Athos signaled for them to move in. Unfortunately, three dragons were not exactly covert, and the sorcerer noticed their approach immediately. An offshoot of the gathering power suddenly shot out like a branch of lightning toward them, and the dragons barely managed to bank away in time. Aramis clung tighter to the pommel of Rhaego's saddle, Porthos's bulk heavy against his back.
The dragons veered around and made their approach from different directions, but the sorcerer shot more forks of lightning at them. The air crackled and sizzled too close to Aramis's face for his liking as Rhaego jerked sideways, nearly putting them into a barrel roll.
Aramis swung one leg over Rhaego's neck and angled himself sideways. "Get me as low as you can!" he yelled to his dragon.
Porthos may have muttered something like "crazy bastard" as he wriggled his leg around to the same side too.
Aramis unhooked his anchor line but held tight to the rope as Rhaego glided around for another run. This time when the magical energy fired at them, the red dragon took a dive, leveling out just in time to skim the surface of the rock. Taking a breath, Aramis leaped from the saddle and tucked himself into a roll as he hit the ground. That was going to bruise. But he was up on his feet a few seconds later and whipping out his pistol to shoot the sorcerer.
The shot cracked the air, but the sorcerer flung an arm up and somehow managed to deflect it. Aramis mentally cursed and broke into a run. There was no place to find cover on the rock face as Ivan shot more bolts of lightning his way, which Aramis barely managed to dodge. But then Athos and d'Artagnan touched down behind the sorcerer and were firing their pistols.
Ivan whirled just in time to magically block those rounds as well. Power pulsed around them, and Aramis heard Fleur scream in agony.
"Get the girl!" Athos bellowed to the dragons still in the air. He drew his sword and strode forward with all the crackling intensity of the magical storm building around them.
Rhaego swooped back around, dropping Porthos down to join them and then spewing a line of fire between the sorcerer and his victim. Savron soared in and cut Fleur's bonds with his talons, then snatched her up and took to the sky again. With her released from the glyph, the influx of new power abruptly cut off. The sorcerer howled in rage, kicking up the squall around them until the wind was gusting. Savron's flight staggered slightly before he managed to escape it, but Ayelet shrieked as she went spiraling toward the ground, crashing through dead trees and reducing them to ash. Rhaego dove after her.
The sorcerer may not have been drawing any additional power to him anymore, but he still had plenty to work with, and Aramis had no idea how they were going to stop him from unleashing what he had amassed already. The central energy point had turned into a rising column of blazing power, no doubt capable of leveling at least half the country.
Athos swung his sword, but Ivan deflected the blow with his arm. Athos's blade struck some kind of invisible shield and the concussive impact sent him flying backward. D'Artagnan charged in with his own attack, but Ivan blasted him through the air as well. The man was invincible with this level of power.
Aramis scanned the skies for Agnes, wondering if her magic was strong enough to take him on. But she'd said it wasn't. Nothing was.
Except… Aramis snapped his gaze back to the rising column of energy. He knew what he had to do to save them, to save France.
With a mental apology to Anne, he waited for the sorcerer's attention to focus on Porthos before he broke into a run and tackled the man, flinging them both into the column of energy.
.o.0.o.
"No!" Porthos yelled as Aramis and the sorcerer fell into the blazing light, completely disappearing. There was an energy pulse from within, and before Porthos could take another step toward it, a concussive whomp exploded outward, slamming into his chest and knocking him flat to the ground.
He lay there for a few stunned moments, then groaned and rolled onto his side to push himself up onto his elbows. Several feet away, both Athos and d'Artagnan were struggling to get up as well. They all turned their horrified gazes toward the center of the rock slab. The scorching power was gone, and everything was still and silent. And there were two bodies lying where that beam of light had been.
Porthos lurched to his feet and staggered over, ignoring the sorcerer who lay gray and shriveled like a dried up husk and dropping down next to Aramis. "No, no, no," he begged, reaching for his friend.
