A/N: Enjoy guys

All heads snapped to face the direction of the new voice and were astounded to find the very Musketeers they had been seeking standing defiantly at the edge of the circle of light. Aramis was lingering slightly behind Athos and Porthos as they stood shoulder to shoulder, hands resting on the hilts of their swords and postures tense in expectation of a fight.

"Pierre" the still nameless man hissed, nudging the portly man viciously and jerking his head meaningfully in the direction of their quarry.

"Oh right" Pierre gestured and a contingent of men nervously approached the Musketeers, obviously prepared to take them down.

"Pierre" the man repeated despairingly.

"Oh, oh yeah!" with another hand gesture, D'artagnan was roughly manhandled to his feet and pushed, stumbling to Pierre's side where the man grabbed his bound hands and pulled them up at a painful angle.

D'artagnan gulped, and then froze still as a statue as he felt the cold metal of a knife's blade biting at the vulnerable skin of his neck.

"Athos and Aramis, Musketeers of the Guard. You will hand yourselves over to me now, without a fight, or the boy dies"

"For the last time" 'D'artagnan shouted enraged, "I am not a boy!" Taking advantage of the element of surprise, he wrenched his wrists apart, snapping the fibres and breaking the last resistance of the rope. Within seconds he had liberated the stunned guard of his knife and stabbed him in the stomach, the familiar gurgling sounds of a dying man filling his ears.

The clearing was suddenly alive with motion; Athos, Aramis and Porthos standing back to back as they skilfully parried the swords of the other men.

Porthos grabbed one of his attackers by the throat, large hand fully encompassing the man's neck and squeezing viciously. His face began to suffuse with a deep red as his airway was cut off, spluttering and wheezing before his eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell limp, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Porthos flung the fallen man away into an approaching group and turned to charge at the next opponent.

Athos was dancing gracefully across the uneven ground, sweeping and slashing with his rapier, cutting down any that were in his path. He was barely breaking a sweat as he looped an arm around a man's neck from behind, listening to the fabric tear with the force of his grip and in one quick motion, sliced his sword across his neck. The body acted as a shield against the thrust of another soldier and he shoved it onto him, allowing the extra weight to overbalance the other man and running him through as he lay prone on the ground.

Aramis was finding the commotion of battle to be more than his baffled brain could comprehend but he was fighting valiantly to keep up with his brothers. A carefully aimed bullet had burrowed a path through an approaching bandit's skull, making him crumple to the ground in a heap. He then discarded the spent pistol, tucking it back in its holster the time it would have taken to reload opening him up to far greater danger. Metal sang as he withdrew it from the scabbard and slammed it down against an opposing blade, dispatching three men with little difficulty but leaving his chest heaving with exertion.

"Damnit men" Pierre screamed with anger, finally resorting to drawing his own sword as the fighting drew ever nearer to his position "there are twenty of us and four of them! You should be handing their arses to them on a dinner plate, not the other way around!"

His men found a second wind from deep within them, pressing forward with renewed determination and beginning to push the inseparables back.

"This aint looking good Athos" Porthos called as he drove his sword through yet another man.

"Keep fighting" he roared in return skewering yet another man and diving to his left to avoid being stabbed in return. "We can't let them take D'artagnan again!"

So the fight continued, muscles burning with exertion, lungs heaving with each gasping breath and sweat pouring in burning rivers down furious features. Men fought and men fell as bodies piled up on the ground, piles so thick in places that you couldn't even see the ground through the limbs and blood.

The Inseparables had been driven to stand back to back at the edge of the clearing, swords held high in firm grips that shook slightly as they began to reach their very limits of endurance. Slow footsteps led them in a wavering circle, keeping their sights fixed upon the weapons pointed at alarmingly vulnerable places on their body.

As the unspoken leader of their little gang, Athos took a step forward and attempted in his usual acerbic tones to reason with the brain dead lunatics opposite them. As he spoke he flung his hand behind him and curled his fingers upwards in a well known gesture to his brothers, one that he knew was recognised as a low rumble of discontent reached his ears from where Porthos was standing.

