Aramis ran from the house. He tightened his hold on his sword and sprinted across the dusty ground toward the tree and where d'Artagnan had fallen. Despite exhaustion, his injuries, and the lack of food or water to sustain a prison mouse, he ran. His lungs burned, and his heart pumped frantically, while his muscles worked overtime. He could hear the grunts and groans of men as they suffered from injuries. Porthos' orders rang out and were being followed. Parents echoed the screams of their children who cried for their parents. Aramis slid to a stop as his knees failed in strength. He stumbled, caught himself, dropped his sword, and then grabbed d'Artagnan's left shoulder.

"Hey," Aramis said, and collected his breath, "hey." He looked at the young man's face and winced.

D'Artagnan lay on his side, still gasping, and closed his eyes when he felt Aramis' gently lift his shoulders from the dirt. He exhaled slowly and then wiped the spit and drool from his lips. He inhaled several times, felt the reassuring squeeze of Aramis' hands, and nodded. "It's…" he gasped and carefully pushed himself to a seated position. He pulled back when Aramis removed the loosened rope from around his neck, tossed it aside, and then pressed his palm to d'Artagnan's cheek.

"Better?"Aramis asked.

D'Artagnan nodded. He didn't trust his voice.

Aramis winced, lifted d'Artagnan's chin to get a better look at the rope burns, and red bruising that would darken in the coming days. He looked at d'Artagnan's eyes and shook his head. "You're going to frighten children in the days to come — perhaps even a few men," he said. "The whites of your eyes are red — but you can see, correct?"

D'Artagnan nodded, closed his eyes, and grasped Aramis' collar. "I thought I was going to die," he gasped, looked toward the ground, and shook his head. He had thought of Constance, his father, his brothers, and he thought of what he would lose should he breathe his last. His eyes watered. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Aramis' shoulder, and for a moment he worked to collect himself as he held his grief at bay. He felt Aramis place his hand on the back of his neck in reassurance.

He wouldn't die today.

Aramis grasped the back of d'Artagnan's neck and kissed his forehead. "You're fortunate to be alive." He checked the bullet wound and helped him to his feet.

D'Artagnan swayed a moment, but felt his arm lifted over Aramis' shoulders, and together they walked toward the baron.

Omar stood frozen, stuck in a moment of time, and surrounded with what he couldn't control. "Why?" he asked, pulled his eyebrows together and deepened the wrinkles of his brow. He looked toward Tomas, bloodied and vacant. "Why would he do this?"

Athos wiped blood across his cheek and listened to the wails of a father who mourned his son. He felt Porthos' grip on the back of his neck and said, "D'Artagnan?"

"Aramis is seein' to 'im," Porthos said. He grabbed Athos beneath his arm and walked toward the baron who stood in the center of the chaos.

Baron Serres looked at those around him, the loss of life, the confusion, and disorder. His chest ached, his pulse raced, and it ravaged his mind. He placed the back of his hand over his mouth and looked to his horses as they grazed peacefully in the fields to his left, the horses that helped him manage his melancholy and severe fits of anger. He watched his servant Remy pick up the body of his son, Pom, bury his head in the boy's neck, and wail as he carried him away from the scene. The other children clutched at Remy's jerkin and followed him as they cried from confusion and fear.

Seven guards lay dead along with Tomas, who stared blankly toward the sun. Three sat wounded and defeated amongst their company.

"Is this all I am… is this my madness?" Omar sighed, as tears streamed down his cheeks, and he looked toward the young man who had been hanged, and shook his head. "They killed a child… who kills a child?

"I never wanted this to happen," Omar said. He stepped forward, looked at the faces of those he had known for years. He looked at Athos. "I didn't know." He looked away and glanced at Tomas' body. "Why would a friend betray me in such a manner?"

"You should call the magistrate to manage their incarceration until punishment is handed down," Athos said. He inhaled deeply and pressed his hand to his left side. He winced as he bent and grabbed his sword. "The cells you have are sufficient." He raised his eyebrows and watched Aramis keep d'Artagnan steady on unsteady legs walk toward them.

Omar nodded, his features softened when Felix peered from the side of the house, and ambled toward them. Despite his short stature, thin frame, and age, he walked gracefully. He frowned and shook his head when he caught sight of Remy holding his dead son by the stables, and the children that gathered at his feet. Felix covered his mouth and shook his head.

"I'll see that the bodies are taken care of," Felix said. "I'm glad to see you are unharmed."

Athos shifted, glanced toward the wailing father, and winced, knowing the cries of those children would haunt him the rest of his life. He looked at d'Artagnan and said, "Are you going to be alright?" He stepped forward and gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder as he nodded and rubbed his neck. Athos looked to Aramis for verification.

Aramis clenched his jaw. "He'll be ugly for a while," he forced a slight smile, and shrugged his right shoulder, "but he'll be back to batting his eyelashes at Madame Bonacieux in no time."

Athos nodded. He watched Porthos attach shackles to the remaining guards. He pulled them to their feet, ordered them forward, and marched them toward the house.

"Baron Serres, we need to make arrangements and get you to Paris," Athos said, and looked toward the baron who watched the guards' progression to the house. "The king has asked for your attendance on his council."

Omar chuckled, covered his mouth, and then laughed. "I'm not going," he said. He met Athos eyes, and shook his head. His face hardened, and he snapped, "I can't — I'm not fit to serve the king!" He stepped past Athos and walked to the house.