A/N: Thank you Undertheoaktrees, LordLady, pallysd'Artagnan, and SnidgetHex for reviewing! Glad you're enjoying it. ^_^

Chapter 5

It wasn't difficult for Savron to track down the other dragons in their cages, but once they did, Athos found himself facing a tricky situation. It wasn't right to leave the dragons like this, and by the looks of them, they were too wild and feral for Bonacieux to come in and tame, not after the life of forced cage fights they'd been subjected to. Such rehabilitation would take tremendous effort and Athos knew the King wouldn't want to waste his resources on it.

He looked up at his dragon. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

Savron cocked his head and stepped up to one cage. The pale green dragon inside hissed and spat. Savron didn't react, simply stared down the dragon until it began to flinch under that relentless gaze. Athos didn't know what was being communicated between them, but Savron was a natural alpha, and after several minutes, the green dragon had lowered its belly and head to the ground and gone silent.

Savron turned and shuffled down to the next cage and repeated the process. The last dragon was the most difficult, a viciously scarred beast that thrashed and raged in its cage so much that Athos thought it would harm itself. Savron remained unflappable, exerting his dominance out of sheer presence alone and not any need to roar back at the resistant dragon.

The beast eventually began to submit, pitiful whines gurgling in its throat. Savron let out a chirp that sounded soothing. He then turned to Athos and nodded.

Athos exhaled heavily as he gripped the set of keys. He hoped they weren't making a mistake.

He went to the first dragon's cage, the pale green one, and unlocked it. The dragon visibly tensed, eyes rolling wildly to keep him in sight. Savron barked out a throaty call, and the dragon slowly rose to its feet. Athos was careful not to make any sudden movements as he went to the next cage, and the next.

He hesitated at the last one, but Savron nudged his shoulder, so he proceeded to open it. Then, careful to keep close to his dragon, they began to make their way out of the tunnels.

The sun was bright and the four dragons squawked in discomfort, jerking their heads away from the offending light. One of them bumped into another, eliciting a violent hiss. Savron snapped at them both and they cowed.

Athos quickly moved away from them as they adjusted to the brightness and fresh air. The others had gathered several yards away near the tree line where d'Artagnan and Porthos were wrestling the iron fetters off Vrita's wings. Aramis was leaning against Rhaego and trying to pick the lock on his dragon's collar. Athos strode over and tried the keys on the ring, finding one that worked. He and Aramis slid the collar off and let it drop heavily on the ground.

"There you go," Aramis said, voice rough. "We'll get these wounds tended to."

"And yours," Athos put in, eyeing the way Aramis couldn't even stand on his own and how Rhaego was the only thing holding him up. There was a sheen on Aramis's brow that Athos didn't like.

Savron let out a warbling call and Athos turned. His dragon flared his wings up behind him.

"Right," Athos muttered, looking at the fetters on the other dragons. That should be fun. He waited until d'Artagnan and Porthos had removed Rhaego's irons before asking the young Gascon to help him.

D'Artagnan cast a wary look between him and the dragons. "Really?"

"I trust Savron," he replied, even though he was also nervous. He tried to bear himself confidently though, knowing the dragons would pick up on his anxious energy.

He went to the pale green dragon first, approaching cautiously from the front with Savron standing close and keeping the dragon in check. The animal flinched when he reached for the irons on its wings.

"Easy," he soothed. "We just want to help you."

He could feel the poor thing vibrating with terror as he unlocked the irons. Then with d'Artagnan's help, they removed the heinous contraption from the dragon's back, then quickly moved away to give it space. It didn't immediately react to the freedom, remaining cowed on the ground where it lay. Athos wondered whether these dragons were even in any shape to survive outside the environment they'd been subjected to for who knew how long.

Nevertheless, he and d'Artagnan moved to the next dragon, and the next. Vrita shuffled over and stood next to Savron, adding a steady, calming presence to reinforce the alpha's leadership. The dragons didn't attack them, which Athos was grateful for.

Once all the fetters and collars were removed, the dragons began to shift and move around more, getting used to their newfound freedom.

"What are we going to do with them?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos's lips thinned. "I don't know."

Savron turned his head toward them and chirped, then cocked his chin up in the air.

"I believe Savron intends to take them somewhere," Athos translated. "Far away from human populations?"

His dragon nodded.

"If they can make it that far," d'Artagnan put in skeptically.

