A/N: Thank you pallysAramisRios and SnidgetHex for reviewing!

Chapter 3

The storm petered out overnight, allowing the musketeers to resume their journey, and they finally arrived at the Jura the following morning. The vista was markedly different than the last time Porthos had seen it when they'd come in early spring and everything was coated in winter's landscape. It was late fall now, and the frozen lake Vrita had fallen into was glittering in the sunlight. Rugged gray peaks pointed into a blue sky clear of clouds.

Athos signaled for them to keep going and land in another valley—they didn't want to wake that giant dragon that lived in the one they'd visited previously. And the flower supposedly grew all over the mountain range, so they should be able to find it in another place. Porthos certainly wasn't willing to risk an encounter with a gargantuan dragon for Rochefort's sake.

The dragons touched down in a meadow and the musketeers dismounted.

"The flower is white with star-shaped petals," Athos told Aramis, who hadn't been with them the first time. "Spread out but stay within calling distance. And watch out for wild dragons."

They all gave affirming nods and split up. Even the dragons took off to do a sweep from above. At least the plant should stand out better without being surrounded by snow.

Porthos picked his way through the field toward a cluster of trees. Why couldn't the stuff grow out in the open? It seemed to like sheltered canopies, which just made it that much more of a hunt to find.

But there was a patch, growing right in front of him when he reached the tree line. He whistled sharply to catch the others' attention. Athos was a few dozen yards away and waved back, then knelt on the ground where he stood. He must have found some as well.

Porthos drew his knife and bent down to start harvesting the plant. He'd gotten a few handfuls stuffed into his pouch when one of those hideous black creatures came crashing down through the trees to land right in front of him.

Porthos reeled backward, barely avoiding getting his jugular pinched by a razor sharp beak. He landed hard on his back and the beast pounced on him. Porthos slashed at it with his dagger frantically and the thing screeched. Black ichor splattered the ground.

Porthos continued to flail and thrash, striking out haphazardly. The thing shrieked again and lifted off him, shooting out across the meadow. Porthos rolled onto his stomach and saw Rhaego and Ayelet giving chase.

Vrita landed next to him just as the others arrived.

"Porthos!" Aramis shouted, rushing forward to help pull him to his feet.

"I'm all right," he grunted, though he gave himself a quick check to be sure. That damn thing had come out of nowhere.

Savron suddenly belted out an alarmed call and they all whipped their gazes toward where he was looking. Porthos's breath caught in his throat at the massive black swarm rising up from the rocks across the meadow—right where Rhaego and Ayelet were pursuing the first beast toward.

"Ayelet!" d'Artagnan yelled.

"Rhaego!"

Even if the dragons could hear them, it was too late; they were on a speedy intercept course and the swarm of beasts descended on them like a crashing wave. Savron and Vrita launched into the air and rushed across the field to help, leaving the musketeers on the ground, unable to do anything but watch as dragon shrieks echoed across the valley.

Aramis drew his pistol and ran a few feet into the open, but he was too far away to get off a decent shot without a proper musket.

Savron and Vrita cut through the swarm with streams of dragon fire, but it still took too long for Porthos to get a glimpse of Rhaego or Ayelet amidst the cloud of black. When he finally did, his heart lurched at the sight of Ayelet falling in a tangle of attacking beasts. Rhaego wrenched away from the cluster attached to him and shot toward her, trying to get the two off her wing so she could catch herself. Then they disappeared again behind bursts of flames.

"Retreat!" Athos bellowed.

Porthos could only hope his voice carried over the high-pitched screeches rending the air. Not that it would matter—they were outnumbered and soon some of those beasts could break away and come at them. He whipped his gaze around in search of options and spotted a cave up a ways from their current position.

He smacked Athos on the shoulder and pointed. "There!"

Athos gave a clipped nod and yelled again as they started running toward the defensible position. Porthos heard Savron trumpet out something, hopefully a retreat. He kept casting harried glances to the side, wondering if the dragons would even be able to escape from the swarm.

But just as the musketeers reached the cave entrance, Porthos saw Rhaego and Ayelet manage to break away and start heading toward them, their flights low and ragged as they fought to cross the valley. Savron and Vrita swung around to bring up the rear. The swarm of black demons swirled up and veered after them.

Porthos's eyes widened and his hand fumbled at the grip of his pistol. There were too many…

The dragons were coming in fast and Athos yelled for the four of them to get out of the way. The musketeers pressed themselves against the edges of the cave as Rhaego and Ayelet came crashing in, wings buckling and the impact shaking the ground. Savron and Vrita were right behind them and pulled up short, scrambling into the entrance and spinning around. Porthos almost got knocked down by a swinging tail. Then the two of them belched out massive, criss-crossing streams of fire to fill the entire cave entrance.

The musketeers reeled back from the blistering heat and flinched at the blood-curdling shrieks that went up as the black demons flew straight into the inferno and were incinerated. Porthos threw an arm up to shield his face and watched the flickers of black that whooshed through the flames but didn't get through.

The blaze went on for several long seconds, which felt like an eternity, before the dragons finally ran out of breath and the flames sputtered out. The musketeers all whipped out their swords in preparation for an invasion…but no more beasts came careening into the cave. Porthos shifted slightly to get a look through the gap and saw a depleted swarm retreating. Blackened bits and lumps piled high in the cave entrance and just outside. One stumpy mass was crawling its way toward the opening. Athos pulled out his pistol and shot it.

They stood there for a moment longer, waiting to see if it was truly over or if the beasts would rally and return. It didn't look like they were.

"No," d'Artagnan breathed into the silence and darted to the back of the cave.

Porthos turned sharply, the tang of blood finally reaching his nose over the stench of burnt flesh. Ayelet and Rhaego were sprawled on the floor, bleeding from numerous gouges. Pools of red were already coating the cave floor.

