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

Chapter 4

It was a tense, restless night in the cave with d'Artagnan and Aramis keeping a constant eye on Ayelet and Rhaego, checking their wounds for further bleeding or infection. Not long after the miracle flower poultice had been applied, both dragons had slipped into a still sleep, which d'Artagnan was both grateful and worried over. He kept looking to Aramis for cues, but the marksman seemed just as unsure about their prognosis. And so they waited.

Savron and Vrita took turns guarding the cave entrance, and neither Athos nor Porthos let their guard down that night either. The black demons didn't return.

D'Artagnan sat by Ayelet, one hand on a patch of unwounded scales, measuring her steady breathing. When dawn began to trickle through the cave opening and filled the space with more illumination, Aramis stood stiffly and went to examine one of the dried poultices on Rhaego's flank. He moved away for a moment, grabbing a small cloth and wetting it, then went back and began to wipe the flaky residue away. The white paste flecked off, revealing a wound that looked days old instead of hours. Aramis exhaled heavily.

He then came over to check one of Ayelet's worst wounds, repeating the process of gently cleaning off the dried poultice. D'Artagnan sagged with relief when he saw the jagged pink flesh underneath and not the gaping laceration from before.

Aramis picked up his rosary and pressed it to his lips. "If all their wounds have improved this much, they'll be fine. It doesn't even look like it will scar."

D'Artagnan hadn't even thought about that, having been so worried whether Ayelet would even survive those vicious wounds. Looking at all the patches of dried poultice over her scales, he was glad to hear she most likely wouldn't be marred in such a grievous manner that might affect her strength and agility.

Aramis re-wet the cloth and proceeded to wash the rest of the poultices off. Ayelet stirred at the ministrations, opening her eyes and blinking up at d'Artagnan. He offered her a soft smile and crouched down to stroke her head.

"You're okay," he soothed.

She fidgeted slightly as Aramis worked, though perhaps from discomfort more than pain. D'Artagnan watched all the paste get wiped away, revealing everything had healed astoundingly well overnight.

Aramis let out a low whistle. "Why has no one made a fortune harvesting these flowers?"

"Because anyone who tries is met with hideous monsters trying to eat them," Athos replied dryly.

D'Artagnan huffed. Yeah, there was that.

"Vrita and I will check the area," Porthos spoke up. "See if it's clear."

"Be careful," Aramis automatically replied as he moved on to Rhaego.

The russet dragon had made an equally amazing recovery. Both of them were still injured, of course, but Aramis tested a few of the areas and concluded they would likely hold up under flight, as long as they didn't push too hard.

D'Artagnan picked up Ayelet's saddle and eyed her back in concern. "Think you can bear it?" he asked.

Her expression pinched with hesitation, but she let him put it on. He was careful when fitting the straps, making sure they wouldn't chafe the partially healed cuts.

"Should be okay," he said.

Aramis had gotten Rhaego saddled as well by the time Porthos returned.

"Looks clear," he reported. "I picked up some more flowers. How much we got left?"

The four of them gathered together to take stock of their supply. They'd used a great deal on Ayelet and Rhaego but still had a couple of handfuls between them.

"Should we go out for more?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shook his head. "It's too risky. If that swarm returns, we won't survive another ambush."

They pooled their collection of flowers together into Porthos's pouch and proceeded to pack up the rest of their supplies. D'Artagnan found a stray flower on the ground and tucked it reverently into his coat pocket. It amazed him that something so small and simple looking could have such effects.

Once they were ready, they ventured toward the opening of the cave and paused to look out. The morning sky was clear and bright, a tranquil hue sweeping over the valley that belied the hidden danger they knew could be out there.

They waited a few more moments before finally stepping outside and letting the dragons take to the skies. D'Artagnan was tense as he cast his gaze back and forth around the valley, braced for a sudden assault. But the mountains remained quiet as the four dragons veered with all speed away from the Jura.

They flew for an hour before stopping to take a rest and so Aramis could check Rhaego's and Ayelet's wounds. They were holding up, and neither dragon seemed to be suffering the effects of blood loss. It emboldened them to push a little harder, not only in haste to get back to Paris, but they were all still tensely on guard for another attack by those strange creatures. Yet as the miles rolled on behind them, they started to relax, thinking they'd gotten away clean.

They should have known better than to tempt fate.