The grey, one-eyed dragon suddenly let out a piercing screech and charged across the field toward where the others were gathered. Athos's heart lurched as he was unable to do anything. Rhaego, to his surprise, didn't leap to attack the dragon, but instead snaked his neck around Aramis and Porthos to shield them, but otherwise didn't move. They weren't the targets.

Gunther screamed as the grey dragon barreled into him, pinning him to the ground. There was a horrendous sound from the man and then nothing. The grey dragon turned back around, snout splashed with red. It let out a heavy snort and shuffled away to collapse on the road alone, body shuddering. After several strained breaths, it went eerily still, head lolling to the side.

No one moved or spoke for several moments.

"Well," d'Artagnan finally said. "That's one form of justice."

Athos silently agreed.

.o.0.o.

They made camp to tend to everybody's wounds, namely Aramis's, Rhaego's, and Vrita's. The other men who had been held prisoner were all quick to leave this place and begin making their way back to their homes. Athos had offered them assistance, but since half of the musketeer party was down for the count, there wasn't much aid they could actually provide at the moment.

Porthos finally got Aramis to stop fussing over Rhaego and helped him over to where he'd set Savron's saddle, easing Aramis down to recline against it. Porthos could feel the fine tremors in his friend's arms and the heat coming off him. With grim expectation, he rolled up Aramis's shirt and began to pick at the dirty bandage underneath.

Aramis hissed sharply and tried to lurch away.

"Sorry," Porthos gushed.

Aramis let out a strained breath. "Fabric's stuck. You'll need…hot water."

"I'm on it," d'Artagnan spoke up from where he was busy getting a fire going.

Athos brought over a roll of fresh bandages and what looked like Aramis's medic kit.

"How?" Porthos asked dubiously.

"We found your camp," Athos replied. "Happened upon a local who knew what Gunther was up to and told us where to come looking. We do, however, have to go back for the saddles."

That was the least of Porthos's concerns at the moment. D'Artagnan got some water heated and brought over a bowl. Athos gingerly soaked the rag bandage over Aramis's wound until it peeled off easily. Porthos stiffened when they got a look at it. The slash was inflamed, the bottom half the angry red of infection.

"It was to be expected," Aramis said quietly.

Porthos squeezed his shoulder. "What do we do?"

Aramis glanced down, then dropped his head back against the saddle behind him. "Clean it out- spirits. Then make a poultice to draw out the infection."

"What about sewin' it up?" Porthos asked.

Aramis shook his head. "Don't want to seal the infection in."

Athos reached for the flask of spirits from the med kit, but Aramis told him to wait, told them how to make the poultice first and tend the dragons since he doubted he'd be able to cling to consciousness once they doused his side in liquid fire.

"I didn't get a good look at Vrita," Aramis went on breathlessly. "You can make the same poultice for them if…needed."

"We got it," Athos assured him, uncapping the flask. "Ready?"

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take a deep, steadying breath. Athos waited until the exhalation before pouring the spirits over the wound. Aramis arched off the ground with a strangled gasp, then promptly went limp. Porthos shared a worried look with Athos; it was better for Aramis to be out during this, but the fact that he so quickly passed out this time was a cause for concern.

Athos wordlessly grabbed a clean cloth and began to wipe the wound clean. D'Artagnan had checked Aramis's pouch and they didn't have all the ingredients he'd listed for the poultice, so he headed out into the woods to see if any was growing nearby.

Despite being unconscious, Aramis still shuddered in pain as Athos cleaned the wound.

"Do you have any injuries?" Athos asked Porthos while they waited for d'Artagnan to return.

Porthos shook his head. "Jus' bruises. All of my fights were with fists."

"Until the one with you, Aramis, and Vrita."

"You saw that?"

Athos nodded.

"That was Vrita's fight. Gunther thought me an' Aramis bein' there would force her to fight back." Porthos clenched his fists in renewed anger. "Bastard got what he deserved."

The crunch of leaves announced d'Artagnan's return.

"I found two out of three, which I guess will have to do," the young Gascon reported.

"It will," Athos confirmed and went over to help him make up the poultice.

Porthos glanced nervously at the wild dragons under Savron's watch, but the remaining three were behaving at the moment.

The poultice was finished and d'Artagnan came over to spread the gunk over Aramis's side. Aramis flinched and moaned but didn't wake. With nothing left to do for him, d'Artagnan and Athos went to finish tending Vrita's and Rhaego's wounds. Porthos wanted to help; it was his responsibility to look after his dragon. But Athos, who knew him too well, had merely skewered him with a pointed look as he made his way toward Vrita.

