Aramis took a deep breath. A sighed breath. His hip hurt. It took him a moment to put his thoughts in order. His hip hurt because he was injured. He had been injured on a mission to retrieve a book containing intelligence. Aramis smiled as the memory of how he acquired the ridiculous injury became clearer. Porthos would tease him about it.

But Porthos was not there. Porthos had gone with the intelligence. Was Aramis alone?

Aramis opened his eyes and stared at an inky black sky. He could feel the warmth of a fire and see the odd flicker of the flame.

If there was a fire he could not be alone. He doubted he had enough movement to set a fire at that moment, not with the injury to his hip.

He remembered more. Athos and d'Artagnan were there. Athos had been shot, picking up an almost identical injury. Neither of them would be able to walk without help for a few days. They had remained behind with d'Artagnan acting as their nurse whilst Porthos stole into the night to take the intelligence to Paris.

He became aware of movement next to him. Something metallic brushed against one of the many rocks that littered the area. Aramis remembered their little enclosed rocky camp. The scrape of a boot on dry earth made Aramis look to his right. D'Artagnan was getting to his feet and moving off. He was carrying Aramis' second gun. He was looking intently towards the camp's narrow entrance. Aramis followed his gaze.

Was there a torch flickering in the entranceway?

They had been found.

With more movement to his left, Aramis switched his focus. He found a determined-looking Athos crawling towards him.

'Be ready to cover him,' whispered Athos.

Aramis nodded, his sleep-addled mind finally working at full speed. D'Artagnan did not know that either of them was awake. He thought he was about to be fighting alone. Athos did not want to call out to their friend and potentially distract him. D'Artagnan would know they were with him soon enough. Not that they could do much. Both of them were injured, all they could do was shoot at any potential enemy as they reached the end of the narrow entrance to their rock-encircled camp.

Athos was pulling his good left leg up under him, suppressing a whimper of pain as he was forced to move his right leg. Aramis stretched over and steadied his friend as he twisted around to a slightly better firing position. Aramis was grateful when Athos returned the favour a few seconds later as he too was forced to agitate his injury. With both of them sitting, albeit awkwardly, they were in a better position to lay down covering fire for d'Artagnan.

The flaming torch and whoever was carrying it had reached the end of the alleyway. Both injured Musketeers allowed d'Artagnan to take out the first man who simply collapsed into the rocky gap. The second man was forced to step over him, giving Aramis and Athos an easy target. Athos took the shot, the man tumbled backwards already off balance from trying to step over the first dead man.

D'Artagnan was halfway through reloading his gun. He looked at them both and grinned with determination. There was no time for words of thanks or recriminations that the injured men should not be moving about too much. The Musketeer finished reloading his gun as two more men pushed past the first attackers.

Aramis took out the first one. The second managed to step completely into the area of their camp before d'Artagnan was able to shoot him. The big man staggered back a pace before stopping. He did not slump to the ground. Too late, Aramis realised another attacker was holding the dead man up, using him as a shield to take a few steps into the camp. Athos fired, causing the man to yell in pain-filled rage. He stumbled to the side, dropping his macabre shield. The man was not dead or mortally wounded, Athos had not been able to get a good shot. Aramis fired his weapon, hitting the wily man in the head, taking him permanently out of the attack.

But the damage was done. Two more men breached their defences. As Aramis reloaded his gun he watched the men charge towards d'Artagnan. A yelp of pain from Athos drew Aramis' attention away.

Athos had reacted without thinking, he had tried to scramble up. The gunshot wound caused him to cry out and slump down. Aramis shuffled over as quickly as his injury would allow. He grasped Athos on the shoulder offering what little comfort he could.

'D'Artagnan,' Athos managed to say in a gasp of breath.

Aramis understood, he shifted again, stifling a cry of pain and finished loading his gun.

But it was too late. The men were on d'Artagnan who was forced to fight hand to hand. There had been no time for him to pull his sword, main gauche or even flip his gun to use as a club. The shadows danced about in the light of the fire and the torches that lay discarded on the ground. Aramis could not get a clear shot. He could not risk wasting the shot. If he missed and hit d'Artagnan he would not be able to reload quickly enough to deal with the men if they turned their attention to him and Athos.

Athos was recovered enough to notice d'Artagnan's fight was not the only one left to fight. He pointed at the entranceway. Aramis refocused and fired, taking out another man, aware of Athos getting ready to fire at the next attacker to appear.

Aramis glanced back at d'Artagnan who was valiantly fighting back, one of his attackers was sprawled on the ground, uncoordinated limbs flailing as he tried to get back up. Aramis nodded towards the man as Athos readied to aim at the entranceway again. Athos understood and changed his target, taking out the man before he could scramble to his feet.

With only one man attacking him, d'Artagnan had more of a chance of overcoming his opponent. But was the damage already done? Aramis could see marks on d'Artagnan's face from a cut or bloody nose.

Another couple of attackers spilt into their camp. Aramis shot one in the head at the same instance that Athos' shot went through the other man's chest. The pair stumbled backwards together, further blocking the entrance. Aramis tried to lean over far enough to look further along the narrow rock alleyway.

The move was a mistake, he rolled onto his wounded hip. He did not know how long it took to calm his breathing and open his eyes. He was aware of Athos returning the earlier favour and steadying him. As Aramis regained his focus he realised that no further men had pushed their way into the camp. But d'Artagnan was still fighting. Although he was not putting up much of a fight.

Aramis looked at Athos who nodded. They had no choice. They could not physically help their friend, they could only fire their weapons. They were at the point where it was worth taking the risk of hitting d'Artagnan. Aramis hated the idea, but if it meant saving d'Artagnan then it made sense.

Both Aramis and Athos aimed their weapons.

'I'll aim for his thigh,' said Aramis, 'if he reacts and leans back, he's all yours.'

Athos nodded, 'even if you hit d'Artagnan he will react.'

Aramis took a slow breath in and out, his finger squeezing the trigger. Before he could fire, a familiar, authoritative voice, shouted across their camp. The man attacking d'Artagnan twisted around, probably surprised to find someone he did not recognise appearing behind him. Aramis did not hesitate. He knew they were safe, but he still wanted the man attacking d'Artagnan dealt with in case he made a last-ditch attempt to kill the now limp man lying under him. He changed his aim to the man's head and fired. Aramis was not surprised to hear Athos' gun being fired at the same time. The resulting mess created by both their shots hitting the man's head underlined the fact that he would not be bothering d'Artagnan any further.

As Treville and a group of Musketeers rushed into the camp both Aramis and Athos bowed their heads and fought hard not to give in to the pain that their injuries were giving them.

'Stand down, soldiers,' Treville said to them in his most fatherly way.

Aramis felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, reassuring. He had no idea how long he had been catching his breath for.

'D'Artagnan is beaten, but he'll survive. We've got him.'

Aramis managed a nod, he looked up realising who was missing. He was about to speak but Treville shook his head.

'Porthos is fine, he had a mishap on the way back to Paris, but it's nothing he won't recover from.'

Aramis wondered what had befallen his friend, but Treville was sincere with his words.

Treville moved off giving orders for the bodies to be removed and for a man to fetch a stretcher for d'Artagnan.

Aramis could see d'Artagnan being cared for by Barbotin, one of the garrison's other field medics. He knew his friend was in good hands. And he knew he was in no shape to help. He shook his head as he thought back to the long sharp nail that had caused his injury and started a chain of events that led to all of his friends being injured. A small piece of metal that had caused a lot of trouble.

The End.

Whumpees: Athos, Aramis and d'Artagnan.