"Pierre" he began, drawing attention to himself as the other three began to inch ever so slowly towards the trees and the waiting horses. "Let us dispense with this ridiculousness now. Unless you wish to lose your life you will allow me and my brothers to leave this place immediately and unharmed."

"Now why would I do that?" Pierre growled, calling his remaining five men back to his side where they formed a guard and aimed their weapons at the approaching Athos. "I have you right where I want you. Hand over the Musketeers Athos and Aramis and the other two can leave unharmed as you put it."

A grimace flashed almost imperceptibly across Athos face as he contemplated their next move. Having had experience with all kinds of situations he knew when it was best to just placate the aggravated party and then to put it bluntly, run like hell.

"Fine" he ground out through gritted teeth and a frosty expression "but I demand a moment to confer with my men"

"I am not entirely without reason" Pierre returned and gestured flippantly towards the other men.

Without missing a beat Athos had spun on a booted heel, steely eyes never leaving the danger of the weapons turned upon them and grabbed D'artagnan firmly by the bicep, dragging him into a tighter circle to prevent his words reaching the other men.

"There is no way we are handing ourselves over" Athos began, glancing furtively over his shoulder and scowling as Pierre checked an imaginary watch, " I shall distract him and you get to the horses, get away and I shall catch up."

"No Athos we can't let you do this, that's five against one! You'll die!"

"I don't know whether to feel insulted that you have such little faith in me or scared witless by the fact that you are absolutely correct" Athos drawled, failing to hide the uncertainty in his tone.

"How about you feel neither" Porthos interrupted "let's end this pity party eh, Athos distract 'em still. We get the horses and pick you up before we all hightail it outta here tout suite."

"I like this plan, this is a much better plan" D'artagnan mumbled emphatically, slapping Porthos on the back in congratulations for out manoeuvring their stupidly self sacrificing leader.

"Fine" said leader sighed, lips twitching reluctantly at the corners with amusement. "When I give the signal and only then, get on a horse and go, I will run to that other clearing over there and you pick me up got it?"

"Got it"

"Time's up Mr Musketeer" Pierre sang in a terribly off key tone, voice wavering. "Hand yourselves over now or the others die"

"Fine"

With that terse answer Athos began to walk slowly forwards, heedless of the swords that were hitched a couple of inches higher in alarm, and came to a halt a few paces from Pierre. With an arched brow, Athos planted a hand on his sword hilt and raising his voice slightly said ""

Within seconds the clearing was thrown into a mess of confused shouting, Athos attacking those near him in a whirlwind of sword swipes, whilst a cacophony of terrified whinnying brought up the rear as Porthos freed not just their own but all horses available. Hastily dispatching yet another of the seemingly never-ending stream of men, he began sprinting away from the fight and towards the aforementioned clearing hopefully before they noticed he was gone. Sword in one hand and pistol in the other, he ran with a grimly determined expression until he broke from the cover of the tree line and chanced a glance over his shoulder, surprised to find not a single man on his heels.

He slowed to a halt and frowned deeply in confusion, brow furrowing until he heard the welcome sounds of horses hooves galloping down the sandy path towards him, and he took in the familiar visage of his brothers riding towards him.

Porthos held one large hand out as he approached and upon grasping Athos', swung him bodily up onto the horse behind him and they continued on their way.

"Alright there Athos?" Porthos grinned

"Obviously" he drawled in response, leaning his chin on his brothers' broad shoulder "everyone present and correct?"

"Aye, we're all here" the larger man turned to crane his neck around his brother sitting behind him to grin at D'artagnan and… "Aramis?"

The shock and bewildered confusion in his tone had Athos turning in his seat too, heart pounding ferociously in his throat, for good reason as his wide, searching eyes took in a rider less horse trotting behind theirs.

"For pity's sake! Not again!"

Back in the clearing, Pierre rubbed his hands together with glee as he took in the pretty Musketeer his men had dragged from a fleeing horse and thrown to the ground before him. His masters would be very, very pleased.

A/N: I like this chapter, I hope you guys do too! As usual just let me know what you think, I'm happy with any comments :D