They were only an hour from Paris when a massive wind storm kicked up out of nowhere. D'Artagnan folded himself forward over Ayelet's neck as she jerked and juddered against the battering currents. Swirls of dust plumed around them, blocking out visibility.

"Land!" someone shouted, probably Athos.

D'Artagnan's stomach somersaulted into his throat as Ayelet took an abrupt nosedive. She landed with a thud and d'Artagnan slid out of the saddle, pressing himself against her side to shield himself from the flying grit. Then just as instantaneously as it arrived, the winds sputtered out. D'Artagnan lifted his head carefully and looked around. He stiffened at the figure standing directly ahead of them.

Cloaked in black velvet and a fine dress with eyes of steel, Milady looked exactly as she had when she'd been the Cardinal's agent. …Except, currently two of those demonic creatures were standing at her side, beady eyes narrowed ravenously at the musketeers and their dragons.

The sounds of multiple blades being unsheathed broke the taut silence. Milady looked unimpressed, and given her recent displays of power, d'Artagnan truly wasn't certain they had a chance here…

She raked her callous gaze over each of them, like she was savoring the moment. "Why are you trying to save Rochefort?" she then asked casually.

D'Artagnan exchanged an uncertain look with the others. So she was trying to stop them.

"He wants you dead, you know," she went on.

"So do you," Porthos growled.

Milady smirked. "True. But all in due time. For the moment, I'll take that marvelous collection of lux stellarum you have there."

D'Artagnan glanced at the others again.

"Sorry, the what?" Aramis spoke up.

"Don't play dumb," she said tartly, then smiled. "A flower with mystical energy such as the ones you're carrying…there's all manner of spells I could cast with it."

D'Artagnan tensed further. That sounded like a very bad thing. By the grim looks of resolve on the others' faces, he knew they were thinking the same. They couldn't let Milady get her hands on the flower.

The dragons, picking up on their nonverbal cues, shifted in preparation to fight. Savron's and Rhaego's bellies glowed hotly a split second before they unleashed streams of fire. Milady's eyes flashed with amber light and a gust of wind whipped up out of nowhere, sucking the flames up into a swirling cyclone that veered sharply away from Milady and back around toward the musketeers.

The dragons shrieked and scrambled to shield their riders as blistering heat washed over them ahead of the roaring fire tornado. D'Artagnan ducked under Ayelet's wing, having nowhere else to go. He thought he heard a pistol shot but couldn't see who fired or if it hit its target.

The firenado swirled around them, sucking up dirt and oxygen so that d'Artagnan couldn't see and could barely breathe. Then, through the seething flames, the two demons came swooping down on them. One went for Vrita while the second tackled Porthos to the ground. D'Artagnan saw him rolling in a frantic effort to escape, saw him throw his head back with a pained cry as claws slashed across his shoulder. Then the beast snatched up his pouch and launched back into the fiery air, followed by its companion.

D'Artagnan ran to Porthos's side just as Athos did, while the dragons tried to hem them in on all sides against the inferno.

And then the howling cut off and the wind and flames evaporated. D'Artagnan lifted his head to look around. Milady and the creatures were gone.

He pushed sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes and turned back to Porthos as Aramis knelt beside him and quickly started prodding his shoulder. Porthos hissed sharply, blood coating his coat.

"Vrita," he ground out.

"I'll check her," d'Artagnan said and hurried over to her. Crimson had splattered her scales but nothing looked deep. "You all right?" he asked.

She bobbed her head in response and shifted her concerned gaze to her rider.

"You'll live," Aramis declared. "With a few stitches."

Porthos grunted at that. "Damn it."

"She got everything?" Athos asked, low tone laced with defeat.

Porthos gave a clipped nod.

D'Artagnan clenched his fists in frustration. After all that, they'd be returning empty-handed.

He straightened abruptly and patted his pocket, then swiftly reached inside to see if the flower was still there. He pulled out the slightly crumpled white petals and held it out for them all to see. For a long moment, no one said anything. Then Porthos huffed.

"I sure wouldn't mind usin' that," he said through gritted teeth.

D'Artagnan grimaced, not wanting to be the one to say it. "What about Rochefort?"

Athos looked at Porthos sagely, then at Aramis.

Aramis shrugged grudgingly. "I can patch this up."

Athos nodded. "Hurry. There might still be time to get the flower to Rochefort. And if not," he added to Porthos, "then you might get to use it after all."

