A/N: Thank you pallysd'Artagnan, LordLady, 29Pieces, and LadyWallace for reviewing!

Chapter 3

Aramis sat in his cell, staring vacantly ahead as snatches of blurry memories flashed through his mind. He felt hands holding him up as he fumbled to keep his feet beneath him. They prevented him from face-planting and steered him through the streets. He thought they were Porthos and Athos, but that wasn't right; they had left the tavern first and hadn't come back. Someone else had guided him drunkenly over the cobblestones, straight to Adele's house.

He pressed a fist to the side of his head, trying to remember more. But he kept drawing a blank, and the more he tried to force it, the more his head ached. It terrified him, not knowing if he'd been too insensate to do anything but be deposited next to Adele's body…or if he'd been conscious enough for someone to manipulate him into pulling the trigger himself. Logically he knew that wouldn't change his guilt—but he couldn't stomach the thought of his hands having done the deed.

Clomping footsteps and the clink of metal announced the approach of some guards. When they stopped at his cell and started to unlock it, Aramis slowly got to his feet. The door creaked open and two guards stepped in. Aramis could do nothing as he was clapped in irons and then escorted out.

A wagon was parked in the courtyard outside and Aramis was hefted into the back of it. There was a post at the head of the wagon bed where his chains were secured, and then the wagon lurched into movement as he was carted off to the courts. Aramis had a fleeting thought that he might get lucky with the judge.

Such foolish hopes were doused when he was hauled into the courtroom and brought to stand before a severe looking man with white beard and beady eyes. He slammed his gavel upon the stand to command attention from the crowd gathered to watch. Captain Treville was there, looking grim. Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan weren't present. Neither was the Cardinal, but no doubt he had eyes and ears there to report back on the proceedings. Or perhaps he'd already spoken with the judge.

"I think it's quite clear what happened here," the judge declared trenchantly.

"Your Honor, if I might say something?" Treville spoke up.

"We'll come to you, Captain Treville," the judge snapped. He skewered Aramis with a steely, condemning glare. "Well. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Aramis lifted his head. "I am innocent of the charges, Your Honor. I don't know what happened. The last thing I remember is going to the tavern yesterday, although even that is hazy. I believe I was drugged. I have no memory of coming to Madame Bessette's house."

"Yet you wake alongside her with a bullet in her heart?" the judge replied with caustic skepticism.

Aramis gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"And you claim to have no idea how that happened?"

"Aramis is a man of fine reputation," Treville interjected again. "A good soldier and a musketeer of many years' standing."

"A woman lies dead, murdered!" the judge exclaimed, eliciting a hush of murmurs in the audience. "An example must be made. The musketeer Aramis, I find you guilty and sentence you to death. Sentence to be carried out immediately." The bang of the gavel reverberated throughout the chamber.

"This is irregular, sir!" Treville exclaimed. "I will lodge an appeal with the King."

"That is your right, Captain. Take this man to the gallows."

Aramis could only stare in disbelief, the breath having stole from his lungs at the pronouncement. The guards came forward and seized his arms to haul him out. He wanted to fight against this injustice, but what could he do?

He caught Treville's eyes and saw the fury and desperation in them. But there was nothing even that the captain could do. Even if Kilgar was waiting outside, he would not make it to the King in time to lodge that appeal. No doubt the Cardinal had contingencies in place for that. He was a master puppeteer after all, and it seemed in this he was going to win.

Aramis was dragged outside and thrown back into the cart, his chains affixed to the post again. The guards cinched them tight and low this time, forcing him to hunch or get down on his knees. He would not take such a position of penitence though, not when he was innocent and falsely accused. It was the last dignity left to him.

The wagon began its journey back toward the Chatelet and the courtyard where the gallows stood. Aramis kept his head high as silent prayers spilled from his lips. There was still a chance, however small, of a miracle. Hadn't they once saved Athos from such a fate at the last possible moment?

