A/N: Well that started nicely enough. Nothing could possibly go wrong, could it?

The Package

Chapter 2

Athos looked out at the wagon again.

It seemed ridiculous that such a large wagon was needed to haul the package that was hardly as large as a trunk, but it was the only one available at their disposal at the small town where the exchange was made.

Bernard approached Athos with a cup of wine. The two musketeers discussed the remainder of their route while the others struck camp.

D'Artagnan and Francois were filling water skins while Guillaume doused the fire. Porthos and Henri savoured their remaining moments out of the saddle while Aramis finished cleaning his weapons.

Suddenly the marksman sat straight upright as Francois and D'Artagnan re-entered the clearing where the group had paused to rest.

"Aramis," said Athos, immediately noticing the marksman's tense posture as he deftly loaded his harquebus, "What is it?"

The others stilled, knowing that Aramis' sixth sense for danger was as accurate as his aim with a musket.

"Get down!" he shouted as his brothers dropped to the ground. The woods around them splintered amid a torrent of gunfire. Aramis fired his harquebus, whose bullet was met by a scream in the distance as he leapt to his feet and drew his pistols.

A dozen men or more poured from the surrounding woods, all armed and looking for violence.

The musketeers immediately spread out, separating their foes. Two more men fell instantly to Aramis' pistols as he dropped them and pulled his rapier and parrying dagger from their sheaths.

Porthos and Guillaume felled another two men with their pistols, as did Athos and Francois, but even with seven men down, the enemy kept pouring from the woods. They were up to fourteen foes now, and Bernard quietly hoped that that was all there would be.

A violent and furious battle ensued. These men were well trained, demonstrating some skill with a blade.

D'Artagnan and Francois fought back to back against several men, Francois quickly felling one of their opponents with a lunge with his rapier. Athos and Bernard had their rapiers drawn, two more falling to their remarkable swordsmanship while the others held back, unsure as to how to penetrate these defences.

Guillaume took a glancing blow to the arm as he battled his foes. He cradled his arm against him, his eyes wide as he faced two enemy combatants at once. Porthos, seeing the slight panic in the younger man's eyes, dealt a deadly blow to the man he was facing with his parrying dagger and engaged one of the men circling Guillaume. The threat to his life lessened, Guillaume fought the remaining man with gusto, his injured arm pressed against him. Though their opponents were skilled, they lacked the prowess and finesse of the Musketeers.

D'Artagnan killed off another attacker when suddenly stars erupted before his eyes. An enemy had struck a cowardly blow by circling to his backside while D'Artagnan had been fighting his other foe.

D'Artagnan crumpled to the ground, and Francois and Henri took up defensive stances over the prone musketeer, Henri plunging his dagger deep within the breast of the coward who struck D'Artagnan.

As D'Artagnan fell, Porthos let out a bellow of rage. His ferocity doubled as he grappled with a beast of a man, their weapons long since lost or forgotten. Their hands were clasped as they fought for supremacy. In a quick shift, Porthos was able to draw his knee up into the gut of the other man. He exhaled violently and fell away. Porthos roared as he felt the plunge of a blade in his calf. The blade's owner had only moments remaining on this earth, as with a few successive blows, the man lay motionless as Porthos stood panting over him.

"Porthos!" shouted Aramis as he vanquished his own opponent and turned to make his way towards his brother.

"Aramis!" shouted Athos as he and Bernard engaged with another set of opponents.

In his haste to reach his brother, Aramis did not notice the man who had aimed a dagger in his direction. He threw himself to the ground to dodge the blade and sprung up from a neat roll as one of Porthos' throwing knives found purchase in the man.

The battle was nearing its end.

Dead bandits lay all about them. D'Artagnan was still unconscious, his head cradled in Francois' lap as Henri stood guard, daring another man to try to harm their injured brother-in-arms. Guillaume, Athos and Bernard were finishing the last of the enemy; those who weren't dead, fled to the trees or surrendered. Porthos leant heavily against a tree applying pressure to the wound in his leg.

As Aramis made his way towards Porthos, one supposedly felled opponent leapt up suddenly behind him. Aramis spun to face him. The man thrust his blade at Aramis' side. Aramis countered, plunging his own dagger deep within the man's chest. He hissed as he felt his enemy's blade twist in his side as he fell, life fleeting from his eyes.

