A/N: Thank you pallysAramisRios, SnidgetHex, and 29Pieces for reviewing the last episode!

Chapter 1

Athos finished cinching up the straps of Savron's saddle and then turned to wait for the King to mount up first before following suit. Jean was still getting Dragor ready, but the other Musketeer dragon riders assigned to this afternoon's leisurely flight were all set to go, which happened to be Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan. These weekly excursions with the King were some of the only times Athos got to ride with his brothers anymore, now that he was Captain of the Musketeers. He missed the simplicity of it. Even as Treville's lieutenant, he still never had to carry as much responsibility as he did now.

Louis was just about ready to go when Athos spotted a figure walking into the royal dragon compound. He inwardly scowled and hoped the King wouldn't notice, but alas, he did.

"Rochefort," Louis greeted, aborting his climb into Dragor's saddle. "What brings you here?"

"I wanted to get a glimpse of Your Majesty's magnificent collection of dragons," Rochefort replied smoothly. "I also heard you had taken up dragon riding yourself. It is a sign of a great king to not only keep such majestic creatures but to be a true master of them as well."

Louis beamed at the compliment. "You have your own dragon, do you not, Rochefort? You should accompany me."

"It would be my honor, Your Majesty, but unfortunately my dragon is not as strong as he once was after our time in a Spanish prison. I would not want him to hold you back. Perhaps there is one from your clan I might have permission to borrow for the afternoon?"

"Of course," Louis readily agreed and turned to Jean. "Saddle Zhar for Rochefort, Bonacieux."

Jean bowed and headed for the dragon dens to retrieve said dragon.

"What happened to Falkor bein' the only dragon you'd ride?" Porthos groused quietly as he came up behind Rochefort.

The Comte ignored him, and fortunately the King didn't hear the comment, as he was busy speaking to his dragon.

Jean returned with Zhar and introduced him to Rochefort, though the man apparently couldn't be bothered to give any more acknowledgement to the dragon than he would a horse.

Athos was irked by his presence but held his tongue, as there wasn't anything he could do about it anyway. Finally they were all ready and mounted up to take to the skies.

The four Musketeer dragon riders flew in a diamond formation around the King and Rochefort as they headed away from the city and out over the woodland. Athos tried to enjoy the freedom of flying and not let Rochefort's being there ruin it for him.

They flew for a good stretch toward a small lake where they set down to give their dragons a rest and chance to refresh themselves, though they all stayed mounted.

"It's a tragedy what happened to your dragon, Rochefort," Louis commented. "Perhaps my dragon keeper Bonacieux might be able to help him. He has rehabilitated several dragons that have been wounded in war."

"You are most gracious for offering, Your Majesty," Rochefort replied. "As soon as we return, I will bring Falkor to the royal compound."

Louis nodded. "I will tell Bonacieux to provide whatever he needs."

Athos caught Porthos rolling his eyes and gave him a sharp look to knock it off lest the King notice.

"Your Majesty, if I may make an observation," Rochefort began in a careful tone.

Louis gestured for him to go on.

"Your First Minister Treville, he has no background in governing. I mean no disrespect; I am just concerned that you are receiving the best counsel possible."

Athos bristled at the veiled insult against Treville, but he knew it wasn't his place to speak out in their former captain's defense. He shot warning looks at the others to keep them quiet as well, though they were clearly as offended by Rochefort's insinuation as Athos was.

"Treville is a man of wisdom and character," Louis replied seriously. "It is true, there was much he had to learn when he took on the position, but I assure you he has done credit to the office."

Rochefort inclined his head in a conciliatory manner. "I am relieved to hear it, Your Majesty."

That was the end of that train of conversation, and since the dragons had finished slaking their thirst at the lake, the King signaled for them to return to the skies and make their way back to the city.

After landing in the royal dragon compound, the musketeers were relieved of their guard duty, as the King's personal retinue of attendants and guards were waiting where he'd left them, and they accompanied him back to the palace. Rochefort walked with him, and Athos's jaw tightened as he imagined what more disparaging comments the Comte might make as they went.

He turned and the musketeers and their dragons headed in the opposite direction to the garrison next door.

"Who does he think he is, comin' in here and questionin' the Captain's abilities?" Porthos growled. "I mean Treville's," he corrected with an apologetic glance at Athos.

Athos merely shrugged it off. Treville would always be their captain.

"Rochefort was the Cardinal's most valued agent," Aramis replied. "He likely has similar ambitions of finding favor with the King and climbing the ranks in his inner circle."

"I know Treville hates politics and didn't really want the job, but I'm glad he took it," d'Artagnan put in.

Athos had to agree.

The four of them removed the saddles from their dragons and placed them in the tack room, then Athos turned to head up to his office and the mound of paperwork that never seemed to decrease no matter how much time he put into it. But he was stopped as Aramis slung an arm over his shoulder.

"Take a night off," the marksman said. "After an entire afternoon with Rochefort, we could all use a drink."

Wasn't that the truth. Athos cast an uncertain look up at his office, then back at his friend. "Only if you assist with the paperwork tomorrow."

"I hope you're not having second thoughts about your position and are planning to pawn it off on me."

Athos smirked. "No, but I could use a secretary."

"Treville never had a secretary."

"There's always mucking out the dragon dens."

