A/N: Thank you LordLady and jamepa for reviewing!

Chapter 3

Rhaego whimpered and mewled as Athos and d'Artagnan helped get Aramis up onto Vrita in front of Porthos.

"I know, boy," Porthos soothed. "I got 'im."

He snaked an arm around Aramis's middle, holding him firmly against his chest. And he hated how tense he was about it, on guard for Aramis waking up and becoming violent enough to toss them both from the saddle midair. The anchor lines would prevent them from plummeting to their deaths, but the last thing any dragon needed was two flailing bodies dangling from her saddle.

Fortunately, they only flew for a short time before finding a small copse of trees to camp at. Porthos wondered if it was far enough away, wondered if Milady would come after them.

He unhooked the anchor lines as Athos and d'Artagnan came over to catch Aramis as Porthos slid him down to their waiting arms. Ayelet started snorting fire onto some kindling to start a blaze and give them some light, though she should have waited for someone to set a fire ring. After laying Aramis down, d'Artagnan darted over to do that. Savron and Vrita took up sentry positions while Athos went to gather firewood. Rhaego kept a fidgety distance from Aramis, looking forlorn. Porthos understood how he felt.

He took off his altitude cloak and draped it over the marksman, knowing how he felt about the cold. And Aramis had already been chilled before their flight, as Porthos had discovered when holding him close. It'd carved out a pit in his stomach, triggering the thought that maybe he was holding a corpse. That Milady had killed Aramis and put something else inside his body.

And that was why they couldn't take him back to Paris, not until they fixed this. And Porthos had to believe they could fix this.

He frowned as he considered what to use to cushion his friend's head. He turned and went to remove Rhaego's saddle, which had to be uncomfortable to wear given the myriad of gouges along his hide. The leather even had some scratches in it.

Porthos unbuckled the straps and hefted the saddle off, then brought it over to set on the ground behind Aramis. Crouching down, Porthos then slid a hand under Aramis's neck to gently lift him up and prop him against the saddle. His fingers came into contact with a wet tackiness, and he abruptly drew his hand back to find it glistening with blood. Porthos cursed under his breath.

"Athos!"

Athos quickly came over and Porthos held up his hand as evidence. D'Artagnan was right behind him, and the young man blanched.

"I shouldn't have hit him so hard."

"You had no choice," Athos responded. "It was better than killing him."

Or him killing one of us, Porthos added silently. Aramis would never be able to live with that once he came back to himself. Which he would. They'd make sure of it. Somehow.

D'Artagnan hurried off to get some water and bandages, then came back to tend the head wound. "I don't feel any give in his skull," he reported as he cleaned the blood away. "Wouldn't be surprised if he had a concussion, though."

At this point, Porthos didn't know whether to be grateful or not d'Artagnan had clobbered him so hard.

But just as the young Gascon was finishing his ministrations, Aramis's eyes slid open. They were still solid black.

Porthos stiffened on alert, ready for a reprisal of their earlier battle. But Aramis didn't make a move against them. He didn't move at all.

"Aramis?" Porthos tried, but once again, he got no reaction. It was like the puppet's strings had been cut. Maybe because Milady wasn't around to tell him to attack. But he was obviously still heavily in her thrall.

Porthos cast a helpless look at Athos and d'Artagnan, who looked equally anguished over the situation. There was nothing they could do currently.

They left him tied up, just to be safe, and went about finishing up making camp. Porthos constantly glanced Aramis's way, but the marksman showed no recognition. His opaque eyes weren't even tracking their movements as far as Porthos could tell. He looked…dead.

Porthos pivoted and marched back over, kneeling down and reaching out to grasp Aramis's wrist firmly. There was a still a pulse beating there, a sign of life. His heart constricted.

"I don' know if you can hear me," he said softly. "But we're gonna fix this. Jus' hang on."

.o.0.o.

There was no change in Aramis throughout the night. Athos took the last watch and spent the entire time watching those lifeless eyes stare out into nothing. It was unnerving.

At the first sign of dawn, he began packing up camp so they could leave quickly. Aramis remained unresponsive as they got him up on Vrita with Porthos again. Athos and Savron took the lead, as they'd been the only ones to actually visit Agnes's cabin. The landscape had changed in over a year, though, the forest recovering from the wildfire that had decimated it. Athos hoped Savron's memory was better than his.

The silverback let out a bark and veered left, angling over a small patch in the tree canopy that revealed a cabin below. There wasn't enough room for four dragons to land, let alone one, so Savron headed for a wider clearing nearby. They'd have to make their way to the cabin on foot.

Athos swung down from the saddle as soon as they landed, preferring to walk. Porthos stayed in the saddle with Aramis. Their party traversed the short distance back through the forest until the cabin came into view. A woman with blonde hair was outside, kneeling on the ground as she tended to a garden. Athos shouldn't have been surprised to see her; he had, after all, sent the Comtesse and her charge to Agnes.

Ninon looked over at the sound of their arrival, expression guarded at first, but as soon as she recognized them, she smiled and rose to her feet. "Athos," she greeted. "I never dreamed I would see you again."

"Like last time, I wish it were under better circumstances," he replied soberly. "We need to see Agnes."

Ninon's smile faltered at the heaviness in his tone. Just then the cabin door opened and Agnes and Fleur stepped out. Fleur immediately looked nervous and hung back in the doorway.