But in case that was not in store for him, he prayed for his soul, for a quick death though he knew the noose did not typically provide one. He prayed for Rhaego, and his brothers. He didn't know whether to be grateful they were not here to witness this or grieved that he wouldn't get to see them, one last time.

Somewhere a church bell tolled, a death knell to Aramis's bleeding heart.

.o.0.o.

Porthos couldn't believe it was only yesterday he'd been walking up this street and laughing at finding Aramis in the precarious position of hanging out a window. His almost being caught in his sordid affair had been humorous at the time.

It wasn't funny now.

Athos led the way to the door and knocked. It was opened a moment later by a servant girl.

"We are here on Musketeer business," Athos said imperiously.

The young lady looked uncertain and shyly opened the door wider to allow them entrance.

"What is your name?" Athos asked.

"Helen."

"How long have you been in Adele Bessette's employ?"

The girl kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her hands clasped tightly in front. "Three years, monsieur."

"Was she a good mistress?"

Porthos's jaw ticked. Why was Athos bothering with these irrelevant questions?

"Yes," the servant whispered, and there was a crack in her voice that denoted genuine grief over the lady's death.

"You know about her affair with the musketeer Aramis," Athos went on.

"'Tis not my business, monsieur."

"You also knew about the Cardinal."

Helen didn't say anything to that, and her eyes remained firmly on the floor.

"You kept her secrets," d'Artagnan put in gently. "You were loyal."

Her gaze flickered up before snapping back to the ground.

"Do you think Adele loved Aramis?" d'Artagnan continued. "Do you think she would want him to die for a murder he didn't commit?"

This time there was outright fear in her eyes when she shot a glance up at them again.

"What happened that night?" Athos asked. "Aramis was drugged. Who brought him here?"

Tears welled in the girl's eyes.

"We can protect you," d'Artagnan promised.

She shook her head with a sob. "Not from him."

"The Cardinal?" Porthos said. "We won't let 'im hurt you."

"His men are everywhere," she hissed. "I have no family, nowhere to go. How would you protect me?" She shook her head and cast an anxious look around the halls and anterooms. "I will be dead or in the gutter if I don't keep my place."

"We're talking about an innocent man losing his life!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"Please," Porthos pleaded, realizing now that intimidating an already terrified girl wasn't going to convince her to help them. "Aramis is our friend an' he doesn't deserve to die. We'll do everythin' we can to help you. Jus', please, help us save him."

Helen's eyes were red and she was silent for several long moments. Casting a look over her shoulder again, she then wordlessly beckoned for them to follow her up the stairs. Porthos flicked a wary eye down the hallways they passed as Helen led them to the upstairs bedroom. The bed had been stripped but there was still a rust-colored stain that had seeped down through the duvet to the mattress. Porthos spotted Aramis's coat discarded on the floor in the corner and went to pick it up.

"There were four of them," Helen whispered. "Red guards. They arrived late. My mistress had not yet gone to bed. Colette let them in. She- she didn't seem bothered by them at all. Two had Aramis slung between them. I had been bringing some warm bricks from the kitchen and tried to stay out of sight. They took Aramis upstairs. Again, Colette seemed unbothered. She retired to her room. I didn't know what to do."

She paused, gaze sliding toward the blood stain on the bed. When she spoke again, her breathing hitched.

"They barged into my mistress's bedroom. I could hear their raised voices. She demanded to know what the meaning of this was. Then she cried Aramis's name." Helen's eyes welled with tears. "There were sounds of a struggle. My mistress screamed. Then there was a shot." She let out a shaky breath. "After that it was quiet for a few minutes, then the red guards came down and left. I was going to go upstairs to check on them, but Colette appeared and sternly told me to go to bed for the night. I dared not disobey her. She came from the Cardinal's household. It was only the next morning when the red guards returned that what I feared was confirmed."

"Can you identify any of the red guards?" Athos asked.

Helen nodded slowly. "Captain Gaudet. He's accompanied the Cardinal here a few times."

Athos stepped forward, gaze earnest. "Will you tell this story to the King?"