Aramis was just as lifeless: eyes closed, skin ashen like the surrounding trees, with dark gray veins standing out all across his face and neck. Porthos grasped the collar of Aramis's jacket and pulled his upper body into his lap, bowing over him with a strangled sob.
Athos and d'Artagnan dropped to their knees across from him, and Porthos saw Athos reach for Aramis's neck. He knew there was no pulse, though. Aramis was cold, his life force completely drained by the wizard's dark spell. He'd sacrificed himself to stop Ivan. The bloody fool. He couldn't have tried something else? Anything else?
There was a scratch of claws on stone, and then a high-pitched keen of devastation. Porthos buried his tears in Aramis's collar.
A gust of wind and thwack of wings heralded Savron's landing.
"Fleur!" Agnes shouted, and Porthos looked up through blurry vision to see her leap off the silverback and rush around to his front where Savron had laid Fleur on the ground. Their fervent embrace only made him cling tighter to Aramis.
"Athos?" she queried a moment later, voice wary.
"Ivan is dead," he said tonelessly.
Yes, France was saved. All of Europe was safe. Porthos knew he shouldn't devalue Aramis's sacrifice, but right now his heart was too shattered to care about anything else.
"Agnes, help me," Fleur said, clutching at Agnes's arm as she attempted to crawl toward them. "It's not too late yet. I can save him."
Porthos whipped his head up. "What?"
"You can transfer life energy," d'Artagnan said in realization and jumped to his feet, rushing over to pick Fleur up and carry her closer, gently setting her down next to Aramis.
She made a small noise of pain and bit her lip against it. "Yes."
Porthos cast his gaze around at the many acres of dead things. There wasn't anything alive within reach. Except for…
"You need us, don't you?" he said.
Fleur nodded.
"Reviving him will take a whole life," Agnes warned.
Porthos was ashamed to say he faltered at that, as he saw d'Artagnan and Athos do. In the past, none of them would have hesitated to give their life for each other, but d'Artagnan had a child now, and Athos and Porthos had life partners. They all had everything to lose.
Yet so did Aramis, and he had given it all up for them.
"Not d'Artagnan," Porthos decided. "He's got a baby at home. I'll do it."
Fleur bit her lip. "If you're all willing, I can try to take some from each of you, just enough to restore him without endangering your own lives. Though, it will weaken you," she warned.
Athos nodded in agreement, as did d'Artagnan. Agnes moved in to hold Fleur up as she reached out to place one hand on Aramis's chest, then placed her other on Athos's. Porthos watched anxiously as Athos bent low with a shudder, gray veins suddenly running prominently beneath his skin. He swallowed a surge of bile as Athos's shoulders gradually slumped and began to list sideways. Fleur removed her hand and d'Artagnan caught Athos, easing him back on the ground, unconscious. But he was still breathing.
D'Artagnan steeled his jaw and moved next to Fleur, and she repeated the process with him. Porthos watched tensely as he too gradually fell unconscious. Then it was his turn. Aramis was still cradled in his lap as Fleur reached out to touch his chest.
He sucked in a sharp gasp at the jolt that speared his sternum beneath her fingertips. He could feel her siphoning away his life energy, and for a split moment, the instinct to live tried to kick in.
But Aramis's still and wan face was right beneath him, and Porthos focused on that, willing this to work and bring his best friend back. It was the last visage he held onto as his vision darkened to nothing.
.o.0.o.
Athos woke to the sound of crackling fire, and he groggily opened his eyes to green pines towering above. He frowned and slowly turned his head to look around. He appeared to be in a small camp set in the middle of the woods.
"Easy," Agnes's warm voice filtered through the haze of confusion.
"What happened?" he said hoarsely, lifting a hand to his aching head.
"After Fleur completed the energy transfer, the dragons managed to move everyone out of the dead zone to here. It's been fifteen hours."
Athos jerked in alarm at that and pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Aramis?"