"No, no, no." D'Artagnan skidded to a stop next to his dragon, eyes raking over the various wounds. Ayelet looked up and gave a pained mewl. "Aramis!"

Aramis's own dragon was in equally dire straits, lying on the floor and wheezing as Aramis hurried to get his saddle off. There were so many wounds, Porthos didn't know where he would start. Terror gripped his heart more fiercely than when they'd been facing that horde of demons.

"We need water, lots of it," Aramis said urgently. "Check the back of the cave for a spring or something. And I need a fire going."

Athos immediately set off further into the cave. Porthos briefly wondered whether something was hibernating back there, but it probably would have woken up by now if there was. He started casting his gaze around the immediate area for dry brush or twigs he could use to start a fire.

"You can help them, right?" d'Artagnan asked, sounding younger than he had in a long while. "The flowers can heal them?"

"I don't know," Aramis replied. "I pray they can. How were they used? I don't remember that part."

"Crush the petals an' make 'em into a paste," Porthos answered. He paused in his search for wood to bring over the stash he'd collected before he'd been attacked. "Do we have enough?"

Aramis looked at the pouch, then at what d'Artagnan had collected. "It'll have to be."

Porthos figured Athos had some too. They'd make it work.

Vrita shuffled over to Rhaego and Ayelet, trying to offer a comforting presence while staying out of Aramis's way. Savron stayed by the cave entrance to stand guard.

"There's water in the back," Athos reported as he rejoined them.

"Get it boiling," Aramis said, not even looking up as he flipped open his saddlebag and started tossing out all the bandages and triage supplies he had on hand.

Porthos collected enough brush and things to start a fire, which Savron obliged him with a small puff of flame. He then unpacked every tin cup they had on hand and went with Athos to start carrying water over so they could get it heated. After that, the two of them could only function as an extra pair of hands, holding supplies for Aramis as he worked, handing him things when he asked. He focused on making the poultices from the flower, figuring anything that claimed to be a miracle cure could handle warding off infection, so he didn't bother to clean the wounds.

Once they had enough, Aramis and d'Artagnan set to applying the paste to their dragons, starting with the more grievous wounds first and working their way around. Porthos hoped they did have enough, but if not, he could try slipping out to get more and just pray those beasts weren't still out there waiting for them.

"You'll be okay," d'Artagnan kept whispering to his dragon as he spread the poultice over the vicious gouges in Ayelet's hide while she writhed and keened beneath his touch.

Porthos stood by with the bowl for when he needed more. He wasn't sure how long it took to cover everything in the paste, but his back was aching fiercely by the time Aramis sagged back a step, seemingly done. The marksman crouched next to Rhaego's head and placed a hand on his snout.

"It will work quickly," Athos said in a soft voice. "We've seen it."

Aramis nodded mutely and took in a deep breath. Then he forced himself to his feet and turned to Vrita and Savron. "I doubt you two came out of that unscathed."

Savron gave him a measured look for a long moment before canting his head to his right flank. Aramis shuffled over to get a look.

"Could be worse," he said tiredly. "I'll clean it to be safe. Vrita, you too."

"Porthos and I can handle that," Athos spoke up.

Aramis stubbornly shook his head. When it came to injuries, he always took that responsibility on himself. "We won't be going anywhere for a while," he said gravely. "I'll rest after this."

Porthos and Athos shared a silent look. It was true: they were stuck for the time being.

Porthos wondered what that meant for Rochefort.

.o.0.o.

Anne sat by Rochefort's bedside, holding his hand in hers. It seemed to bring him some measure of comfort amidst the agony gripping his body. She bowed her head and sent up a prayer that the Musketeers would return in time. They had never let her down before, and she wanted to believe they would come through in this as well.

But the Jura was so far away and she knew it was a dangerous region. Part of her worried for them the longer it took for them to return.

A hitched breath from Rochefort drew her out of her thoughts, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

"Thank you," he wheezed, turning clouded eyes toward her. "'Tis a great comfort…your face being the last thing I see."

Her heart stuttered. "Don't talk like that," she chided. "There is still hope." Moisture pricked at the corners of her eyes at the thought of sitting here and watching him slip away. It made her want to leave. Maybe if she left, he would not give in so easily.

Yet how could she deny a dying man his last source of comfort when he had so little in the world?

Rochefort gave her a soft look. "Remember how you cried, all those years ago, when you left Spain for your marriage?"

She nodded at the memory. "I thought I would drown in tears."

"But you didn't. You were strong and you survived. I was at your side then and I am here now."

Anne shook her head, those tears welling more fiercely. Here he was the one facing death and Rochefort was trying to comfort her.

"I love you."

She blinked, startled by the abrupt statement. He was looking at her so earnestly that she furrowed her brow in confusion.

"As any subject loves his Queen," he added quickly.

She smiled softly in return and patted his hand. "Just rest."

The door creaked open and she looked up to see Doctor Lemay had entered.

"I must change the bandages," he said apologetically.

Anne nodded in understanding and stood up. "I'll be right outside," she promised Rochefort as she released his hand. His pained gaze followed her out until she was on the other side of the door.

Louis and Treville were standing in the hall, and her heart lurched with anticipation.

"Has there been any word from Athos?" she asked hopefully.

Treville shook his head. "I'm afraid not."

Her heart fell, and the ensuing silence weighed heavily like a funeral shroud.

Several minutes later, Lemay re-emerged.

"How is he?" Louis asked.

Doctor Lemay sighed regretfully. "The wound continues to bleed. As much as I am loath to admit my helplessness when treating my patient, only a miracle can help him now."

Anne turned away, pressing a hand to her breast and closing her eyes in desperate prayer again.