Helen's eyes widened in fear, but she managed a shaky nod as she looked at d'Artagnan. "You're right, I loved my mistress, and she loved Aramis. She would not want him to die."

"Then we must hurry," Athos replied.

Porthos nodded staunchly as they turned to escort Helen from the house and hasten to the palace. If only they had the speed of dragon flight at their call this time; Porthos had a dreaded feeling they might be too late.

.o.0.o.

Rhaego sat in the garrison yard, tail swishing back and forth in agitation. He got up, walked a few paces away, then plopped down again. He smacked his jaw as he watched the garrison going about its daily business as normal. Except things weren't normal. His rider wasn't present, and his friends had gone hurrying out of the garrison that morning over some urgent business that Rhaego had frankly missed, having not bothered to rise from his den since Aramis wasn't even there yet. Vrita had relayed what had happened about Aramis's arrest and the others rushing off to prove his innocence. But that had been a few hours ago and none of them had returned. Rhaego was growing impatient. He got up, moved a few feet, and sat again.

Vrita rumbled low in her throat for him to knock it off.

He shot her an irritated glare. Their riders weren't back yet.

Pacing wouldn't make them return any faster, she pointed out.

Rhaego snapped that neither would lying around like a log.

Vrita huffed and turned away.

Rhaego got up and shuffled across the yard.

A musketeer, Rhaego didn't know his name, came hustling into the garrison then. "Have Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan returned?" he asked urgently, pricking Rhaego's ears.

A few men made their way toward him and gave a negative answer.

The musketeer looked upset at that. "The trial was pushed forward and the judge sentenced Aramis to hang immediately. Treville is on his way to the palace to petition the King, but there's no way he'll make it in time. And if the others haven't returned with proof yet…" His mouth pressed into a grim line.

Rhaego straightened sharply. Sentenced to hang? His Aramis? No, he was not going to stand for that. He snapped his wings taut and gave a massive flap to launch himself into the air. Startled shouts resounded below him along with cries for him to come back. He ignored them.

Flying over the city, he veered toward the prison, remembering where it was from the time they'd flown with all haste to save Athos from being wrongly executed. And now it was Aramis as the victim. Rhaego did not think much of the humans' so-called justice system.

He saw the courtyard below and the gallows…and Aramis being led up to the platform, hands tied behind his back. A rope hung from the central beam, one end looped into a noose. Rhaego belted out a roar and swooped down, landing partially on the roof of a low guard tower and partially on the wall. Guards screamed and scrambled away. Rhaego immediately sparked his inner fire and spewed a geyser of flame at the gallows. Tongues of fire whooshed across the beam, devouring the rope almost instantly and dropping the noose to the base. He then snapped his gaze at the men still holding Aramis and let out an enraged screech.

Pistols fired in quick succession, peppering his hide with the equivalent of bee stings. Lead musket balls couldn't pierce a dragon's scales, though that didn't mean Rhaego appreciated being shot at. He screeched in response and kindled more fire to expel.

"Rhaego, no!" Aramis shouted.

With a gurgle, he quenched his fire. His rider was probably right; the courtyard was too confined not to risk Aramis if Rhaego flooded it with flames.

"Get Bonacieux!" someone bellowed. "And some damn acimite blades!"

Now those would hurt. Rhaego started to climb down the wall, ripping tiles off the tower roof and splintering some wooden scaffolds. He needed to get to Aramis and fly him out of here.

His guards, however terrified they appeared, were keeping a solid grip on Aramis where he was being pressed to the floor of the gallows platform.

A shriek sounded above as Savron and Vrita arrived, the silverback ordering Rhaego to stand down.

Rhaego snarled in response. He would not. And if it were one of their riders about to be killed, they wouldn't stand by and do nothing.

More soldiers were pouring out from the prison.

"Shoot its eyes!" a guard yelled.

Aramis struggled against his captors. "No, don't!" He was shoved onto his stomach, a boot planted in his back.

Rhaego snapped viciously at them. He'd had enough. No one hurt his rider, and he would tear them all to pieces if he had to…