He hardly waited for an answer as he scanned the campsite. Porthos and d'Artagnan were lying on the ground on the other sides of the campfire, apparently asleep. And to Athos's left was Aramis, also lying on the ground, with Rhaego curled around him.
Agnes gripped his arm as he rocked onto his hands and knees to crawl the few feet over to him. "His life was restored," she assured him. "Like the rest of you, the ordeal left him severely weakened. He needs to rest, as do you all. Which is why I opted to set up camp rather than try to fly four unconscious musketeers back to Paris."
Athos nodded mutely and reached out to place a hand on his brother's brow, relieved at the warmth he was met with. Color had returned to Aramis's pallor and those macabre veins were gone. Athos moved his other hand to cup Aramis's jaw, feeling the steady pulse beating beneath.
He sagged with the reassurance and turned his attention to Porthos and d'Artagnan. "How are they?"
"They've been asleep this whole time too," Agnes told him. "But they'll recover."
Athos closed his eyes in a moment of relief, then opened them with a frown. "Where's Fleur?"
Agnes's expression turned sorrowful. "She's resting as well. She went through a terrible ordeal. But Savron has been kind enough to keep a close eye on her."
Athos shifted his gaze and spotted his dragon a little ways off through the trees, standing guard.
Thwacking wingbeats from above preceded Ayelet swooping down with some game in her talons. Athos was glad to see she hadn't been hurt too badly from her earlier crash. Her landing thudded through the ground, and d'Artagnan made a snuffling noise in response. Athos carefully got to his feet and hobbled over to him, collapsing to his knees just as he was waking.
"Mmph, did it work?" d'Artagnan mumbled.
Athos smiled fondly. "Yes."
D'Artagnan lifted his head with effort, squinting across the fire to Aramis, then dropped it back down with a groan.
Agnes brought over one of their water canteens and knelt down beside d'Artagnan to help him drink a little. She then passed it to Athos as d'Artagnan promptly passed out again. After Athos had taken a few gulps, Agnes prodded him into going back to bed as well. He'd felt as though he'd slept for a week, and yet he was still so exhausted, that brief burst of energy now completely spent.
"Don't worry," Agnes said as she helped him lie down again. "I'll look after everything."
.o.0.o.
D'Artagnan sat propped up against his saddle, eyes trained on Aramis, who had yet to regain consciousness. The rest of them were more awake now, albeit still weak from the life transfer thing. D'Artagnan felt as though he were recovering from the plague, but it was worth it just to see color and life in his brother's complexion again and his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
They'd been at this campsite for…two days now? D'Artagnan wasn't sure, as he'd spent more than half of it asleep. But Athos had finally been able to write a note for Ayelet to take back to Paris assuring everyone that the threat to France had been neutralized, but that their return would be slow coming as they recovered from the battle. D'Artagnan knew that would likely make Constance worry, but there hadn't been space to go into detail.
Rhaego let out a quiet trill alerting them to Aramis finally beginning to wake. D'Artagnan pushed himself up and lumbered over, crouching down just as Athos and Porthos reached their brother as well.
Aramis's eyelids fluttered faintly for a few moments before bleary eyes focused on them. "Did it work?" he asked, voice threadbare.
D'Artagnan smirked; he was pretty sure he'd asked the same thing upon waking, though he'd meant something else.
Athos reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Yes, due to your reckless stunt."
Aramis closed his eyes in sheer relief.
"And you're never to do anything like that again," Athos added sternly.
Aramis hummed, eyes staying closed. "As long as no more mad sorcerers try to destroy France, I won't," he murmured. And with that, he drifted back to sleep.
The rest of them shook their heads; they all knew Aramis better than that. He would always be willing to give up his life for his country, his brothers, and the people he loved. He was a musketeer, to the core. They all were.
"You sure he'll be all right?" Porthos asked for the umpteenth time.
"Yes," Agnes indulged him once again.
"I don't suppose you have any magical remedies to help him along?" Athos inquired. "I'm anxious to return to Paris."