.o.0.o.

Athos didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Rochefort was still alive when they finally returned to Paris, but given the King's recently shaken trust in his Musketeers, Athos was going to go with relieved. The Queen certainly was.

"Praise God," she said when he handed over the single flower to Doctor Lemay outside of Rochefort's chambers.

The physician made haste to return to his patient and administer the treatment.

"Let's hope this works," Louis muttered. "Were you able to obtain more of this flower to arm ourselves against future magical attacks?"

Athos's jaw ticked. "Unfortunately, Your Majesty, we encountered…opposition."

"What kind of opposition?" the Queen asked in concern, her gaze flitting around as though she just noticed the others hadn't accompanied Athos back to the palace.

"The witch Milady tried to stop us," he admitted. "Porthos and the dragons sustained some injuries, but they will recover. That one flower was all we managed to save."

Louis's eyes widened in disbelief and he began to sputter in outrage.

"Then Rochefort is most fortunate," Anne stepped in before he could devolve into a blustering tirade. "And the witch has not succeeded. That is what is most important."

No one said anything to that. It remained to be seen whether Rochefort would recover, though given the flower's properties, Athos didn't doubt that outcome. Still, he waited with the King and Queen for news until Lemay re-emerged and informed them the flower appeared to be working its wondrous powers on Rochefort's wound. It seemed he would live after all.

While the doctor was speaking with the King and Queen, Athos took the opportunity to slip into the Comte's apartments. Rochefort still looked as though he was on his deathbed, but his breathing was easier. The man's eyes cracked open and he still managed a disparaging glower Athos's way.

"I suppose you think this means I owe you my life."

"We were merely following orders," Athos replied blandly. He paused, considering Rochefort for a moment. "You should be careful," he finally said. "Milady is treacherous, and you would be wise to take hunting her down seriously."

Rochefort visibly bristled. "The attack on me shows just how seriously I have been taking it."

Athos's mouth quirked. "Of course."

With that, he turned and left.

Whatever was between Milady and Rochefort likely wasn't over.

Nor between her and the rest of them.

.o.0.o.

Ayelet stood patiently in the dragon compound yard while Jean checked her over.

"Remarkable," he breathed, then sobered as he looked at the musketeers. "I can only imagine how bad these were initially." He moved on to look Rhaego over next.

"We were lucky," d'Artagnan confirmed.

Ayelet kept turning her head back and forth, scanning the compound for Falkor. She thought he would have wanted to hear what happened. But he didn't show himself from whatever hole he'd hidden in this time.

Vrita asked what she was so antsy about, gently adding that the witch had gotten what she wanted and wouldn't be sending those demons into a whole garrison filled with dragons.

Ayelet huffed that she knew that. She was just concerned about Falkor. It was his rider they were trying to help; she thought he would have wanted to know if they'd succeeded. She didn't understand, she finished with a sigh.

Vrita and Savron exchanged a wordless look that had Ayelet cocking her head at them.

There's something off with Falkor, Savron finally said. She should keep her distance, he warned.

She frowned. Yes, Falkor was different than the other dragons in the compound and garrison, but he hadn't done anything bad. He put on a tough front but surely he must be lonely. Ayelet didn't think that was reason to shun him.

So once the other Musketeer dragons returned to the garrison, Ayelet went to seek him out. This time when she approached him out behind the storeroom, he lifted his head, expression shifting with subtle affect as he looked her over. He asked if she was all right.

She said she was. It hurt, before, and there'd been a moment when she'd thought she might die. But her rider saved her, she added emphatically, using the flower they also brought back for Rochefort.

Ayelet hesitated, and when Falkor didn't say anything, she went on, admitting that she'd never been injured like that before and it had been frightening. She was ashamed.

Being afraid wasn't shameful, he told her, and sounded serious enough she believed him.

She said she supposed her first battle scars were something to celebrate, then, but immediately regretted the words. Any scars she came out with wouldn't be nearly as prominent as Falkor's.

The other dragon didn't respond to that, though. He simply said he was glad she'd made it back safely.

Ayelet beamed inside. Savron's warning was unfounded. Falkor just needed a friend and she was determined to be that for him.

NEXT TIME

Emilie of Duras comes to Paris preaching war against King Philip of Spain. The nature of her "visions" strikes a chord with Aramis after his own harrowing experience and challenges his faith.