Aramis ignored the new pain in his side; he needed to see to his brothers.

He was vaguely aware that he may have cracked or at least bruised a rib in one of his scuffles as well, but while the battle adrenaline still flowed and he had at least three brothers injured, his own injuries would have to wait.

He hastily wadded up his shirt to stem the bleeding at his side.

Porthos was sweating slightly from the pain and the blood that continued to ooze from the injury. Aramis tore the pant leg to get a better look at the wound.

"Hey!" Porthos said looking at his ravaged pants.

"I'll purchase you a new pair," Aramis muttered. "You know this will need stitches."

"Knew you'd say that..." he grumbled in reply.

"Keep the pressure on and try to keep this elevated. I've got to check the others," he said, suppressing a grimace.

Guillaume's wound was minor. He instructed Bernard to bind it tightly as he moved to check on D'Artagnan.

"He's come around, but he's quite confused," said Francois as Aramis approached him. The marksman was paling but he kept moving.

"D'Artagnan," he said as he tapped the man's face.

"'Mis," mumbled the Gascon.

Aramis smiled, "This is no time for a nap, mon ami."

"Sorry," he muttered, his eyes struggling to focus.

He looked at Francois. "Let's get him upright."

Francois lifted D'Artagnan to a seated position. Athos knelt with a water skin and fed it to the Gascon. He glanced at Aramis. A light sheen of sweat had formed on the medic.

Without being asked, Aramis muttered, "I'm not sure that he'll be up to riding…"

Athos nodded, his face clouding over as he looked quizzically at his brother. Aramis smiled and made his way to Porthos. Bernard had retrieved Aramis' medical kit and he smiled at him in thanks. He staggered slightly as he knelt next to Porthos.

"You alright?" Porthos asked, his face clouding over as he looked at his brother.

"Just tired, mon ami. Let's get you patched," he said as he removed his bottle of spirits and his needle and thread from his bag. "Will you be a good patient, or will I need to call Athos?" he asked with a grin.

Porthos scowled. "Bernard, can you help to restrain him?" Aramis asked as he threaded his needle.

Bernard knelt behind Porthos and restrained his arms.

"Sorry about this," Bernard said.

"Not as sorry as you may be," Porthos muttered as he tensed as Aramis unstopped the bottle.

He doused the wound in the clear liquor and Porthos lurched in pain. Bernard held tight as the burning sensation faded. The wound wasn't large but it was deep. Aramis placed his stitches as quickly as possible, knowing the discomfort it put his brother in. He doused the wound once more and bound it tightly with a clean bandage.

"Can he walk?" Athos asked from over the medic's shoulder. Aramis looked at Porthos sternly, who gave a slight shake of his head. He was pale and sweaty after his ordeal. Aramis grinned slightly at his brother's honesty.

"No," said Aramis, "but I believe if we get him mounted he should be fine to ride. D'Artagnan, however, should ride in the cart or with someone, at least to start. He should not ride unaccompanied. You can present him with those options," he said with a grin.

Athos nodded. "With these prisoners we'll still be nearly a half day from Paris. We should get moving," he said.

Aramis nodded as he began repacking his bag. Athos extended his hand to Porthos and between him and Bernard, they had the large man standing. Guillaume brought the horses to them and with a slight struggle they had Porthos mounted. D'Artagnan they lay in the wagon with Francois kneeling with him.

As the others prepared to depart, Aramis stepped away and quickly doused his own wound with the alcohol. He swallowed his hiss of pain and quickly stuffed some bandages and wadding at his side. The wound was ragged and he knew none of his brothers would be capable of tending it. He would have it seen to when they got to back to Paris. It would only be a few more hours.

Not for thE first time was Aramis glad for his long doublet - it would help hide any blood that might leak through the bandages. He wrapped his sash tightly around him, hoping to give the injured rib on his other side some relief as well.

In a few hours he'd be back in Paris where she was. Christine's smiling face sprung up in his mind's eye and he kissed the three-starred pendant that hung next to his heart. He mounted his horse, swallowing a moan.

In a few hours, he'd have her in his arms and everything would be fine.

oOo