"Magic already brought him back from the dead," she pointed out wryly. "Besides, none of you are fit to sit in a dragon saddle yet either."
That was true, not unless they wanted to lash themselves to their dragons, something not even d'Artagnan was inclined to do. Ayelet wasn't even back yet, so the point was moot.
When she did appear in the sky heading toward them, it was with surprising reinforcements—d'Artagnan recognized two fellow Musketeer dragon riders, along with Clara on her dragon, Issa. And to his further surprise, Constance was riding Ayelet.
As soon as Ayelet touched down, Constance was swinging off her back and sprinting toward d'Artagnan. He scooped her up into his arms, forgetting for a moment that he was still a tad off balance, and he stumbled at the unexpected force of his wife's embrace.
"Are you hurt?" she exclaimed, pulling back worriedly.
He shook his head. "I'm all right, just a little exhausted. What are you doing coming out here?"
"Athos's note made it sound like the heroes were in need of some assistance," she replied, sweeping her gaze around the campsite and frowning at Aramis lying on the ground next to Rhaego.
D'Artagnan's mouth quirked because it wasn't untrue. "It was close," he admitted. "But we're all alive."
Constance gave him a glad smile and leaned forward to kiss him. The two of them then walked over to check on Aramis while Porthos and Clara had a reunion and Athos conferred with Etienne and Hugo. With help having arrived, they now had enough dragons and extra hands to double up with on the flight back to make sure no one fell asleep in the saddle and took a dive.
"Thank you for everything," Agnes told them sincerely. "But Fleur and I will be going our separate ways."
"Will you be all right?" d'Artagnan asked, eyeing Fleur with concern.
The young woman still looked shaken from her ordeal, but she nodded. She possessed an inner strength that had nothing to do with magic; she'd be okay.
"Savron can take you anywhere in France," Athos offered.
Agnes glanced at Fleur, then nodded. "That's very kind, thank you."
That left Athos to ride with Hugo. D'Artagnan would fly with Constance on Ayelet and Porthos with Clara on Issa. Aramis didn't even wake as they manhandled him up onto Etienne's dragon, Astra, to ride with him. Rhaego mewled in concern, never happy when someone else got to bear his rider, but it was necessary.
With everyone set and secure, they took off into the skies to head home. D'Artagnan did find it hard to stay awake in the saddle, exhaustion and the monotonous motion of dragon flight attempting to rock him to sleep like a baby. He kept trying to shake himself awake and craned his neck to see how the others were doing. Athos and Porthos looked equally exhausted, but their riding companions were managing to keep a firm hold on them.
Constance's arm around d'Artagnan's waist squeezed, holding tightly to him as well. She'd never let him fall.
They arrived at the garrison without incident, and d'Artagnan was surprised to find the Queen pacing in the space beneath Athos's office. Or, well, he shouldn't have been that surprised.
Ninon was there as well and ran to Athos as he slipped off Hugo's dragon. Anne remained where she was, craning her neck anxiously for a glimpse of Aramis among the throng of dragons. To d'Artagnan's relief, the marksman appeared to be awake, though he was hardly steady on his feet as Etienne helped him slide down from the saddle, and of course Rhaego was pushing his way through to offer a bracing shoulder for Aramis to prop himself up against.
The Queen approached him with far more restraint than d'Artagnan would have been capable of if it'd been Constance returning from a death-defying mission. Aramis was practically collapsed against Rhaego when Anne reached him, but he mustered a reassuring smile for her.
"I'm still here," he said softly.
Anne reached up to tentatively run a hand down his cheek. Their relationship was no secret, but they were discreet in open spaces nonetheless. Not that any musketeer would hold a more passionate reunion against them. If Aramis wasn't about to be knocked over by a light breeze, that is.
D'Artagnan turned back to Constance with a satisfied smile of his own. They'd saved France today, but they'd also saved each other, and brought their brother home to his loved ones.
That was the kind of victory the Musketeers built their legacy on, and the one they would continue to uphold. Forevermore.