Porthos was exhausted, but he grabbed a fresh cloth and soaked it in the bowl of water d'Artagnan had left, then wrung it out before dabbing at Aramis's brow as his brother shivered with fever. The sun was setting and it would be getting cold soon.

It took almost an hour for Athos and d'Artagnan to finish cleaning all of the dragons' injuries and they'd had to make more poultice twice, but finally Vrita and Rhaego settled down in a patch of cool grass to rest.

D'Artagnan came over and put a hand on Porthos's shoulder, reaching with his other to take the damp cloth. "I'll look after him."

"We should set a watch," he mumbled, still stubbornly trying to fight his exhaustion.

D'Artagnan's lips quirked. "With six dragons? I don't think we do."

Porthos wanted to point out they needed to watch out for three of those dragons suddenly deciding they looked tasty, but the last dregs of his energy were fading fast. He scooted over to lay down on a bedroll someone had laid out without him noticing and he fell asleep within moments.

.o.0.o.

Aramis woke to snuffles and snorts of what sounded like a herd of dragons. He prized his eyelids open and blinked blearily at the canopy of branches and leaves above him. The noises continued and he turned his head toward them. He didn't recognize the three dragons shuffling about on a dirt road several yards away, though he spotted Savron with them, the silverback posturing himself rather watchfully. Behind him were some gates and bones mounted above them… Aramis closed his eyes again. Right, Gunther's fight ring.

He lifted his hand and tenderly touched his side where a low fire pulsed steadily under a bulk of bandages. That was going to smart for a while.

A puff of hot air ruffled his hair and Aramis craned his neck to look behind him. Rhaego was laid out behind him, his nose buried in Aramis's curls. Doleful eyes blinked back at him.

"Rhaego," he breathed hoarsely and stretched his arm back to pat his dragon. Rhaego let out a low keen and snuffled his hair again.

"You're awake," Porthos's voice spoke.

Aramis turned to look for him.

"How're you feelin'?" he asked, coming to kneel beside him.

"Tired," he admitted, then winced. "Sore."

"I haven't looked at yer wound yet," Porthos said, brows knitting together.

Aramis nodded in understanding, but they'd have to check on it at some point. "Let me see?"

Porthos carefully unwound the bandage and then peeled the partially dried poultice off. Aramis grimaced as it tugged some of his flesh.

"Oh," he said. "That's actually better than I was expecting." It was still a little red around the edges but not as pronounced as it'd been yesterday. He felt rather wrecked but not feverish.

"Yeah?" Porthos asked hopefully.

Aramis dropped his head back down, too exhausted to hold it up any longer. "Yeah. Have d'Artagnan make another poultice." He squinted and flicked his gaze around their campsite. "Where's d'Artagnan and Athos?"

"In the fortress checking what supplies they can find," Porthos answered. He got up and moved away, only to return a moment later with a waterskin, which he helped Aramis to drink from.

"And Rhaego and Vrita?" Aramis asked after he'd slaked his thirst. He automatically reached behind him again to feel for his dragon.

"Pretty beat up, though not as bad as you."

"I'll be fine," he murmured.

Porthos snorted. "Yeah, you'd better be."

Aramis drifted for a little bit, though he was still aware of Porthos puttering around the camp and the noises the dragons were making. At least they weren't fighting with each other. Aramis idly wondered what they were going to do with them…

"What'd you find?" Porthos's voice spoke up.

"Some food and other supplies," d'Artagnan replied. "Including some meat we can give to the dragons. Athos is loading up a cart inside. He wanted me to bring this stuff out first."

"Gunther's men?"

"Looks like they abandoned the place."

"Aramis was awake earlier. Said you should make another poultice. Seems like it's working. I'll go help Athos with the meat."

There was the sound of more puttering around and Aramis forced himself fully awake just as d'Artagnan was kneeling down next to him. The young Gascon's face brightened.

"Hey, how're you feeling?"

"Too weak to get up," he replied with an irritated huff. "But the poultice is working."

"So Porthos said." D'Artagnan bent over his wound to see for himself. "Yeah, this looks better." He reached out and placed the back of his hand against Aramis's brow. "Fever's down too."

"Make a medic of you yet," he murmured.

D'Artagnan shot him a wry look, then proceeded to apply the fresh poultice. Aramis flinched at the feeling of cold, slick unguent.

"Sorry," d'Artagnan said.

"It's fine."