Aramis gave him a mock grimace. "Command is going to your head."

"Stop dilly-dallying," Porthos called from the gate. "Is he comin' or not?"

Athos's mouth quirked and he steered himself and Aramis that way. "That depends; are you buying?"

"Does he ever?" d'Artagnan replied with a cheeky grin.

Porthos scowled at them both. "Maybe if Lady Luck smiles upon me at the card tables."

"More like the patron saint of cardsharps," their young Gascon quipped.

Athos couldn't keep from smiling at the warm banter as the four of them headed out into the street and made their way to one of the local taverns. At least the captaincy hadn't changed the dynamics of their brotherhood. Athos needed this refuge, and not just because of Rochefort.

They arrived at the tavern and ordered their wine. Porthos spent about five minutes at the table with them before slipping off to join a card game. Aramis sipped sparsely at his wine; he'd never been the heavy drinker among them. But even Athos was content to pace himself with just the one cup rather than order a whole bottle. What could he say, there were some things being a captain did change.

"You two are growing soft in your old age," d'Artagnan commented, raising his second cup to their firsts.

"Says the one who's always bowing out early to hurry home to bed," Aramis countered.

"Yes, but not to sleep."

Aramis grinned.

Athos just shook his head and took another sip of his wine, only to spit it back out as a thick, coppery substance filled his mouth instead. The sharp metallic tang hit the back of his throat and almost made him gag.

"Whoa!" Aramis exclaimed, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe the front of his shirt. "What was that for?"

Athos couldn't speak, too busy pressing a fist to his mouth and trying not to retch. He gestured to his cup, which Aramis picked up with a frown.

"Don't—" Athos made an abortive sign not to taste it.

Aramis sniffed it instead, his brows furrowing further.

"What the…" d'Artagnan said, gazing into his own cup. He then jolted backward, knocking the tinware over. Dark red fluid spilled out across the table like…blood.

A scream rang out from across the tavern, followed by another. Then people all throughout the place were jumping out of their seats, knocking over cups and bottles—all of which splattered fresh blood in place of wine and brandy. There was enough of it that Athos recognized the smell, even while his brain struggled to process what was happening.

He wasn't the only one. People were twisting and turning in confusion, bumping into each other and scrambling away from the offending fluid. One man caught sight of the tavern keeper and jabbed an angry finger at him.

"What kind of business are you running here?" the man shouted.

"I don't- I…" the proprietor fumbled for an answer, looking as perplexed as the rest of them. "I don't understand."

Porthos pushed his way through the crowd to the musketeers, stopping to pick up a cup from the next table over and giving it a whiff. "Blood," he said quietly, but many heard him, and the sounds of gasps and gagging went up again.

"You bastard," that other customer cursed and started toward the tavern keeper.

Aramis stepped into his path. "We were all drinking normally a few moments ago. This man did not serve anyone tainted drink."

"Tainted? It's blood!" The man gestured angrily at his table.

The sound of someone violently retching in the back only served to churn everyone's stomachs more.

"Ain't this a Holy Communion thing?" Porthos put in tentatively. "Turnin' wine into blood?"

Aramis's face scrunched up. "That's not exactly how it works," he said. "Nor are we in church."

"It must be dark magic!" someone exclaimed, which sent a fresh ring of terrified yelps through the crowd, and several people started fleeing out the door, nearly bowling over each other in their haste.

"Wait—" d'Artagnan called, but it was too late.

Athos preferred not to have an anxious and angry crowd to deal with anyway.

"I swear, I don't know what happened," the tavern keeper blubbered at them. "I've never had anything to do with witchcraft, I swear!"

Aramis held up a hand to try to calm him. "We know, monsieur. If you were, I sincerely doubt you'd sabotage your own business."

The proprietor looked mildly relieved, but then his expression pinched again. "But I'm not," he insisted.

Aramis sighed and waved him off.

Athos roved his gaze around the mess, still wrestling with his gag reflex under the stench of blood. "Let's take a look around outside," he said, partly because they needed to and partly because he needed the fresh air.

They exited the tavern and split into twos, Athos and d'Artagnan going right and Aramis and Porthos going left. They scanned the street and alleyways for anything unusual, but there was no one loitering in the shadows, nor did Athos spot any occultist markings on the tavern's exterior or anywhere nearby. The only disturbance was the quickly spreading news of what had happened and Athos could hear the din of frightened citizens as they gathered in the streets a few blocks over.

He and d'Artagnan returned to the front of the tavern to meet up with Aramis and Porthos.

"Anything?" Athos asked, though based on their own search turning up nothing, he didn't expect much.

Aramis shook his head. "If anyone was here, they're long gone now."

"Could they have been inside the tavern?" d'Artagnan asked. "Got out with the rest of the crowd?"

"I think someone would have noticed if anyone was casting a spell."

"Either way," Athos said, "we won't be catching them tonight."

Porthos let out an exaggerated shiver. "I hate witches."

"You always say that," Aramis responded, though the jibe was half-hearted.

Black magic was no laughing matter.

"We'll report this in the morning," Athos said.

He'd send out patrols to determine whether this type of incident had occurred at other taverns throughout the city or just this one. Then Athos would have to figure out how his musketeers were going to hunt down a witch…