Agnes cast a look at the girl before turning to Athos. "It's good to see you again," she said genially enough. "What brings you here?"

"We need your help," Athos said and gestured to where Porthos and d'Artagnan were getting a lifeless Aramis off of Vrita.

Agnes straightened. "Bring him inside."

They all followed her into her small cabin where Agnes directed Porthos and d'Artagnan to lay Aramis on one of the pallets on the floor. Ninon let out a gasp at the sight of his eyes.

Agnes shot a startled look at the musketeers. "This is sorcery."

"Yes," Athos responded. "A sorceress cast some kind of spell on him. She said she bound his soul to her."

Agnes knelt down beside Aramis and held a hand out over him. After a prolonged moment, she jerked back. "This is very dark magic. Very vile."

Athos's throat constricted. "Can you break it?"

Agnes bit at her bottom lip, considering for a moment. She then turned to Fleur. "I'll need your help."

The girl looked nervous but gave a resolute nod.

Agnes rose to her feet again. "I need to gather some spell ingredients." Beckoning to the young witch, they both headed out.

Porthos moved in to sit beside Aramis, pushing his bandana off his head and wringing it in his hands. D'Artagnan paced the small cabin.

Ninon came over to stand with Athos. "In my time with Fleur and Agnes, I've forgotten there are evil witches in the world," she said quietly.

"This one happens to be my ex-wife."

Ninon's eyes widened in stunned speechlessness.

"She's targeted my brothers because of me," he went on. For all the ways Ninon had of throwing him off-balance, he also found her easy to be open and honest with.

She was quiet for a few beats. "What are you going to do?"

Athos gazed at Aramis's vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling and Porthos's taut expression. "I don't know."

Agnes and Fleur returned, along with a surprise visitor that had all three musketeers staring in disbelief. The firebird with its bright orange and red plumage strutted into the cabin behind the witches and hopped over to Aramis's feet.

"Is that what I think it is?" d'Artagnan blurted.

"The phoenix is a powerful creature," Agnes replied. "He can aid us in breaking this curse."

Porthos shifted nervously. "You sure it ain't gonna set anything on fire?"

"I'm sure. A phoenix's tears possess magical healing properties." She hesitated. "We'll need that."

The musketeers exchanged apprehensive looks at that. Athos didn't expect this to be easy, but they couldn't leave their brother in this state, no matter what.

The two witches methodically set everything up, crushing plants and setting them to boil. The cabin quickly filled with a heady, yet calming aroma. It was almost domestic, in a way, but Athos could see it for what it was—shoring up for battle.

Agnes gestured to Porthos. "Give us room," she asked, and he reluctantly backed away.

Agnes and Fleur knelt on either side of Aramis, with the phoenix next to Agnes. The witches linked their left and right hands and held the others over Aramis. Then they began their incantation.

The prickle of something on the air made Athos tense. He'd spent the past several months dealing with the evil side of witchcraft that it was hard to remember there was a good side.

Aramis suddenly jerked, then started writhing, though he made no sounds. Porthos took a step forward, but Ninon's sharp voice stopped him.

"Let them work," she cautioned.

Porthos's jaw tightened but he held himself back as Aramis's convulsions increased in intensity. Athos watched his brother shake and thrash like he was dying…maybe he was.

Ninon slipped her arm into his in an offer of silent support.

Aramis started making choking noises, and then black smoke began to be drawn out through his mouth.

"That's it," Agnes broke the taut concentration. "Keep going."

Fleur made a small whimper, her knuckles white as she gripped Agnes's hand tightly.

The air grew thick, almost ominous, as though the gathering smoke was a living, seething entity. Athos could see it moving sluggishly, like kelp suctioned to a ship's hull; it didn't want to relinquish its vessel.

The phoenix drew its wings up and belted out a high-pitched shriek. The smoke practically flinched in response.

Athos watched as more and more of that noxious brume was pulled out of Aramis, until finally the last tendril slipped past bloodless lips and Aramis's eyes cleared for a brief second before rolling back as he went limp. The cloying smoke swirled above him, and Agnes rose up onto her knees. With a spitting spell, she slammed her palms together, and the curse imploded in on itself with a pop.

The thickness in the air abruptly abated, and Agnes sagged back on her haunches. But with a small shake, she straightened again and quickly poured some brew into a cup, then held it underneath the phoenix. The firebird tilted its head, and Athos saw a few tears drop into the liquid. Agnes then leaned forward and Fleur lifted Aramis's head as she pressed the rim of the cup to his lips to pour the mixture into his mouth.

"He gonna be all right?" Porthos asked tautly.

"The claim on his soul has been severed," Agnes replied. She leaned back and set the cup aside, her face drawn with obvious exhaustion. Even Fleur was listing to the side. "But he'll need time to recover. Both physically and mentally. That spell…it's an arcane curse from the Dark Ages. I'm surprised there are any who still remember it, let alone have the power to successfully cast it."

Athos's stomach clenched. His ex-wife had learned from the Devil himself.

"Also," Agnes continued tentatively. "This curse wasn't one that was typically reversed. I can't tell you what lingering damage it may have caused."

All the eyes in the room drifted toward Aramis's unconscious form.

"What are you sayin'?" Porthos demanded.

Agnes sighed. "That you're all welcome to stay as my guests for a while, though it's a bit cramped in here."

"Thank you," Athos told her sincerely.

She nodded with a soft smile. Ninon squeezed his arm.

That was one battle down.