A/N: Thank you guest UIa for your review!
"Precipice"
The screech of steel rang throughout the forest, a discordant chorus of clashing blades punctuated by pained cries. D'Artagnan parried a thrust and jabbed in return, piercing leather and flesh underneath. He spun around before his opponent had completed his descent to the ground in order to meet the next mercenary.
Around him his fellow musketeers fought with the same ferocity, though of different styles. Porthos was brutal in his attacks, wielding brawn as heavily as his sword. Athos was swift and deadly, cutting past inexperienced swordsmen with straightforward efficiency. Aramis, on the other hand, always fought with a certain flourish and relish in his movements, like it was a dance he was delighted to engage in. D'Artagnan still marveled over those three.
They'd taught him a lot and he could keep up with them, but he still wondered if one day he would ever possess the same measure of skill. Not that he wasn't capable. Already he'd slain two of their assailants, though more poured out from behind the trees. Apparently the documents the musketeers were carrying were of significant value to someone if they were willing to pay a dozen men to retrieve them. Of course, the legendary skills of the Musketeers wasn't something to underestimate.
D'Artagnan slashed at a brutish man wielding an ax and ducked the swing aimed at his head. The ax blade thudded into a tree trunk with enough force that the mercenary faltered trying to get it out. D'Artagnan took advantage of that and moved in to stab him through the chest. Another one down.
He quickly glanced at the others, who were of course holding their own. Athos was dueling two men but they were the ones flagging under his relentless assault. Porthos bashed another man's head into a tree. Aramis had just struck one man in the head with the pommel of his gauche, but then another came charging toward him with a roar. Aramis barely turned as he was tackled, and the two went falling backward, rolling through the loose bed of autumn leaves and down the slope they were covering.
D'Artagnan surged that direction, but was stopped by another mercenary leaping out at him. He threw up his gauche to block the blade aimed at his throat and brought his rapier up to slit his attacker's instead. He whirled in expectation of another, but silence had fallen over the forest, the battle over.
Athos wiped his blade clean and roved his gaze across the bodies.
"Where's Aramis?" Porthos asked.
D'Artagnan sheathed his weapons and moved toward where he'd seen Aramis and his opponent fall. "Over here. He got tackled and they both slipped…" He trailed off when he glanced down the incline and saw nothing but a furrowed trough through the leaves…and a cliff's edge.
He launched forward, sliding through the leaves and almost losing his balance in his haste to get to the bottom. He almost trampled Aramis's hat lying in the mulch and skidded to a stop to snatch it up. Other than the small item, there was no sign of Aramis or his opponent.
D'Artagnan scrambled to the edge of the cliff, heart leaping into his throat as he peered over the side. His lungs nearly seized at the sight of Aramis fifteen feet down, sprawled on a ledge barely protruding from the rock face. His right arm was pinned beneath him, his rapier poking out from under his back, and his head and right shoulder were leaning precariously off the edge.
"Aramis!"
There was no response. Another fifteen feet below his position, d'Artagnan saw the broken body of the mercenary crumpled among the rocks.
Porthos slid down next to him and leaned out. "Aramis!" He immediately started scanning the edge as though looking for a way down, but Athos clamped a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"We don't know how stable that shelf is."
"He's unconscious!"
"I'll go," d'Artagnan said. "I'm the lightest."
Athos hesitated only a brief second before giving a clipped nod and turning back to Porthos. "Grab some rope."
Porthos growled under his breath as he rose to his feet and hurried back up the slope to the horses.
D'Artagnan gazed over the edge of the cliff again, this time scrutinizing the craggy face and scraggly roots that could impede his descent.
"Are you sure?" Athos asked quietly, without a hint of judgement. If d'Artagnan didn't do it, Athos probably would.
He gave a resolute nod. "I can do it." For Aramis, he could do this.
Porthos returned with the rope and d'Artagnan tied one end around his waist while Porthos secured the other end to himself. Then d'Artagnan took a deep breath and backed up to the edge.
"Go slow," Athos cautioned.
D'Artagnan nodded and stepped off the precipice. He found a foothold with one foot, then steeled himself to do the same with the other. The rope squeezed his waist as it stretched taut, bearing his weight, and he heard Porthos grunt from above as he maintained the anchor.
D'Artagnan carefully worked his way down, one hand on the rope line and the other guiding his progress as he walked down the side. His foot slipped and he banged against the rock face as the rope compressed the air from his lungs.
"Easy," Athos called.
D'Artagnan took a moment to catch his breath. He heard a moan from below and craned his neck down to look. Aramis was stirring. The marksman's face scrunched up and he started to shift, lolling toward the side of least resistance. D'Artagnan's heart seized.
"Aramis! Don't move! Listen to me very carefully. Do. Not. Move."
"He awake?" Porthos called.
"Not enough," Athos's voice filtered down.
D'Artagnan ignored them, focusing instead on quickening his pace without running the risk of falling and breaking his own neck. He was more than halfway there, and would have jumped the last several feet if Athos's comment about the shelf's stability wasn't still ringing in his ears.