He tried to focus on something else, turning his head and catching sight of Porthos and Athos coming out of the fortress with a cart. The dragons perked up, but a bark from Savron had them staying put as Porthos and Athos started tossing slabs of meat their way. When the dragons were contentedly tearing into their individual breakfasts, the two made their way back over to camp.

"What's the plan with the dragons?" Aramis asked.

"Savron wants to lead them into the mountains," Athos replied.

Aramis's brows rose appreciatively; that seemed like the right thing to do.

"How are we gonna get word back to Treville?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos canted his head. "We can't. Rhaego and Vrita need time to heal and Savron is needed to keep the wild dragons in check."

"So we're stuck here," Porthos summarized.

"For the time being."

None of them suggested moving into the fortress for shelter.

D'Artagnan dug out some food stores to pass around for breakfast. After that, he and Athos went to bury Gunther's body. The body of the dragon who'd killed him, they had to bury under a mound of rocks, a task that took all day.

Aramis was unable to do anything but lay still and not aggravate his wound, which grated on his nerves and his need to be active. But the one time he'd tried to sit up to check on Rhaego had immediately left him collapsed and panting from the strain on his side. Rhaego had whined and pressed his nose into Aramis's hair again and neither of them had moved after that.

Aramis watched Savron coax the wild dragons into unfurling their wings after so much time of disuse. They'd have to get into flying shape before the alpha could lead them to greener pastures.

By the next morning, they were ready to depart, and Aramis felt marginally better with them gone, though he noticed Athos watching them disappear into the sky tensely.

"Savron can handle it," Aramis said.

Athos didn't say anything, but he did go back to work around the camp.

Aramis slowly began to recover once the infection cleared, though he was forced to remain abed since it was too late to stitch the wound and so any little movement ran the risk of pulling the sundered flesh further. At least he wasn't alone in his convalescence; Rhaego remained curled up behind his head, either unwilling or too sore to move. Vrita's wounds weren't as severe and she sometimes paced around their camp but otherwise rested a lot as well. There was plenty of meat in the fortress to keep them fed for a few more days at least, and hopefully it wouldn't take Savron that long to return.

In fact, Savron returned the next day, and it was visibly noticeable how relieved Athos was to see him. Unfortunately, their reunion didn't last long, as Athos had penned a letter to the captain informing him of what happened and now had to ask Savron to take it back to the garrison, as Rhaego and Vrita still weren't in any condition to bear their riders.

And so for the second time they had to watch the silverback fly away.

Fortunately, he returned before the day's end with reinforcements, including Treville and his dragon, Kilgar, along with Jean, who came with more specialized medicine for Rhaego and Vrita.

The musketeers packed up their camp, and Aramis and Porthos were relegated to ride with Cornet and Etienne, and then they all finally headed home.

.o.0.o.

D'Artagnan stood outside the dragon dens in the Musketeer garrison, holding a tray of salves and medicine while Jean and Constance tended to Rhaego and Vrita. They were healing well, as was Aramis. D'Artagnan couldn't help feeling rather morose though.

Constance came out of Vrita's den and picked up a towel off the tray to wipe her hands clean. She furrowed her brow at d'Artagnan. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Constance tossed the towel back onto the tray and put her hands on her hips. "I know that face. You're brooding over something."

He shook his head; he should have known better than to try to hide anything from her.

"I'm just…having second thoughts about Ayelet becoming my dragon when she grows up." He flicked his gaze to Vrita curled up in her den. "I can't bear imagining her getting hurt like this."

Constance's expression sobered in understanding. "I worry about you getting hurt. But you're a musketeer and danger is your occupation."

"Yeah, but I chose that, knowing the risks."

She gave him a soft look and reached out to touch his elbow. "Dragons are natural born warriors. Ayelet will ride into battle with you one day because you are her rider and there is no other place she would choose to go." Constance let out an audible breath. "And while there's always risk, I take comfort in knowing that Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and their dragons are all watching your back. You look out for each other, and that's how you all come home safe."

D'Artagnan's gaze automatically drifted toward the barracks where Aramis was recovering under Porthos's watchful eye. Constance was right; they'd do anything to protect each other, to bring each other home. It was something d'Artagnan had been drawn to from the moment he'd met these men, and it was something worth being a part of, something he wanted Ayelet to be a part of.

This brotherhood of soldiers.

NEXT TIME

A tragic accident brings Athos and the musketeers to one Ninon de Larroque, and the discovery of witchcraft within her salon will once again challenge Athos's sense of duty.