"Aramis, lie still. For the love of God, don't move."
That seemed to pierce the veil of confusion and Aramis ceased his efforts to orient himself.
"I'm almost to you," d'Artagnan went on.
Finally he set foot on the steep and quickly dropped to his knees; he was very close to the edge and didn't want one wrong swing of balance to pitch him to his own death. He reached for Aramis's leg to let him know he was there while evaluating the situation and trying to figure out how to deal with it.
There wasn't a lot of space on the shelf, not enough for d'Artagnan to crouch down on Aramis's left and simply pull him away from the precipice. Not to mention he had no idea if there were any broken bones or how mangled his right arm was.
D'Artagnan carefully inched around to Aramis's side, more or less straddling him as he tried to avoid the sheer drop himself.
Aramis pried his eyelids open and furrowed his brow. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to figure out how to get us out of this," he replied breathlessly. "Can you tell if anything's broken?"
Aramis's frown deepened and he began to shift. A sharp gasp escaped his throat and he instantly rolled the other direction to relieve the strain on his pinned arm. D'Artagnan shot out a hand to grab his shoulder as it started to slip further off the scarp. Aramis's head lolled with it and his eyes shot open.
"Oh merde," he breathed.
"Don't look down," d'Artagnan warned.
"Too late." His throat bobbed and he tried to lift his head to ascertain his position.
D'Artagnan sent him a silent apology before he started lightly squeezing Aramis's limbs in search of broken bones or other injuries. He was pretty sure it was just bruises, except for the shoulder. That looked dislocated.
"I'm going to sit you up," he said.
"Normally I would say I could manage that," Aramis groused. "But in this case I would prefer not to fall."
D'Artagnan snorted. "My thoughts exactly."
He slipped an arm under Aramis's shoulders and grabbed the front of the marksman's doublet with the other. Then he hauled Aramis up in one motion. The marksman let out a cry as d'Artagnan scooted back against the crag and pulled them as far away from the edge as possible, their legs bent at uncomfortable angles.
D'Artagnan finally allowed himself a measure of relief. One hard part down.
"Oi, what's taking so long?" Porthos shouted.
D'Artagnan rolled his eyes. "We're coming."
He shifted to the side so Aramis wasn't completely pressed back against his chest and started untying the rope from his belt. "You can still breathe, right?" he checked, worried he'd missed broken ribs in his assessment.
"Yes," Aramis replied, but he was panting and clutching at his right arm, which was hanging limply at his side.
D'Artagnan thought about offering to set his shoulder before beginning the arduous task of getting Aramis up the cliff face, but decided against it. He wasn't practiced in that.
"We could use a second rope!" he called up as he made a slip knot and helped get it over Aramis's shoulder and under his good arm.
Several moments later, another rope line fell down, thwacking d'Artagnan in the face. Scowling, he tied a slip knot with that one too and maneuvered it around Aramis's legs and up so he could more or less sit in the loop.
"I could climb," he muttered.
"If I set your shoulder first?" d'Artagnan rejoined.
Aramis hesitated, working his jaw. "You're right, there are worse things."
Rolling his eyes, d'Artagnan gave the line a light tug to signal Porthos. "Okay, bring him up!"
Aramis choked on a groan as he was lifted from the ground and slowly hauled up the side of the cliff. D'Artagnan watched with bated breath, terrified the rope would break or Porthos's strength would fail. He should have had more faith than that, and after several excruciatingly long minutes, Aramis was finally pulled up over the top of the cliff.
D'Artagnan sagged and closed his eyes for a brief moment in thankfulness. Then the one rope was being tossed back down to him and he slipped the loop over his own shoulder. He bent to pick up Aramis's sword and called up that he was ready.
Climbing back up wasn't much easier than going down, especially when he only had one free hand to help pull himself along. But he also made it to the top unscathed and Porthos's strong arms immediately hauled him up the rest of the way, and they both collapsed for a moment in the damp bed of leaves to catch their breaths.
D'Artagnan jerked at a strangled sound and turned his head to see Athos had just put Aramis's shoulder back into place. The marksman hunched over to the side, breathing raggedly as Athos put a steadying hand on his good shoulder and started looking him over for other injuries.
"I'll live," Aramis said tiredly. "We should leave in case there are more mercenaries."
"Can you sit a horse?" Athos asked doubtfully.
"Can? Yes. Though I'm sure I will regret it later. Still, you'll forgive me if I'm not keen on setting camp anywhere near here. I've had my fill of cliffs for one day."
"Can't argue wiv' that," Porthos huffed.
"All right." Athos rose to his feet and offered Aramis a hand up, which the marksman took with a grimace. Porthos stepped in to brace him as they started to hobble their way up the slope.
D'Artagnan bit back a moan as he pushed himself up from the ground.
"You did well," Athos told him with a nod of approval.
D'Artagnan blinked, pleased with the praise but also surprised. He hadn't done anything exceptional that the three of them wouldn't have done.
"All for one," he said with a smile and was rewarded with the tiniest quirk of Athos's mouth in agreement.
"And one for all."